Chapter 17

  The city of Gauntlet... was big. There were countless ways I could have described it, but the first thought that rose to the surface was simply, "That's a big city." If I were to put it more eloquently, I might say:

  The city of Gauntlet unfolded before me—an awe-inspiring vision of civilization carved into stone, sea, and sky. From this vantage, it looked like a colossal sculpture of human ambition, rising in tiered majesty from the green embrace of the surrounding countryside.

  Miles of lush farmland spread like a great emerald quilt, stitched with golden grain fields and silver-threaded irrigation canals. The earth itself seemed to cradle the city in abundance, a promise of both sustenance and wealth. Crops swayed in the breeze as far as the eye could see, their colors brilliant beneath a sky so clear it seemed freshly painted.

  Encircling Gauntlet were five concentric walls, each rising higher and prouder than the last. From the outermost to the innermost, they stood like a succession of crowns, layered and gleaming with a pale, polished stone that caught the sun’s rays and cast a soft white glow across the landscape. They were not mere defenses—they were declarations, each ring a testament to the city’s history, its resilience, and its unshakable sense of purpose.

  Above the walls soared countless spired towers, their delicate silhouettes piercing the sky like needles of glass and stone. The rooftops shimmered with slate and copper, domes and steeples catching the sunlight and setting it dancing in all directions. The effect was breathtaking—Gauntlet was not just built, it was composed, every tier and spire and arch designed to lift the eye, to hint at something grander within.

  At the city’s edge, the great sea harbor sprawled in a lively sprawl of docks and piers, its deep sapphire waters dotted with ships of every make and size. Tall-masted galleons, sleek merchant schooners, and bustling fishing boats came and went in an endless dance of commerce, their sails like white blossoms scattered across the bay. The scent of salt and the distant cry of gulls floated on the air, mixing with the earthy perfume of tilled fields and the faint aroma of smoke drifting from the city’s countless chimneys.

  Gauntlet wasn’t just large—it was alive, pulsing with the rhythm of half a million souls. Even from a distance, you could sense the energy humming in its streets, the promise of stories unfolding, of triumphs and sorrows and countless ordinary miracles.

  It was a city that did not merely stand—it soared, and I knew the moment my eyes drank it in that Gauntlet was a place where legends were made.

  But really, it was just a big city. Everything else was accurate, but that’s not what hit me first when I saw it.

  We had come into view of the city a little after noon, and we kept making our way toward it, passing field after field of farmland. Every so often, a farmer would wave cheerfully from the roadside—sometimes from a little food stand in front of their farm—offering up whatever fresh goods they had on hand.

  It took us another forty-five minutes or so to actually reach the first wall of the city, where we were met with a substantial line of people waiting to get in. Glancing left and right, I could see there were plenty of gates into the city—and, yep, all of them had long lines. To keep things moving, some gates were clearly marked for exiting only, which at least kept things from turning into complete chaos.

  Even though the line looked daunting, it moved surprisingly fast, and in just about ten minutes, we were at the front, facing a set of guards. They were brisk but polite, asking each group about their business, if they were residents, and if they were carrying anything… questionable.

  Honestly, I kind of admired the city’s approach—they had a clear list of banned items, but just having something on the list didn’t mean you were in trouble. Nope! They’d just offer to hold it in a secure area (for a small fee, of course) until you were ready to leave. Practical, if nothing else.

  Finally, it was time to show ID.

  When it was my turn, I stepped up with an easy smile and said, “I don’t have any ID yet—first time here! I’m happy to go through whatever process you need, though; I’m planning on sticking around for at least a month, maybe longer.”

  A little charm never hurt, right?

  “Where are you coming from?”

  “I come from a remote village far to the north. I don’t know what others might call it, but the people there call it Whitestone. It’s just off the shore of a lake, about five miles from the sea.”

  “Whitestone, huh? Can’t say I’ve heard of it, but you’re not the first one to mention a town outside the realm of the Kingdom. Do you have any business while you’re here?”

  “I’m planning on selling some herbs and crafts, and maybe working with a few local bakeries or restaurants—I’ve got some recipes I think would be popular.”

  “If it’s good, we could definitely use more variety! Competition’s a little stiff around here, despite how many people live in the city. Money’s always tight for the average Joe. That being said, please make your way to the Adventurers’ Guild for identification—or the Merchants’ Guild, if that’s more your style. If neither suits you, you can head over to the magistrate’s office. Just a heads-up, though: they’ll charge you nearly twice as much, and the quality’s pretty shoddy—you’ll probably need to replace the card within a year.”

  “Do you plan to consider yourself a resident, or are you just stopping in for a week?”

  “I’ll probably be here for at least a month, maybe longer, but I’m not sure yet.”

