Ranthia’s first chosen job as an Adventurer in Ariminum, as it turned out, was a goblin hunt. It was a newly posted B-Ranked job to hunt down a nest of goblins that were just beyond the range that the city’s various official defenders would bother with. They had attacked some rich idiot’s wagon, and though the rich idiot clearly got away he was throwing a bounty of rods to seek revenge.

  Ranthia still had a bit of an issue with goblins, but it turned out that her discomfort had a price. Ranthia could deal to get a payday that rivaled most of the A-Ranked jobs. …Granted, the other downside was wildly unsurprising, even if she had never uttered her alias in Ariminum.

  “Oh, damn, I was going to take the job.” “Yeah, but she’s the Slasher of Goblins.” “Oh, that makes sense. Go slash those goblins, Slasher!”

  Ranthia would never underestimate goblins again. She stalked their location in the old woodlands, scouted them out—the highest was a level 79 single-classed [Goblin – Wind]—and then mercilessly picked them off. The beasts knew true terror in their final moments, as their numbers dwindled. Ranthia refused to even fight them; instead, she stealthily closed in and executed them one by one.

  It was a cold and brutal combat style, one that [Sudden End] relished. Ranthia was left uncomfortable in the aftermath though, as she reflected on what she had done. During her journey home, Ranthia continued to wonder if that was really what she wanted to be. It was what she had originally meant to build her class into—Mirror for survival and to distract, then Dark… or maybe Void to kill—but something about it just… bothered her.

  Well, something other than the fact that she only got a single level in [Shadowed Steps] out of the bloody work.

  The brutality had soured at some point since she dreamt her build up.

  “The Slasher of Goblins returns from slashing goblins!” An Adventurer shouted shortly after she returned to the Guild. Others cheered and piled on.

  Ranthia just groaned in mild suffering and turned the job in.

  Adventurers worked by their own schedule, outside of somewhat rare exceptions. Yet Ranthia still struggled at times to be available during Hexara’s days off. Part of it was the often-limited warning Hexara would get—days off kind of rotated among the women that worked at the salon to make sure no one worked too many days in a row and they got time off when they had some need—but part of it was just how Adventurer jobs worked.

  Ariminum had a lot of Adventurers, especially compared to Sardonia. Decent jobs could be hard to find, even for a B-Ranked soloist. Worse, the immediate area within and around Ariminum was, ultimately, fairly safe. There was the city guard, there was some legion presence, there was a permanent Ranger team presence, and—purportedly—the Sentinels were based out of the city too; so, there was hefty competition in the area even before the fact that there were many dozens of Adventurers crammed into Ariminum (enough that Ranthia couldn’t even speculate at a headcount; there were new faces nearly every time she entered the Guildhall).

  Getting a decent job required a strong blend of both speed and luck, and almost always necessitated travel beyond Ariminum.

  Hexara understood though and supported Ranthia. Because Ranthia was the luckiest lady in all of Pallos. They spent time together when they could and Ranthia was a frequent customer at the salon, even if Hexara’s coworkers still refused to let Ranthia have the discount back. And [Sexy] leveled almost every visit, which was amazing.

  Oh well, work was good enough that Ranthia could afford it. Ariminum was expensive to live in, but Ranthia had a major advantage: her housing was free. Her food expenses, on the other hand, were mostly her own fault since [Mages]—on average—needed more food than most people, since regenerating mana consumed your body’s fuel much like recovering stamina did (and lucky Ranthia, she had to worry about both).

  Thankfully ongoing maintenance had proven to be so much easier than the initial job to clean out the underground section of the Owl’s Sanctum.

  Spring was underway and Ranthia was looking forward to a birthday spent with Hexara—her girlfriend was all but guaranteed to be able to get the day off—in the near future. Ranthia wasn’t big on surprises, but she trusted Hexara implicitly. It was sure to be a grand day.

  But that was still a bit away, and Ranthia needed to find new jobs in the interim. Her expenses were down—a lot—thanks to her arcanite making mana potions mostly unnecessary, but she still hadn’t replenished what she had spent out of the funds that Tatius and Pupius had left her. (And she’d happily take her knives to anyone that recommended fewer visits to the stylist to save money.)

  The job board was, naturally, heavily picked over. High travel time, dubious payments, or prolonged escort missions were the bulk of what the B-Ranked board had listed, and the rest of the jobs required a team. Ranthia still adamantly refused to even temporarily join with other Adventurers. It felt like a betrayal of Tatius and Pupius.

  Eventually, she would be ready. But that day hadn’t come for her at that point.

