"Stop squirming."
Corinne spoke with exasperated fondness as she dabbed more balm onto a particularly impressive bruise across Caleb's ribs.
"Sorry." He shifted on the hay bale, trying to find a position that didn't send a fresh shock through his injuries. "Not used to being someone's practice dummy yet."
They'd found a secluded corner of the stables. Away from prying eyes. The comfortable scent of hay and horses wrapped around them, and through the small window the intense light of highsun cast overlapping shadows across the interior.
"You did well today." Corinne recapped the jar of healing salve. "Standing up to Narbok like that. Leo needed someone to show him he's worth defending."
Leo needed a dad, Caleb thought, but didn't say.
"Narbok's going to come for you again. He doesn't like being embarrassed."
Tell me something I don't know.
"Captain Hatch won't let it go too far," she added, though she wouldn't meet his eye.
"Holy mackerel, that stuff works fast!" Caleb exclaimed as the throb in his ribs quieted to a manageable ache. "Where'd you get it?"
Corinne laughed musically in the quiet stable. "Holy mackerel? I've heard delvers swear by a dozen different dungeon gods and twice as many beasts, but that's a new one. Where'd you hear it?"
He tensed at the casual slip. He needed to be more careful. "Oh, just something I heard an old adventurer say. Claimed it was better for startling fish than scaring monsters, but it kind of stuck with me."
"Well, it's definitely memorable," she said, smiling as she finally answered his question. "Mom keeps a supply for the staff who adventure on the side. Says bruises are bad for business: nobody wants to eat food served by someone who looks like they lost a fight with a troll."
"Your mom's a smart woman."
"She sure is! Speaking of which..." Corinne stood, brushing hay from her work dress. "She was asking about you earlier. Something about being impressed with how you handled that lichen negotiation."
As if summoned by her daughter's words, Cassia Hearthsong appeared in the stable doorway. Her keen eyes took in Caleb's collection of bruises with maternal concern before settling into business mode.
"Thal, good. I was hoping to catch you before the dinner rush." She produced a leather pouch from her apron, packed with the distinctive rattle of preserved monster parts. "I have a task for you."
Caleb straightened, ignoring his body's protests. This felt different from the lichen errand.
"These are low-grade parts from last week's deliveries. Fernhorn scales, fog hound teeth, a few preserved mushroom caps from a sporecap shambler. Nothing valuable individually, but in bulk they should fetch a decent price."
She placed the pouch in his hands. It felt substantial.
"I want you to take these to the Adventurer's Hall and negotiate the best price you can. More importantly—" Her brown eyes held his. "—I want you to bring back every copper."
He weighed the pouch in his palm. This would generate real coin on hand, spendable and stealable, and Cassia was testing him with it. But after the potion hangover and everything they'd done for him… he wouldn't screw this up.
"I understand. Consider it done."
"Good! They usually offer fair prices, but push if you think you can get more. The Hall keeps standard rate charts posted if you want to verify." She paused, then added with a slight smile, "And Thal? Don't let anyone bully you into a bad deal just because you're young."
Or half-elven, Caleb mentally added.
Corinne beamed at him as her mother left. "See? Told you she was impressed. This is a big deal: she usually handles the monster part sales herself."
"No pressure, then."
"You'll do fiiiiine." She glanced toward the kitchen door. "You should hurry, though. Dad will want you back to help before the evening meal service."
He gave Corinne a grateful nod. She was right, of course. He couldn't afford to dawdle. Cassia's trust was validating, yet another matter preoccupied him, one rooted entirely in survival.
This trip to the Adventurer's Hall had two objectives. The first was selling the monster parts for the inn, but the second was more personal. He needed to learn everything he could about hunting goblins.
The path from the inn to the Adventurer's Hall was short, a routine stretch of cobblestone and wooden storefronts. He barely noticed the other villagers hurrying to finish their business as highsun wound down. He strode with purpose, his mind already inside and rehearsing his approach.
He pushed through the heavy doors into a blast of overlapping voices and the ingrained scent of the place. Adventurers clustered around scarred tables, comparing kills and nursing drinks.
