The orange light of sunset fell on Sam as he left the library later that evening, stumbling a little as his eyes drank in the natural light, an unwelcome brightness after the warm, artificial glow of the library. His stomach rumbled as he turned and locked the door behind him, tossing the key into his bag.

Briskly, the library dark and closed, he turned and strode over to the next building, a three story wooden building with a simple brown layer of paint and a small plaque hanging on the door. Whereas some guilds like to stylize their buildings, adding fancy decorations and architectural flairs according to their themes, the famed Adventurer’s Guild needed no such embellishment. First founded just over five thousand years ago, it was considered to be the institution that represented the start of the modern age. It had been founded by a team of Rankers with the goal of uniting adventurers across the continent, letting them benefit from sharing experience and delegating requests to those most suited for them. It had become a point of pride that the Adventurer’s Guild had a branch in every single town, creating a network of communication and emergency response that saved countless lives each year. And, it must be said, made a hefty profit for a significant number of people.

Regardless of how it came to a place like Gulwich, Sam was thankful of its presence, largely due to the man currently inside, attempting to aim a bow with his feet while standing on his hands, his one eye closed.

“You know,” Sam pointed out, “There’s no point in closing your eye when you’re not facing the right way to begin with.”

The man sprung up, lithely flipping right side up and catching his bow out of the air in a single motion, ending with his arms spread wide out and a broad smile on his face.

“Chief!” He said, joyfully, “I thought you had abandoned me for good this time!”

Ignoring his offer for a hug, Sam looked around the room disapprovingly. The ground floor was a single room, typically with several simple wooden tables and stools placed all over. There was a well-stocked bar at the far end, as well as a nearby pinboard that was, as always, empty, and a flight of stairs leading upwards. At some point since Sam had last been there the day before, the room had been trashed. Not a single table remained upright, and several had been split completely in half, the arrows lodged in the floor revealing the culprit.

Picking up one of the stools and dusting it off, Sam sat down, crossing his arms and staring at the guild worker. “Really, Gil? You couldn’t have done this outside?”

Giltoris, the official Adventurer’s Guild representative for Gulwich, chuckled without an ounce of guilt. “Aw, come on, chief,” he grinned, “Haven’t ya’ ever wanted to break some stuff for the fun of it?”

Sam shook his head. “What will it take for you to drop that stupid nickname, anyway?”

The older man used his foot to flip a stool upright, sitting down and facing Sam. His right hand, missing most of both its index and middle fingers, stroked his bristly beard, striped with grey. “Well, chief,” he said, “I suppose I could be persuaded to drop it if you’d help me straighten this place up while I make dinner.”

The [Scholar] shot a skeptical glance. “Is that a promise?”

Gil clutched a hand to his chest, his one eye widening in shock. “Why, chief! Are you doubting my honor? I was an [Oathkeeper] once, ya’ know?”

The boy glared at his friend. “I know for a fact that you’re lying about that one. That’s a Command Magic class.”

“Am I, then?” Gil laughed, patting one of the overturned tables. “Get started, chief.” He stood up and walked over to the bar, grabbing a knife block the size of his head from under the counter with one hand.

While Sam started hoisting the intact tables back upright, the guild worker began tossing tools and ingredients up onto the counter, including several magic items; constructions of metal and wire with red or blue colored gems embedded in them. He used a spoon to pull a chunk of yellow fat out of a jar, tossing it into a flattish bowl mounted on top of one of the devices, the butter sizzling as it hit the pan. With his other hand, he gripped a knife between his thumb and ring finger, chopping a head of cabbage into strips. “Do you know,” he asked thoughtfully, “What the best part of living in the Spring Belt is?” He used his knife to toss a slice into his mouth, closing his eye in exaggerated bliss. “The food,” he continued, “When I was a [Gigolo] in-”

“Lie,” Sam interrupted, tossing a scrap of wood into the corner, “But do continue waxing poetic about this dusty old shithole.”

Gil brandished his knife at Sam. “Don’t you go mocking me, chief. That’s workplace harassment is what it is. Anyway,” he continued, “When I was performing unspecified activities all the way Winterwards, the only fresh food we could get was meat we killed ourselves. I tell ya’, ice bear meat stops being good after the first year.”

Sam perked his ears. “We?” he asked, “So you had a party?”

Gil looked away. “Ah… nevermind about that. Has to do with my, uh,” he waved his free hand at his face, indicating the thin white line stretching from cheek to forehead, part of the scar hidden by the eyepatch over his right eye.