  “If that’s the case, I recommend paying the residency fee instead of the weekly city pass. It’s more expensive upfront but much cheaper in the long run.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “That’ll be two silver. Take this token to whichever place you want your ID made. Keep in mind, there’ll be additional costs for the ID itself and for guild membership, if you join one.”

  “Thank you! I really appreciate you making that clear. Would you happen to recommend a place to stay for the week? Somewhere with clean rooms and good food?”

  “For something affordable, check out a place called The Tail Feather—they do good business, they treat you right, and it’s clean, though it’s not exactly fancy. If you want something a little more comfortable without going overboard, there’s The Coppertop, close to the Adventurers’ Guild.”

  “Thanks! I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You’re welcome. Please move along.”

  Getting inside the city with the rest of the caravan, I asked where they were headed and if it would be all right for me to meet up with them later to sort out arrangements for June.

  Thomas said they were heading to The Brass Bell, where they usually stayed—a few blocks over from the Merchants’ Guild Hall. If I wanted to find them, I should just ask for “Sweet Company,” and I’d be pointed in their direction. He assured me they’d make sure June was carefully fed, got plenty of rest over the next few days, and that I didn’t need to worry about a thing.

  Making my way toward the Adventurers’ Guild, I had barely gone a block after getting directions when I was nearly bowled over by a man on a massive horse, decked out in an outlandish outfit with an attitude as inflated as his ego. His nose was so high in the air, it was a miracle he didn’t tip backward off the saddle. The arrogance rolling off him was practically a force of nature.

  Narrowly dodging the fool, I couldn’t help but shout after him without really thinking, “Watch where you’re going, asshole! There are women and children walking these streets too—and there’s always a bigger fish in the pond!”

  The guy reined in just long enough to sneer over his shoulder and, with what might have been the most disdainful tone I’d ever heard, spat a single word: “Peasant.” And then, with a flick of his reins, he trotted off, his entourage trailing behind him like ducklings.

  Oh, I was going to remember that guy—and if we ever crossed paths in a dark alley, well, we’d have a very different kind of conversation.

  Just then, another rider pulled up beside me and stopped, the horse snorting softly as the man leaned slightly forward.

  “Please,” he said with a half-apologetic smile, “allow me to apologize on his behalf—though you should know he’s not the type to ever apologize for anything. Ever. He’s a chauvinistic, narcissistic prick, and one day, without a doubt, he’s going to get what’s coming to him. Honestly, I couldn’t agree more with what you said: there’s always a bigger fish. With his attitude, it’s only a matter of time. Which is, frankly, embarrassing for me—because, unfortunately, he’s my cousin. That said, on behalf of my family, I’m sorry for his behavior. He’s… not exactly the best representative of our family or our motto.”

  “I understand having family you’re not exactly proud of—or that doesn’t act like family should,” I said, holding out my hand with a small grin. “I’m Jake Bashir.”

  “Robert, of the Stonekeep Clan,” he replied, shaking my hand firmly. “And that paragon of disappointment you just met is Evan Stone. He’s from a politically powerful branch of the family—for the moment, anyway. But thanks to some good planning and my sister Erica’s business savvy, we can afford to completely ignore their attempts to gain influence over the main family.”

  “Ah, family politics. My condolences. But hey—having a sister like that sounds pretty good, especially a rich one,” I said with a grin.

  Robert chuckled. “I’ve got a good feeling about you, Jake. Will you be in town long?”

  “I’m planning to stay at least a week, maybe up to three months at most.”

  “Well, keep an eye out for Evan. He’s vindictive and has a talent for stirring up trouble—especially for people he thinks can’t fight back.”

  “On that note,” I said, my tone turning thoughtful, “I have a sensitive question for you. What are the rules for self-defense in this city?”

  “You mean if someone attacks you, can you defend yourself?” Robert raised an eyebrow.

  “Exactly. Say Evan tries something, and let’s just say… he doesn’t back down in time. What would happen if I were to, ah, leave his body in the street?”

  Robert let out a low whistle, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “First, I’d say—make damn sure you have enough witnesses who can’t be bought off to back you up. His family is notorious for twisting the story to get him out of trouble. And, well… if you can handle things discreetly, without anyone noticing, I don’t think anyone besides his family would complain.”

  “And if he were to… suddenly disappear?” I asked casually.

  “Not a problem for my side of the family,” Robert said with a dry chuckle. “But his? Oh, they’d lose their minds.”

  “There’s a saying where I’m from,” I said lightly. “No body, no crime.”

  Robert laughed. “Ha! I’ve heard something similar, though usually in the mouths of, shall we say… less polite company.”

  “Purely hypothetical, of course,” I added with a half-smile. “No intention behind it.”

