Continue On, Struggler [Berserk/Mushoku Tensei]

[Low Roller]

No lie I'm ready for Grudey to become The Black Swordsman again.

 

[WDCMD]

Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter 12: The Guild. (Part Two of Three)

…

Hugh the Blacksmith.

…​

Hugh the Dwarf worked as a blacksmith. Although, he wasn't very good at it. Nor was he particularly bad in his opinion. He was just him. Hugh. Dwarf first, blacksmith second.

There was a sadness there, he thought. He loved his craft. He loved to craft. Dwarfs were born to craft, after all. Drawn to it. Excelled at it. Be it metal, glass, wood, or whatever. Where another race would see material, dwarves saw lifeblood. So, Hugh loved his job. The simplicity. He got a request from someone—a warrior, adventurer, or someone who needed a steel chain. And he'd make it. Take a piece of metal, heat it 'til it glows red, and sculpt it into whatever was needed. Tink, tink, tink. Hammer on metal, metal on anvil. Then, psh. Metal met oil. Smoke. Done.

That was life. From day to night, from night to day too. If things got really busy. Not an easy life, per se, but it was his life. Knowing that got him through good times and the not-so-good times. More important to him, it'd get him through today.

So far, Hugh's day? Not so good. He was behind on the day's orders. A mistake with an order. Nothing career-destroying, but he had to stop everything to fix it. He had made a mess of the forge, so he had to fix that as well. That meant he didn't have the time to deliver the orders when he finished them. That forced him into hiring someone from the Guild.

As a rule, he didn't like hiring adventurers. Not for jobs he could do himself. Some of the richer smiths could afford to do so easily, but he couldn't. Hiring an adventurer cut into his profits. Not enough to ruin him, but enough to dislike it. However, in the blacksmith business, a smith's reputation meant more than money. Being so late on so many deliveries would ruin him. To avoid ruin, he gritted his teeth, went to the Guild, and put up a notice for the job. Begrudgingly.

Delivery/courier quests were almost always F-Rank, meaning that he'd be charged seven copper coins. However, the price could always go up for special cases. Blacksmiths were almost always special cases. It made sense, though. F-Rank adventurers were almost always rookies or the especially incompetent, and they weren't asking them to deliver mundane things. He was asking them to deliver weapons, armor, and all different kinds of equipment. Heavy things. Things that could be dangerous in clumsy hands. Even more dangerously, things that could be valuable to the courier. So, not only did Hugh have to pay the standard fees, but he also had to pay extra for insurance.

Doing the math, to hire a courier for the day, the Guild charged him ten copper coins. If he took into account all his other operating costs, he was en route to making just above even on the day. Still en route to making rent at the end of the month. Not terrible at all. Not good either. He needed to do better.

Regardless, he needed it done. Now, all he needed to do was wait for a taker.

…​

Hugh had trained himself to hear the front door opening, even when he was wrapped up in his work.

Tinga-ling-ring. Tinga-ling-ring.

Just to be safe, he installed a bell.

Hammer in hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Hello!" Hugh called out, still focused on his work. Whoever it was, they didn't respond. "I'll be with you in a moment."

A hum was all he got in response. A high-pitched one. A woman? A child maybe?

Hugh looked up. It was, in fact, a child.

A child. A boy. Human. A head shorter than Hugh. Sandy-brown hair, green eyes, and a mole under his left eye. Maybe about ten years old, given his dress. A white tunic, brown pants. Both were baggy and loose-fitting, probably to allow him to grow into them as he aged. To make up for the abundance of fabric, he rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, wore a pair of suspenders, and tucked his pants into his black boots. He even had to wear his longsword on his back, despite it being a normal-sized sword.

"Are you from the Guild?" Hugh asked.

The boy nodded, holding a slip of paper out to him.

Hugh bit back a sigh, not even bothering to read it.

Hugh should've expected this. There was no set age for when a person could become an adventurer, so most F-Ranks started young. Usually, that meant twelve or fifteen. Not ten years old….

He shrugged. If the kid thought he could get the job done, Hugh wasn't about to try and argue. He didn't have the time anyway. He still had work to do. He'd just have to take it up with the Guild if the kid messed anything up.

"Do you know the city?" Hugh asked.

The boy shook his head.

"You new to the city?"

The boy nodded.

"Figured." Putting his hammer down, Hugh made his way to the desk where he kept his important documents. He rummaged around until he found what he was looking for—a map he had prepared the day prior—and returned to the boy. "Here, take this. It's a map of the city. I marked down all the places you need to go. If you ever get lost, ask. I'm sure someone will point you the right way. Everything that needs delivering is all there in the corner. Questions?"

The boy shook his head and took the map from him.

"Alright, good." This time Hugh nodded. "Now, are you sure that you're able to lift—"

Before Hugh could finish, the boy walked over to the stack of the boxes. He picked up the largest of the boxes, lifted it over his head, put it on his shoulder, and left without a word or complaint.

Hugh blinked, surprised.

Looks like I'll be getting my money's worth.

…

Guts.

…​

A part of Guts wanted to regret his decision to become an adventurer. It's been like that ever since he and Ghislaine went to the Guild three weeks back. When he learned that all F-Rank quests had to do with manual labor. Meaning that they were all pretty shit to do. And paid like it too. E-Rank quests were slightly better, but not by much. Most were just F-Rank quests with higher stakes, like bodyguard and escort details.

Ghislaine told him that, on occasion, there would be an E-Rank quest involving the hunting of low-level monsters, but those were few and far between. Especially in a place like the Asura Kingdom, whose monsters were weaker than other places in the world. Having accompanied Paul on a few monster hunts, Guts knew that a village could handle those kinds of threats on their own. And, unfortunately for him, most of the bodyguard and escort quests he could find involved time commitments that conflicted with his job as Eris's sparring partner. So, for now, all he could do to raise his rank were these shitty F-Rank quests.

Only eighteen more of these things to go… he thought as he adjusted the package on his shoulder. Well, I guess it beats sparring with that brat.

Normally, Guts would've preferred to be out of F-Rank as quickly as possible. However, between sparring with Eris and his lessons with Ghislaine, free time had become a bit of a commodity. In total, over a week, he maybe had two days where he could totally on his own accord. It just so happened that today was one of those days.

Just one more delivery, Guts thought to himself, stepping out of the dwarf's forge. He, again, adjusted the package—this one being a pain in the ass to hold in particular. It was top-heavy and it looked like it would stand at twice his height if he stood it up, making it a pain to balance as he walked. Maybe some sort of halberd? He guessed, glancing down at the list of addresses that the dwarf had given him. Alright, where am I heading now?

…​

Looks like this is the place.

Guts checked his list to confirm.

Izz the Lizard-Folk, it read. Staying at The Twists and Turns Inn. Up in Northern Roa. Yep, this is it.

It was pretty standard-looking, as far as inns went. Stood about three stories tall. Made mostly out of wood, save for the tiled roof and glass windows. Standing outside of it, he couldn't help but notice the kind of person coming in and out of it. Shady. Grizzled faces upon grizzled faces, hiding behind hooded cloaks.

Guts snorted, adjusting the sword strapped to his back. He had become well-acquainted with these sorts of places in his past life. Places like these were like wolves' dens. Trouble waiting to happen. Things were going to get messy. He could feel it in his bones.

Eh, whatever. He'd been itching for a good fight anyway.

…​

Guts pushed the tavern's door open and immediately felt several eyes land on him. Not a lot but enough. Not just to confirm his suspicions from earlier, but to correct them. The people who frequented this inn weren't just shady. Some sort of criminal element called this place home, he was sure of it now.

A moment of tense silence passed. The conversation and raucous laughter continued on, and it seemed that the entire inn deemed his presence inconsequential.

Good, he thought, looking around. The main dining room was wide and open—save for a large central that cut the room in half. A bar had been built around it. Tables and chairs took up the rest of the space, which were—in turn—taken up by men and women of all races. Some ate, others drank, and many gambled. Few did so quietly. In short, it was a tavern like any other.

Guts strode over to an open spot at the bar. Some of the people already there noticed his approach and started lobbing jeers at him.

"A little young for a place like this, ain't ya?"

"Haha! You see how he's frowning? What? You trying to act all big and bad and shit?"

"No, no, no! Don't you see that widdle stick he's got strapped to his back! He's clearly armed and dangerous!"

Ignoring them, Guts waved the bartender over.

Said bartender—a fat man with pig ears poking out from his black hair—glanced his way, grunted, and put the tankard in his hand down. He tottered over to Guts.

"There something you need?" The pig-man asked, his voice heavy and slow. His red eyes drifted onto the package on his shoulder. "A delivery?"

Guts fished the list of clients out from his pants pocket and handed it to the bartender. "I'm looking for Izz. Slip says that he stays here."

"Oh, you're talking about the lizardfolk." The pig-man clicked his tongue. "He ain't leave his room all day, save for breakfast, so he's probably up in his room still. Waiting for you, methinks." He pointed behind him with his thumb. "There's a set of stairs behind the pillar. They'll take you up to the rooms. Izz is up on the third floor. Room Thirteen."

Guts nodded and pulled away from the bar, leaving a bronze coin in thanks.

…​

Room 13… Room 13… Here.

Finding the door to Izz's room, Guts went to go knock on it, but stopped when he heard movement on the other side. Fast and frantic. Trouble. Or, at the very least, someone expecting it.

Now having a reason to be paranoid, he took a moment to look around—to make sure he was all alone in the hall before making himself known.

"Izz?" he called out, knocking on the door. He received no answer, so he knocked again. "Hurry up and answer. I've got places to be."

A whispered curse came from behind the door. And then, a man with a heavy lisp called out to him, "Who is it?"

"Hugh sent me."

