“That’s a good catch!” The guildmaster looked like one. Middle-aged, bald, healed scars, slightly overweight, and clothes worthy of someone who had worked hard and achieved relative financial freedom.

  “All of them. Sir, can we make it in time?” His assistant looked competent as well.

  “Make it four days if they’re too many.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Ioha grabbed his registration badge and waved Hiro’s decimated company to him. “And now shopping.” There were groans mixed with shouts of anticipation. “Hiro, you absolutely sure you’ll foot the bill?”

  “I am.”

  “You are aware this will cost you a fortune?”

  Hiro flashed a satisfied grin. “I have that fortune and more. I brought the guild together, mistakes and all. I’ll clean it up.”

  “Just wish you’d just call it a company instead.”

  Hiro shook his head. “We’re the Black Flaming Dragon guild. That stays. I’ll make it a good place, a guild people will be proud to join.”

  Ioha flinched. The guild name was even worse than his knighted one, and Hiro knew that. He was just dead set to make his badge of shame into one of honour. You had to respect him for that.

  “Shopping on your own, or having me comment on every purchase until you puke?”

  “Puke patrol, ready!”

  Ioha grinned and took the lead. The first purchase was the most important, and the least obvious. Draft horses and two wagons. Carriages could wait, since they had already proven their feet lasted for weeks. To be frank, carriages had to wait until Hiro recruited enough new members to have drivers for them as well. After that followed camp tools and a few tents they got for dirt cheap, since they were hopeless to sell. Sure, barns went up fast, but if you had wagons, you could afford tents, and they were headed back to where there was only one barn, if they passed the test. Isekai being what it was, someone new always popped up and noticed there was no market for tents and later learned why.

  Ioha had to spend some time convincing them axes came both as tools as well as weapons, and that they should be kept apart. A similar argument for knives took less time, since the ones you used as weapons were called daggers. After that, pots and pans. They couldn’t live off Nanami’s equipment forever. Camping stoves were yet to be reinvented, or at least manufactured, so Ioha had to give up on that for now. When he felt confident they could go on camping tours and live off the land if things got desperate, it was time for supplies. Lots and lots of supplies. Things broke and tore, and there were no shops in the wilderness. Add food to that. With them prepared for camping in style, it was finally time for weapons and armour.

  This time they did split. Haruto, the self-proclaimed ranger, was a good archer, and Ioha sent him off with everyone who needed to learn about bows, with the instruction that they should avoid crossbows. The rest he dragged to a weapons-smithy with good reputation. Hiro took notes, since he was their wallet after all, and then Ioha had them go inside one by one and explain what they wanted, with Ioha vetoing anything stupid. When they were done, Haruto returned with the future archers and a pained look on his face. He bowed and apologised to Ioha before he could ask what had happened. The process in the smithy repeated until everyone was happy and Hiro’s purse lighter.

  Armour was a different matter. You didn’t just waltz into a smithy and order a piece of armour. The best of two days went into visiting seamstresses, armour-smiths, tailors, both cobblers and shoemakers, and other leather-crafters. You might not want to leave your outer armour to them, but there were numerous items they produced for your comfort.

  In the end, most of them had to enter the tests without the items they had ordered, Ioha included, but that turned out less of a problem than he had feared. The tests were separated into actual rank tests and rank assessments. Barring any abnormal problems, anyone who had trained in their speciality for a few months passed, and you simply didn’t get a passing grade from your primer unless you had done those months.

  He took his own rank test early in the morning, so he could watch the guild-members later. For the test, everyday clothes were enough, and he found a last use for his old school uniform. Now, a year later, it was too small for him, and he must have looked a little strange. Tomorrow meant more shopping.

  A receptionist welcomed him and led him inside a meeting room. Three people, all middle-aged, waited inside with tired looks on their faces. They gave his uniform an appraising stare each, and began. A barrage of questions, like if the pointy end should face forward or into yourself, came his way and when he looked at them as if they were mentally defunct the questions changed character but never left the realm of embarrassingly easy.

  At the very end, they changed character again.

  “It says you’re registered as a heavily armoured close range combatant. Is that correct?”

  “In essence, yes. I have a few magic, ranged, offensive abilities available, but I can’t rely on them.”

  “Archery?”

  “None.”

  “Isn’t that taking a risk?”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “I can place traps at a distance.” Ioha swore mentally. Eventually, he would have to get a bow and quiver, but he didn’t relish lugging around something he didn’t plan to use.

  “Would you please follow us to the training field?” An order framed as a question.

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  He followed them down a few stairs and out on a training field. Being in Isekai it lacked the mandatory barn. As training fields went it filled its purpose, which meant being flat, having a few training dummies, an enclosed archery range, and a storage with what Ioha suspected was an orgy of wooden weapons and more dummies.