  Before I could turn away, Robert asked, “By the way, have you been informed of the first three laws of Gauntlet?”

  “That’s news to me,” I admitted. “It’s been on my list to check.”

  “The laws are pretty straightforward,” Robert began, his voice steady. “First—absolutely no theft. If you’re caught, you’re banished. Permanently. That’s not to say theft doesn’t happen in the city—it’s just that the ones who get caught? They’re never seen in Gauntlet again. And if they come back, it’s on pain of death.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Noted.”

  “Second law: no murder,” he continued, glancing at me. “And that’s an important distinction. It doesn’t say you can’t kill—just that you can’t commit murder. Killing outside of self-defense is where the line’s drawn. They’re a little loose on interpreting what counts as self-defense… but the penalty’s death, so even when you’re in the right—be careful.”

  “Sounds… heavy,” I murmured.

  “Third law,” Robert went on, ignoring the comment for the moment, “no breaking sworn contracts. If you break one, you’re hit with double restitution and public shame. On top of that, you risk being called into an honor duel. Nobles love to pull that card when they think they have the advantage. And whoever wins the duel? They walk away with the loser’s property and most, if not all, of their liquid assets.”

  “Sounds heavy,” I repeated, this time a little more thoughtfully.

  “Heavy?” Robert tilted his head.

  “It’s a saying from home,” I explained with a faint smile. “A bastardization of ‘heavy is the head that wears the crown.’ Basically, it’s about the weight of responsibility that comes with power or privilege.”

  Robert grinned. “Heavy. I like that. A good way to look at it—privileges come with equally ‘heavy’ responsibilities.”

  He reached forward, clapping me lightly on the shoulder. “If you find yourself with time, feel free to swing by the estate. We’re in the fourth ring. We’ll be expecting you.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Robert,” I said warmly. “Have a wonderful day.”

  As I continued toward the Adventurers’ Guild, I considered checking out the Merchants’ Guild as well. Having memberships in both seemed like a smart move—more contacts, more opportunities, more places to buy and sell. It only made sense.

  But the city kept pulling at my attention. Everywhere I turned, there were small businesses, stalls, and carts. Almost every storefront had someone selling something right outside—a blacksmith had a leatherworker or a vendor selling oil for tools out front; bakeries had spice stalls or honey sellers parked right by the door. It was clever, really—like the whole city was one living, breathing marketplace.

  A bakery would have someone selling cheese next door—or maybe jerky, or something else that paired perfectly with fresh bread.

  As I continued down the street, I came across a shop advertising dungeon gear and runed equipment. Some of it looked solid, the kind of stuff that could get you through a few rough fights. But some… well, some looked like it wouldn’t survive a single trip into a dungeon before falling apart at the seams. Still, I was tempted by a few pieces—especially a shoulder plate. I’d been cut on that side more than once by now, and it reminded me of those World War II planes they’d reinforce in the places most likely to get hit, just so they could limp back home after a dogfight.

  Not all of the merchants were as charming as their goods. Some were hyper-aggressive, to the point of trying to drag me bodily into their shops, despite my polite refusals. I swear, I almost had to draw a knife on one just to make my point.

  And despite the city’s strict law against theft, I was positive several people had already tried to fleece me as I walked. If it weren’t for my ring of holding and my personal storage space, I’d probably have lost half my money before noon. I even noticed a fresh cut on my pants where someone had tried to lift a wallet I didn’t even have. Thankfully, I didn’t carry a coin purse—or that would have been long gone. I made a mental note: I was going to have to be much more careful walking these streets from now on.

  After another fifteen minutes of weaving through the crowd, I finally made it to the Adventurers’ Guild Hall. And it was… imposing. No doubt designed that way on purpose.

  In a city made primarily of stone and heavy timber, the Guild stood out with three solid stories of weathered white stone. Its blue roof, dotted with gables, gleamed in the sun. The ground floor had massive granite blocks worked into its construction, lending it an even more fortified look. Wide, dark timber doors stretched nearly ten feet across, standing open to reveal a courtyard bustling with adventurers.

  The courtyard itself surprised me—it wasn’t just hard stone and iron, but softened with trees, flower beds, and patches of greenery woven into the walls. Tables were scattered about where adventurers sat, eating, drinking, and laughing. One of the inner walls held a striking mosaic of the guild’s emblem.

  Beyond the courtyard, two more heavy doors led into the main building, though only the left one stood open. Inside, on the right wall, were mounted shields in a neat row—iron, bronze, silver, gold, platinum. But what caught my eye was a bright green shield, likely jade, set just slightly apart from the others.

  Near the entrance, the walls were lined with requests and job postings. One section was labeled Independent, another Dungeon Shifts, and a third off to my right read Guild Business.