  Instead, Ranthia finally took a job from the C-Ranked board. It didn’t pay much, but it was also a job that she could probably knock out that afternoon. Herbs around Ariminum tended to get overharvested, but she knew a few spots that were usually solid.

  Ranthia reached the counter and set her Adventurer token down with the job sheet in front of the first available clerk she reached. The man smiled his professional smile at her and took them. But then he fell silent as he checked things.

  “Ranthia, B-Ranked? You’re on the green board.” The clerk informed her with a shake of his head.

  The green board was the bamboo board where Adventurers signed up to group with other Adventurers on more complex jobs that needed larger teams than they possessed. Which meant Ranthia’s name most certainly should not have been on it!

  “Yeah, no. I’m not doing group stuff right now. Not sure what idiot wrote my name down there, but no.” Ranthia grumbled while she fixed the clerk with a glare. She did not want to deal with the headache of fixing someone else’s screw-up; there was no coin in it!

  “That would have been the Guildmaster. It’s an assigned job.” The man replied with obvious amusement.

  Ranthia cursed. That was the other use for the green board, when jobs came in where the client requested specific Adventurers or required Adventurers that had unique skillsets. Only the Guildmaster and his senior staff were able to assign jobs to Adventurers. In theory they were still optional, but in practice… well, refuse at your own peril.

  Ranthia stood next to two other women in a meeting room that she had never set foot in before. The other two women were both two to three years older than Ranthia, though she towered over both of them. It was fun, sometimes, being on the taller side for men as a woman. Every day Ranthia saw people taller than her—she had even seen the rare woman that was taller than she was—but she was happy with her height.

  Much taller and she would have been forced to duck under most doorways.

  An ancient-looking man—[Leader – Dark] level 287, [Scribe – Water] level 248; probably a rare retired Adventurer that took a Guild job—ambled in with a few other clerks. The man looked at each of them and sneered.

  “Yeah, this is never going to work, but that’s not my problem.” The old timer declared.

  “You got a problem with women Adventurers?!” One of the two women next to Ranthia snapped. Ranthia had literally never laid eyes on the woman before, but she admired her spirit.

  “Of course not, had two on my team back in the day. You’ll see the problem soon enough. Where’s the fourth?” He asked one of the clerks.

  “No one’s seen her in over a week. The Guildmaster said to run it with these three.” The clerk announced, his entire demeanor stiff and overly formal.

  “Of course he did. Fine, none of this is on me. Open your ears and pay attention, you three. There’s a temple northeast of here, along the Nostrum Sea. Used to be for priests that wanted to get away from everything and commune with their goddess in peace, but recently they decided that copying that School of Spellcraft and Sorcery gives their order more coin. Wealthy idiots that can’t accept that women have finally been acknowledged in the Empire send their daughters there, then this temple teaches them to be meek and ‘proper’ to make them more valuable to marry off.

  “Problem is, no one’s received any letters from their precious daughters since the Winter Solstice holiday period ended. The temple just says everything is normal, but enough idiots have gotten worried enough to pool resources and throw a ridiculous sum of money into getting answers.

  “The three of you are to pose as sisters, daughters of an enigmatic travelling merchant, and will be enrolled late by way of a hefty donation to the temple. Here’s where you should be noticing the problem that I mentioned. Still, you’re to find out why no one is hearing from their precious daughters. Combat is only authorized if something ridiculous is happening that immediately threatens the lives of the kids, like the temple is somehow a cult that’s sacrificing them on bloody altars. Even if it’s some slavery thing, your goal is to bring word to the Adventurer’s Guild so we can make a large-scale A-Ranked job out of it. Two B’s and a C are not a rescue force unless time is of the essence.”

  Ranthia cringed. The man’s attitude made complete sense. Each of them had brown hair, that much was true. …Except Ranthia’s was darker than either of the other two, and those two didn’t have the same shade either. Ranthia was younger than the other two, but much taller. And their physical builds had almost nothing in common. And then there was the other obvious problem…

  “If this is meant to train girls to be meek wives, aren’t we kind of old?” Ranthia voiced her main concern.

  “I did mention the hefty donation, right? You’re about the same age as some of the oldest girls, but the other two will probably be the oldest girls enrolled there. Unfortunately, trying to sneak in Adventurers posing as staff was deemed unworkable.” The old man replied.

  Gods, what a mess of a job. A ridiculous sum of money meant there was probably a greed-inducing pile of rods awaiting payout if they accomplished the job. It was low risk, with the Adventurer’s Guild’s reputation and this merchant bearing the brunt of the danger. But it was just… so obviously stupid. Their cover story was flimsier than a cheap scroll and investigations were not Ranthia’s forte.

