When Oliver pushed open the creaky wooden door of the Adventurer's Association, the scene inside was just as chaotic and bustling as the day before. The air was thick with conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the rustle of parchment as adventurers gathered in groups, discussing the latest tasks. Even though a murder had occurred in the city, life moved on, bills still needed to be paid, and stomachs still had to be filled.
Despite the recent tragedy, Oliver knew he couldn't afford to let it weigh on him. Survival demanded rewards, and without a steady stream of coin, he wouldn't last a week. He absentmindedly wiped the grease from his lips, having just finished his meager breakfast, and made his way to the familiar, dust-covered task board. His eyes scanned the old, crumpled posters in hopes of spotting something new.
"Looking for a job?" A voice cut through the chatter. Oliver turned to find the association's ever-cheerful waiter approaching.
"Yeah, why?" Oliver stopped his search, raising a brow in curiosity.
The waiter leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Well, because of what happened yesterday, the city lord's issued a special notice. If you don't want to take on any of the usual missions, there's an alternative: patrolling the city. They'll feed you three meals a day, and pay five gold coins for just half a day's work."
Oliver's companion, Enola, who had looked half-asleep just moments before, suddenly perked up. The other three adventurers nearby exchanged wide-eyed glances. "You mean ten gold coins a day? Just for patrolling?" Enola's voice was filled with disbelief.
The waiter nodded, his smile never fading. "Yep. And it doesn't matter if you find any clues or not."
"Why pay so much, even if we don't turn anything up?" Oliver questioned, though he already suspected the answer. The association wasn't new to using gold to pull in as many adventurers as possible, especially when something big was brewing.
"That's the deal," the waiter confirmed with a shrug.
Oliver glanced at his companions. "What do you think?"
They all nodded in agreement without hesitation. A guaranteed payment, especially one that generous, was too good to pass up.
"Alright then," Oliver sighed, turning back to the waiter. "Let's sign up."
"Just step over here and register your details," the waiter instructed, gesturing to a small table near the counter.
Oliver frowned slightly, scratching his head. "Register again? Didn't we already do that yesterday?"
"Yesterday's registration was for the association," the waiter explained patiently. "This one's for the city lord."
The city lord, Oliver thought to himself, his eyes narrowing. He knew better than to take things at face value. More likely, the city lord would hand these records over to the infamous Black Crow, an organization with a history of manipulating events behind the scenes. They'd "accidentally" leak information to the elven radicals, sparking attacks, only to swoop in at just the right moment and play the heroes. It was a tactic Oliver had seen before, a twisted game of control.
He knew he wasn't the only one who distrusted the Black Crow. Many elves had come to resent the group as well. They claimed to act for the good of the elves, but Oliver wasn't convinced. If he was right, few had even heard of the Black Crow before they started taking control of missions from various associations and guilds. Their influence spread quietly, registering the names of adventurers and storing them in their ever-growing database.
At first, adventurers didn't know what was happening. They thought they were helping the elves. But soon enough, it became clear that the Black Crow was playing a much larger game, and anyone trying to assist the elves found themselves caught in a dangerous web. Not only did the Black Crow capture elves, but they also manipulated those who sought to help. After narrowly escaping death at the hands of elven radicals, most people, whether they knew the full story or not; kept their distance. Relations between humans and elves grew colder by the day.
Oliver, however, was one of the rare few still willing to help the elves, despite everything. He suspected he might be one of the last in the human race who would, aside from those who lived alongside the elves since birth.
The elves are too stubborn, he thought, shaking his head. Their unity blinded them to their own faults, allowing the radicals to go unchecked. No one among them was brave enough to stand up and question the extremists, and as a result, they had pushed away countless allies. It was frustrating to watch, knowing how much damage this pride was causing.
As Oliver's thoughts wandered, the door to the association creaked open once again. A man walked in, his boots covered in dust from the road. The waiter, as efficient as ever, hurried over with his customary smile, stepping behind the counter. Moments later, he returned with a thick stack of papers in hand.
"Here it is," the waiter announced, handing the papers to the newcomer. "All the information that came in yesterday."
Oliver couldn't help but wonder what new developments might be brewing, and whether this city, with its dark undercurrents of conspiracy, would ever see peace again.