  Inside, just like in so many fantasy novels and anime I’d seen, there were beautiful women and tough-looking men working behind what looked like a massive bar counter. The counter had to be at least 80 feet long, made of a dark wood so deep in color it was almost black. Above each attendant, signs hung overhead: one said Requests, the next Registration and Inquiries. Two stations were marked Certification and Training, and finally, three more read Retrievals and Sales.

  Feeling like things were pretty straightforward, I walked up to the Registration desk. There, a cute little blonde with sparkling brown eyes greeted me. When she smiled, I caught a glimpse of her very sharp-looking teeth. Her voice was smooth—distractingly smooth—and I had the strange sense that if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up hypnotized.

  “Hello! How can I help you today?”

  I coughed, clearing what suddenly felt like a frog in my throat.

  “Cough, cough… Hi. This is my first time here, and I was told I could register and get an identification card. I’m wondering if there are different membership types, and I was hoping you could tell me a bit about the guild and whether it might be right for me. Oh, and… I also have some items I might want to sell.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I see,” she said, her sharp smile widening. “Yes, we can help you with all that! Whether you join the guild or not, we can provide you with an identification—but it’s less expensive if you join the guild first, even though you’ll pay a bit more up front for registration.”

  “Alright… sounds reasonable. What other benefits are there?”

  “Well, first off, we can generally guarantee work through material requests, so you’ll have steady employment—as long as you don’t break city or guild rules, which are nearly the same. Depending on your skill level and the rank you’re given after assessment, you’ll also be eligible for various hunting requests—or ‘bounties,’ as the old-timers like to call them.”

  She leaned forward slightly, her voice dipping conspiratorially.

  “Some of those can be very lucrative, which is one of the biggest reasons people join the Adventurers’ Guild. But honestly, I think many people register just for access to the training and the rare supplies and materials you can’t get outside the guild. It’s similar to what the Merchants’ Guild does, but with a different focus.”

  She gave a knowing smile. “And, of course, we have information about and access to dungeons throughout the kingdom—and even beyond. That’s probably the biggest draw for adventurers. They all dream of hitting it big, getting multiple drops in a single dive…”

  She shook her head slightly, an amused smirk curling her lips. “…Though between you and me, that’s usually wishful thinking.”

  That was telling—and I’d have to be careful with what information I gave out, and how much I sold at any one time. Either that, or I’d need a very convincing story about how I’d gathered all my gear from multiple dives…

  “Are there any incentives to having a membership when it comes to selling looted items or beast materials to the guild?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t necessarily say there are price benefits to selling to the guild,” she replied thoughtfully. “Other than to say, we try to maintain a minimum going rate for most items and resources. But the key thing is that we always buy resources—whether there’s a high demand at the moment or not. Thanks to our storage vault, we can put things away for rainy days, when certain resources become scarce. That helps us keep prices fairly stable, even if we occasionally take a bit of a loss on some sales.”

  “That’s helpful,” I said with a nod. “Would I be able to get an appraisal or at least an estimate on the items I’ve brought—in private? I’m pretty ignorant about what’s highly valuable and what might not be worth much at all, and I’d rather not embarrass myself or draw unnecessary attention.”

  She gave an approving smile. “We can definitely help you with that—after we finish registering you or at least providing your identification card.”

  “Excellent. Is there any specific training you offer? And what’s included with membership, as far as training goes?”

  “Initially,” she explained, “we give you a free assessment, which many people prize—not just because of the rank it gives you, but because it’s an instructive experience. You get an honest appraisal of your individual skills and learn which areas of combat or tradecraft need improvement to become a stronger adventurer. It also points out certain deficiencies most people have, so you know what types of requests or dungeons to avoid until you’re ready.”

  “I see,” I said, interested. “And aside from the initial assessment, what other kinds of training do you offer?”

  “We offer weapon training for any number of styles and weapons,” she began, her tone smooth and practiced. “We have a tactics and logistics course that many people view as critical for success when dungeon diving. There’s a hunting course too—it’s actually divided into six levels, based on the difficulty of different-tier monsters and beasts.

  “And finally, we offer a wilderness survival course that focuses on stealth, evasion, and general resourcefulness in the wild. All these courses are available only to members of the guild. However,” she added with a small, knowing smile, “they’re not included in your membership. Each course has a different set of requirements, and spots are limited. They can also be quite expensive—the instructors like it that way, to weed out people who aren’t serious about learning. Not that it stops the occasional conceited noble from showing up and sometimes ruining a class,” she added with a wry laugh. “Just a fair warning.”

  “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful,” I said, giving her an appreciative nod. “So, how much is the registration fee?”