"The blacksmith?"

"Yes."

"You've got my order then?"

"What do you think?"

The man behind the door grumbled, but soon enough, the door popped open a crack.

A pair of beady yellow eyes, slit like a lizard, peered out at him. The door opened a beat later. A man, assumedly Izz, stood in front of him. His form rang true to his race's name. Lizardfolk. A lizard in every way that mattered—from his big lizard head, to his tannish yellow scales. He stood on his hind legs and wore clothes like a human. His arms were distinctly human too, but his fingers were thinner, curved, and led to sharp black claws. That's where all the human parts ended. Guts had to crane his neck back to look him in the eyes.

"Hugh hired you?" Izz asked, scanning him up and down. "Eh, whatever works. Gimme the package. I can't risk keeping this door open too long."

Guts, not giving a damn, handed the package over. The moment Izz had it in his hands, he took a step back into his room and slammed the door shut.

…​

Guts was halfway back to the dining room when he heard hurried footsteps heading his way.

Multiple sets, he noted without breaking stride. In a hurry too.

Almost as if on cue, three figures came into view, barrelling up the stairs. All men. Two humans and a demonfolk with the head of a dog. Given their frowns, and how they were all clearly out of breath, he assumed that they were all moving with the same purpose.

Armed… but their clothes are mismatching, Guts noted, continuing to walk forwards as they neared. The humans led, while the dog-man took up the rear. The prior had swords on their hips, but with how gnarled and blunt-looking they were, they may as well have been toting around butter knives. Or a big ass club like the dog-man behind them. Street gang probably. Guess that explains why the lizard was so paranoid.

Eventually, however, he was forced to stop. The three men, upon seeing him, had spread out to block the only way downstairs.

"Yo, kid!" One of the human thugs, heavily bearded, called out to him. "You the courier Ernest was talking about? Y'know, the bartender downstairs? He said some kid came up here with a delivery. For a lizardfolk named Izz."

Guts kept quiet, knowing better than to get involved with street gang bullshit. If he had to guess, Izz had pissed someone off—probably these goons' boss—and he had to bunker down here at the Twists and Turns to protect himself. Given how readily the bartender, named Ernest apparently, gave up Izz, it seemed that the inn itself was more of a neutral party. Regardless, Guts knew better than to run his mouth. At least not in situations like this.

More likely than not, given the state of their equipment, these three goons were fodder. Muscle meant for intimidation. Looking big and strong enough to intimidate people who didn't know better, but would probably snap like rotten wood when under pressure. The most important detail was that they were expendable. However, them being expendable didn't mean they weren't expected to come back to whatever rock they crawled out from under. Street politics were still just politics. Every action rippled into another down the line. So, despite knowing he could tear right through these goons, Guts needed them to play their hand first.

"My friend just asked you a question," the other human said, noticeably softer in tone. "We know you're the one Ernest was talking about. Aren't many kids your age running around places like this, y'know? Just talk and we'll be out of your hair."

Again, Guts opted to say nothing.

"We're not even asking for that much. Just tell us what he had delivered. We'll leave you alone as soon as we know. Promise."

"I agree," the dog man chimed in.

"Quit going all soft on him!" The bearded man hissed. "We're never gonna get a straight answer outta him if he ain't scared."

"C'mon, that ain't true and you know it," the other human argued. "I mean, look at him. The kid's, what? Ten? Maybe older? He's probably just doing F-Rank quests to rank up. We ain't gotta shake him up for no reason."

"I agree." Again, the dog man chimed in.

"You're just saying that 'cuz you've got a son." The thug with the beard turned towards the dog-headed one—who had drifted over to the opposite side of the hallway to stand next to the non-bearded human. The bearded one pushed a finger into dog-head's chest. "And why're you only agreeing with him?!"

As the three thugs argued, Guts weighed his options. Ideally, he would just kill the three and be done with it. Or just slip away without giving in to their demands. Not to protect Izz. The lizardfolk paid Hugh up front, so Guts didn't need him alive to finish the quest. He could tell the three dumbasses what they wanted and leave. It would probably be the logical thing to do… Then again, he didn't like being talked down to.

Not by people he could kill easily.

Guts's body moved simutaneously, in three different parts. His right hand went up to his sword, his left hand pointed back behind him, and his legs bent into a slight crouch. He started pouring magic energy into the glove Roxy had given to him. Just like that, he was ready to pounce.

So he did.

"Wind Blast."

He shot forward, unsheathed his sword, and threaded the needle between them.

He landed with a thud and rolled into a crouch. His back to the thugs. He sheathed his sword, stood up, and looked back over his shoulder. The three men were staring at him. Scared. Probably because the bearded one had a lot less beard now. Good.

"It was from a blacksmith," Guts said. In the end, he was only here to do a job, collect his reward, and go home. Drawing the ire of some street gang would make any future trips to this area difficult. Hapless as these three seemed, they were more trouble to him dead than alive. "You want to know what it is? Guess. Otherwise? Leave."

"A-A-And there you go!" The clean-shaven one said. "See, I told you the kid wouldn't be any trouble. T-T-Thanks. C'mon, you three, let's go and see Izz."

"I-I agree," the dog man said, nodding.

The (less) bearded one staggered back. "S-Sorry, kid! I-I was just trying to do my job. No hard feelings, o-okay?"

Not caring one way or another, Guts hummed and they left. He watched them disappear up the stairs before turning to leave himself.

A part of him wanted to stick around, just to see how it would all play out. However, an even bigger part of him wanted to turn this quest in and head back to Greyrat Manor, so that's exactly what he did.

…

Roms, One of Two Wolves.

…​

"Damn," a girl, Roms, enveloped entirely in a ruddy-red cloak, growled. Teeth grit. She slipped back behind the corner she had been peering out from, punched the stone brick behind her, and turned to the girl next to her. A pair of golden eyes, identical to her own, looked at Roms from under her own cloak. They asked without asking. "Bastards found Izz, Rems."

"Of course they did," her twin sister said calmly, infuriatingly, considering the situation. "I've been telling you from the start that lizard-brain's less subtle than a dragon. It was only a matter of time 'til someone figured out that something was off with him."

Roms rolled her eyes. Audible calm aside, Rems couldn't mask her frustration. Not fully. Not when she kept coiling her much longer hair, kept in a neat braid, around her finger.

"What now, Ms. Know-It-All?" Roms asked. "We can't just let those thugs take him."

"We could," Rems countered. "But then again, it would be bad if Izz let slip that we were the ones who gave him the blueprint on their hideout."

"What're we waiting for then? Let's get in there."

With that, the twins made for the Twists and Turns Inn.

…​

"Roms! Rems! Welcome back!" Ernest, bartender of the Twists and Turns, called out to the twins as they entered. "I'm guessing you two are looking for Izz too?"

Roms—who was out in front—gave the pig folk a quick nod. "No time to talk right now, Ernest." She fast-walked behind the bar. "Got urgent business."

"Ought to hurry then," the bartender said, raising his voice as the two neared the stairs. "He's got plenty of visitors, and they looked much less friendly than you two do!"

"Thanks, Ernest!" Rems called back, not looking back.

The two sisters up the stairs, but froze when they heard voices. Coming from directly in front of them.

"Yo, kid!" Someone—Roms assumed one of the thugs they had been tailing—called out. The mention of a single kid told her that it wasn't aimed at either of the twins, but it still put her on edge. "You the courier Ernest was talking about? Y'know, the bartender downstairs? He said some kid came up here with a delivery. For a lizardfolk named Izz."

"'A delivery', huh?" Rems whispered. "You think he's talking about…?"

"Has to be," Roms whispered back, chewing at the bottom of her lip as she listened.

A few moments passed, silently, before a different voice asked, "My friend just asked you a question. We know you're the one Ernest was talking about. Aren't many kids your age running around places like this, y'know? Just talk and we'll be out of your hair." Another beat of silence. "We're not even asking for that much. Just tell us what he had delivered. We'll leave you alone as soon as we know. Promise."

"I agree," a third, heavily accented by demonfolk, voice said.

"Quit going all soft on him!" The first voice hissed in a low whisper. "We're never gonna get a straight answer outta him if he ain't scared."

The three voices went back and forth for a while. Two of the voices were in favor of going easy on whoever they were shaking down—probably a young boy, from the sound of it. The third was in favor of roughing him up some. Eventually, however, a fourth voice joined. Higher-pitched, boyish. Confirming Roms's earlier suspicion. She guessed that he was a year or two younger than her or her sister.

"Wind Blast." Vroom!

A burst of noise, something akin to a singular and sudden gust of wind, came from the hallway in front of Roms. Followed by something landing not too far away.

"It was from a blacksmith," the fourth voice said, making Roms let out a string of silent curses. "You want to know what it is? Guess. Otherwise? Leave."

Shit, shit shit! Roms thought to herself, body already itching to shoot forward. This isn't good!

The three adult voices, shakily, gave the boy their thanks. Then, after a hum, she heard a set of three footsteps start clambering away.

"Roms…" Rems whispered, the warning obvious.

Roms turned back to her sister and gave a nod. "Yeah, looks like there's no getting out of this without things getting messy—"

"—Crap."

…Shit. Please don't tell me that….

Roms looked back to the top of the stairs. Just as she feared, she found a pair of emerald green eyes staring down at her and her sister. Contemptuously. Although, the thing that worried her the most was the longsword he still had in hand.

The sight of it pushed her brain into panic mode. She rushed to speak, to make things look not as bad as they seemed, "Look, I know that this looks bad, but—"

"—I don't care," the kid said, putting his sword back into the sheathe on his back, before continuing down the stairs. Past the twins. Surprising them enough that they didn't even try to stop him.

Roms only realized when he reached the bottom of the stairs and walked completely out of sight.