Felicity looked up from her ledger as he approached the counter. She'd pulled her dark brown hair back tighter than usual, not a strand out of place.
"Back already, Thal? What can I do for you today?"
"Selling this time." He placed the pouch on the counter. "Low-grade parts, but good quality."
She opened the pouch and began her inspection, laying out each type in neat rows. The items were sorted with speed that spoke of countless repetitions. She held a fernhorn scale up to the light, checking for cracks. Tested the fog hound teeth for sharpness with the tip of her thumb. Even examined the sporecap mushrooms one at a time, nodding at the preservation.
"Twenty-three fernhorn scales, good condition. Fourteen fog hound teeth, two cracked but useable. Six preserved sporecap portions of usable quality." She made quick notations on a slate. "I can offer three gold, eight silver for the lot."
Caleb ran the calculations. Based on the posted rates he'd glimpsed and his own burgeoning [Appraisal] Skill, she was lowballing him by about 10%.
"Fifty silver seems more accurate for this quality." He kept his voice steady, matching her impersonal tone. "The sporecap portions alone should be worth one gold. They're perfectly preserved."
Her eyes narrowed. "You've been studying our rate boards."
"I'd consider myself a fool not to."
"Thirty silver. The cracked teeth bring down the overall value."
"Forty silver. The value of the high-quality sporecaps more than covers the discount for two cracked teeth. It's a fair price for clean parts."
She almost smiled. "Fine, you have a deal. Three gold and forty silver."
[Your proficiency with Haggling (F) has increased to Practiced]
She counted out the coins using the same precision she'd shown with the parts, sliding them into a small cloth purse. As Caleb secured the money, she tilted her head slightly.
"Hard day, Thal?"
Caleb slid out a crooked grin. "First day of mandated youth training. Is it that obvious?"
"The bruises on your hands are turning an impressive shade of purple." She paused, organizing the purchased parts into storage boxes. "Let me guess. They paired you with the pure-bloods for sparring?"
"Something like that."
She gave him an understanding nod. "It never gets easier, you know. Being a dull-ear in their world. You just get better at navigating it."
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The casual way she used the slur landed differently. A reclamation, perhaps. Recognition of what she endured daily. His gut twisted. Two months in, and he had no real standing to claim her struggles. He still saw himself as Caleb Foster, an outsider among these people.
"Actually," Caleb said, seizing the opening, "I might have found a way to do more than just navigate."
"Oh?"
"Selara Veil offered me an apprenticeship that's conditional on proving I can handle myself. I just… need to kill a feral goblin." He smiled sheepishly.
Felicity went still over the storage boxes. When she looked up, her brows had drawn down.
"Selara Veil. The Golden Mortar's Selara Veil."
"You know of her?"
"Everyone knows the Veil twins, Thal. Disgraced nobles who somehow landed on their feet. Aurelian's brilliant but impossible. Selara though..." She shook her head slowly. "D-tier, High-Purple. One of the strongest people in this village who isn't military or local nobility. If she's offering you an apprenticeship, that's not just an opportunity. That's a golden ticket."
The respect behind Felicity's words was unmistakable. Coming from someone who dealt with adventurers daily, who saw the strong and the weak file through her hall alike… it carried significance.
"Which brings me to the other reason I'm here," Caleb said. "The guild seems like the ideal tool for achieving my goal of slaying a goblin."
"Does it now?" A wry, knowing smile touched her lips as her posture straightened, the friendly half-elf receding as the guild official took her place. "You're not wrong. While we've discussed the basics, allow me to give you the formal overview of what membership entails."
She rested her palms on the counter, leaning forward. "First, sanctioned work. Members gain exclusive access to all contracts posted through this Hall. That includes everything from simple foraging requests to official bounties that pay in coin and guild prestige."
Caleb listened, recognizing the framework of the pitch. It was the same as any corporate recruiter's, just with more dangerous threats than a malfunctioning printer.
"Second," Felicity continued, her voice clipped, "proprietary intelligence. Our maps are the most detailed in the region, updated weekly with reports on beast migrations and environmental hazards. That information is the difference between a successful hunt and a fatal misstep. It is not available to the public."