  “For the identification, it’s two silver. For basic guild registration, it’s two gold.” She raised a finger slightly. “Yes, it’s very expensive—before you ask. The price is also intentional, to make sure people who aren’t serious don’t bother joining. That said, it’s easy to make two gold back within your first month. We give new members priority on requests and help ensure they turn a profit early on. We want our members to invest—not just in the guild, but in themselves.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Is there something beyond the basic membership?”

  “We do have a priority membership,” she said, her eyes glinting. “That’s ten gold. It includes training to boost you to at least one tier higher than your initial rank, with personal coaching until you meet the requirements to tackle even stronger monsters. That way, you can earn money faster and continue climbing the ranks. There are a lot of other benefits with that membership too—but those are only explained after registration. I can assure you, nobody’s ever been disappointed.”

  That definitely caught my attention. Personal training in this world sounded less like a luxury and more like a necessity.

  “Are there any other membership options?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

  “There are,” she said, pausing with a slight tilt of her head, “but they have very specific requirements—things we determine during your assessment. And just so you’re aware, that membership level usually requires anywhere from 100 to 1,000 gold. Many of the people who attempt it… well, let’s just say they often end up ejected from the guild for breaking a whole separate set of guidelines.”

  I let out a low breath. “That sounds… expensive and difficult.”

  A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth. “It is.”

  “Is there a way to change your membership later on, after the basic registration?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “That’s actually very common and often the preferred method.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll take the 10 gold membership,” I said. “I’m also thinking about joining the Merchants Guild, as I have some crafts I’m looking to sell and maybe even become a supplier for a small business in the city in the future. Is there a way to combine all that information on one ID, or is it a separate process?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem at all. Once you’re done registering here, you can use the same ID card, and they’ll just add the extra information. That is, assuming you want your Adventurers Guild membership to be the priority. If not, you can go to the Merchants Guild first and have us add your information to the card when you return.”

  “No, I like the idea of the Adventurers Guild being front and center. What else do I need to do paperwork-wise before the assessment?”

  “Well, let’s get you paid up before the assessment, and then I’ll take you over to see Gil, one of our assessors. He’s a gold rank, often called an AA rank by some of the more, shall we say, colorful members of the guild.” She gave me a knowing look before continuing, “He’ll go light on you at first, but slowly press you more and more until you hit your limits. He will injure you in this process, so be aware and prepared. But don’t worry, we’ll have you healed in moments afterward. That’s part of the reason the membership registration costs so much.”

  We made our way down the hallway to the left of the counter. She began asking me questions about myself and where I was from—ostensibly for paperwork, though maybe out of idle curiosity. We ended up descending a wide set of stairs that turned to the left after about 50 feet. These weren’t regulation stairs like back home; anyone who fell down them was going to be in pain. The stairs continued down another 30 feet, leading into an arena-like space carved out of solid stone. It looked as though it had been the site of multiple explosions and battles. The hard, compacted dirt had a dark brown, almost black hue, likely from all the blood that had been spilled and dried over centuries.

  There were three men and a woman sitting at a table in the corner of the room by the entrance. They were laughing and drinking, playing cards of a sort I hadn’t seen before. I didn’t think you could play poker with these. Now that I was looking closer, I realized I’d seen them before. They were the same cards the bandits had been playing with on the porch of the cabin in the woods. I had kind of assumed they'd be regular playing cards and had subconsciously given up on my idea to introduce my own set. Maybe it wasn’t a lost cause after all.

  Only one man got up, while the other three ignored us.

  “Tessa, it’s good to see you. What have you brought me?” he asked.

  “This is Jacob Bashir from up north,” she replied. “Apparently, it’s a fairly remote village that’s strongly isolationist, so he’s new to the guild and still catching up on some of the common knowledge of the Kingdom. He’s purchased the advanced membership. When he’s finished with you, he plans to sell some items he thinks might be valuable to the guild. Send him to appraisal room 3 when he’s done.”

  Turning to me, she continued, "I’ll bring your membership/identification card sometime before or during your appraisal appointment. Don’t worry if you don’t have anything actually valuable; part of the training for your upgraded membership includes basic instruction on what’s considered valuable and highly requested during the season."

  "Thanks for your time, and I’ll see you later."

  I’d been told that Gil was going to test me, teach me, and push me to my limits. "Is this armed or unarmed training?"

  "Armed," he replied. "We don’t want to train brawlers; we want to train adventurers who hunt beasts and monsters. If it ever comes down to you having to fight a monster with your fists, you’ve done something wrong. I can count on one hand the number of gold and platinum rank adventurers who can fight a seriously dangerous beast without a weapon. And all those would be considered close calls."

  "Sounds more than reasonable. Is there a particular weapon I should focus on, or will you work with me on multiple weapons?"

