Noah half-expected sharp, even mocking stares the moment he and Beata entered the Mercenaries’ Guild. But there were so many people inside the building that no one paid them any attention. Everyone was busy with their own affairs.

  The guild’s first floor resembled a Victorian-era bank. Several dozen uniformed men and women worked behind office desks, separated from the crowd by black decorative iron bars. Wide notice boards blackened the stone walls, covered in various announcements. Two sets of stairs led up to the second floor, from where muffled music and the hum of voices drifted down.

  Noah immediately joined the shortest line, and Beata followed his example. Now the girl looked her real age, without any particularly striking changes to her appearance. Even so, Noah soon noticed curious eyes scanning Beata from head to toe. But since those staring made no move to approach, threaten, or speak to her, he soon shifted his attention to the conversations around them, trying to overhear something useful.

  Noah had already noticed earlier that most of Nostalgia’s inhabitants wore some kind of armor—ranging from thickened gambesons to full sets of gleaming steel, whose wearers clanked like empty buckets. All kinds of weapons were carried openly, even proudly, as if their owners were prepared to enter battle at any moment. And yet, despite all this, people seemed mostly friendly. Whatever conflict they were preparing for, the conflict itself was happening somewhere else.

  “Good day!”

  Hearing the voice, Noah and Beata turned around. A man with a curled moustache had just stepped into their line, wearing a brass Don Quixote-style helmet. His thick gambeson was patterned with red and blue diamonds. The handles of two daggers protruded from behind his wide leather belt. A broad smile shone on his face.

  “Hello,” Noah greeted him politely.

  Beata nodded silently, having no intention of opening her mouth. The owner of the brass helmet stared directly at her, and the girl immediately felt uneasy.

  “Did you come from another city? I’m seeing you here for the first time,” the stranger said casually.

  “No, we only recently arrived in Nostalgia,” Noah replied.

  “Really? Complete newcomers?” Don Quixote’s grin widened even further. “Then I’m guessing you’re looking for work. Shame—you won’t find anything good here. Public labor for pennies will be the best they offer you.”

  “And what kind of public labor is that?” Beata couldn’t hold back.

  “City maintenance, for a start. Or repairing walls after some battle. Most often, they just hand you a sack and send you to clean garbage in the streets. Not fun, but everyone has to start somewhere, right?”

  The man stepped closer, leaned in, and whispered:

  “But if you know the right people, you can easily skip that part. Since you two look like quite decent youngsters, I could offer you—”

  “No, thank you!” Beata cut him off, shaking her head.

  “B—but—” Don Quixote stammered. “I haven’t even—”

  “Thank you very much, but we don’t even know you.” The girl stood her ground.

  “Oh, of course! My mistake!” the man straightened like a rod. “You don’t know me yet, that’s true. My name is Mateo. That’s what you should call me—just Mateo.” He held out his hand, intending to shake.

  “No,” Beata stepped back.

  “N…no?” Mateo repeated, confused.

  “No, because you look suspicious. Your smile is suspicious, your helmet is suspicious, and your breath smells suspiciously like—”

  “I’m Noah,” Noah interrupted, shaking the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you. And please forgive her. My sister—” he lowered his voice and leaned closer to the man’s face, “—went through a very unpleasant incident, during which one of her friends was… consumed. If you understand what I mean.”

  Mateo’s eyes widened as he instantly understood. His smile vanished, and he looked at the girl with sympathy.

  “Oh… that’s really… serious… I’m very sorry. I hope the bastard was caught and punished?”

  “Fried on the spot,” Noah nodded. “Tried to run from the police. And after that, my sister no longer trusts anyone who smiles or offers help. So please don’t take it personally—but we’ll be starting slowly, like everyone else in Nostalgia.”

  “Of course, of course!” Mateo nodded vigorously. “Sometimes it’s useful to start like everyone else, right from the beginning! And if you change your mind, I’m always—”

  “We won’t,” Beata muttered, displeased.

  “You know, you could’ve refused without declaring war,” Noah whispered to her.

  “I didn’t like the way he was looking at me,” she shot back just as quietly. “And now look—he’s not even here anymore. Why the hell did he step into the line if he wasn’t going to wait?”

  Noah turned around. Indeed, Mateo had already disappeared. In his place now stood a plump woman who gave Noah a sour glance and didn’t even consider greeting him.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “You’re way too trusting, big brother,” Beata shook her head.

  “I’m trying to be diplomatic,” Noah corrected her. “Trust has nothing to do with it.”

  “Yeah, I know that word,” she snorted. “Endless yapping to avoid decisions, right?”

  “Alright, sure. Next time something like this happens, I’ll leave it all to you,” Noah promised.

  ***

  Soon it was their turn. A clerk behind the bars greeted them with a professionally arctic smile.

  “Welcome. How may I help you?”

  “We were told we could get information and work here,” Noah said.