Sam nodded. “Any progress on your class?”

The man grimaced. “Not a whit. Still stuck at 119. Not a drop of experience for anything. [Farshot Ranger] is a tough class at the best of times, and it's near impossible to get better when I’m like this.”

Sam clicked his tongue in sympathy. “That’s rough. Have you thought about what you’re going to pick once you make it through?”

Gil used his intact hand to grab a beige colored bulb, guiding it as his other hand reduced it to a mass of chopped slivers. “Well, once I cap this one, I’m done with bow classes for good, I think,” he said, a hint of regret in his voice, “But I ain’t yet sure I’m done with adventuring for good.” He tossed the mass into the frying pan, sniffing deeply as the scent of fried garlic filled the air.

With a fluid motion, he grabbed three bottles from the countertop, one filled with an inky black liquid, the next filled with a bright red paste, and the last running low on a golden colored viscous liquid. Pouring them together into a bowl, he whisked them together as he spoke. “Then again,” he continued, “I’ve come to enjoy this. Maybe I see how far I can get as a [Chef] or [Talent Scout]. Speaking of,” he raised his thick eyebrows at Sam. “It’s been, what, three years? You’ve been sitting still at 20 nearly as long as I’ve been stuck.”

Doubtfully, Sam furrowed his brow. “Three years? No, it’s only been…” He held up a hand, marking off each year on his fingers. “Okay, so it’s been three years. So what?”

“Sam,” he said, uncharacteristically serious, “Ya’ can’t keep putting it off. Ya’ ain’t gaining any experience like this. I don’t want to see ya’ squander your potential by giving up some of the best leveling years of your life.” As he spoke, he cut several pieces of chicken breast into cubes, tossing them into the frying pan with a satisfying sizzle, the scent of cooking meat filling the room.

Sam shifted his feet uncertainly. “Look, Gil…”

Gil held up his hand. “Ya’ don’t have to explain yourself to me, chief. I get it. You don’t feel like any of the options you’re getting are right for ya’. But that leaves you with two options; ya’ can either pick one that ain’t great, and hope it’ll give ya’ the points ya’ need, or ya’ can go out and adventure. Try and get a rare skill or something. But ya’ can’t do nothing and hope something is gonna change, alright?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, Gil, I get it. You’re right.” The last of the tables turned upright, Sam sat down at one near the bar counter. “Any takers on my request?”

The older man shook his head. “Chief, I’ll give it to you straight. Things aren’t looking good. You need a team that’s experienced enough to keep you safe on your way to Parlton, but not so experienced that they’ll treat you as an escort target instead of a team member.”

“Or,” Sam chimed in, “They could be generous enough to escort me, but do it for free.”

Gil snorted. “Fat chance. Anyone that altruistic left this place behind ages ago. The only adventurers who hang out in the Spring Belt are retired folks like me or people who care more about money than levels or people.”

The [Scholar] put his head down on the table. Muffled by the wood, he sighed. “When am I gonna get out of here, Gil?”

The [Farshot Ranger] shot a quick glance at the chicken, then walked around the corner, pulling a stool over next to his young friend. He sat down and threw an arm around Sam, smiling fondly. “Have I ever told you why I call ya’ chief, chief?”

“Mm.”

“It’s cause I see something in ya’, chief. A spark, a little seed of something special.”

Sam sat up straight, pushing Gil’s hand aside. He narrowed his eyes. “This is your way of trying to push a job off on me again, isn’t it?”

“Well, ‘bout that…” The man scratched the back of his head, chuckling nervously. “Maybe a bit."

Sam crossed his arms. “No.”

“I ain’t kidding ‘bout that spark, chief. You’re gonna be someone one day, like it or not.”

“No, Gil.” Sam steeled his glare. “I’m a [Scholar], not an adventurer. I only registered so I can get to Parlton without paying the fee to make a formal request.”

“Chief, chief, chief.” Gil shook his head. “Do ya’ think I don’t know ya’? Don’t underestimate this old man!” Menacingly, he reached around to his back, grabbing something tucked into his belt behind his shirt.

Sam jumped back out of reflex, tripping over the stool and failing to catch himself. He sprawled into a pile of gangly limbs, reorienting himself clumsily and pointing two fingers at Gil. “Tyld it, Gil. You startled me.”

Gil had the decency to look somewhat guilty. “Ah… Sorry ‘bout that. Say, is there mana on those, or are ya’ flipping me off?” He peered curiously at Sam’s hand.

