A Peaceful Day on the Job
Wherever rookie adventurers can be found, so can their grasping, scheming seniors.
These thugs dressed in adventurers’ clothing didn’t wish to impart any knowledge to their younger fellows; they saw them as nothing more than open coin purses on legs.
Most newbies had brought some funds along from their hometowns in order to start a new life. Obviously the amount varied from person to person, with some only coming with a handful of coins from household chores and others with a drachma or two slipped into their breast pocket from generous parents, but what bound them together was the reassuring weight of metal.
In other words, they were the perfect targets for a little group pestering.
Three such greedy adventurer-thugs had set their sights on a certain golden-haired adventurer. He had been hired as a bodyguard—in truth a chore boy—for a seedy tavern, but his appearance was a cut above your average rookie. Long hair was a sign of a life lived in moderate security; most boys favored short hair for ease and the fact that hair could be used as free tinder. However, the young man before them had applied hair oil to his and fixed it up in a neat chignon bun. Yes, there was no doubt that he was from a well-off family—a spoiled son who had lived a life of luxury but had decided to coat himself in soot. In other words, easy pickings.
“Hey there, fella! Yeah, you with the goldilocks!”
One of the three called out with a grin to the newbie adventurer, who was in the middle of mopping, his sleeves rolled up.
“Yes? Drinks, is it? I’m not one of the floor staff, but I can help.”
Seeing the young man’s pleasant smile, the three thugs sneered inwardly, realizing that this would be an even easier mark than they had first realized. None had failed to miss his palatial tongue—this was a dyed-in-the-wool spoiled kid, raised in the safety of his mama’s breast, who had never had a bad dream in his life.
“You’re a newbie adventurer, yeah? We’re also in the biz. Shout us some booze and we’ll tell ya a bunch of useful stories.”
This was a common tactic—force the younger adventurer to sit at the table and drink his wallet dry under the pretense of a few “insider tips.”
“Yeah, full of dead bandits.”
“Just as my buddy here said! I’ve cut down six already.”
“Only six? I’ve cut down eight!”
The three thugs cut straight to showing off. If they demonstrated their mettle from the get-go, then the spoiled country mouse would be quaking in his boots enough to cough up some cash to avoid any trouble.
Yet the newbie didn’t respond how they expected. No, he laughed. With his hand over his mouth in a stuck-up manner.
“What’s got you laughin’, squirt?”
“Oh? I thought you guys were joking.”
“You what?!”
However, the gold-haired newbie didn’t blanch in the slightest.
“Bandits are to adventurers as crops are to farmers. I’m rather pleased to hear you’ve lived such blessed lives to still be able to count the lives you’ve taken on two hands.”
Little did the adventurers know that their own boasts seemed little more than child’s play to Erich of Konigstuhl. Erich wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be a little jealous of the peaceful lives they’d led. After all, Erich had long since lost track of how many his own sword had cut down.
“You are aware of what will come of trying to shill me, aren’t you?”
His smile vanished as quickly as it had come, his point made before the thugs’ hands could find their weapons in a moment of rage. The newbie’s slender, girlish face was pale and full of anger.
“This tavern is frequented by respectable types. Am I understood, friends?”
None of the thugs could move. They had intended to teach him a quick lesson in manners at the ends of their blades, but the only sound that could be heard was their swords clattering in their sheaths under their trembling hands.
Fear had rushed through all of their hearts. That hand which had so daintily hid his mouth now clutched one of the empty tankards on the table, playing with their fight-or-flight instincts.
We’re gonna die. The flash of his blue eyes behind those narrowed lids contained a deep, honed killing instinct that even they could see.
“If you’re so skilled that you can find the time to teach a little brat like me, then you’re at peace with the idea the job might kill you at any moment, yes?”
The newbie’s refined speech was replaced by a vicious tone in an instant, his words conjuring images of wicked ends. The wooden tankard in his hand could be a brutal bludgeon. Their eyes could be crushed, their noses broken, their throats pulverized—Erich could do any of these gruesome things in a simple move; they knew that. They were frozen to the spot in fear—they couldn’t even swallow. Perhaps satisfied with their fear, the young man sheathed his metaphorical sword and put back the charming grin expected of a day laborer.
“I’m glad to see that you all understand. Let me see... The bill comes to seventy-two assarii in total.”
The thugs looked at his outstretched hand—pointing to the exit—then to their weapons, and after a few seconds they made the right choice. They paid up and resolved not to deal with such a petrifying individual.
As they left, the young adventurer mumbled to himself.
“None of them bothered to notice I stiffed them for an extra ten. Well, I suppose we can chalk up the difference to a little private tuition.”
While tutting that everyone should learn some basic arithmetic, Erich handed the pay to the barkeep and returned to his cleaning. The time ticked on as he plugged away at his peaceful yet dull gig.
[Tips] If you choose a job that involves violence, you must accept that violence may interrupt your daily life at any point. If you choose to bare your fangs, don’t be surprised when your prey snaps back.
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