"—Crap, shouldn't we go talk to him?" Roms asked in a harsh whisper.

Rems shook her head and started up the stairs. "Forget the kid. We came here to help Izz, remember?"

"But he just—"

"—It doesn't matter. At least, not right now. Besides, sis, think. What did that kid look like to you?"

"Um… Some newbie adventurer? Why is that— Oh!"

"Exactly. Now, c'mon, lizard brain needs saving."

…

Guts.

…

"You," Eris said, glaring at Guts as he approached Greyrat Manor's staff entrance. Of all the things he expected to find upon his return, his sparring partner wasn't one of them. She had her arms crossed over her chest and blocked the way. Given the sweat covering her forehead and seeping into her clothes, it was obvious that she'd spent his time away practicing. "I've been looking for you."​

However, he knew that her scheduled training with Ghislaine never ran this late into the day. Must've blown off dinner, he thought.

"What do you want, Eris?" he asked, not caring to have this conversation.

Eris knit her brows together. "How come you get to go out into the city whenever you want?"

"Because I'm allowed to?"

"Huh?" Eris balked, her frown deepening. "But that doesn't make any sense. None of the other workers get to leave like you do."

Guts shrugged. "Take it up with your father if it makes so little sense to you. He didn't hire me to entertain every stupid question you have."

The girl's brow twitched. "Why did he hire you then? You're supposed to be helping me get better with a sword, but you've been here a month and I haven't gotten better at all!"

"How is that my fault?" Guts asked, feeling his own brows furrowing. "I keep telling you what you need to do to improve, but you don't listen to a thing I say."

"I don't listen because everything that comes out of your mouth is useless! Why should I listen to someone like you anyway? I have Ghislaine! She's a Sword King, you're not!"

Guts rolled his eyes and made to walk past her.

Eris grit her teeth and positioned herself back in front of him. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"Out of the way."

"I wasn't done talking to you."

"And I don't give a shit, dumbass."

"What did you just call me?" She asked, growling.

"I called you a dumbass, dumbass." That being said, Guts wasn't too far off from doing the same. "Now, move. If all you're going to do is bitch and moan, I'm not going to waste my time and energy listening."

"A sword." She was snarling now. Her hands were balled into tight fists. "Get one. Now."

Guts complied, relishing the opportunity to knock some sense into the idiot. "Fine. Just don't cry when I beat you into the dirt again.

…​

Nothing changed.

Guts won. Handedly.

Eris stomped off like she always did.

He rolled his eyes. He didn't get that girl at all.

…

Chapter End.​

---

A/N: I'm back. Now 100% more college graduate.

 

[Dedea]

Congrats.

Also man, Eris gonna have so much of inferiority complex it's gonna have canon Eris pity her.

 

[WDCMD]

Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter 12: The Guild. (Part Three of Three)

…​

Weeks passed. For the most part, not much changed for Guts.

He spent the majority of it sparring with Eris, teaching/learning from Ghislaine, and inching closer to D-rank. The only real change came in the frequency he did the first thing. For whatever reason, the brat decided that it was okay to take up even more of his time. He honestly didn't mind. Not to say that he enjoyed her company anymore, but he was always willing to throw his weight around. Besides, she was more bearable with a sword in her hand than not. At the very least, it kept her from running her mouth. That being said, at this point, he had been staying in Greyrat Manor long enough to see about making another change.

"You want access to the family library?" Phillip asked, his surprise evident.

Guts nodded. He had never been briefed on his uncle's schedule—he had never really cared to ask either—so he had to catch him after breakfast.

"May I ask why? Does this have anything to do with your teaching Ghislaine to read?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Well, at least, not right now." Ghislaine had been making decent progress with her reading and writing, but she was still a ways away from reading any actual books. "I have something I want to look into, that's all."

"A certain subject?"

"Magic."

"'Magic'? Ah, right. Paul did mention that you were well-versed in it. Well, our library is far from bereft of magic textbooks, but you might end up having more success searching out in town somewhere. The Boreas Greyrats are known for many things, but never an interest in magic."

Guts hummed, nonplussed. "You mind letting me take a look? Just to make sure?"

"I don't see a reason to prevent you," Phillip said. "To be honest, I'm surprised that you thought to ask at all. It's not like you were ever forbidden from going in there in the first place."

Guts stopped right then and there, realizing his mistake. He had been so used to noble types being up their own ass about permissions that he had assumed that it extended to everything.

"Hm? Oh, my apologies. It seems as though I gave you the opposite impression." Phillip turned to face him. His uncle smiled in his response to his silence. "In the future, try not to forget. You may not be of the Boreas line, but you're still a Greyrat—that alone entitles you to a lot more than you may realize. Besides, Eris's behavior has mellowed quite a bit since you've become her sparring partner. I don't know what you did, but I think that's earned you more than a little freedom around the Manor.

Guts didn't know how to respond. For one, he didn't like the implication. At all. It reminded him of Somal and his friends, and how they would try to leverage his status as a Greyrat against him. He hated it then and he hated it now, even if it worked out in his favor this time.

Regardless, Phillip didn't wait for his response. "Apologies, Rudeus, but I have business to attend to."

The man turned and started walking away, all without ever looking back.

"Feel free to lean on me or any of the other staff if you encounter any trouble. I'll do my best to assist if possible."

Guts clicked his tongue. Despite everything going his way, he couldn't help but feel like he was to the beat of Phillip's drum. Not his own. And then, he realized that was exactly why he hated nobles so much.

There was never any winning with them.

…​

Already, Guts regretted coming to the library.

Admittedly, he had limited experience with them. He'd only been in one in his past life, mostly because he didn't know how to read, but he knew how to now and he really didn't want to linger here—in the Boreas Greyrat's private library—anymore.

In general, the ability to read and write seemed more widespread in this world, but that didn't exactly mean it was common. For example, the residents of Buena Village lived as farmers. He didn't know the exact numbers, but he figured the number of literate people was small. Smaller still, if he excluded everyone in his family, but neither Paul, Lilia, nor Zenith were the studious type. More likely than not, he and Roxy were the only people in the village who cared about books to any extent. Books were expensive too and his magic tutor had always been the stingy type. So much so that she had never paid to have books delivered without reason. In short, despite being able to now, it didn't mean Guts liked reading.

The moment he stepped into the library, Guts found himself surrounded by books. More books than he had ever seen. Rows upon rows, shelves upon shelves. Dwarfing the one he had been in Midland. However, having access to this number of books led to a different problem altogether. In that, he still actually needed to find one that related to the subject he wanted, and he didn't even know if that book existed in the first place. In short, he felt like he was looking for a needle in the ocean. The more he swam, the more useless looking felt.

"You."

In any other instance, the sound of Eris's voice would've broken him. An annoyance on top of an already annoying day. He'd been living at Greyrat Manor for a little under two months now—and still, she made a habit of getting across that he wasn't welcome here. Be it through insults or her general attitude (an insult in of itself), she made it clear that, while she had stopped fighting the idea that he should exist at all, she was no fan of his.

"What're you doing?"

Guts didn't reply, leaving his answer to a sideways glare before returning his attention to the row of books in front of him. He'd been skimming through bookshelves for a while. His search had started that morning, after his talk with Phillip, but he hadn't paid much attention to the time once he got to looking. Not to imply that he became so enthralled that the time just flew by. No, it was tedious, mind-numbing, and felt like it took up the better part of an eternity. It was just that all of the windows in the library were built high up, so he forgot they existed.

Crap, he thought. A glance up at said windows told him all he needed to know. The sky's already orange.

"Answer my question," Eris said, reminding him of her presence.

"Use your eyes," Guts shot back, standing up from the squat he'd been in and moving to the next bookshelf. The third of the day, if the search hadn't completely fried his brain. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Wasting your time."

"Wrong. Try again."

Eris clicked her tongue. "…Looking through a bunch of books."

"You've got your answer then, brat. Leave me alone."

A low growl told him how well she took his dismissal, but instead of lashing out further, the girl gritted her teeth and asked, "Why?"

"I'm looking for books on a specific subject," Guts explained, wondering if he should be impressed by the restraint or annoyed by the fact it took so long for the girl to develop it. Regardless, he figured that it earned her a straight answer. "And I wanted to make sure this place didn't have any before I bought anything."

The girl stayed silent a moment, which allowed him just enough time to skim through all the titles on the bottom-most shelf. Nothing. Great. "…What's a subject?"

"What something is about."

"Oh," she said, simply. "…What're you looking for then?"

"Magic."

"'Magic'? You know magic?"

Guts drew out a hum.

"Why?"

He narrowed his eyes and looked up at her. "'Why'? What do you mean 'why'?"

"You fight with a sword. Why would you need to know magic?"

"Because it helps me fight with a sword?"

"How?"

Guts opened his mouth, to use her words against her again, but stopped himself. He had to remind himself that his views on magic weren't exactly common. Before he learned to use it, he probably would've asked the same thing. He didn't know what the girl thought magic was, but she probably thought it to be slow and cumbersome. Swordplay provided a quick and direct solution. To her, the two probably went together like oil and water. Probably for the same reasons why Paul and Zenith fought over teaching him one or the other. He was the exception here—not the rule—so he figured it wouldn't be fair to make her feel like an idiot for it. Instead, he decided to show her.

Raising his palm for the girl to see, he wordlessly pushed magic energy into it and let a Fireball form.

"Huh?!" The flame's sudden appearance startled the girl enough to make her jump back. She stared at it for a few moments, eyes wide, before leaning in to get a closer look at it. "That's magic?"

Again, Guts hummed.

"But you didn't say anything!" Eris pointed out, before literally pointing at the Fireball. "I thought you had to say a bunch of fancy words to do stuff like that."

