In hindsight, it should have occurred to Hirrus that finding one nice adventurer would be impossible. Or, at least, more difficult than originally assumed.

Many of the people he approached responded in the same manner as that first adventurer. They pointedly ignored him and left without acknowledging anything he said. Some occasionally tried to loudly and vocally disengage with him. Others showed mild interest until he mentioned Last of the Strong, at which point they grumbled something about advertisement and suddenly became just as rude as the others.

And despite his persistence, none of them would give him an answer. Everyone he tried to stick with beyond their first rejection grew more and more hostile.

Some of them broke into a full run out of the market, obviously looking to lose him.

Even after spending his whole life as a guard at the disposal of any adventurer looking for directions, Hirrus was surprised at how universal their rejection was. They’d always seemed a dissimilar, eclectic bunch. They were identified by a series of characteristics that were almost universally rooted in uniqueness. He thought that meant that while many were rude or outright hostile towards him, he could eventually find one who would answer his question.

But the best he could manage was total indifference. The only times he wasn’t being cursed at in their foreign words was when he was being outright ignored from start to finish.

It all made him incredibly irate.

At one point, Hirrus had to take a full minute to calm himself down. He stepped out of the crowded market and found a quieter side street where he could cool off.

Aggravation was threatening to overtake his senses. The worst wasn’t even the lack of manners, but how obviously close he was to the information he wanted. Everyone seemed to know who Last of the Strong were. Some of them had to know where to find them. Just mentioning their name made them instantly view him as an annoyance, and lose interest in interacting with him at all.

It was, unsurprisingly, as if they didn’t view him as a person. Hirrus didn’t think of himself as angry at his core, but every conversation felt like it was increasing his internal temperature by a degree. After an hour, he was near the boiling point. He had to get a hold of himself before he did something stupid.

His mind flashed back to that adventurer he’d struck down back in Yenon. It took an effort of will to focus on how it had left him without further information, rather than on the vindictive feeling of satisfaction that the violence had sent roaring up his arm and into his heart.

“Ah, shit,” someone said from up the street. “This fucking guy.”

“Just don’t make eye contact,” their companion replied. “He’ll leash back to the market eventually.”

Two adventurers had chosen the same street to leave the market by, and were now very obviously trying to avoid even looking at Hirrus. One of them was wearing an impractically large-ringed chainmail over a boiled leather chestplate, with a very small shortsword - more of a long dagger - on one hip. The other was wearing heavy splint mail with a greatsword sheathed across their back.

“I’m just trying to get a question answered,” Hirrus grumbled. He wasn’t cooled off enough to deal with these two. Just letting them pass seemed the smartest course.

“I hope they fucking deactivate him,” the man in the boiled leather muttered as they passed. “It’s giving them a huge image problem.”

“I wonder if they even know,” the man with the greatsword said. “You know how communication gets in a guild that big. Whoever unlocked him might not know what he’s doing yet. You could ask one of their recruiters.”

“Do you know where to find them?” Hirrus asked, unable to stop himself from latching on to the implication that they might know something. “Or where I can find someone who could tell me?”

“Oh, shit,” the man with the greatsword said, putting his hand up beside his face to shield himself from looking at Hirrus. “He saw us.”

“I’m not trying to give you a quest,” Hirrus snapped. He stepped towards the pair quickly, moving to block their progress. “I just want a direction. That’s all.”

“A direction?” The man with the greatsword stepped up, trying to physically shove Hirrus out of the way. “Go to hell. There’s your direction.”

Hirrus stood strong against the attempt to physically remove him. He gritted his teeth. “Just tell me where I can find their recruiters. Or anyone actually attached to the guild. I don’t need you to bring me there or do any quest or anything else. I just want an answer.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” the second adventurer scoffed before turning to his companion. “Just ignore him. Talking to him is just going to make him follow us longer.”

“Don’t ignore me,” Hirrus said, stepping to the side to match the pair as they tried to walk around him. “You know something. You know what I need to know. Just tell me and I’ll go away.”

“I thought I told you to fuck off,” the man with the greatsword said. He reached back to threateningly grasp the hilt of his weapon.

Before Hirrus could temper his reaction, his own axe was in his hands.

He’d reached the boiling point, and even the casual threat had him itching to escalate matters further.

“I’m not going away until you tell me what I need to know,” Hirrus said bluntly.

“This is fucking bullshit,” the man in boiled leather said. “Stupid bullshit NPCs too stupid to live. Just fuck him up, Manav.”

The greatsword swept out of its sheath and down at Hirrus in the blink of an eye. It was unnaturally fast for the size of the weapon. Its wielder was too good with the weapon.

Before he could react it smashed into his shoulder, carving into him. The blow dealt eight hundred and fifty-six damage.

A tiny sliver of his HP, really.

Hirrus had a brief thought to deescalate the situation. To try and disengage and let them go. If they were willing to go to violence over this, it might have been easier to just walk away.

But they were the ones who had wronged him. They declined to help, and then struck first when he refused to be brushed off so easily.

Justified or not, responding with violence in turn seemed to be the most appropriate response.

His axe lashed out, catching the man’s splint mail squarely on his floating ribs on the right side. The blow was accompanied by a metallic crack of one of the splints of the armor giving way under the twenty-six hundred and ninety damage the attack dealt.

