Chapter 2: Eligible for promotion
The citizens of E-Naeurl were treated to a rare sight. A demi-human had ventured into the city, tagging along with a man at that. And yet, none of them paid the duo much mind. The citizens lived their own lives, clearly unperturbed by the tremors of an adventurer's visit. However, there was something more profound in their gazes.
An almost intentional dullness — as if all the edges of their existence had been smoothed out. A man carrying his day's haul bumped against another, nearly dropping his supply crate. Despite that, he refused to acknowledge the event beyond mumbling some empty-hearted apology at the offender. The two continued, unfazed. The further they went into the city, the more of these events would occur.
Merchants sold their goods without haggling. A customer would point at a cut of salmon and the vendor would offer it immediately, pocketing the handful of coins with a rehearsed thanks. This went on at every corner, every street, every block.
All the while, Sitri would erupt into loud fits of laughter – bouts of crude self-amusement which he alone understood.
The guard ignored him.
The impromptu city tour ended at the barracks. It certainly did its job in presenting an intimidating allure to the common man, but to an adventurer, it paled in comparison to others across the kingdom. Even to the locals, the nearby city of Re-Urovua provided more landmass, more ships and greater defenses. It was a wonder why any adventurer would stop here rather than venture eastwards in search of greater glory.
The guard entered first, leading Sitri down a stone-built hallway. Several patrolmen sat around, counting their arrows or sharpening their projectile's points. Whilst the guard guided him further, the warrior could no longer bear the silence.
"How come?"
"Hm?"
Sitri shook his head and repeated, "How come none of you guys have swords!? What's up with this city? Men who fight exclusively from long-range? It's no wonder you're all bored to death! Listen up, a man's soul yearns for closeness! It's the reason why we make such terrible pen pals! Sure, we can regale women with grandiose tales of our lives, but ultimately our mind will succumb – and then we'll ask! 'Might I request a portrait of you, milady? In which city art thou stationed?' Much to the dismay of our muse, alas! Gahahaha!"
For a second, the guard's lip curled. He exhaled once, in the faintest hint of amusement, but it was enough for Sitri.
"Ah! You get it? You totally get it, right? That's why most mages are usually all girly-looking – even the dudes! Look, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with attacking from long-range, but I'm not seeing the balance."
The guard brought Sitri and Fadila to the administrative area, whereupon he grabbed a citation sheet from the nearby shelf and sat down, motioning for Sitri to take the seat opposite him. Fadila took the opportunity to climb down Sitri's back. The pair looked like two naughty children being scolded by the principal—
"Name?"
—With one of those children refusing to even pretend he could act his own age. Unapologetically self-absorbed, Sitri answered with a theatrical bout of aggrandizing gestures. "Sitri! Legendary Adventurer of the New World! The Max STR, Max RES Obliterator! Ex-Owner of the rare and unique Demon Set! Conqueror of hearts and—"
"Sitri. And you?" The guard looked towards the gobliness.
"—Paragon of lust!"
"I cut you off on purpose! Stay quiet, please, will you?" Much as the guard attempted to ignore Sitri's unbearable blabbering, the warrior refused to grant him peace. Each time, his boisterous nature would clash with the guard's patience and spark up a reaction. Those smoothed-out borders had no choice but to roughen.
An apologetic Fadila replied, "Fadila."
The guard jotted down the information, "Human and demi-human: goblin." He spared another glance to mark down their features, then paused.
"Adventurers, you say?" He tapped the table with his plume; specks of black ink dripped from its tip. "Do you have your plates on you?"
Sitri, as though waiting for this very moment, twisted the whole of his upper body – his shoulder facing the guard. The man from E-Naeurl found himself staring at that rounded mass of muscle. Even the way it hugged the opening of his sleeve was excessive – he was choking the life from that helpless tunic. The might on display would have given him pause, were it not all so overly familiar to the guard.
"Feast your eyes upon these!"
A tremendous slam erupted in the office room. There was the subtle clink of metal striking together. For how sudden the gesture had been, Sitri had done nothing more than tap his steeled fingertips atop the table. Beneath the silver-tinted claws of his gauntlet there was—
More silver.
The guard inspected the plates. "Silver rank?"
"That's right! Silver-ranked adventurers! Gahahahaha!"
Silence ensued. The guard reached for a stack of documents near the bottom of the shelf. He pinched out the third sheet amongst the pile and scanned the names. His mumbling was almost inaudible.
"Ardent Blaze. Glory Evermore. Sacred Fire. Swords of Darkness. Xileon Pledge." After double-checking the list, "I don't see your names anywhere."
"We just got promoted a week ago. That's why."
"Uh huh. So you're Iron-ranked."
"What? No, no! Silver!" Sitri proudly lifted one of his shimmering plates and lined it next to his battle gauntlet. The color matched.