  "Choose a weapon you’re fairly good at, then choose one you’re relatively inexperienced with. We’ll start with the inexperienced one first."

  "Okay, I’ve got this combat knife. Will that work?"

  "If you’re comfortable with it, it’ll work just fine."

  Gil was a big guy. He easily stood at 6’3", with broad shoulders, a big chest, abs that could crush walnuts, and arms the size of my legs. How did I know all this, besides his height? Well, other than his incredibly deep tan skin, the guy was dressed almost exactly like what I picture a barbarian would wear. That is to say- not much.

  I asked, "Where should we start?"

  "You see the dark metal circle over there?" Gil gestured toward the distance. "I want you to start in there, and I’ll start in this one over here. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll start charging at you. Just do your best, and don’t worry. You won’t be injured for longer than 30 seconds after the fight. Please try not to scream, as Rachel has sensitive hearing."

  He said this last part while gesturing toward the girl at the table, who I noticed had what looked like mouse ears.

  Cute.

  I walked over to the circle, and Gil stepped into his, which was made of a silver-like metal, different from the one I was in.

  Before anything else happened, Gil yelled to the other three at the table, "Turn it on."

  Immediately, at my feet, the ring started to glow with white runic script I hadn’t noticed earlier.

  Looking at it, I saw it was a large number of detection runes, checking for… whether I was imbued with black magic, a vampire, a werewolf, if I’d had contact with a wight or a shade, had used any specific type of blood magic in recent months, or was a cannibal. That last one surprised me.

  Turning around, making sure I hadn’t missed anything in the runes, I took a deep breath of relief. I had definitely not done any of what they were looking for. Almost as abruptly as it started, the light dimmed and went out, and Gil let out a sigh of relief.

  "Sorry to spring that on you," he said. "But there’s only one way to test to make sure you’re not someone or something we need to be worried about. About once every five to ten memberships, we reveal someone that needs to be killed on-site after this testing method. The vampires and werewolves aren’t as much of an issue, especially since most of them are willing to tell us beforehand. Me and Nick, we know most of them are victims and simply need support in coping with their new living circumstances. In fact, due to the change, they’re known for being extremely loyal to organizations that’ve given them a little trust. It’s not 100%, but close enough to be considered almost a rule. About fifty years ago, there was a shade that took out half the guild hall before the guild master came back and put it down for good."

  "If I was one of those things, would you all be able to actually stop me? Not to doubt your capabilities, but it just seems like a risky proposition."

  "Oh, no! There’s a secondary set of runes that would’ve activated to create a force barrier. It’s near indestructible, but only lasts about 10 minutes. Most of that time is used to evacuate the area."

  "That sounds like a reasonable plan of action. Are we actually going to spar, or are there any other tests before we begin?"

  "That was it. Whenever you're ready."

  I started sprinting at him, my combat knife held out to the side. Another little misdirection, to make him think I didn't have any skills whatsoever. However, I don't think he bought it, because he was watching my bearing and footwork, and that told the tale of someone who had thought this through. It only took one spill onto the ground in the middle of a fight to make you hyper-aware of your footing, and I'd had that experience in the dungeon twice.

  I tried my trick of sliding between his legs, aiming to cut inside his thigh, but he abruptly skipped to the side and kicked me in the head, sending me flying like a limp ragdoll—nearly six feet away. These weren’t the hypothetical, exaggerated six feet that you often hear about in stories. I was legitimately booted six feet away with a broken neck, a cracked skull, and an imprint on my face and neck from his boot.

  I’ll say one thing: he didn’t need to worry about me screaming because I was absolutely incapable of it. I blacked out about six seconds after I hit the ground, and was relieved by it when they brought me back.

  I looked up and saw Gil’s face. He simply stared at me and said, "Let’s try that again, without the stupid tricks. They may work in desperate situations when you know you're completely outclassed, but it's always a huge risk. It's better if you show me what you're capable of at base so we can train you not to need those tricks."

  "Yeah, that sounds like a better plan," I said, my voice strained. "By the way, how long was I out?"

  "You were nearly dead for about two minutes. Since you were unconscious, we decided to take our time and save mana."

  "You're being cheapskates on me already," I said in a teasing tone.

  "The guild is a business, even if it does play a pivotal role in society."

  "Okay, let’s try that again," I said.

  "Remember, show me your true skills first, and I’ll match your effort so that we can gradually build up speed and technique. If you try some stupid trick again, I’m going to make the experience painful so you're less likely to do it in the future."

  Back in my starting spot, I mentally focused on grounding myself, readying for the fight. I sprinted at him again, not really planning on clashing so much as trying to shorten the distance quickly. I moved to his left and made some probing jabs, which he returned with remarkable speed. From the little training I’d had, I knew Gil was a remarkable fighter just from the way he held himself and his stance. He never allowed himself to move out of balance and kept himself centered. He didn’t stay on one particular foot or give me an opportunity to strike his legs.