“Holy shitfuck,” the man said, jumping back away from Hirrus, grabbing his ribs. “What the shit!”

The other adventurer drew his blade. “What happened?”

“He hit me like a fucking dungeon boss. Fuck, that fucking hurt!”

“A dungeon boss, huh?” The one with the smaller weapon sized Hirrus up carefully. “Think maybe that means he’ll drop some loot?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. But he knocked the goddamn shit out of me!”

Hirrus drew himself up to his full height. “Just tell me what I need to know,” he repeated, his voice calm and even. “This doesn’t have to go any farther.”

“Fuck that,” the man with the greatsword snapped, “you’re not getting away with this!”

The man dashed forward, the giant weapon arcing in at Hirrus. But he’d seen the speed before. Hirrus stepped aside from the strike with ease. The swordsman was smart, however. The weapon reversed direction right after it passed to his side, slamming against his thigh a moment later. The resulting eight hundred and seventy-five damage was better than before, but nowhere near a threat to Hirrus' health pool.

Hirrus stepped forward and the man leaped back instantly with a yelp. He narrowly avoided the incoming axe catching his shoulder. But Hirrus hadn’t even tried, either.

The other man raised his hand, and Hirrus saw something that gave him pause. Fragments of dust and stone materialized out of the air, forming a boulder roughly the size of a chair hovering over the man’s outstretched arm. With a gesture, the enormous stone launched itself at Hirrus.

Arcana.

It was the ability that separated adventurers from normal folk. There was a wide variety of abilities it could give them, ranging from small increases to strength or speed, to the truly fantastical.

Like conjuring a rock out of nothing and hurling it at people.

Hirrus ducked aside from the giant missile, but it still clipped his arm. It set him slightly off-balanced as it dealt twelve hundred and thirty-five damage to him.

Despite the disparity in weapon size between the two, Hirrus reassessed the relative threat level of the pair. The smaller was more dangerous. From what he knew about Arcana, it would take a long moment before the man could do that again. Now would be his chance to neutralize the threat.

True to that expectation, the smaller man approached Hirrus with his blade now. He thrust it forward with speed only the weapon’s small size could afford.

Hirrus accepted the blow, letting it jab into the armor on his chest. It dealt seven hundred and sixteen damage - barely a tickle - as the weapon scraped against the metal rings of his armor.

Accepting the blow meant that the adventurer left himself wide open.

Hirrus’ axe smashed against the man’s gut for two thousand seven hundred and forty-seven damage before he could rear back for another stab.

“Oh fuck,” the adventurer said. The dagger snapped out again quickly, the man’s arms on an instinctive offensive despite the fear in his eyes. The blade scratched the side of Hirrus' jawline, but only did five hundred and forty-eight damage. Hirrus turned to minimize how deep the blade could actually dig into his face, and used that to build momentum to bring his axe across in a vicious backhand, smashing into the adventurer’s arm.

A huge gouge came out of the armor there, and blood fountained from the wound. Twenty-six hundred and seventy damage.

The adventurer turned and scrambled away from Hirrus with fear in his eyes.

“Manav,” he cried, “cover me!”

The greatsword-wielder stepped up in between Hirrus and the badly wounded adventurer. His sword was raised, obviously set to parry Hirrus' next attack. Hirrus felt strongly that he needed to finish the job before another boulder got thrown at his face. But it was likely that he had a bit longer, and so was willing to dish out some damage on the foe stupid enough to interpose himself between Hirrus and his quarry.

Hirrus approached quickly, axe raised up high to match the greatsword’s position. He feinted a strike high, but swept the weapon in low instead. The axe cut across the front of his opponent’s thigh. Metal greaves cracked like an egg as Hirrus struck for two thousand, six hundred and seventy-six damage.

“Shit,” the adventurer said as he stumbled aside. His sword flailed wildly in front of himself as the momentum of Hirrus' strike set him off-balance. “Get back! Get away from me!”

“Manav!” The other adventurer scrambled across the ground, trying to get away from Hirrus. “Manav, don’t let him fucking kill me! Do something!”

“I don’t have anything!” the greatsword-wielding adventurer - Manav - snapped. “What do you want me to do?”

Hirrus didn’t wait for the man with the dagger to come up with an answer.

Instead, he pounced. He brought his axe down with a wrenching motion that came from his shoulder, and slammed the weapon into the man’s chest.

The decorative metal rings snapped like they were made of spun sugar, and the boiled leather put up only as much resistance as an overcooked steak. Twenty-six hundred and eighty-seven damage hammered into the man’s chest.

Blood sprayed from the wound, and the adventurer let out a gasping death rattle. Hirrus felt a sense of satisfaction at the man’s death, and he couldn’t stop a rictus grin from spreading itself across his face.

“Shit!” Manav said. “You’re a- what the fuck are you?”

Hirrus turned on the man with the greatsword. He had to plant his foot in the dead man’s chest to rip his weapon free from the deep wound it had inflicted. The resulting suction sound echoed off the walls of their surroundings. It made Hirrus’ grin grow a touch wider.

Despite his question, Manav didn’t stick around to wait for an answer. Instead, he turned and bolted in terror.