"Normally, you do," Guts admitted, pouring more magic into the flame. It immediately doubled in size, prompting the girl's eyes to grow wide with it. He hadn't noticed it until right then, but they were closer now. Physically speaking. Being about a foot's length away from one another. "That's how I first learned how to cast magic—by saying a bunch of fancy words, I mean—but then, I met someone who figured out how to do it without saying anything."

"Your magic tutor?"

Guts shook his head. "Another kid from my village." He chuckled, remembering the fear and regret on Sylphie's face after she pelted him with Waterballs. "Apparently, she had been listening in on my lessons and figured out how to do it all on her own—to get back at me for telling her to piss off, if you'd believe it."

Eris's focus stayed fixed on the flame. However, every once in a while, he caught her red eyes drifting over to him. After a few silent moments, she stood up, pointed at the flame, and said, "Teach me."

Guts blinked. He sighed, dismissed the flame, and stood to meet her gaze. "Hell no."

"Hah?! Why not?"

"You don't even listen to me when we spar," Guts explained. "Why would I ever want to teach you magic?"

"Because I said so!"

"Not good enough," he growled, causing the girl to flinch. "Besides, it's not as simple as me telling you what to do."

"But you said that a kid was able to figure it out!"

"After she figured out how to cast it the normal way."

"Then teach me how!"

"Prove that you can listen to me," Guts challenged. The two of them were almost chest to chest now. "Reach Intermediate in either Sword God or Water God by the end of the year and I'll consider it."

For her part, the girl didn't back down at all. She just grit her teeth and said, "Fine."

…Before outright stomping out of the library.

Guts smirked. He'd been there for months now, but it felt like this was the first time the girl actually listened to him.

Maybe there's hope for the brat, after all.

…​

A month passed. Spring gave way to summer, meaning there were only six more months until the end of the year.

Eris had improved. Rapidly—in that, during their spars, she'd gotten closer to landing a hit on him than ever. More importantly, she seemed much more receptive to advice he'd lob her way. Without Ghislaine having to act as a buffer. Before their talk in the library, he would've considered that a miracle. Now, it was relatively routine. He would tell her to do something and she would do it. No 'if's, 'and's, or 'but's.

Not to imply that it was all smooth sailing. Frustration would still come and go if things didn't go her way—and he was sure that she still hated his guts—but at the very least, she was listening. That's all that mattered to him.

In the meantime, he kept chipping away at F-Rank quests. Mostly whenever he had free time, which amounted to almost nothing nowadays with Eris taking up so much more of his time. Consequently, his progress toward E-Rank had slowed down to a snail's pace. Under any normal circumstance, he would've liked to be out of F-Rank within a week or two. Now, it had taken him almost two months (and he still had one last quest to do).

Guts wanted to blame Eris. Ever since she realized that he wasn't completely talking out of his ass, she had been much more demanding of his time. Literally. In that, she would come to him and demand they spar. Even outside of their scheduled times. Although, he had to admit that, of all the things currently taking up his time, she was the one of the least annoying. Even teaching Ghislaine how to read and write—while slow-going—was more bearable when compared to what was drawing his ire: finding a way back home.

He had scanned the title of every book in the Boreas Greyrat library. In doing so, he had found a few books that he thought could be related to why he ended up in this world. Specifically, he had found a book titled: An Exploratory Account of the Teleportation Labyrinth, containing information about a supposed labyrinth in the Begaritt Continent filled with traps that—once triggered—took someone from one place in the labyrinth to another. All in a flash.

Up until that point, he hadn't known a good word to describe what happened to him the night he woke up as Rudeus Greyrat. 'Death' had always been one, but in his experience, dead people usually didn't wake back up again. 'Death' had been another, mostly by the apostles and would-be apostles, but he assumed they weren't referring to a person being born in a different world entirely. Honestly, 'teleportation' only seemed slightly more applicable than not, but it was the best lead he had gotten so far. So, despite knowing if it would lead anywhere at all, he pursued it.

In the end, the book led him a little bit forward, but ultimately nowhere. It told him little about how the traps worked. Whoever had written the book understood that the traps drew their power from magic circles and had documented everything that one might run into up until the sixth stratum, but very little else. Maybe because, for whatever reason, teleportation magic itself was considered forbidden in this world—to the point of being a taboo to discuss.

Guts hadn't even known magic like that existed. Unfortunately, he very quickly realized that the library didn't have any more information on the subject and found himself at a loss on how to proceed.

Writing to Roxy felt like a decent option. She had taught him everything he knew about magic; and as a graduate of Ranoa Magic University, she might have information on the topic. At the very least, since she and Sylphie should've gotten to the university by now, she might have access to it. Then again, a request like that would probably require more justification other than 'because I want you to.'

At first, Guts thought about using the book as justification. Saying something along the lines of, 'Hey, I found this book on some sort of teleportation labyrinth in Begaritt and I was wondering if you knew anything else about the subject?' But then again, Roxy knew him. She knew he wasn't the studious type. Rather, he wasn't the kind of person to read for no reason. Much less, the kind of person who'd get so curious about a subject that he would write her a letter. And if teleportation magic was forbidden, there was no way he could use simple curiosity to justify the question.

That left him with one option: finding the information himself.

Regardless, it seemed that Guts wouldn't be lacking in things to do with his time.

…​

"Congratulations!" The Guild Worker cheered, giving Guts back his identification card. "Welcome to E-Rank!"

He grimaced, taking it from her. True to her word, it had already been updated.

Name: Rudeus Greyrat.

Gender: Male.

Race: Human.

Age: 10.

Job: Swordsman.

Rank: E.

Party: None.

"From this moment on, D-Rank quests will be open to you," the woman continued, "but considering your age, I'd weigh all my options carefully before taking one. They're much more dangerous than F-Rank quests. At the very least, I'd consider joining a party."

Guts nodded, fully intending not to heed the advice. Ghislaine had advised him to do the same upon learning how close he was to ranking up. Apparently, there were advantages to being in a party that even a loner like her couldn't deny. He didn't hate the idea on its own. If he found a party with adventurers a rank higher than him, C-Rank quests would suddenly be open to him, which would allow him to face more dangerous foes. However, working with others brought its own complications and he had no desire to deal with any of them. Much less the time either.

If he was going to drag himself to the top, he would do it on his terms.

To prove that point, upon leaving the front desk, he went straight for the job board. His eyes searched for a D-Rank quest that he had seen posted a day prior. It was still there. Probably because the risk wasn't worth the standard pay for its difficulty.

It read: "Help! Lone Terminate Boar spotted roaming near city gates! Will pay a silver coin upon extermination!"

Guts reached up and ripped it off the board.

…

Roms, One of Two Wolves.

…​

Roms couldn't take her eyes off the boy. Her eyes had been tracking him ever since he first walked in.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind. He was the same boy she and her sister crossed paths with the day they had been forced to save Izz.

"Leave it, sis," Rems said to her. "We agreed to leave the kid alone."

Roms leaned back in her chair and huffed. "Yeah, yeah," she said, shooting a sideways glare at her sister. "That doesn't mean I can't be mad at the lil' snitch."

The two sisters were in the Guild building, sitting in the waiting area where adventurers tended to congregate during times of leisure. Being so close to opening, the usually quiet area became a mess of activity. A beehive or hornet's nest, depending on where you were sitting. A focused listen revealed the usual stable of topics. Quests to come, adventures had, gains had, and losses accrued—none of which, were more interesting to her eye than the boy she was currently pissed off at.

"Fine, as long as you keep any dangers to the staring-sort. We were lucky to have gotten out of that fiasco as clean as we did. I don't want to have to weasel out of you stabbing a ten-year-old too."

"I wasn't going to stab the kid. …Maybe just wring him by his scrawny, little neck some."

Rems rolled her eyes.

Ignoring her sister, Roms put her eyes back on the boy.

He was standing at the front desk, speaking to the receptionist. They exchanged words. She then handed him something (probably his membership card), clapped, and cheered loudly enough for Roms to hear, "Congratulations! Welcome to E-Rank!"

The kid made it to E-Rank, huh? Roms noted. Wait, wouldn't that mean he was an F-Rank a few weeks back? Damn, guess I really can't be too mad at him then.

She pulled her eyes away from the boy, a spike of embarrassment running through her. She had always been petty. The kind to spite first and ask questions later—and while she had disliked that part of her, she liked to think she had some standards. Saved the most of her spite for those who deserved it. Hating some kid for saving his own hide fell well below that line.

"Hm? What's he doing?" Rems asked, all of a sudden.

Roms turned towards her sister, curious as to what had her attention.

She found Rems looking at the boy again. However, he had long since left the front desk and stood himself in front of the quest board. On its own, that wasn't too surprising. She and her sister had done the same after climbing out of F-Rank, eager to pounce on the first E-Rank quest they could find (F-Rank quests were that tedious). But then, she saw what quest he had set his eyes on.

"Wait, isn't that…?"

They'd seen that same notice as well when they first entered the Guild. It was a D-Rank quest, asking to kill a Terminate Boar spotted a little past the city gates.

"It is," Rems said. "You don't think he's thinking about—"

Before her sister could finish her question, the boy reached up and ripped the notice off the board.

Roms jumped up out of her seat and stomped towards the boy. "Hey, kid!" she called out to him, drawing his attention. If he remembered her, he showed no sign of it. "Are you thinking about taking that quest—the one for the Terminate Boar?"

The boy nodded.

"And you do know what a Terminate Boar is, right?"

Again, the boy nodded.

"So, you know that most of them grow to be double your size, right?"

Another nod. Roms frowned.

"And that they don't usually fight alone, right? And that's why no one's accepted it?"

He nodded a third time. At that point, she was just about ready to let the matter drop.