Still glaring, Sam shook his hand, letting the ball of Soil Attribute mana dissolve into the air without turning into a spell. Then, he made the same gesture again, index and middle finger pressed together and outstretched. “There was mana. Now I’m flipping you off.”

The grizzled adventurer laughed, then brandished what he was holding, a small brown book with a stylized lightning bolt on the cover. The top half of the bolt was red, the bottom blue, a symbol instantly recognizable to those who paid attention to researchers of magic.

“Artillery Elthoc’s new book?” Sam gasped, his eyes wide, “How did you get it so fast? I didn’t even know it was out yet!” He reached for it, only for Gil to pull it back, waggling one of his finger stumps.

“Ah-ah-ah!” He said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’d love to give this to ya’, chief, but its reserved. This is a mission reward for an E-rank request. If only,” he said, clutching his hand to his cheek, “If only there were some brave E-rank adventurer registered here in Gulwich to help me! Alas, I suppose there’s only an old cripple and a [Scholar], too frail to-”

“Fine!” Sam burst out, throwing his hands up. “I’ll do it. What’s the job?”

Gil smiled. “I’ve got a skill telling me a nest popped up about two miles Summerwards out of town. I want ya’ to go investigate and tell me the attribute and the category of the monsters.”

Sam eyed him warily. “I don’t think I can take on a nest on my own.”

“I don’t want ya’ to,” Gil replied, a serious look on his face. “If it’s a Vengeance type, even one attack could tyld ya’ up for good. Just look at it from a distance this weekend and I’ll give ya’ the book.”

“Mmhm,” Sam said, thoughtfully, “And this has nothing to do with boosting my guild rank at all, obviously.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gil said, returning to his place behind the bar and emptying the frying pan into two bowls, one of which he handed to Sam along with a fork. “Eat up. It’s getting late, and I know you want to get out of here before the crowds come.”

Sam nodded his thanks, digging in. Halfway through the meal, he put his fork down. “Crap,” he said, “Gil, I can’t do it this weekend. I’ve got a party to go to.”

Gil spit out his food, looking at Sam in shock. “You’re kidding! Are ya’ really the chief?” He waved his hand in front of his eyes, frowning. “I’d think I’d’ve noticed if there was an Entrapment or Dissonance monster…”

The [Scholar] rolled his eyes. “Martha is making me go. You’re not hallucinating.”

“Ah,” Gil nodded, wiping the food off his chin, “No big deal anyway. Just take care of it whenever, alright? It’ll keep.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, “You’re okay with letting monsters run around?”

“It’s fine, chief.” Gil dismissed his worries with a wave. “It’ll take weeks before they eat enough mana to evolve around here. They’re practically babies. Might even be a good idea to farm some levels if they’re an Agency or Dissonance type. Hey!” He said, grinning, “Before your party, come stop by. I was a [Fashonista] once!”

“Okay, there’s no way you had that!” Sam pointed his fork at his friend. “I’m not even sure that’s a real class!”

“Very confident, huh? Finish your chicken, chief.”

Sam shook his head, chuckling. “I’ll figure out your first five classes one day.” He scarfed down the rest of his meal, then hurried to the door. “See you tomorrow, Gil.”

“Seeya, chief.”

The [Scholar] left the building, emerging into the dark, the magic lights and lanterns of Gulwich illuminating the streets as people finished their last business of the day. Within the next hour, the men of the town, Sam’s father included, would hurry to the guild, where the only ranker in town would cheerfully serve them drinks, laughing and joking like he was just another farmer, and not a battle-hardened adventurer.

Sam drew a cloak of darkness around himself, making himself virtually invisible as long as he didn’t walk in front of a light. As he walked, he took a deep breath, drawing in the cool night air.

You have cast Shadow Cloak! You have gained experience in the Medium Dark Magic dynamic skill!

Even covered by darkness as he was, he had almost no trouble seeing where he was going, aided by the skill he had gotten at level 20 of his [Scholar] class. A passive skill, it kept his eyes at top condition, eliminating eye strain no matter how long he read for, and making it much easier for him to see in all but pitch darkness. The light of the stars and first moon showed him a world in shades of grey, every rock on the ground outlined in detail.

It’s a little ironic, he mused, that the time I feel most awake is at night. He smiled wryly, to himself, considering. I don’t feel like sleeping quite yet. Maybe I’ll go run an errand.

Still grinning, he turned himself around and began jogging Summerwards.