  I might as well have been looking at a brick wall with the way he responded to my every move.

  I would try a lunge, but without losing his center of balance or overreaching, he’d adjust his distance and posture to counter, casually slapping my blade away roughly.

  After my eighth attempt at an attack, he started to give me some direction.

  "When you stab and I parry, you need to immediately repost or turn the parried blade into an attack from a different direction. No enemy is going to give you time to compose yourself for another attack or wait for you to find an opening. The best feints that draw out your opponent are actual attacks that are turned aside before your enemy can parry them appropriately, catching them mid-movement. Don’t just use your arms and legs when you fight. When your body takes up space or impedes their ability to move, that’s also part of combat. When you're grappling with your enemy on the ground—which often happens even after scoring a decisive hit on them—you need to be able to pass their guard and immobilize them. More importantly, you must cause enough damage that they can’t continue. You are not fighting them to get away or delay. You’re fighting them to eliminate their ability to resist or continue. More often than not, that means killing them."

  He stepped back for just a moment, looked me in the eye, and said with an icy tone, "I need you to try and kill me. You're not taking this seriously enough. If I was coming after one of your family members or an innocent little girl in the crowd, would you be fighting like this?" he asked rhetorically. "Train like it’s real, because it will be real, and it always happens when you least expect it."

  What he said made a huge impact on me. And he was right. I was treating this like it was some game fantasy and not the serious training that would help me stay alive. My effort shifted from high performance, which equated to barely competent swordsmanship in real life, to deadly serious and intent on beating the man in front of me, despite his overwhelming competence.

  I nodded back at him, and he immediately noticed the change in my demeanor. He seemed, if not satisfied, then accepting of my changed perspective.

  My lunges became more rapid and precise, my aggression building as I began to show a level of focus and speed I’d never allowed myself to demonstrate outside of real combat. Just as Gil had said earlier, I adjusted my approach—abruptly cutting off a lunge to readjust my position, aiming to stab at a spot he had slightly left open while preparing to block or make a move of his own. We went back and forth for about five minutes, my energy waning and sweat pouring down my face, but I was determined to keep pushing.

  Suddenly, Gil changed gears. He began calling out my deficiencies while striking me viciously in multiple places, forcing me to face each mistake head-on.

  “Your center of gravity’s too high, leaving your abdomen open,” he said. Then, a tiny, sharp stab to the right side of my abdomen, harder for him to land than my left, drove the point home. “You’re not taking a stroll in the park.”

  “You overreach and lose your center of gravity when you lunge, leaving the backs of your legs open for attack from a quick enemy.” He circled around me with ease and left a shallow cut on the back of my calf.

  “You telegraph your feints by leaning, letting your enemy know you plan to spring to the opposite side of his body.” He waited for my faint and sliced each arm as I attempted it, skillfully evading my moves.

  “When you retreat, you don’t move your legs fast enough, leaving your knees open for reprisal before you get away far enough.” He cut the top of my thigh as I tried to retreat, and then he did the same to the other thigh after taking another step forward.

  “You think one move at a time, while your enemy is thinking six, coming up with an entire attack strategy while you’re busy reacting.” He demonstrated this by delivering three feints in a row. As he circled behind me, he struck quickly—cutting both my forearms, my cheek, my lower back, and finally my abdomen, each slash shallow but relentless, bleeding me more with every second.

  His gaze hardened as he looked me in the eye, and his voice grew more intense. “It’s time to end this.”

  I sensed his lunge before he reached me, and instinct took over. I moved to the side, narrowly avoiding the stab, and closed the distance between us. Rotating quickly, I slammed the back of my elbow into his throat, dropping to a knee just enough to slice the inside of his thigh. I spun back out, blocking his sword swing just in time, creating some much-needed distance.

  The look of pure surprise on his face was a perfect example of the word bewildered.

  I would remember that moment for a long time. It made all the cuts and injuries I had taken in this training worthwhile.

  Gil collapsed to the ground, and the mouse-eared girl hurried over, a special stone in her hands. The stone was the size of a small lunch plate, covered in intricate runes inlaid with gold. She placed it on his chest, and the stone began channeling Mana into his body, rapidly healing him.

  About four minutes later, Gil regained consciousness. He looked at me with a mixture of surprise and approval, gave a small side grin, and said, “I think you’ve got potential. Jake, it’ll take a while, but you’ve got the kind of initiative that makes a good warrior and adventurer. Now, just try that again with a sword.”

  I mentally groaned.