  Ranthia opened her mouth to try to refuse.

  “Which goddess is this temple devoted to?” The quiet woman asked.

  Ranthia closed her mouth.

  “Seira, the Goddess of Order.” One of the clerks answered.

  Godsdamnit. Ranthia was in; there was no way she was going to miss a chance to screw with Seira’s people and their plans. Even if the temple staff had gone rogue and served only their own designs, the idea of a follower of Xaoc solving the problem in Seira’s precious little temple? Delicious.

  And she owed Xaoc more than a little chaos after so many selfish delays.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Preparation… well, preparation was a thing that happened. Ranthia couldn’t, in good conscience, say it went well. It turned out her inability to learn names extended to pseudonyms, even when she was involved in their creation. Elaborate backstories also proved to be problematic.

  Simple and cryptic weren’t exactly ideal, but with the limited prep time they had, that was what they went with.

  Ranthia was Amia.

  The angry lady was Bia.

  The quiet woman was Caea.

  …And yes, Ranthia was responsible for the names. No one liked them, but that was fine! No one liked the idea that they were raised separately and barely knew each other. No one liked the idea of being cryptic and trying to avoid talking about their family or private lives. No one liked the fact that none of them looked plausibly related, no matter what the stylist did. No one liked the expensive togas they wore—okay, angry Bia loved hers and negotiated keeping them as part of her payment—and there was just little to like about the whole job.

  Hexara was incredibly displeased too, since Ranthia was about to vanish for the rest of the season. Ranthia couldn’t even explain why beyond that it was an Adventurer job, but it meant that her birthday was going to pass somewhere else far away from Ariminum and her girlfriend.

  So yes, preparation happened. But nothing went well.

  “It is I, the enigmatic travelling merchant!” A boisterous man declared. He was clad in layered—and heavily dyed—robes, complete with a hooded cloak that partially obscured his face. …His face that was covered by an ornately designed brass mask that hid everything except for his lips and chin.

  Oh gods.

  Ranthia and her ‘sisters’ failed to keep the grimaces off their faces when the gilded wagon arrived, bearing the very loud man. The plan was to meet up with their ‘merchant father’ and get escorted to the docks with him and his guards.

  Each of them was dolled up for the job, with only a small chest of belongings each. The story was the chests contained alternative clothing for each of them and a few minor personal effects, such as cosmetics. In practice, the other two had weapons hidden in their chests—Ranthia’s knives were strapped to her back beneath her arcanite vest, hidden within her toga—and Ranthia’s chest was half contraband (Tali sets, alcohol, and silphium juice; she had plans).

  “Ah, my sweet, sweet daughters, I see your respective mothers have left you here for me to collect! Come, come! No, don’t burden your delicate selves with your belongings, my security detail can handle that—it’s about time they earn their keep since none would dare to attack me!” The enigmatic merchant—he… he didn’t seriously call himself that, right?—announced at the top of his lungs.

  It was all so strange. The security detail was a mix of [Warriors], [Rangers], and [Laborers] ranging from level 120 to level 181. The… merchant was level 228 with the expected tags for a merchant, which dashed Ranthia’s hopes that it was just another Adventurer that was overacting. How could anything so ridiculous be legitimate?

  Maybe their covers weren’t quite as terrible as they thought.

  Caea—apologies to whatever her name truly was—had been a thief when she was a kid. She wasn’t any longer, but fortunately the only Skill she had kept from those days was the lynchpin behind everything. She had [Obscure Evidence], which—allegedly, since it didn’t seem to work on Ranthia’s version of [Identify]—made them appear as [Artisans] with half their actual level.

  The three carefully restricted their motions to match their classes and respective levels while they tried to primly enter the surprisingly plush wagon, aided by the …merchant’s people.

  With the force of their ‘father’s’ personality, all questions and reasonable suspicion were driven away. He was so weird that, somehow, everything just seemed to make sense. Their hopelessly shallow cover was rock solid, and no one batted an eye at the three starkly different women being labeled as sisters. Their refusal to speak of their personal lives or upbringing just resulted in sympathetic nods. The fact that two of them were plainly too old for the training program went unacknowledged. No one even bothered to check the chests that they brought!

  In short order the trio found themselves in the dorm while a stiff, stodgy woman that practically oozed order dully lectured them on the rules. An exhaustive list which could be summed up simply with “don’t.” Rules meant to break spirits and force neat compliance without freedom or any personal expression. Seira’s flock wanted the poor girls forced into their care to act like a collective.

  …Yeah, Ranthia wasn’t even going to pretend that the job was her primary objective. There was something the temple needed far more than the flow of messages: it all but screamed for the taste of chaos.

