The office smelled of old wood and spilled alcohol. Without air circulation, the sun shining through the window turned the place into a desert even in this coming winter. Secretary Layla had to take off her winter jacket lest she melt and ruin the paper work with her sweaty wrists.
In one corner was a worn-out couch with some of the cotton stuffing spilling out of the cuts and tears. A quilt was laid over it to make it look presentable, though the quilt itself had strange patterns that just stopped and started halfway as if the creator forgot what they were doing.
To be fair, Layla kept getting interrupted by work on her break. Just because knitting was her hobby didn't mean she was particularly good at it.
At the back were dusty bookshelves with even dustier books inside. Who would read about Classical Culture of Rosarium: 2nd Edition, Ethics of Demontide Research, Tales of the 101 Nights, or the Accounts of the Great Sage: Abridged? They were probably there to make the office look like, well, an office. Give it a little class to make it feel less spartan and to hide the fact that Risadel was built on top of a smoldering ruin after failing to repel a Monster Wave from the Evil Lake.
At the center, where Layla herself sat with stacks of papers and missives, was the meeting table. It had endured an unholy amount of violence over the years, with numerous scratches and cracks all over, either from unruly guests or those who forgot their own strength. The office sometimes doubled as a war room, so the table featured a complete map of the roads, routes, and kingdoms of Crescelias. She had to cover it up with a quilt to prevent ink stains as she filed the paper work.
The chairs were crude, creaky things fashioned from the shipment crates whose recipient died years ago. Delivery tags were still stapled in each of their legs and always tilted toward one end, grating on her sanity.
On the wall behind her, there was a painting frame with no painting. The frame itself was more valuable than everything else here combined.
Every piece of furniture had been the effects of the Masters who came before. It was a divine miracle the guild branch had survived so much. The only thing that was new in this cesspit in the guise of a guild office was the desk, the fifth of its generation.
"Bullshit."
"Language, Master Gerald."
And a certain Master of this guild branch was this close to making it the six.
Gerald Johnson was already a big man, and the oxen horns sprouting from his head made him look even bigger. Big arms. Big shoulders. A loose tie hung over his pectoral muscles, which threatened to break the shirt buttons Layla had sewn back. One flex, and they were gone. His chevron mustache wouldn't be out of place in a dwarven Stromstein bar. With his mean green eyes, he glared down at a deep, blue crystal ball.
"Piss off. There's a fucking Wild Hunt blocking the roads toward Nulwiz, and you're not going to do anything about it? One of my teams almost died, and we had to suspend most of the elimination quests until we get this shit under control. Send in one of your precious Knights at least, before they get fat from all the sitting around!"
"Sending in a Knight would be a gross misuse of our resources." The sliminess in the voice coming from the other end made Layla's blood curl. Definitely not popular with the ladies, that was for sure. "They shall remain here near the capital to defend our good people, as is their rightful duty. Any incident that happens in Risadel's domain will be Risadel's responsibility to resolve. You know how it is."
"And how's that going for ya? Four of your Knights are struggling with exhaustion at Nulwiz's Second Wall. Last I heard, the Second Wall was almost breached."
"Nonsense. Our Knights are the greatest warriors in all of Rosarium, recognized by the Grand Knight himself. They shall not fall to mere exhaustion. Do well to doubt what the Bards say out in the frontiers. Their kind are quite known for their... embellishments."
The irony of a nobleman of Rosarium insulting the integrity of the Bards, one of the most time-honored and important Classes in the kingdom, was not lost to the Secretary.
Master Gerald grit his teeth. "Nulwiz won't get their healers on time if you don't help us clear the damn roads! Think the Clerics and Priests of Providence would be happy to hear about this? The Halos Alliance? Your own people?!"
"Oh, no." The noble seemed amused. "The Rosarium Kingdom made no such request. Providence simply acted of their own volition. Though I'm sure Nulwiz won't be opposed to receiving their renowned generosity."
"Are ya being obtuse on purpose? We need bodies. You need healers. And you—!"
"Need nothing. Do not underestimate the alchemists under our employ; we have enough potions in stock for Nulwiz to last the Fourth Wave, and the Fifth Wave if necessary."
"You fucking…" Master Gerald shook his head in disbelief. "If it were that simple, the last guy who sat on my seat wouldn't be dead, would he?"
Layla's eyes lowered. She remembered back when she was a teen. It was a time before Risadel, back when it had a different name, a different Master. Marshall, a kind and stalwart man who left this world too soon. During a Monster Wave, he defended all the way from the Third, Second, and First Wall in a gamble to stall enough time for help to arrive.
However, the fortress was on the fringes between Rosarium and the Holy Garden; there was a territory dispute.
Help never came.
Marshall took on too much burden during the evacuation and then died of potion poisoning.
"Come now. I'm sure a famed Platinum-Rank adventurer such as yourself can figure something out. In fact," there was a lilt in his voice, "I heard Risadel has the smallest casualty rate not seen in years. Care to explain?"
"Unlike you, we don't wait until people die before we act," Gerald growled. "Sip on some vintage wine and plug your ears, then. See how long that'll last."
"Ah, what did I expect from a retired Sailor? Here I am, spending my hard-earned gald to support a lone fortress of Rosarium like a good patriotic citizen, yet you dare to ask for more. How uncouth. Do you think the rules are the same here as they are in Sarnaught? That you once led your own fleet and hunting a few beasts gives you the right to make such demands? There's more to this world than the Evil Lake and its monsters, you know."
There was the clinking of glass and then the sound of something pouring. Even Layla paused just to balk at what she's hearing. Was he actually pouring himself a glass of wine?
"Remember what we've discussed. Complete this task, and the extra equipment will come along with the next monthly shipment." The voice turned dark. "Failing something as simple as this, well... I suppose you already know."
Judging by the tightening of his fists, Gerald would love nothing more than to crush the crystal ball with his bare hands. He's done it before. He didn't because they couldn't afford replacements anymore. There's so much he wanted to say, Layla could tell, but in the end they both knew it to be pointless.
It was the same old song and dance. Risadel would occasionally share correspondence with those at the capital city to either request more support or to play the part of the pawn for a nobleman's scheme. To let the trade routes suffer meant he had a political rival to estrange.