She paused, letting that sink in. "Finally, the network. You receive preferential rates when selling materials directly to the Guild, and your rank is recognized at any branch across the Dominion. You are never without allies or a place to find employment."
"Sounds perfect! I'm totally in. How do I join?"
"One gold piece. Up front."
Caleb did the mental math. At five silver a day with his new salary, minus living expenses... "That would take me over a month to save."
"Most take longer."
His business instincts kicked in. There was always a way around the initial buy-in. Employee assistance programs, deferred payment plans, performance-based contracts...
"What about sponsorships? Deferred payment against future earnings?"
Felicity's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's... not common knowledge. Where did you hear about that?"
"Just seemed logical. The guild invests in promising talent and recoups the cost from their success. Standard business practice where I'm—" He caught himself. "Where I've seen it done before."
"You're not wrong. Staff members can sponsor candidates with potential, deferring the fee against future earnings. But it's rare. We need to be certain the investment will pay off."
"Damn it all!" A rough voice interrupted their conversation. "This kid gets special treatment? You gotta be kiddin' me!"
The man leaned against the counter nearby, face flushed with drink and resentment. His leather armor bore old stains and poorly mended tears. An adventurer, but not a successful one.
"I had to scrape for three months to afford my membership," he continued, voice rising. "Now every half-breed whelp thinks they deserve charity?"
Felicity gave the man a hard look. "Branson, you're drunk. I think it's time you head home."
"Not so drunk I cannut smell the favoritism!" He jabbed a finger at Caleb. "What makes him so special? Another dull-ear thinking they're better than—"
Caleb's response was swift, but entirely mental. Engaging physically would play into the man's narrative so he concentrated on his Status screen instead, using a technique he'd practiced during quiet moments. The interface appeared in his mind's eye, clear as daylight. With careful Intent, he selected just the relevant Skills section and willed it forward, making it visible.
"I'm a good investment," he said calmly.
The ghostly blue panel materialized between them:
SKILLS
Combat
[Ignore Pain (F)] - Novice
[Dodge (F)] - Novice
[Combat Analysis (F)] - Novice
[Iron Root Stance (F)] - Practiced
[Breaching Thrust (F)] - Practiced
[Turning the Point (F)] - Practiced
[Linebreaker Sweep (F)] - Practiced
[Phalanx Guard (F)] - Practiced
[Decisive Strike (F)] - Novice
Felicity went wide-eyed, genuine shock surfacing behind her quartermaster's composure. Even drunk Branson took a step back.
"That's..." Felicity choked on the word. She cleared her throat. "How long have you been practicing?"
"Started this morning."
"Bearshit!" Branson surged forward. "Nobody gains that many Skills that fast! He's clearly been training—"
"I'm telling the truth." Caleb met the man's bloodshot eyes steadily. "Go ask Captain Hatch if you need a witness."
The name shut him down. Branson's mouth worked soundlessly. Challenge a half-elf kid? Sure. Challenge the garrison Captain's assessment? Even drunk, he wasn't that stupid.
He shoved himself away from the counter with a curse, stumbling toward a nearby table. "Damn dull-ears," he growled, slamming his fist down on the scarred wood.
A haze of something that looked like heat flared around the man's arm just before impact. The wood splintered with a sound far too loud for a simple punch.
Caleb watched, his mind on fire. What was that? He noted the sudden, explosive force, recalling his own clumsy attempts. He had pushed that energy into his fist, but without any control the power had simply spasmed through his hand, snapping his fingers back painfully. Branson had shaped the power, channeling its strength through a trained motion.
He strained his [Spiritual Perception] trying to grasp the event for his memory, but there was nothing to hold on to. He had seen the aftermath with his eyes as a faint distortion in the air, but his spiritual senses had registered only a brief flare of energy from afar. The burst was chaotic and indistinct, offering nothing further to analyze.
Darn it all. If he could have felt how the energy moved his Impartments might have been able to deconstruct it. But he was blind to the specifics. He could see the result, but the method remained hidden. For now…
The frustration was so consuming that he almost missed it when Felicity finally broke the awkward silence. She had been staring at Caleb for a long moment, until finally speaking in a hushed murmur he probably wasn't meant to hear. "Is he some kind of genius?"