  “Please fetch the weapons of your choice.”

  Ioha went into the storage and returned with a spear and a heater shield. It was slung slightly differently from what he preferred, but it did the job.

  “Defensive stance!”

  He complied.

  “Offensive!”

  He did as told once again

  “What kind of posture is that?”

  Huh? “Two-handed grip with passive shield, Sir.”

  “Odd one, but OK.”

  After that followed a series of attacks, first against a dummy and then against one of them. This was a test for E-rank, so he voided the use of magic.

  “You pass.”

  He hadn’t expected anything else. Even when too small for him, the Spellsword Academy school uniform commanded a minimum of respect.

  “Tomorrow, same time, rank assessment.”

  Ioha bowed and left the field.

  Later that day, he watched the circus pass their tests. A week in reality cleaned away the worst atrocities, and even though some of them were lacking, E-rank was E-rank. When the last of them was done, he left for the restaurant he had booked to celebrate the occasion.

  Hiro still footed the bill, but Ioha decided he didn’t have to abuse the situation and picked a place with good food, large portions and a lively atmosphere. They took longer to arrive than he expected, and when they finally gushed through the doors, he had his answer. Hiro had surcoats made for them, and Ioha emptied his weakened cider into the air when he saw them.

  Love it! They’re absolutely wonderfully totally insane!

  Only someone having thought long and hard about their own shortcomings would voluntarily go outside in that. The surcoats were bone white with a wide, red rim. Emblazoned on their chests was a Black Flaming Dragon. It didn’t spew fire. It was barbecued.

  Gods! If they ever make a name for themselves, people are going to be very, very careful joking about that. Awesome! “I have tables for you.”

  “Thanks. As you can see, I had our guild uniforms made.”

  “Hiro, I noticed. I believe all of Isekai did.”

  “Did you believe you’d get out of this scot-free?”

  Uh oh. “Mm. You’re scaring me.”

  “Guild, back!”

  They turned. He was surrounded by backs, each sporting a stylised heater shield crossed with a spear. Oh, shit! “It’s very cute.”

  “It’s enough if we know. The four of us are changing our main weapons. We’ll be using your modern spear, or some version of it. I don’t want to fight other humans anyway.”

  Ioha looked at Viking girl. “You know your shield isn’t really…”

  “I like it! I’ll learn.”

  He met her eyes. She was an open book. I can’t return your feelings. Ioha wondered if he should say anything but decided he’d pretend he didn’t notice. Infatuation. It would pass. In a way, he owed her. She reminded him of how much he missed Ai. Now, there was something he wanted back. At least some kind of goal or at least purpose for living. He’d find a real one for himself later.

  The restaurant was indeed lively, and the food was good and generously served. Most of them drank heavily, but Ioha’s body was a sixteen-year-old despite his size, and he alternated between fruit juice and weakened cider.

  Lively, unfortunately, meant catering to other groups of people drinking just as heavily, and drunken bragging soon turned into drunken rivalry, and eventually drunken brawling. The furniture was sturdy for a reason, and the owner knew how to overcharge anyone who broke it anyway. There was no real danger apart from the discomfort. People had all kinds of strange magic abilities, but offensive magic had heavy fines attached to them, while defensive magic in general was overlooked.

  Before things got out of hand, Ioha interfered. He marched up to the largest of the brawlers and looked down on him. “Do we have a problem?”

  “What the hell?”

  “Do you know who Anthony von Shithead is?”

  “An who?”

  Ioha threw a thin hard shield under his opponent's feet, triggered it to spring upwards and caught him in a force field just like he had done last autumn. “Now you do.”

  The brawling stopped.

  “What?”

  “Better dig your friend out, or he’ll be stuck there until morning.” Two days or more under perfect conditions, but they didn’t need to know that.

  “Who the hell do you think…”

  “I believe I’m Sir the hell Ioha Questingtank.” That put another damper on the situation. An average idiot here pretended they were noble. Far fewer settled for knighthood, and the extremely small minority, who also cast strange magic incapacitating someone, were most likely the real thing. People got knighted for different reasons, but they usually involved killing a lot of people, with the law smiling approvingly on you. What he had cast was defensive magic by definition. The law would smile.

  Despite all furniture kept intact, it might be a good idea to call it a night, literally as well. Ioha pulled Hiro over and suggested everyone go home before things turned ugly. Hiro looked at his drunken guild and agreed. Together, they collected the more unsteady of the bunch and carried them to their lodgings. After that, the party definitely split up, even if a few of them made the marginally intelligent decision to continue to a new place. Ioha wasn’t one of them and took to the road.

  His ryokan might not be finished, but the bath was well worth the hassle. The lack of a ceiling could be solved with hard shields, and what once trapped Anthony served as a bed. It was summer. He wouldn’t need a cloak.