  “First time in Nostalgia?” the man clarified, peering at them over the top of his decorative spectacles. Then he pointed to the nearest notice board. “All job postings are displayed publicly. You find something suitable, memorize the posting number. You do not touch the posting with your hands, and you do not attempt to take it down,” he emphasized. “You come to me and give me the number. Then I provide you with an address and the name of the contact person. You go to the workplace and fill out a form. After completing the work, you return here—preferably the next day, once your form has been processed. You collect your payment. Did I forget anything?”

  “And information about Nostalgia?” Noah asked.

  “About Nostalgia?” the man blinked. “What about it?”

  “We’re here for the first time. We don’t know anything about this place. Do you hand out any brochures or pamphlets for newcomers?”

  “Wait…” the man slowly adjusted his decorative spectacles. “When you say ‘first time’… do you mean you came here without knowing where you were going? Did you two just arrive from the Dream Sphere?”

  “We’ve only been in Regia for one day,” Noah confirmed.

  The man stared at him without blinking.

  “No one even mentioned Nostalgia during the briefing,” Beata muttered.

  “Of course they didn’t,” the clerk glanced at her. “You would inevitably have found information in any public library, or heard about Nostalgia from friends. Normally, newcomers first familiarize themselves with Regia’s environment and spend at least a few months there before coming here. A natural progression of events, so to speak. They didn’t tell you because they didn’t want to spoil the surprise. Honestly, I can hardly understand how you found your way here without any help at all.”

  “We’re super smart,” Beata shrugged.

  “No doubt,” a faint note of sarcasm appeared in the man’s voice. “So smart that libraries are clearly unnecessary for you. Unfortunately, you’ll have to pretend to be a little less smart and visit at least one, because I have no brochures or pamphlets. Nostalgia is simply too large to fit into a single brochure.”

  “Really? What kind of size are we talking about?” Noah asked.

  “Almost as large as old Mother Earth,” the man sighed. “Now, please, both of you return to Regia and do your homework. I can’t waste time talking geography when job seekers are standing behind you.”

  ***

  Beata was about to “log out” right where she stood, but the clerk patiently explained that this action was forbidden inside buildings—unless they happened to own the entire building. Having achieved nothing and feeling slightly embarrassed, Noah and Beata headed toward the doors.

  Just then, a group of four men entered the guild, clad in black armor and armed with cold steel. With their helmets tucked under their arms, they were laughing loudly at a joke someone had just told, and they didn’t notice Beata in their path.

  Because the girl, naturally, was much shorter and more compact.

  Beata didn’t manage to step aside in time either. Colliding with the mountain of black armor, she let out a gasp and nearly sprawled onto the floor.

  The man barely kept his balance as well, trying to spot the obstacle beneath the edge of his armored collar. To see better, he had to lean forward slightly.

  “Sorry,” the man said, curiously examining Beata from head to toe. “Didn’t see you. You’re very small.”

  “And you—” the girl was about to snap back, but changed her mind at the last moment. “An armored bulldozer with medieval intelligence…” she muttered to herself.

  “Man,” one of the “bulldozer’s” friends elbowed him, “she dented your armor.”

  “What?” The man leaned forward even more, but the armored collar stuck out too far and blocked his view. “Are you messing with me?”

  “No, seriously,” another armored man added. “Your waist plate is dented. No joke.”

  The “bulldozer” was about to start stripping off his armor to inspect it himself, but irritated comments from the entrance forced all of them to quickly move out of the way.

  “Okay, she really felt like a serious obstacle when we collided,” the man finally admitted, studying Beata much more closely now. “You’re strong, young lady. Would you like to join my team? If you’re with us, you won’t have to look for worthless work on the first floor. You can go straight—”

  “No, thank you!” Beata interrupted.

  “No?” the “bulldozer” scratched his head. “Then maybe I can buy you a drink? There’s a decent tavern upstairs…”

  “I dented your armor, and you’re going to buy me a drink?” Beata crossed her arms. “Absolutely not. You’re way too suspicious.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to be friendly,” the man said, slightly irritated. “Will you at least tell me your name? Mine is Arthur. Everyone calls me Arthur the Noble. And you must be from another city, because I’ve never seen you before.”

  “What, do you have everyone in this city memorized?” Beata refused to believe it. “Especially every twelve-year-old?”

  Arthur laughed briefly.

  “Well, maybe not everyone,” he admitted. “But I don’t believe you’re twelve. You’re too strong to be twelve. I’m guessing you’re at least fifty, maybe even a full hundred years old. You work in some guild and even hold an important position, if they somehow got you extra IP. That’s why you’re so strong. Am I right?”

  In his mind, Noah applauded Arthur’s words. It was a wonderful glimpse into how locals thought. Except for one obvious flaw, which didn’t escape even Beata.

  “Even if that were true,” she forced out through clenched teeth, “I still look like I’m twelve, you… you fucking pedophile!”

  With that, she ran out of the guild and immediately disconnected from Nostalgia.

  Watching her go, Arthur the Noble scratched the back of his head in confusion. Only then did he remember Noah.

  “She can’t really be twelve, can she?” he asked.

  “Who knows,” Noah shrugged, with no desire to keep chatting with the armored men.

  Because truly—who knows what they might accuse Beata of once they learned about her additional seventeen IP?..