Felicity's statement interrupted his analysis, yanking his attention back to the counter. Genius? The word caught him. For weeks, his entire strategy had been to be invisible; the quiet, reliable boy in the kitchen. But Branson's casual bigotry had scraped something raw inside him. For a moment, the anger had boiled over, and he'd just wanted to shut the man up in the most undeniable way possible.
And he had. By ignoring every one of Cassia's warnings about standing out. He'd just hung a huge sign above his head that could make its way back to Captain Hatch. Crumb. That was monumentally stupid, Foster. He had to regain control of the narrative, and fast. Downplay it. Frame it as ordinary talent.
"I just learn fast." Caleb quickly dismissed the status display. "So, about that sponsorship?"
She shook her head, a slow exhale clearing the shock from her expression. "Yeah, alright. If that's true, of course you're sponsored. I expect you to make our branch lots of money in the future."
She slid a small bronze token across the counter. It was circular, stamped with the same mossy spruce as the other badges but lacked any of the luminous mist.
"This is just a temporary marker to show you're an initiate-in-training. Your real badge is something you have to earn. Complete your first contract, bring me the proof, and then you'll take the Oath of the Guild and get your soul-bound bronze. Don't lose that token in the meantime."
"Understood." Caleb tucked the guild badge safely inside his shirt.
"Welcome to the Adventurer's Guild, Thalorin Caldorn."
Something unclenched inside him. One obstacle down. "Thank you, Felicity. Now, about getting equipped for that goblin hunt. I'll need a spear."
"No."
"But—"
"Guild policy is ironclad on this. We don't front equipment to novice members. Period. Your potential doesn't change the economics: if you die out there, we lose both the member and the gear."
"Then how am I supposed to—"
"However," she said, raising a hand. "I saw that Skill list. More importantly, I saw combat Skills at Practiced rank after one day of training. That's more than swift learning. It's frankly unheard of."
She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice for his ears alone. "I'll make you a personal deal. This offer is from me, Felicity the investor, acting outside my role with the Guild. Show me you can raise one of those combat skills, say, [Breaching Thrust], to Adept rank. Prove this isn't just a fluke. Do that, and I'll personally front you the cost of a spear."
She looked on, lips curling in amusement. "With ten percent interest, naturally."
"Deal." Caleb agreed without hesitation. With his Impartments, reaching Adept rank would just take intentional practice. He hoped. "Though that raises an obvious question."
"Which is?"
The morning drills weren't enough, and his unnatural learning speed would attract the wrong kind of attention in a group. He had to practice alone.
"How am I supposed to reach Adept? The scheduled training will take too long, and I don't want to test Selara's patience."
She considered this, fingers drumming on the counter. "Fair point. Here's some free advice: approach Captain Hatch directly. Tell him you want to borrow a practice spear for extra training outside of regular hours."
"Won't that seem presumptuous?"
"Presumptuous?" She snorted. "The man's a career soldier. Initiative and dedication are the only currencies he respects. A recruit asking for extra practice? He'll probably pin a medal on you."
"Or assign me extra laps."
"That too. But you'll get your practice spear."
It was reassuring, but his mind was already moving ahead. A practice spear would serve a double purpose: legitimate skill advancement and a cover story for his abnormal progress.
"Thanks for the advice. And the sponsorship."
"Don't thank me yet. The guild takes its investments seriously. You default on this debt, and we have extensive ways of collecting."
A shiver ran down Caleb's spine at that pronouncement. "I… won't let you down."
Caleb nodded his thanks and headed for the door. The oppressive glare of highsun was yielding to the cooler, crimson light of second dusk. It was a relief from the Hall's stifling atmosphere. He thought of the endless hours he'd clocked at a desk, grinding away at spreadsheets for a promotion he didn't even want. The tired eyes and stale coffee, a slow death by a thousand mundane tasks.
Now, he had a goal that mattered.
Adept rank. A real spear. An apprenticeship. Work that resonated with him and his goals.
For the first time in a long, long time, Caleb couldn't wait to get started.