"So, knowing all of that, you sure you and your party are ready for something like that—"

"—I don't have a party."

"You don't have a party?!" She asked, not quite yelling but just about. A prick of regret hit her as soon as she did, but at that point, the rock was already rolling down the slope. "And you're thinking about accepting that quest? Do you have a death wish?!"

The boy didn't say anything in response. Instead, he just kept glowering up at her. Even worse, Roms didn't even know if she could call it that. He was just looking at her. Clearly upset, but not enough to tell if she was having an effect or not. And that was making her more upset.

Almost completely lost in anger, Roms took a step forward and tried to wring the kid by the neck, but an arm snaked itself over her chest and held her back.

"Leave it, Roms." Rems, of course, was the one who stopped her.

Roms glared at her sister, letting a moment pass before huffing and taking a step back. "Fine. Let the kid kill himself, like I give a shit."

Rems rolled her eyes and turned towards the boy. His face hadn't changed at all. "Look, I'm not trying to stop you or anything, but you're sure that you can take on a Terminate Boar?"

"Easily," the boy said, simply. Roms furrowed her brows in annoyance. Partially because of what he said, but mostly because of how he said it. He didn't show a lick of hesitation or arrogance. To her ear, he sounded confident. Matter-of-fact even. As if his victory was inevitable. "Get out of the way."

Again, Roms took a step forward. Again, Rems held her back.

"Why, you little…" Roms growled, struggling against the arm and pressing into her chest.

"Leave it," Rems hissed, a tinge of irritation leaking into her usual calm. "Come on, sis."

Her sister went to walk away, pulling Roms with her, but she made sure to get one last glare in before leaving.

The kid held it, refusing to falter.

What an asshole…

…​

Roms wanted to stay pissed off, but at the moment, she and Rems had more important things to worry about.

The biggest and most immediate of which were the three goons that had cornered them in a narrow alleyway.

"Roms, duck!" her sister called out.

Roms did as told. A knife flew over her head and struck the closest goon in the chest. The blade dug deep enough into his leather breastplate and knocked him back a step.

"Take it!" her sister directed.

And so, Roms did.

Roms exploded up, towards her attacker. With her right hand, she grabbed the knife by its handle and wrenched it free with a stiff push kick to the stomach. It sent the bandit toppling into the other two, tripping them enough to stop their advance.

She rushed forward. Climbing over the first goon, she lunged at the closest man and planted the knife into his neck. Then, gripping the back of the first's shirt, she rolled and stood him up. A beat later—thrk!—and she felt her sister's arrow land. First, a thump. A splash of blood second.

The third goon, who had been shocked into a standstill, finally started to charge again. He raised his club into the air. In response, Roms dropped onto one knee and used the momentum to pull the first's body up and over her body.

"Rems!" she called out.

From the corner of her eyes, Roms saw her sister rushing towards her. She never broke stride. Using the first goon's body like a ramp, she launched herself up into the air.

The final thief halted his charge in response, tracking the airborne sister as she knocked an arrow and pulled it back to shoot. He held his club out, ready to defend himself.

Gotcha, idiot.

Roms threw the body off her shoulders and exploded towards the distracted thief. His eyes widened, as if only realizing his mistake right then and there.

Thrk!

With her left hand, Roms grabbed him by the wrist and held it in place. She planted her feet and, with all her might, stabbed him right under his leather chest piece. In the same instant, Rems's arrow hit him right in the throat.

More blood spilled onto Roms, mostly getting her in the face and shirt, but she left her response to a glance and frown.

There goes the rest of my evening, she lamented, pulling her knife from the goon. His, now completely lifeless, body fell to the ground with a thud. Rems landed right then and there too. Albeit, much more gracefully. Roms took a moment to further assess her clothes for damages. Maybe I can get the client to cover the cleaning expenses?

"Of course," Rems cursed, having squatted down to check the goons for valuables. "Can't even do a simple delivery quest without something going horribly wrong."

"C'mon, things could be worse," Roms offered, kicking the body nearest to her. "These losers could've been an actual challenge."

Rems didn't answer, meaning that she was mad. Specifically, at nothing in particular.

Eh. Roms shrugged. She'll get over it.

"Whelp, we don't get paid to stare at corpses," Roms said, walking over to her twin and bumping Rems with her hips. "Let's get this over and done with."

Rems huffed and stood up. "Let's."

…​

They spent the rest of their quest in silence—in that, when they delivered the package to the client, Rems spent the whole time brooding. Roms just followed her lead, knowing that any sort of attempt to make light of the situation would get her nowhere. Instead, they trudged along in silence, hoping to make it back home while there was still light.

Long story short, they showed up to the client's house—which was, annoyingly enough, all the way on the outer edges of the city—gave him what he wanted, and left. Rems did all the talking, as per usual, but kept everything short and to the point.

Not that Roms minded. Less talking meant less time wasted. Rems had brooded long past the norm, but Roms figured asking about it was best saved for when they got back home. Conversations like that weren't meant to be had out in the open, after all. However, as they walked back, she stumbled across something that made the silence go away in a flash.

What in the…

It was the boy from earlier. Soaked in blood. However, given his general demeanor and the cart full of dead monster bodies trailing behind him, none of it belonged to him. Five or six Assault Dogs, and the head of a Terminate Boar.

"Shit…" Roms murmured, stopping dead in her tracks.

She wasn't alone in her gawking either. He caught everyone's attention.

"Huh…" Rems muttered, a little more reserved in her shock. "Can't believe the kid actually managed it."

"…Are we looking at the same thing, sis? I think you're underselling what we're looking at a bit."

"Nah." Her sister shrugged. "Too tired for understatement."

"Well, I'm too tired to react for the both of us. Pick up the slack, lazy ass."

Her sister stood there, slack-shouldered, for a moment. "Nah. Last I checked, he proved you wrong, not me."

Roms grumbled, thinking back to when they were in the Guild and she had gotten mad at the boy for being an idiot. She had mostly done it because she thought he was biting off more than he could chew and running into a situation that would get himself killed, but as it turned out, he hadn't. Far from it in fact.

…Honestly, that only pissed her off more.

Because if the kid could take down a Terminate Boar and its pack of Assault Dogs, there was no need for him to snitch on them in the first place. He probably would've taken all three of them down with ease if he wanted, so why tell them anything?

"Oh, c'mon, Roms…"

…And that's why she wound up storming up to him. Again.

"Hey, you," she called out, standing in his way.

The boy came to a stop. Just like last time, his face didn't change a bit.

"You kill all those monsters yourself?"

He nodded.

"All by yourself?"

Again, he nodded.

Roms felt something within her snap. She stepped forwards and tried to slug the little shit in the cheek. However, all her fist did was soar over his head. A beat later, she found her feet being taken out from under her. She landed with a thud, right on her ass.

"Tch! Why, you little—!"

She moved to get back up, but the tip of a sword stopped her. Aimed right between her eyes. Or rather, now that she got a good look at it, it was the tip of a sword's sheathe.

"This won't be sheathed next time." That was all the boy said before slinging his still-sheathed sword over his shoulder and moving on.

Rems just wolf-whistled as she came to stand next to him.

"Really showed him, sis."

Roms gritted her teeth.

"Shut up."

…

Guts.

…​

"You're covered in blood," Ghislaine said.

Guts wanted to sigh. For whatever reason, after especially long days, the inhabitants of Greyrat Manor loved to meet him on its doorstep. In comparison to Eris, his swordplay tutor looked much more inviting, leaning on the wall next to the employee door with her arms crossed. His quest had drawn out onto the edge of night, leaving the two of them to speak under a sky of mostly dark.

"I took a monster hunting quest," he explained.

"What'd you kill?"

"A Terminate Boar, and its pack of Assault Dogs."

"…You hurt?"

"Not my blood."

"Good," Ghislaine said, getting up off the wall she'd been leaning on.

"Is that all?"

"Lord Sauros wanted to talk to you."

Guts blinked. The old miser wants to talk to me, huh?

"Fine. Where?"

…​

Guts hadn't formed much of an opinion on Sauros.

A normal person probably would've considered that a problem, especially someone who had lived in the old man's home for almost a year now, but despite the close quarters, he and the old man rarely interacted outside of passing each other in the halls. To that end, he never found the need to think one way or another about Roa's Landlord.

Indifference, however, was a far cry from actually liking someone.

Sauros was the most powerful man in all of Fittoa and he carried himself like it. A noble in name, in blood, and in person—and, in Guts's mind, only two kinds of nobles existed. The kind with limp wrists and even limper spines, and the kind who ruled with steel fists and backs to match. There was no doubt in his mind what camp Sauros occupied.

Guts always had a begrudging respect for the type—or maybe he just found them easier to respect in comparison. They were prideful—even honorable (on occasion)—that made them easier to predict. Even then, while respect was much more akin to liking a person, it didn't mean he actually wanted to be in their presence for more than a few moments.

That's probably why Guts's feet felt heavy as he climbed the stairs. Not out of excitement or fear, just complete and utter indifference.

Why the hell would he want to talk to me at the top of a tower?

…And maybe the slightest bit of irritation.

The question only lasted for however long it took him to reach the top. In which, it was replaced by the confusion he felt in response to hearing the three-part, rhythmic noise coming from a few paces in front of him: an awkward combination of feminine mewling, masculine grunting, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

For the love of…

Guts sighed. The last thing he wanted to see tonight was that old fart having sex.

Pounding the underside of his fist three times on a nearby wall, loud enough to be heard over all the noise, he received a startled squeak in response. Clothes rustled. Eventually, a beastfolk woman came rushing down the stairs past him.

