Chapter 111

  Written by Bayzo Albion

  We continued to the guild without incident. This time, though, I noticed heads turning—not toward me, the undersized oddity, but toward the uniform itself, as if it commanded respect on its own merit. But the moment I pushed open those heavy oak doors and stepped inside...

  The entire guild erupted in laughter.

  It started as a muffled chuckle from a nearby table, then ballooned into booming guffaws at the counter. Within seconds, the whole hall thundered with it—fists pounding tables, palms slapping knees, the air thick with unrestrained mirth.

  I froze in the doorway, my companion tilting her head slightly beside me, as if trying to decipher the uproar.

  "What's so damn funny?" I demanded coolly, my gaze slicing through the nearest cluster of adventurers like a blade.

  The receptionist stood behind her polished counter, beaming with the most radiant smile I'd ever seen from her. But her eyes danced with unmistakable mockery.

  "Lord Balthazar," she began, her voice straining against barely contained giggles, "you're the only adventurer who's ever come back after earning seven and a half thousand gold... not with new gear, not with artifacts, but in enchanted clothes that never need washing."

  From behind her, someone bellowed: "Laziness slays more beasts than any sword!"

  The laughter swelled again, a tidal wave crashing through the room. Even the grizzled veterans, with their scarred faces and weathered armor, were doubled over, clapping each other on the back.

  My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into palms.

  The receptionist composed herself, switching to a more formal tone, though her lips still twitched. "You could have lived comfortably on that sum—bought a house, hired retainers. But instead, you splurged a fortune on eternal freshness for your socks and uniform. For the guild, that's... well, let's call it a refreshingly unconventional choice."

  The hall exploded once more, the cacophony ringing in my ears like a mocking symphony.

  I inhaled deeply, holding the breath until my lungs burned, then exhaled slowly, forcing calm. *They're not laughing at me,* I told myself. *They're laughing at the idea of someone daring to be human. Laziness is my one luxurious vice. And you lot, hiding behind your mugs and petty quests, mock it because you're terrified of indulging your own weaknesses.*

  I straightened my collar with deliberate poise, turned to face the crowd, and flashed a lopsided smirk.

  "Well then," I said, my voice cutting through the din, "at least I'll always smell better than the rest of you."

  For a heartbeat, silence blanketed the room—then the laughter surged back, louder than before.

  My satchel and skillet shifted uncomfortably on my back, the strap digging into my shoulder. Without thinking, I reached back and adjusted them, tightening the fastenings in a casual, habitual motion.

  To me, it was nothing—a mundane tweak. But to the hall, it registered differently.

  The chatter faltered. Laughter choked off into awkward coughs. Eyes darted nervously, adventurers exchanging uneasy glances. Tension rippled through the air, as if one wrong word might provoke me to swing that infamous skillet right there in the guild.

  I caught the shift and let out a soft huff of amusement.

  "Go ahead, laugh," I said evenly, leaving the choice in their hands. "You've earned it. After all, I was born to bring joy and mirth to the world."

  The crowd paused, the air thick with hesitation. Then the guffaws reignited, even more raucous, as if they were exorcising their own fleeting fears through the noise.

  I stood amid the storm, a strange realization dawning: even an absentminded gesture could reshape the room's energy. Let them laugh—now each one knew to tread carefully around me.

  As the merriment ebbed, smiles lingering like smoke, the receptionist beckoned me to the counter, her composure regained though her eyes still gleamed slyly.

  "Lord Balthazar," she said gently, "I must apologize. I thought you were wise beyond your years—that you'd invest your wealth shrewdly, befitting someone who's already proven themselves in the field."

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  She sighed, interlacing her fingers on the desk. "But instead, I see a different picture. No team, no artifacts, no solid foundation... just spending on a combat slave." Her gaze flicked to my companion. "And not content with that, you immediately outfit her in an enchanted dress that also defies dirt."

  Her smile widened, laced with sharp wit. "I admit, Lord Balthazar, it's amusing even to me."

  The crowd roared again, treating her words like the punchline to my unintended comedy routine.

  I met her eyes, a knot tightening in my chest—not from hurt, but from the deliberate prodding, as if she were casting me as the fool for sport.

  I listened without interrupting, the laughter washing over me like rain. Adjusting my satchel strap once more, I offered another faint smirk.

  "Well, if I've brightened your day," I replied, "then I've done something right. Laughter's a rare luxury in this world. And if my fortune buys your smiles... maybe I'm more useful than the 'wise' ones stockpiling swords and disposable slaves."

