The position of head of the Adventurers’ Guild, which oversees many adventurers, is an honorable one, with a respectable annual salary. Considering the attached privileges, it might appear to outsiders as a fine position.
However, upon learning the details, one might say that the chair of the Emperor of the Threefold Empire is no different from an instrument of torture, thought Maxine Mia Lehmann, head of the Marsheim Adventurers’ Guild, as she sipped her medicinal broth.
The Adventurers’ Guild is an ancient organization, its roots stretching back to the Age of God, and is a rare international organization that transcends national borders on a civilizational scale.
That said, the central headquarters that once existed were lost when the Age of God ended and the nations were divided. Nowadays, the guilds loosely unite only through an unwritten agreement not to involve adventurers in international conflicts.
Still, being close to the government but not part of it, near the monasteries yet not temples, the organization occupies a rather delicate position domestically. Indeed, it is seen as a group managing unruly day-laborers with questionable reputations, and it is clear that it does not enjoy favor with the authorities.
Moreover, as a principle, in the Threefold Empire, the head of the guild is not chosen from the nobility. Although the gods who could administer punishment are long gone, the pact made by the gods of the Age of God is still alive, so the guild is careful in its dealings to avoid offending them.
If the contents of her job could only show some leniency, she thought, as the medicinal broth her personal apothecary had prepared, for healing her stomach pains and nerve fatigue, had become an indispensable part of her life.
The stout yet elegant woman, sitting reluctantly in the Guildmaster’s chair, is not of noble birth, as she does not bear the “von” in her surname, yet she is of no lowly birth either. She is, in fact, the illegitimate daughter of the previous Count of Marsheim and the half-sister of the current count.
In the provinces, the Adventurers’ Guild plays the crucial role of filling gaps in labor and security forces, and unlike in the capital, cannot be lightly dealt with. If the head of the guild were incompetent, it would hinder administrative support in important ways, and hence, incapable people cannot be entrusted with this position.
Therefore, while the principle of not allowing nobility to lead remains, a person with intelligence, education, and political acumen is still required. This is especially important since this is the first place visited by trading caravans and emissaries from the Western kingdoms.
Given these needs, someone who was not of noble birth but possessed both education and political savvy was required—leading to Maxine, who had been raised as an illegitimate child though with care, being chosen for the post.
One might say that the nobility could always leave their ranks if they wished, but who would willingly give up the privileges and honors of nobility to take on the hardship of leading unruly people, constantly having to show humility towards customers of a different class, and dealing with the tiresome intricacies of such a position?
“I was born under a cursed star,” the elegant woman sighed, her rich black hair, inherited from the Baden lineage, now streaked with more gray than her age would warrant.
Fingering the strands of her carefully grown-out hair, worried it might have grown whiter thanks to the troubling letter placed before her, she could feel an alarming degree of dryness. Indeed, mental strain is undoubtedly the enemy of beauty, she thought; her once-envied tresses, admired even by noblewomen in her youth, now only brought about sorrow as she observed the changes.
“That stupid, dim-witted younger brother of mine…”
Her casual, street-slang-laced exclamation, usually hidden beneath her composed exterior, slipped out unintentionally. Reflecting on how this younger brother, who used to earnestly look up to her, could now be engaging in such outrageous conduct, she couldn’t help but mutter curses under her breath. How had that pure and adorable child resorted to such “vile” tactics?
Sheaving a sigh so heavy it could pierce the floor and lodge itself in the ground, the Guild Master drained yet another bitter cup of her medicine, ordered by her to be consumed thrice daily. Wouldn’t it be nice if this so-called magical elixir had at least a honey-like sweetness to it, for efficiency’s sake?
In any case, as she drafted responses to the letter while contemplating her next social engagement, she heard a discreet knock at her office door. Normally, at this hour, she would have instructed her staff not to interrupt unless it was something truly pressing, especially since she was currently dealing with delicate matters and had prohibited consultations except in the case of emergencies.
A bead of sweat formed on her forehead at the thought of the possibly unpleasant news to come. The clammy perspiration lingered, making her feel increasingly uneasy.
Good news had never come from such unexpected visits. If only the late Count, who doted so much on his grandchildren, had sneaked out again—it would be a rare joy.
However, reality was often bitter, enough to make even her usual herbal medicine taste sweet in comparison.
Quickly stowing away incriminating correspondence into her desk, she invited the visitor in. A letter was handed to her by her secretary, and an explanation followed.
Scanning its contents, she felt her consciousness momentarily fade, but years of pride in her decade-plus tenure as Guild Master helped her steady herself. Shaking her head lightly to bring clarity to her vision, she touched her temples and pondered her response. At the very least, wasting time here would be a grave mistake.
“…Escort the guest to the reception area. Offer them tea and pastries, the best we have. Wasn’t there that rare imported confection the fool of a younger brother sent over recently? Serve that.”
Formally, a person of standing does not meet guests without a prior arrangement. Yet, given the circumstances, some informality must be tolerated. Especially when dealing with someone higher-ranking, it’s preferable not to provoke their wrath.
On the contrary, if they’ve expressed availability, welcoming them immediately maintains appearances more easily.
Suppressing the urge to curse aloud, the Guild Master rose to summon her attendants and change into formal attire. Her experienced staff would surely complete the preparations within a quarter of an hour, or even less.
Such a short time would keep even the most impatient adventurers from growing restless.
Especially if the individual with golden hair, renowned in ballads, who has personally evaluated candidates for temporary promotions, is indeed here.
Worrying about the increase in her gray hair, Maxine Mia Lehmann began carefully strategizing the conversation in her mind…
…
Several years may pass before the guilds of various countries set up meetings for negotiations, but cancellations due to political unrest or wars are not uncommon. In recent years, the meetings have been suspended due to the Threefold Empire’s Second Eastern Campaign.