Guts recognized her. Not by name, but he'd seen her in the halls before. A woman whose brown hair led to a pair of rabbit ears, one of several beastfolk women the Greyrats "employed" at the manor. His frown deepened, starting back up the stairs. He probably should've realized the reason for those numbers sooner.

At the top, Guts found Sauros standing in front of a window. Thankfully, draped in more than just moonlight.

"Rudeus," the Landlord said, considerably more calm than Guts had ever heard him.

Guess even blowhards like him need to blow off some steam every once in a while…

"You need something, old man?" Guts asked, wanting to get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

"You made me wait, boy," Sauros said, not even looking at him. The lack of all irritation on the old man's part, in spite of Guts's refusal to adhere to formalities, told him that his assumption had been a correct one. Sex did mellow him out. "Get over here. I want to show you something."

Guts rolled his eyes, but since he didn't have a decent enough reason to tell him to screw himself, he joined the old man by the window.

"Look at that," the old man said. Guts guessed in reference to the city down below. Dark draped itself into every little corner. The only light came in the form of candles, seeping out from windows. So far away that they looked like fireflies. The city itself was down far below, so even the tallest buildings looked small in comparison. Guts could barely even see the people, flicking in and out of the dark like ants. A familiar sight. Reminiscent of a memory from back in his old world. Back before the Eclipse. He didn't know if time had done it, or maybe it was the distance, but he couldn't find a bit of comfort in them now. "No, not down there, boy. Look up."

Guts shot a narrowed-eye glare at Sauros, but again, he did as he was told.

At first, he couldn't see anything. Nothing more than the usual smattering of starlight. However, the more he looked, the more he began to feel like something was missing. He realized it a beat later. His eyes shot open in shock.

Guts couldn't see the moon anywhere. He could see something else, though.

"What in the…?" Guts asked, instinctually taking a step back.

An object. Floating. Up in the sky. It wasn't a star or the moon, but it was big enough to hide the latter away in its entirety. If not for the sliver of moonlight surrounding it, illuminating its near pitch-black surface and spiraling red wings. It would've faded away into the night.

Guts didn't know what it was, but a deep dislike began to form inside of him as he stared at it. Not because of fear. The feeling was much harder to describe. It was almost as if… It was almost as if the thing—dark, faintly crimson, and shifting—was glaring at him.

"What is that?" Guts asked, after a long stretch of silence.

"I don't know," Sauros answered, his eyes never leaving it, "but I don't think it'll be a problem."

"And what makes you so sure about that?"

"Because it's easier to think of it that way."

Guts frowned at the simplicity of the answer. It felt borderline stupid, but as ominous as the floating thing was, he could see the appeal of thinking of it that way. A problem was only a problem if someone made it one. As long as it stayed in the sky, meaning as far away from him as possible, he could be content with the distance between it and him.

"Is that why you called me up here?" Guts asked. "To show me that thing?"

"Yes," Sauros said, nodding.

"Why?"

"Because it appeared a day after you first arrived."

"Oh."

Guts frowned. It seemed like the thing wasn't giving him a choice in the matter.

…

Chapter End.

…​

A/N: I've got one more prepared chapter for y'all to post, should end up being around 5k words, and I'm probably going to spend a few months getting the rest of the volume done. The goal for every volume is to be around ten chapters in total, so I've got eight more to go. Writing all eight will probably take some time, so I'll probably just write three-ish chapters, post those, and finish the rest of the volume after.

I once again thank y'all for your continued patience.

 

[Sir_Swagalot]

It's been a long time since I've ready any of the source material for either of the settings in this fiction, but I dread to think about what would happen if apostles Started to cross on over.

 

[WDCMD]

Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter Thirteen, Encroaching.

…​

Months had passed. In what felt like no time, the year drew to the cusp of closing.

Guts tried his best to avoid thinking about it. The orb in the sky. Fortunately, life kept him busy enough to keep it from sitting at the forefront of his mind. He'd sneak peeks at it every once in a while. Just to glare at it like it did to him.

It put him on edge. Everything about it looked so foreign. Unnatural even. An odd thing for him to feel, considering he'd seen his fair share of abnormalities. It never moved, at least when it came to its position. It just hung there. Seething, smoldering, and writhing. But never once moving. Although, and maybe his paranoia was playing tricks on him, he could've sworn that it had swollen in size. Not by a lot. Hence, why he wasn't so sure about the observation.

It didn't help that he and Sauros were the only ones who seemed to pay it any mind.

On his walks to the Adventurer's Guild, he'd listen for mentions of it from the townsfolk, but there was nothing. It seemed that everyone was perfectly fine with letting the thing hang in the air. Unabated.

One day, Guts tried to ask Ghislaine about it. "You notice that big orb in the sky?"

"Of course," she said, glancing up at him from the paper in front of her. The two of them were sitting in the Greyrat library, practicing her writing. By this point, she'd memorized the alphabet well enough to try her hand at writing some basic sentences. "It's hard not to. What about it?"

"What do you think it is?"

She shrugged and refocused on her writing. "I don't know. It's there, I guess. I try not to think about it much."

"Why?"

"Because I can't do anything about it."

Guts narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips at the response, but let the topic die.

As annoying as it was, if he was the only person worried about something, there was no need to rile everyone else up about it. It'd just have to be something that he'd keep track of on his own.

…​

"Start!" Ghislaine called out.

As she always did, Eris shot forward. However, this time, she proved much faster than when they first started sparring. Evidenced by how the girl came bearing down on him in moments, slashing down at his chest. Much faster than normal, more controlled too. Altogether, it made her much more dangerous as an opponent.

Unfortunately for her, Guts had expected the charge and moved to intercept her with his own, downward cut. They met.

Clack!

Then, they met again.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

And then, they kept meeting over and over again.

Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!

Months ago, in instances where he would've been able to seize the advantage, Guts had trouble finding openings. Eris had grown faster and stronger physically, but mentally speaking, she had grown leaps and bounds. Her attacks were less wild and better linked together. He could see it in her eyes, strategies forming as she watched his reactions. She would strike high two times and go low the third. When that didn't work, she would strike low three times, just to feint high, and go back to aiming low. Leveraging her physical ability to make the transition between each attack seamless. To the point that they were hard to see. Whenever he tried to retaliate, she saw and reacted accordingly. As a result, their bouts lasted much longer than before. Her attacks got closer to landing. However, despite all of her improvement…

Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!

Their two swords bounced off one another. His more so than hers.

Seeing an opportunity, Eris stabbed at his chest, but their elongated exchange made her form sloppy.

Guts, with his sword down at his back hip, easily sidestepped. As her arm soared by, he snatched her by the wrist, pulled her into him, and kicked her lead leg out from under her. The tip of his sword found her neck upon landing.

"Duel end!" Ghislaine called out. "Rudeus wins!"

Eris growled, glaring up at him from the ground, but did nothing more. Another way she had changed.

Although, that being said, her usual fire hadn't been completely snuffed out—evidenced by the vehemence in which she jerked away from him the moment he let her go.

"You did better," Guts told her.

Eris grumbled back, "Shut up."

"Eris," Ghislaine said, approaching the two of them. "Rudeus is right. You've improved."

Eris gritted her teeth. She turned towards the beastfolk woman—mouth open—but stopped, thinking better of whatever she wanted to say.

"We're not here to train your manners, girl," Ghislaine said, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you have something to say—just say it."

Eris didn't say anything in response but never outright rejected the idea.

"Do you disagree?" Ghislaine asked.

Eris nodded.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't win," she huffed, "and I haven't gotten close to winning either."

"To your eye, but to ours, you've been making fine progress."

Eris's brow twitched. She opened her mouth, but again, not a single word left it.

"Fine," she huffed, eventually.

"Good. Now, get ready. You and Rudeus are dueling again."

Eris nodded and went over to her usual starting position.

Guts watched her do so, his traitorous mind wondering about what was bothering her.

"Duel start!"

They dueled. Yet again, he won.

This time, however, his victory felt even more certain.

…​

Guts had never been the type to seek others out. Not for help, not for advice, especially not for their opinions. In that same vein, he wasn't the type to stick his neck out either. He didn't know why. In that, there was never much of a reason. It was something that he always did and never bothered questioning.

From his time with Gambino, all the way to joining the Band of the Hawk. He was all on his own. It had always been him against the world. And so, he decided to leave the world to its own devices. As he got older, however, all that started to change. More and more people kept coming into his life. And as his strength became evident, more and more of them wanted to put their trust in him. Unfortunately, with that trust, they confided their problems in him. Their hopes, their dreams, and their aspirations. He wanted to do the same, but it became clear that what drove him would only ever pull him away from them. And so, the only time he ever truly leaned on others—wholly and fully—was towards the end of his first life.

Guts thought about it often—more often than he'd like to admit—but he hadn't changed much. He still wasn't the sort to help or be helped, but now, he understood the value in it. A person, no matter how strong they were, couldn't carry themselves through all their troubles. Not on their own. Sometimes, they needed a shoulder to lean on. Sometimes—be it because of pride, disgust, or distrust—it felt difficult to seek out.

So, after seeing that there was something wrong with Eris, Guts did something that he thought he'd never do: seek her out of his own free will.

To help her, most definitely, but also because he was getting sick and tired of seeing her flounder.

…​

Eris had stormed away from the courtyard after their morning spar.

As much as he wanted to follow her and nip the problem in the bud then and there, Guts had to stay behind for Ghislaine's reading and writing lessons. It was midday when he went to go find her.

Knowing her schedule, and knowing that there was a large gap between her swordplay lessons and dinner with her family, he first checked her bedroom.

"Eris?" he called out, knocking on her bedroom door. "Open up!"

He waited for a response, but no noise came in response.

Guts knocked again, louder this time. "I know you're in there."

"Leave!" Eris yelled. "We've already had our lesson!"