The man who entered the Adventurer's Association was on the heavy side, his round belly barely contained by his luxurious, richly embroidered clothes. His outfit alone screamed wealth and status, making it clear he wasn't just any commoner.
Once he received the stack of papers from the waiter, he barely gave them a glance before waddling out the door, his body jiggling with each hurried step. His departure was quick and suspiciously discreet, considering his pompous appearance.
Oliver narrowed his eyes, his curiosity piqued. "Is that the city lord?" he asked, his voice low but clear. The question hung in the air like a loaded arrow, and the reaction was immediate. The waiter froze, his eyes wide with alarm, and the four adventurers nearby shot uneasy glances in Oliver's direction.
"Y-yes," the waiter stammered, clearly caught off guard. "Do you... know him?"
Oliver simply shook his head. "Just a guess."
In this city, there were only five kinds of people, and Oliver had learned to categorize them quickly: first, adventurers who'd abandoned their original trades in pursuit of something more dangerous; second, the city's original soldiers; third, students like himself and his companions; fourth, the Black Crow's operatives; and finally, the city lord and his entourage.
As for the so-called nobles? The Black Crow didn't tolerate anyone who wasn't aligned with their agenda in their domain. They wouldn't expel them outright, but anyone who resisted their influence was quietly pressured until they left within a year. Oliver knew that all too well. He'd seen it before.
The first three types of people would never dress so lavishly just to fetch papers. That left only two possibilities: the Black Crow or the city lord himself. Judging by the man's expensive but tasteless attire and bloated figure, Oliver could only assume it was the latter.
"As I thought," he muttered under his breath, his suspicion growing.
A man like that didn't personally fetch documents unless there was something more going on. A stack of papers filled with names wouldn't make someone like him sweat; no, there had to be something else at play. Something dangerous. The city lord didn't trust anyone else to retrieve these papers, and that told Oliver one thing: the information was critical, potentially even life-threatening to those it involved.
Only the Black Crow had that kind of leverage. And Oliver had seen this game before. It was the same old trick, likely meant to draw out the elves who were rescuing slaves through the adventurers lured in by this mission.
Despite knowing this, Oliver felt trapped. If he refused the task, he'd only draw more suspicion. Letting out a sigh, he scratched his head in mock frustration, deliberately drawing attention to himself as he planned his next move.
The waiter, along with the others, glanced at him briefly before returning to their tasks, none the wiser to what Oliver was truly thinking. With his left hand, he discreetly reached into his quiver, carefully loosening the cork on a small bottle hidden within. As he scratched his head again, he dipped his fingers into the bottle, gathering a small amount of its contents.
"Here's the information, one copy for each of you," the waiter called out, interrupting Oliver's subtle preparations.
Oliver reached out with his left hand, which had already withdrawn from the quiver, and took his stack of papers. Pressing his fingers down hard along the thick edge, where the papers were bound together, he transferred the substance onto the documents. He then turned, smiling easily as he handed the sheets to his companions, who were too busy with their own tasks to notice his little maneuver.
"Hurry up and fill these out," Oliver quipped with a grin. "If we miss breakfast, we can at least make it in time for lunch." His tone was light, masking the seriousness of his inner thoughts.
No one paid attention to his small act, and even if they had, they wouldn't have understood what he was doing. The information on the papers was the same as yesterday's, and his companions quickly filled them out, completing the task in mere minutes.
"Now, what route are we supposed to take for the patrol?" Chris asked, looking at Oliver expectantly.
"Here's a map," the waiter said, handing them a piece of parchment filled with details and route options.
Lesley frowned as he looked over the map. "Do we really have to walk the whole way? This route is way too long."
Before Oliver could respond, Sandra piped up with a smirk. "Don't worry about it! If you get tired, I'll carry you, and if I get tired, you can carry me." Her teasing tone drew a few chuckles from the group.
Lesley rolled his eyes but relented. "Fine, that works for me."
The waiter, ever patient, added, "You don't have to walk the entire route. Just follow the directions on the map. There's no requirement for covering the whole distance."
"Alright, let's get going then," Oliver nodded, taking a small card the waiter handed him. He passed the cards to the others and led the way out of the association, his mind racing with thoughts of the dangerous game they were about to step into.