  The hall chuckled again, but softer now, laced with uncertainty—as if they couldn't tell if I was jesting or dead serious.

  I stepped closer to the counter, my tone steady. "But there's a key difference. Those who spend 'wisely' often return empty-handed—or not at all. Me?" I locked eyes with her. "I'm still here, alive and flush."

  A hush fell, broken only by a stifled snort. The laughter that followed was subdued, more anxious than joyful.

  The receptionist, her smile cooling, ducked beneath the counter. A drawer creaked, papers rustled. She emerged with a scroll sealed in crimson wax and placed it before me like a challenge.

  "Here, Lord Balthazar," she murmured, her voice carrying just enough for the eavesdroppers. "The toughest quest available. High risk. Since you're so generous with your gold, why not wager your life too?"

  I unrolled it. The words were stark, sending a chill skittering down my spine.

  *Quest: Exterminate a colony of magical ants completely. Proof: Deliver the Queen's crystal.*

  My lips pressed thin. Visions flooded my mind: twisting tunnels swarming with hundreds of foes, venomous bites, and at the heart, the Queen—a being whispered about in hushed tones even by seasoned warriors.

  I snapped the scroll shut and slid it back.

  "No," I said flatly. "Too dangerous."

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a few snickers breaking free, but I ignored them.

  "I'm no suicide case," I continued, "and certainly no lone hero charging into a swarm. Besides..." I glanced at my companion, standing motionless at my side. "She can't fight. I won't drag her into a death trap where even I might not make it out."

  The receptionist's brows arched in surprise at my bluntness.

  "Give me something simpler," I insisted. "Gathering booze mushrooms or whatever. Laughable, worthless—fine. But doable."

  She narrowed her eyes, leaving the scroll in place. "Lord Balthazar," she cooed, her tone almost coaxing, "do you really think it'd be that hard? You're overlooking one detail."

  Her eyes drifted to my companion in her elegant dress.

  "This girl isn't just any slave. She bears the boomerang curse. Toss her into the colony's midst, and any ant that attacks her dies from its own strike. Their horde crumbles on its own. All you'd need is to reach the Queen and claim her crystal."

  Excited whispers buzzed through the hall. Adventurers exchanged looks—envy in some, admiration in others. The plan sounded elegant, almost foolproof.

  I snorted, shaking my head.

  "You're serious? Use her as live bait?"

  "Not bait," she corrected smoothly. "A weapon. You bought her. You paid for her power. Use it as intended. Isn't that... reasonable?"

  "Reasonable? Sure. But not for me."

  Her brow quirked. "And why not?"

  "Because I don't throw companions to the wolves," I said firmly. "Even if their curse turns them into a blade. To you, she's merchandise; to others, a curse. But to me? She's a person."

  Her smirk turned icy. "A person? She's a slave, Mr. Balthazar. Made to obey. If you won't wield her strength, why own her at all?"

  The room held its breath, waiting.

  I straightened, fists tight at my sides.

  "Maybe I'm a fool," I declared. "But I won't feed her to monsters for some glorious win. I have no army, no allies. But I choose my path. And I won't reduce her life to fodder."

  She shook her head, a pitying sigh escaping. "Noble. But foolish."

  "Be that as it may," I shot back. "I refuse."

  I rerolled the scroll and set it down with finality.

  The hall erupted in scattered chuckles at first, then full-throated laughter, as if I'd just delivered the punchline to the most absurd joke imaginable.

  "Look at him!" someone hollered from a back table, their voice cutting through the din. "Buys a slave... and can't bring himself to use her properly!"

  The laughter crashed through the room like a wave, echoing off the wooden beams and stone walls. But this time, it carried a different edge—not just mockery, but a undercurrent of unease, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.

  Because in that instant, not everyone joined in. A few veteran adventurers exchanged loaded glances across their scarred tables. One grizzled warrior, his hair streaked with silver, lifted his mug to his lips but paused mid-sip, his eyes locking onto me with a sharp, appraising stare. Another, a burly man with a jagged scar slicing across his cheek, leaned in to murmur something to his companion, who nodded gravely, his smirk fading into a mask of wary respect.

  Their gazes held no ridicule now. Instead, they brimmed with caution, the kind born from years of facing down death and recognizing its harbingers in unexpected places.

  The receptionist noticed the shift, her eyes narrowing as she leaned against the counter.