  Fortunately, she was there to grant the girls a taste of life.

  “I can’t believe you got us expelled.” Bia—or whatever—snarked.

  Their job was supposed to last the rest of—the majority of—the season. Instead, they didn’t even quite make it eight days.

  To Ranthia, the job was an unmitigated success, especially since she wasn’t bothered by any of the myriad factors that mitigated it. Ranthia had been given a crash course in investigations by the Adventurer’s Guild, which was supported by advice from Bia and Caea (their true names were never, ever going to stick); with these advantages the true purpose of their infiltration was handled by the second night. There had been no grand conspiracy, the temple had just brought in more girls—and more payment for their care—than they had the personnel to support.

  It turned out they were reading and resealing all incoming and outgoing messages. Creepy, but not surprising. Except their greed meant that they just had no time to deal with it, so the scrolls had piled up in the corner of an overworked office. No dark rituals, no slavery rings, no horrific abuse—just a lack of human resources.

  It was disappointing, but not surprising. But Ranthia enjoyed her brief unfettered access to their scrolls for external orders and requisitions. She really, really hoped that the order for the marble statue of Seira slipped through uncaught. Ranthia might not be the best reader or writer in Remus, but adjusting numbers on exacting proportions and specifications was a different matter altogether.

  Who didn’t need a statue of the goddess of obstinance order that was somewhat squat with a bosom that defied all reason and sense, clad in a robe that was far too short for even her reduced stature? Frankly, the stodgy [Priests] and [Priestess] should thank her. Especially since they’d have plenty of wine to help them enjoy it, if that order didn’t get fixed.

  Her real point of pride was that she was pretty sure she had flipped a couple of the temple’s acolytes. The young women had oh-so-eagerly learned all that they could about Xaoc and the path of chaos and all the delights that a chaotic life had to offer. It hadn’t lasted long, but Ranthia was certain that their commitment to order was shattered. She had left a poison behind, one that promised to erode the order of the temple ever further.

  [*ding!* [Ranthia’s Covenant with Xaoc] has reached level 57!]

  Ha! Ranthia just grinned broadly at the timing of the level, wondering if it was some piece of her mischief finally being discovered or if it was one of her new followers. With that, her [Covenant] had received an auspicious 16 levels total! Truly Xaoc must have been proud of her for spitting in His archrival’s eye.

  Sneaking around the temple had been easy. Thanks to Caea’s [Obscure Evidence] skill, no one had expected anything like Ranthia’s [Shadowed Steps]. Ranthia had expected to need to put her stats to full use—and possibly her dance practice—for acrobatics and derring-do to get about and avoid patrols… but Seira’s temple was so predictable. The security presence barely even inconvenienced her.

  Honestly, Ranthia probably would have gotten away with all of it except for one little miscalculation. Ranthia hadn’t spent much time with young girls, and she had no experience with young women that were from wealthy families. She had sorely underestimated just how wild and hard the girls would go given access to the harmless little vices Ranthia offered them.

  Though it was hilarious when the head [Priest] barged in. For a moment there, Ranthia was half expecting the man’s eyeballs to pop right out of his skull.

  There were downsides. The order turned out to have a couple of cancellers in their ranks. [Obscure Evidence] got beaten and their true levels and class archetypes became known. None of them had cracked—the idiots had tried to question them in the same room—but most likely the orderly twits had surmised that they were Adventurers. The Guild’s reputation might suffer. A little. If anyone cared what anyone who openly followed Seira (seriously, of all deities) thought.

  The only reason the other two were surly was because they were looking forward to getting paid to do nothing for the rest of the season. Ranthia couldn’t understand how they thought going through the overly religious man-centric lectures and other efforts to force the poor girls to become meek and compliant was anywhere worth the bit of coin. She’d rather face an angry swarm of predators any day.

  Getting into Ariminum had become even more obnoxious at some point. The lines were well over twice as long as they used to be and advanced far more slowly. The reason? Some idiots in the empire’s government had decided that they needed apprentice [Healers] stationed at every entry point to screen everyone that entered.

  As if plagues were that bad normally. Ranthia knew the horror they could bring better than most—the all-encompassing terror that had existed in Perinthus was all too easy to recall—but plagues of such severity were extremely rare. Just stay away from the guy that was coughing and you were fine, usually.

  The Adventurer’s Guild was somewhat displeased that they had gotten caught, but Ranthia privately suspected that they were unsurprised. She was more surprised that a message from the temple’s head [Priest] had reached the Guild ahead of them, one that, effectively, suggested that they should admit to their sins and repent.