  ********

  An hour later, I was walking up the stairs, healed but still sore—physically and emotionally—from the experience. Despite the healing, my body ached from the intensity of the fight. I had performed better with the sword, thanks to its longer reach, but I still needed to work on my speed, technique, and variety in my attacks to be less predictable. Overall, I was given a bronze ranking, which surprised me, considering how thoroughly I had been bested in the beginning.

  Curious about the grading, I asked Gil, “How does the scoring work?”

  He shrugged, still catching his breath. “Everybody gets trashed, even platinum rankers. We could tell how you were going to move just from the way you walked in. Body language says a lot once you get good at reading it. If you had shown the characteristics of a platinum ranker... well, I would’ve called Marcus in, and then he would’ve trashed you.”

  "Your score is based not just on capability, but on how much effort you put into the training and your ability to adapt and change your mentality," Gil explained, his voice steady. "I kind of goaded you into taking it easy initially, based on my behavior. It’s part of the test. Most people mirror the reactions and behavior of the people they interact with—subconsciously. I purposely had a lackadaisical demeanor when we first met. And it was only during the fight that I shifted to being serious, to see how you would adjust."

  He gave me a small smile, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I think you’ll go far if you keep up the training. Focus mainly on adding additional techniques and skills. Most people don't, because they want an honest assessment of their fighting style without any gear or skills, but having them means you should use them."

  He paused, as if making sure I understood the gravity of his words. "A dull blade or an unused skill is like an apple nobody ever eats—it just goes bad. It doesn’t help anybody, and it doesn’t provide any real benefit. Just like an apple, it’s not the only thing you eat—or, for the sake of this conversation, use."

  He tilted his head, clearly considering something before continuing, "Have you tried learning how to use a bow by chance?"

  I nodded, feeling a flicker of pride. "Yes, I picked it up about two months ago and have been practicing sporadically since."

  “I’d like to go over training you with it at a later time.”

  Gil grinned slightly. "Okay, well, I’ll let you head to the appraisal room. Hopefully, they’ll get you some coin and some basic information on what we like our adventurers to bring in to make both them and us a profit."

  Just as I made my way to the door of the appraisal room, which was against the wall to the left of the counter, I heard the same distracting voice again.

  "Oh, good, I’m catching you just in time!"

  As I turned around, it was Tessa, the registration clerk, holding my identification card.

  It was a black metal card with bronze inlaid writing, my name at the bottom, and a stylized "Gauntlet" in the top right corner—likely emphasizing the location.

  "Excellent! This looks great," I said. "Anything I need to do before I go in?"

  She shook her head. "You can go inside. There's nothing important to do other than to be aware that the room is soundproofed, so no one outside will be able to hear anything that’s said. The appraiser has strict confidentiality requirements and won’t discuss anything spoken about during the appraisal—both for your protection and theirs. If they’re not capable of making a precise enough evaluation of the item’s value, they may request the guildmaster to take part in the evaluation to confirm the results, but that’s a rare occurrence."

  Walking into the room, I was surprised at how much bigger it was than expected. Judging by the spacing of the doors from each other, I had anticipated something no larger than a small bedroom or a front office in someone’s home. But this room was easily the size of my backyard back on Earth. About 60 feet across and 40 feet deep, with big tables everywhere, made of the same almost-black lacquered wood as the counter out front. I counted seven tables. Apparently, some groups brought in a lot of materials, or this room was used for other purposes besides just appraisals.

  There was a wiry, elderly man leaning against one of the tables in the far corner. He looked to be in the middle of eating a sandwich that I assumed was his lunch. He had a bottle to his mouth, chugging from it.

  "Oh, that’s good stuff," he said as we approached. "Tessa, it’s great to see you again. And this is a new adventurer who’s not sure if he’s got something valuable, right?"

  "That’s the case," Tessa replied. "Stewart, how have you been?"

  "Oh, just going where the wind’s been taking me," Stewart said with a sigh. "My wife’s been into gardening recently, and she thinks that’s an excellent form of exercise—despite the damage it does to my back every time we finish a section. And I cannot tell you how much I hate spinach. Add lettuce... and collard greens. Eh, But she insists that’s what we need to grow this year. I’d much rather be growing some cabbage, bok choy, heck, even cucumber or carrots." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Can’t say I’m quite a fan of carrots, but it’s better than spinach. Don’t tell my wife that. Do you still go to the same book club with her?"

  "I’ve missed the last two books, but we get together occasionally for tea, and she catches me up. Honestly, I don’t think I missed much with the last two books or so she tells me.”

  "Well, anyway," he said, brushing off the conversation with a wave, "let’s get on with this. Sorry to waste your time, young man. What would you like to show us first?"

  I brought out my first item, and Spencer immediately asked, "What the hell is that?"