…
Thick carpets, a heavy, grand table, and comfortable long chairs padded with cushions and coils—famous paintings hang on the walls in tasteful proportions.
Yes, judging by the furnishings, this must be one of the finest reception rooms of the guild. The delicate balance achieved, neither overly deferential nor arrogant, reveals the current Guild Master’s brilliant political acumen.
So far, so good. This part of our attack has been successful.
I had a sense that this person would be competent, so I knew putting this much effort forward would not be dismissed. The brief meeting we had when, following the pursuit of the knight Jonas Bartlinden, I was offered an emergency promotion under the premise that “the system would be distorted if I remained at my current rank,” proved valuable. After all, this opportunity wasn’t something to be simply evaluated without giving something back—a reciprocal assessment of my organization’s head is also important for an adventurer like me.
Thanks to that, I now proudly wear an amber insignia, a rank typically unattainable without at least a year of accomplishments at the red level.
I was initially offered a two-level promotion to yellow, but knowing the risks of standing out too much, I requested amber, and now enjoy a positive reputation among my peers.
By now, I’m confident that an advancement to yellow wouldn’t meet much resistance, and I’ve been waiting for that opportunity. Still, I don’t yet know what’s about to shake out of the gourd upside down.
Ideally, we’d get a strong player, but there’s also the possibility that this could contain poison.
That said, for the sake of the group, sometimes one must drink the poisoned cup. If we know the wine is poisoned, it simply means we must prepare an antidote in advance or use our innate immunity to withstand the effects.
Though game masters might disapprove, there are times when brute force can be more effective than sending in scouts.
Indeed, to those who over-rely on such tactics, punishments have been imposed, like collapsing treasure halls filled with bonus rewards right before their eyes, which are now fondly remembered as their faces of despair.
In this instance, despite knowing we’re not in the position to complain, it’s no carefree reception. Considering the nature of our business, we don’t know how troublesome the matters could get.
At the very least, once involved and having seen the face of the woman in question, we can’t expect this to be resolved quietly or easily.
No, rather, knowing they might use and exploit us, it’s possible we’ve been handed a sloppy assignment.
Truly, the world is full of fearsome tactics employed by those wielding power akin to demons. I’d much rather be an adventurer just pursuing the unknown joyfully, but evidently, the world doesn’t grant such ease.
In any case, for now, staying composed is the best course of action. Showing obvious anger or distress would only invite manipulation. Just remain elegant, act as though there’s nothing amiss—smile composedly and carry on.
It’s best to keep smiling… but.
“Hey, Siegfried.”
“Huh?! What?!”
Even a simple inquiry has this effect, making him squirm so much.
I understand his discomfort in such formal situations, but couldn’t he try to settle down a little more? After all, even if it’s about being reprimanded, I do have the right to some complaints. His tension is too much—it’s even making me uneasy.
For her part, Mika seems entirely at ease. In fact, having likely experienced larger crowds during research presentations, she might even have more experience than me. I dread the thought; one wrong word and a professor might say some fatal preface like “Though I am not an expert in this area…” or “Given your superficial understanding of my theme…” The magic academy is indeed intimidating.
“Try not to be so anxious. No one’s going to take your life.”
“But, but I’m not scared!”
Yes, you absolutely are, as shown by your exemplary shrinking act. Considering all the situations much closer to death where you’ve led the charge courageously, you really should cultivate a more composed demeanor, especially as you’ve occasionally represented the Sword Friends Association on my behalf.
“Let’s rephrase that then. Don’t be so tense… Why don’t we start with some tea? It’s very good.”
“Yeah, Siegfried, it’s worth savoring. This tea is too precious to cool.”
Encouraged by Mika’s intervention, Siegfried hesitantly reached for the tea, grabbing it rather rudely, but the quality of the tea is such that one might wonder if it could even be bought with a single pay-out.
“Good scent, but it’s strong.”
“Well, there are snacks to pair with it. Here, have some of mine to calm you?”
“Don’t treat me like a kid!”
Yet, despite his protest, Siegfried adorably takes a piece of the sweet. Setting aside the jest, this sweet likely originates from a foreign land, combining beans with some sort of tuber-like element for a distinctive tang—a taste different from Japanese confections. Judging by its unfamiliar form, it might be an exclusive delicacy of this world.
Nonetheless, we’ve gleaned excellent information from his reactions.
His focus on the tea and sweets shows he feels inferior in some aspects. Furthermore, there’s an unmistakable hint of urgency. He surely didn’t expect me to move so quickly.
This is promising. Perhaps I can handle this situation well…
As I thought this, there came a knock and the door opened. My habitual reflexes, as well as those of Mika and Siegfried who I’d prepped beforehand, had us stand as protocol demands when greeting someone of higher status.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting.”
With a slightly stiff courtly tone, a sophisticated mature woman entered.
Her long white-streaked hair, reaching down to her waist, framed a well-defined oval face, under her slightly droopy, sleepy eyes marked with faint shadows. Her lips, tightly pursed as if they’ve never smiled, accentuated the stern look given by her tall, sharp nose.
Clad in an impeccable royal-blue ceremonial gown covering every inch of her, this was Maxine Mia Lehmann. The Guild Chief who commands us, a descendent of noble Baden lineage, known as “the Lady of Ashes,” a woman of sharp wit.
Her moniker derives from her standing, inheriting noble blood yet representing the underground world, straddling the gray area between the elite and the lowly. Additionally, it subtly jabs how everyone knows the parentage of this illegitimate child, given the tendency of Baden women to develop lustrous gray hair with age.
Now, as we hold strong cards, the sheer number of her resources far outweighs ours. We’ll need to use our powerful strategies efficiently to counter her strengths.
She’s not one to be easily outsmarted, after all…