Guts knit his brows together. "Just open the damn door, brat."

"No, I don't want to!"

"I'm not leaving until you do."

"No! Leave!"

"Open up and make me."

Guts heard some grumbling come from behind the door. Then, some rustling. And then, loud stomping. Finally, the door came flying open with a slam. Eris stood on the other side. Surprisingly, she didn't seem as pissed as he thought she'd be.

"What do you want?" She growled, holding onto the doors as if they were the only things keeping her from mauling him to death.

Unfortunately for her, the display didn't move him at all. Both literally or figuratively. "I want to talk."

"About what?"

"Your performance during sparring. It was terrible."

Eris's grip on the door visibly tightened. She was going to slam the door in his face if he didn't pick his next words carefully.

"But it only got terrible towards the end."

Her grip on the door loosened. "…What do you mean?"

"During our first round of sparring, you may not have won—"

The muscles in her hand tensed. Now, she was close to slamming the door.

"—but you got close. Closer than you ever have."

Her hand relaxed again, meaning that she wanted him to continue.

"You've improved." So, he continued. "Ask Ghislaine and she'll tell you the same." Eris opened her mouth, probably to disagree, but he kept speaking, "I'm not telling you this to make you feel better. It's the truth. I'm not going to try and speak to whatever's going on in your head—because, honestly, I don't give a shit—but if you don't get that through your thick skull, I'll ram it in myself. Understood?"

Eris didn't respond. She stayed still. Her lips pressed shut into a line. Something about how she looked at him—Guts couldn't point to what—told him that his words had gotten through to her.

"But I'm still not good enough to beat you." Eventually, however, she came to look away from him. "I don't feel close either."

"Good," Guts said, having to keep from rolling his eyes. "That's just the difference between a beginner and an advanced-tier swordsman. Someone of my rank shouldn't be struggling to fight you at all."

Eri's face clenched. Still, her eyes refused to meet his own. "How am I supposed to know that I'm getting stronger then?"

"You fight."

The response seemed to confuse Eris. "But we already do fight—"

"—I don't mean literally," Guts cut her off.

"How do I know that I'm getting closer? To beating you, I mean."

"You'll know when it happens."

Eris snorted, but now, she was looking at him. "That doesn't answer anything at all."

Guts snorted. "I'm not here to give you the answers. You can figure out that much by yourself—"

"—Why're you here at all then?!" the girl hissed, stomping her foot repeatedly. "You're here to be my teacher, right? I thought teachers were supposed to give their students the answers!"

"I'm not here to be your teacher."

"Then what're you doing here?!"

A moment of silence interjected itself between them.

"Fine," Guts huffed. He stepped forward so that they were chest to chest. He looked up at her. She looked down at him. But, at that moment, they were meeting as equals. "I'm here to be an obstacle."

"'An obstacle'?"

"Something that gets in your way," he explained, nodding. "Ghislaine too. All she is an obstacle."

She didn't say in response, so he kept speaking. "Ghislaine and I aren't here to make you feel strong. We're here to make you strong, but if you're going to get to that point, you're going to need to struggle. Over and over and over again. Because there's no such thing as struggle without obstacles. Feel however you want towards us. Hate, anger, or spite—I don't care. Whatever it takes for you to climb up over them, you feel it.

"Just think about it for a second. Do you think that—just because Ghislaine and I are stronger than you at this moment—we've always been as strong as we are now? That we've never come across anyone stronger than us? That we've never spent a single moment feeling exactly what you feel towards us? If so, bullshit. There's always someone stronger."

"Stronger? Than Ghislaine?" Eris balked. "But she's a—"

Guts wouldn't let her contradict him. "—A Sword-King? You think she gave that rank to herself?"

Eris went silent at that.

"Ghislaine earned her rank. Just like how I earned mine. And we earned them by going through the same shit you're in right now. Walk, run, or crawl. Hate us, love us. I don't care. Just get through it."

Eris didn't say anything. She just stared at him. Arms crossed. Eyebrows scrunched up. Then, eventually, she cast her eyes downwards.

"Who was it for you?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"Who was it for you? You said that you've felt like how I feel, right?"

Guts frowned, thought about it a little, and answered, "My father."

Eris looked him in the eyes, kept looking at him, and hummed.

Guts nodded.

The two left it at that.

…​

Over the last few months, Guts had started to make a name for himself as an adventurer.

"Hey, look! It's the kid again!"

"Hm? You talking about the one that just walked in? What about him? He doesn't look all too special."

"'Doesn't look too—'? Have you been living under a rock? That's not just some kid. He's the kid. He joined up a few months ago, got out of Rank-F, and just started clearing Rank-D quests like he needed them to breathe. I hear, the day that he first ranked up, he went straight to the quest board and came back with a cart full of dead monsters."

"Really? You know his name, where he came from?"

"Nope. No one knows a thing about him. He doesn't talk to anyone either. Save for the receptionist."

"C'mon, someone's gotta know something about him."

"Well, there are rumors he's connected to the Greyrats somehow."

"The Greyrats? As in the Greyrats? The same ones who run this city? How'd you figure that?"

"People say—when he showed up to register—he came with the Sword King Ghislaine. In tow and talking all familiar-like. There are even murmurings that people have seen him coming in and out of Greyrat Manor as he pleases."

"…And the Boreas Greyrats aren't exactly known for being welcoming of outsiders. Not after what happened a few years back. You think he's related somehow? Bastard son?"

"Doubt it. Lord Sauros's reputation precedes him, but Lord Phillip's never had one bad word uttered about him. He's too prim and proper for it. My money's on a cousin from a branch family. Maybe the one that does its business in Asura? What were they called again? The Notos Greyrats?"

"Huh. Wonder what he's doing schlepping it down here with adventurers like us then? You gotta think a noble kid's gotta have other options."

Guts rolled his eyes. By far, if he hated any part of being an adventurer, he hated all the gossip the most. The more he did, the more people talked. The more people talked about him, the more eyes he found following him as he went to pick up quests. The more eyes, the more annoying trips to the Guild Building became. Pricking at a paranoia in ways he hadn't felt in years.

People came up to him more and more now, mostly other adventurers—near his rank or just above it—looking to recruit him to their party. He always told them, in no uncertain terms, to screw off. He had no time for parasites. Leeches. Looking to use his strength to their advantage. Everything he wanted to do, he could do by himself. So, he brushed off every advance. Over and over again. Until every adventurer in Roa understood that he had no desire to suffer through them. After enough rejections, they settled on gossiping.

As he said, Guts hated the gossip too, but he preferred it to the alternative. It, at the very least, allowed him to come in and pick up his quest in peace.

And that's how it always went. He would go to the board, find the first monster-hunting quest that he could accept, and rip it off the board. After killing whatever needed killing, he would come back to the Guild, turn in his proof, take the money, and go home.

That summed up his daily life as an adventurer. Hilariously, despite the name, he never felt like more of a homebody.

…​

Power had always been a funny concept to Guts.

No doubt, he'd rather have it than not. Being strong meant being powerful. Being more powerful meant safety. And so, of all the things in existence, he wanted to be powerful. If there was anything his past life had taught him, it was that.

However, as much as having power helped him, it hindered him in other ways. In ways that strength alone couldn't make up for.

Get strong and people would take notice. If enough people took notice, they'd start to try and take advantage of it. Hence, the situation he was in right now.

"Hey, kid," a man—a stranger—said, stepping out in Guts's path to stop him. A thug with nearly as much hair on him as he did armor. The armor itself was heavy but crude. Made up of several pieces of long sections of steel with no ordainment, giving him the makings of someone who fashioned himself a knight but didn't have the funds to back up his own delusions. A cuirass, spaulders, gauntlets, greaves, and a helmet that hid his whole head. Save for the massive brown beard that cascaded down to his collarbone. "The two of us need to have a chat."

Guts's frown deepened in response.

He had just finished a quest that took him past the gates of Roa and into the farmlands that surrounded the Citadel City—a common occurrence for him ever since his rising up to E-Rank. As it turned out, most D-Rank quests involving monster hunting—and didn't involve any sort of days-long commitment—centered mainly around keeping crops and livestock safe. Usually, in the form of killing whatever it was giving the farmers grief in the first place. Today, he had just finished up clearing out a Treant infestation that had hit an armored apple orchard.

Although, given that four armed men were standing between in him and the path back to Roa, he probably wasn't the only one.

Months ago, back when he got himself out of F-Rank, Ghislaine had warned him about situations like this—that, as he climbed the ranks, good jobs would start getting difficult to come by. With scarcity came overlap, and with overlap came competition. Sometimes, competition led to situations like this.

"Must think you're a real hotshot, huh?" The lead thug said, pacing in front of the three smaller men behind him. They, all cross-armed, nodded in unison. "Rookies these days. They rank up once or twice and think they can just start poaching another man's jobs."

Job poaching. He figured the name explained its meaning well enough, but according to Ghislaine, there was more to it than just that. Mainly, it came in two forms—honest and dishonest. 'Honest' referred to it being a mistake. Usually borne of an error on the Guild's part. Ghislaine gave him the example of a branch building not alerting the other locations that a job had been taken and another party taking it unknowingly. 'Dishonest' pointed to the opposite. Another person or party saw a job they wanted and took it. Through any means necessary.

Considering Guts had no idea what the wannabe knight was talking about, his current issue fell under the prior.

"Go bother someone who gives a shit," he said, making to walk right by the group.

Although, that didn't mean he cared.

"What'd you say to me, you little twerp?!" The lead man growled, moving to stop him. "I oughta—"

The man reached for the greatsword strapped to his back. Seeing that, Guts went for his own sword. From there, Guts knew this confrontation would come down to who could pull their sword out the fastest.