But the guard had already switched to another registry. "Ah. Here you are. Sitri and Fadila. Iron-ranked. Eligible for promotion."
"That's right. And we cleared the promotion quest already."
"The registry only updates every month for lower ranks, so unfortunately I still have you listed as iron."
"But we're Silver-ranks."
"Maybe, but my citation has to match the registry. Sorry." The guard proceeded to mark them down as Iron-ranked adventurers.
"Don't forget the eligible for promotion part."
"…"
Iron-ranked – eligible for promotion.
Sitri was handed his citation, and the guard presented his hand before him. Unsure as to what the gesture meant, the warrior shook it.
"Oi, dunce. That'll be 5 copper coins."
"Haaaaaaaaaa!? For what!? You couldn't even get our ranks right!" Sitri shot up from his seat, much to the smug satisfaction of the guard who casually crossed his hands behind his head.
"Public indecency."
"Grrr….!" Sitri looked down at the team's purseholder. In contrast, Fadila wore a calm smile as though she had been given some good news. Her digits dug into her robe pocket and she pulled out a small leather pouch. She counted the coins one at a time and placed them on the guard's table.
"Fadila, check the compass. I'm sick of this place already."
The trio caught wind of a man's voice coming from down the hall. A distant echo at first, it quickly grew into a louder holler. It wasn't just that the man was shouting, he was simply loud. With his words, with his presence, with his appearance – he commanded attention wherever he went. Even Sitri, who was busy fuming at his precious stash of seized copper, caught a flash in the corner of his eye.
There was a streak of green and the sheen of silver. Gold trimmings accentuated the hint of red fluttering from the man's brow. The guard was the first to react. He stood upright at once, adjusted his uniform and straightened his arms at his sides.
When the large man reached the trio, Fadila's eyes widened in surprise. She tilted her head and peered back at Sitri to confirm he was still there. And indeed he was, standing right next to her. So then who had just entered the room?
"Count Naüa! Good morning." The guard saluted.
"Aah– Good to see you."
A rugged fisherman had ventured into the barracks. Arms as sturdy as shore rocks, he put considerable strain on the plain white tee shirt he wore atop his bronzed body. His muted-yellow fisherman pants were meant to be baggy – and still they found ways to cling to his impressive lower half. It was unclear whether the wet beads rolling down the man's neck were perspiration or if the man sweat saltwater itself. Regardless, he carried the scent of the Rhynd sea along with him.
He appeared powerful beyond his years. Somewhere in his forties, as evidenced by the lack of hair at the top of his dome, the fisherman still held onto his youth with tufts of white at the sides and back of his head. There were many more streaks of white along his forearms and chest. A wild ducktail beard and mustache adorned the contours of his jaw. More impressive yet was the navy admiral-styled coat he wore. There was no question about it – this fisherman was the city's leader.
Sitri glanced at Fadila, who confirmed with a nod that the compass still pointed southwards towards the city's main gate.
"I've made my decision. The city's prisoners will be conscripted into the war effort, but if they don't feel like it… allow them to evacuate."
"Y-Yes, Count. Understood."
"Should things turn bad, it would be unfair to hold them in their cells as they're helplessly slaughtered." The noble fisherman approached the trio, looking over at the guard's shoulder. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt whatever was going on here."
Count Naüa made a gentle grimace as he caught onto the reason for the guard's presence. "I… appreciate you working hard, but maybe we ought to overlook these kinds of issues for the moment. I'm certain the citations can wait." It didn't appear to be scolding, so much as an understanding reassurance. The fisherman's hand on anyone's shoulder was more than enough to bolster their confidence.
While the guard was distracted, Sitri's eyes glinted. He tapped Fadila with his pointer finger and motioned towards their copper coins.
"You!" Sitri exclaimed at last, drawing the men's attention onto him. He thrust his right arm forward and carefully – tap tap – touched Count Naüa's medallion with his clawed digit. "I like your medallion. It's awesome."
Difficult to imagine that such a large grin could widen further, but the fisherman smiled from Sitri's praise, "This old thing? Ha! Just a relic of the old days. Back when my next catch was the only concern on my mind." He looked over the warrior and stopped at his right hand. "That silver gauntlet is quite the piece. Is it decorative?"
"That's my main weapon right there. It's all I need."
"Flashy. Hand-to-hand combat, too? I like it." Count Naüa offered Sitri a handshake with his large grip. The ornamental black gloves he wore couldn't conceal the remnants of strength in his wrists. They were thick and bulky – full of experience with unruly catches.
"What's your name, warrior?"
Naturally, the beast returned the handshake. "Sitri."
"Sitri. And what brings you to our city, Sitri? I'm afraid you've chosen the wrong time to sample our renowned honey sauce."
But the warrior held onto Count Naüa's grip. The fisherman's ocean blue eyes had not yet waned. There were still traces of the sparkling light he'd seen earlier in the day.
"I've come here to save your city!"