  Which sounded like a whole lot of not her problem.

  Ranthia was still paid and Hexara was more than happy to have her back in town. Birthday plans were back on!

  But first, Ranthia had a promise to keep.

  Xaoc’s temple was downright annoying to get to, as it turned out. It seemed to be wedged between two streets (nothing was more frustrating than circling an area while she could see her objective but couldn’t find a way to reach it) and could only be accessed via a confusing set of alleys.

  The temple was nice. The architecture was… weird in that way that could only be explained by Skills making things work. Or at least Ranthia couldn’t see a plausible explanation for how that spire had been built as a corkscrew without collapsing. The inside was far more humble, with well-worn carved wood and little excessive ornamentation. And it was awesome to see multiple altars dedicated to Xaoc under one roof, many of which had people praying at them. The whole temple provided an air of belonging that Ranthia swore she felt in her heart.

  A young [Priest]—okay he was probably at least eight years older than Ranthia, but Ranthia tended to think of [Priests] and [Priestesses] as wizened elder folk—emerged from the back and held out his hand to use his Skills to light the candles.

  A few sputtering sparks lit candles in ones or twos—there were a lot of candles there—before he shook his arm and a great fwoosh of flame roared out. The wicks that survived caught, but the candles had kind of melted into a congealed blob of wax. Several of those in prayer were startled but ultimately seemed to shrug it off.

  Then again, many of the candles seemed to be in terrible states, so perhaps the man was a known element to the locals?

  [Priest – Fire] level 101 by color and [Priest – Miasma] level 87.

  …

  Miasma!?

  Miasma was the advanced element comprised of Dark and Wind. …And Ranthia’s own knowledge suggested that the element was typically used for poisonous gasses. Classers that could kill undetected. Or make plagues, apparently, given her indirect experiences in Perinthus.

  What in Xaoc’s glorious name was one of His [Priests] doing with it!?

  In any other temple, with any other deity, Ranthia would have written it off as not her problem and gone to an altar as planned. But when it came to Xaoc… well, yeah, for all she knew He had put her on Pallos a second time around to stop a wayward [Priest] that was planning some unconscionable doom!

  Ranthia waited until he was well away from anyone—and most people were closer to the exit than he was—before she stepped next to him and whispered in a quiet, yet firm, tone.

  “Can you explain your second class’s element?”

  “Our benevolently chaotic god works in mysterious ways.” The young [Priest] (firmly an adult by any other metric) replied breezily while he adjusted a carved piece of subtle decorative art to straighten it.

  “That He does, but what exactly are you planning to do with those skills?” Ranthia stiffly responded.

  “Would you like to see?”

  That came off as threatening, didn’t it? Was it meant to be threatening?

  While Ranthia struggled with the cognitive dissonance about whether or not to draw her blades against a [Priest] that served the same god as she, the man reached out and tapped the sticks—obviously soaked in scented oil—that sat atop a brass plate over a fire bowl.

  The subtle scent that the sticks provided the area of the main temple floor became more noticeable.

  “…Wait, that’s it?” Ranthia asked incredulously.

  “Yuuup, I get to light the candles—quite poorly, if I do say so myself—and can magnify or reduce scents. At least this go-around. Isn’t it fun?” The (not exactly) young man replied with a broad grin.

  “…Okay, my apologies. I didn’t even know Miasma affected scents.”

  “No harm done, fortunately. I have better things to do today than get knifed by one of the faithful. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?”

  “…You’re seriously not going to ask?” Ranthia finally—and somewhat hesitantly—replied. She had kind of shown her hand more than she had in a very long time.

  “What’s there to ask? Clearly you are among the god-fondled.” The [Priest] replied dismissively.

  “That’s…! The phrase is god-touched!” Ranthia hissed in outrage.

  Not that she had ever actually heard anyone use the phrase before.

  “Excellent to know!” The [Priest] bowed theatrically. “But for now, I must get to those better things I mentioned. I simply must unpolish the silver ahead of supper. Our newest aspirant is hrm… overenthusiastic seems like an apt descriptor. Yes, overenthusiastic! And it wouldn’t do for all of us to end up blind if we attempted to sup as is. Until next time, my lady.”

  And with that, the strange, strange [Priest] hastily withdrew.

  Ranthia allowed herself a moment to process the interaction. Then, once she wiped the grin off her face, she shrugged it off. She had prayers to make.

  And she hoped Xaoc might deign to let her know if that statue she ‘redesigned’, the one of his competition, ended up getting made.

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  Nozomi Matsuoka.

  Sarah "Neila" Elkins.