Guts was smaller, his sword was too. Winning that battle easily, he used that advantage to get close to the man. He, with his left hand, took his own sword by its blade and rolled under the man. Right between his legs. As he rolled into a crouch, Guts stabbed the tip of his sword into the back of the man's left knee.

"Ah!" the man screamed out. He tried to turn towards Guts, but before he could, his leg gave out, bringing him to one knee halfway through.

Guts continued to press his advantage. He jumped up on the larger man, took him by his greasy hair, pulled back to expose his throat, and put a blade to it.

"Hey, hey!" Unsurprisingly, the other three—after seeing their leader injured—moved to help, but were stopped when Guts pressed his sword into their leader's throat. "C'mon, there's no need for that, kid! Drop the blade. We just thought you—"

Guts didn't say anything. He just pressed his sword into his neck harder. To the point he could feel it against the man's flesh. Making it clear that he wanted a specific response.

"—Alright, alright! If you want the job, you can have it! We'll leave you alone!"

Guts didn't say anything in response. He put his foot on the man's back and kicked him into the ground.

Guts walked away.

Bugs, he thought.

The first and most annoying side-effect that power brought.

…​

The second?

Parasites, Guts thought as he trudged through the streets.

He had been on his way back to the Guild Building—to turn in the Treant job, collect his pay, and get back home—but on the way, he noticed a couple of tag-a-longs trailing him. Now, he was trying to pull them into a trap.

A strange uneasiness fell upon him when he first noticed them—these particular sets of eyes. It all seemed the same at first. No different from the usual. The boy named Rudeus Greyrat had been a surprise to every adventurer in Roa, considering his relative age and experience. With that, came a weird mix of idolisation and envy. Something he had never wanted, but always ignored. Because he understood how this all worked. Nothing scared people more than an unknown commodity, after all.

Bugs came with the territory. The flies always fed on the scraps of larger predators. He could waste the time and energy in trying to swat them away, but after a while, the most prudent solution became ignoring them.

Guts, however, got the sense that these two stragglers following him were different.

It was those two beastfolk girls, the ones Guts kept running into. A fact that seemed less and less like a coincidence.

Now, there was no doubt in his mind that they were trailing him. For a while now, if his instincts were anything to go off of.

For what reason? He had no clue, but he wasn't going to let it stand.

Fortunately, it didn't seem like awareness went both ways.

In other words, the perfect set-up for a trap.

…

Roms, One of Two Thieves.

…​

Roms gulped hard and took a step back. Her sister, standing a little behind her, did the same. The two sisters were tense under the stare of the boy in front of them. His gaze felt two-faced: one part being as sharp and deadly as the sword resting on his shoulder; the other part being as hard as the stone wall growing behind them, impeding their escape.

"You two…" the boy said, standing up from the crouch he had been in.

It had happened in moments. He had led him down an alley—an alley where they'd seen him go down tens of items over the past few weeks. Today, however, he walked halfway and stopped suddenly. And then, in one move, he pulled his sword out from its sheathe, spun to face them, knelt to the ground, and put his left hand to it. Without a single word coming from his mouth, magical energy began to seep out from his palm and into the ground. Suddenly, Roms and Rems were trapped.

"…Have been trailing me ever since I got back behind the walls," he continued, pointing his sword at them. A threat. "You've got 'til three. Explain."

Roms clicked her tongue. She and her sister exchanged glances.

"One," the boy said.

Roms's hand twitched, ready to reach down for the knife at her hip.

But before she could do anything, Rems threw an arm out in front of her and shook her head. A silent warning. 'Don't.'

"Two."

A warning that wasn't issued for his sake, but for their own. They'd been tailing him for weeks now. Consequently, they'd seen him fight more than a handful of times. They now understood how he'd been able to kill that Terminate Boar and its pack of Assault Dogs, how he'd gained the attention of the Sword-King Ghislaine.

The boy known as Rudeus Greyrat was stronger. Stronger than they were by leagues. So, they couldn't afford to get on his bad side.

"Three—"

"—Do you want to join our party?" Rems asked.

Rudeus narrowed his eyes. He glared at her sister like he was trying to gauge her worth and authenticity from a single look alone. Eventually, however, he lowered his sword.

"No," he said, turning around. At the same time, the stone wall behind them lowered.

Roms and Rems exchanged looks, before following after the boy.

"'No'?" Roms asked, her voice a mix of shock and indignation. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"No. As in 'go away'."

"Well, why 'no' then?"

"Why does it matter?" A sliver of insult slipped into his voice. "You think I have any use for two girls stupid enough to let a kid get the drop on them?"

Roms felt her brow twitch at the insult. She opened her mouth, to return it tenfold, but Rems cut her off before she could.

"Can I ask a question?" Her sister asked.

Rudeus said nothing back.

"You've been with the Guild for nearly a year, right?"

Again, nothing.

"I—well, my sister and I—couldn't help but notice that you've only been taking monster-hunting quests."

Even more nothing.

"Those kinds of quests are pretty rare at Rank-E. My sister and I would know since we're Rank-D."

Rudeus did respond to that. He stopped and turned them. Only partially, but that was something they could work with.

"Look, kid, I'm just going to come out and say it," Rems continued, stepping out in front of Roms. "We've been keeping an eye on you for a while now."

Roms nodded her head. Although, he didn't look her way at all.

Rudeus knit his brows together. "How long?"

"Weeks now," Rems answered. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"Why?"

Rems nodded. "We needed to see you in action, to see if you were the real deal. We—"

"—Skip the preamble," the boy pressed, turning towards them fully. "Get to the point, or get lost."

Roms grimaced. Even without showing it, she could sense Rems tensing up. For all her plentiful patience, which seemed infinite in some cases, her sister hated getting talked down to as much as she did.

"We need money," Rems explained, terse and concise but truthful.

Rudeus visibly calmed, and asked, "Why?"

"We can't say, at least not right now, but trust me when I say that we need it. A lot of it. More than a Rank-D or Rank-C quest can get us."

The boy seemed to pick up on what Rems was saying. "And what? You think a ten-year-old can help with that?"

"We think that you're strong," Rems explained. "Stronger than us, at the very least. And considering your tastes in quests, we thought you might be interested in killing stronger monsters."

Rudeus was silent a moment.

At that moment, Roms wondered if he was still going to say say 'no'.

Eventually, he turned away, huffed, and said, "Meet me at the Guild Building tomorrow afternoon. I want to see if you two can keep up."

And then, he left. Without saying another word.

Roms pursed her lips, already understanding that this might've been more than either of them bargained for.

…​

Roms had to admit, that Rudeus was good.

Almost as if on cue, and with a stoicism that betrayed his age, the kid slipped under the bite of the Snag Beetle—a horse-sized stag beetle with a maw that spanned the length of halberds—they had been seen to kill. He rolled forward. From one knee, he stabbed his longsword up into the underside of the monster's maw.

The Snag Beetle let out a shriek and went to stagger back, but Rudeus kept the pressure on. He kept himself right in the bug's face. With a trained ease, he stepped forward and pivoted his hips into a downward cleave that cut clean through one of its pincers. From there, the Snag Beetle slashed at the boy with its remaining pincer. The attack never so much as got near its mark.

The boy turned and punched his left palm down at his feet. A gust of wind shot into the ground, propelling Rudeus up into the air. Just high enough to avoid the attack. One flip later, the Snag Beetle's last pincer crashed into the dirt, leaving the monster completely defenseless.

Rudeus landed in a crouch as the monster shrieked and stumbled back. He put his palm to the dirt and the ground under the bug began to bubble. A beat later, a multi-pronged stone spike shot out from the ground and through the Snag Beetle's abdomen, impaling it.

The Snag Beetle wriggled before Rudeus put it to a stop. He stepped forward, wrapped both his hands around the hilt of his sword, and cleaved the bug's head off with a single clean cut. The bug went limp. Dead. Just all like the other members of its brood. Five in total. All of which, Rudeus had slain with Roms and Rems making sure they couldn't try and swarm the boy as he fought.

"There," Rudeus said, turning back to face the two sisters and resting his sword on his shoulder. "Done."

The fight itself had been a spectacle. A bloody, one-sided one. Waged with a horrifying sort of efficiency.

The boy moved like a whirlwind—strong, fast, and ever-buffeting. He never stayed still, always using some sort of unspoken magic to tilt the battle to his advantage. Either gusts of wind or sharp stone projectiles. With them, he ran through all that stood against him. To and fro. Away and between. He ripped them to pieces. Like a whirlwind of razors. All without a bit of trepidation, which might have been the most impressive thing about the display.

Roms let out a wolf whistle. "Impressive."

Rudeus ignored the comment. With one hand, he swung the blood off his sword and put it back into its sheathe.

"What's with that face?" she asked. "Don't like compliments?"

"I don't like wasting time," he corrected. She scoffed. He produced a knife from his belt. "C'mon. Start skinning."

Roms rolled her eyes. She glanced at her sister.

Rems shrugged, got her own knife out, and went over to help their new party member.

Roms huffed and proceeded to do the same.

Rudeus Greyrat. Rank E. The newest member of The Wolves of Roa.

That was going to take some getting used to.

…

Chapter End.

…​

A/N: Chapter done! Chapter posted! All pre-written work edited. My desktop is borked beyond belief!

In all seriousness, I'm going to take a few months to get a few chapters ready. I don't like putting timetables on things because I'll probably miss it, but I don't anticipate it taking longer than two or three months.

Also, as my birthday is coming up this coming Saturday (the 10th), I'll probably be doing a Q&A on Spacebattles like I did last year. If anyone has any ideas for funny prompts, post them! I might write out some of those out (don't expect anything too in-depth though). If you feel up to it, feel free and write your takes for them. I'll make a little threadmark tab and log them there.