“Dinnae like couchee roast?”

 

Asking the question was a voice. Pointing the uneaten plate in front of him. Blinking, he spent a long five seconds staring on the middle-aged, smiling face. The man was carrying a bin filled with plates and utensils.

 

“Uhh. No…”

 

He answered, unsure. He meant the roast look palatable, not the best he had of course —for that they at least could sprinkle some fresh green, smeared some sauce, and sliced it bite-size instead of just serving in a big thick slab— but for a silver coin a plate? It wasn't bad.

 

The man nodded, smiling. Which Euca wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Was he that conspicuous? Attracting attention? Before he could ask —subtly of course— the man already moved. Tossing down scraps two stools across —bones with bits uneaten, vegetable tips, and what he perceived as three spoonfuls mashed dollop of starch, likely kind of runny potato— to the trash bin.

 

Stacking the plates in the box with a dampened clang, the man proceeded to sweep the coin left out on the table, flicking it. The silver flipped twice on the air and landed —uncannily— to the slight opening on his apron pocket that even in Euca high guesstimate only a knuckle wide.

 

“Na, dinnae like it?” the man asked the question again to him. The still befuddled him. His sudden frown caught him off guard.

 

“No, No what I meant was—”

 

“Right, right. Just afternoon passa knockin’ on ye door, tis was,” he said, laughing. Which Euca responded by nodding. Pretending to understand whatever the hell he was talking about.

 

Before long though, the man had snuggled a bit left. Leaning back almost conspiratorially. “The food Jim’s,” he said whille scrapping another leftover to the trash bin below.

 

“Mistress said it’s a waste lettin’ Anne do noon shift. Her light those louts can taste anythin’ but bad gailen,” he said, pointing his head to the particularly loud all men table by the corner.

 

“But ye know. App’rntices. They dinnae cook as good,” he continued plopping down the platewares, his shoulder shrugging.

 

“Right...”

 

“Barna, Barna Endre. Part-time [Minder].”

 

“H-he-hello,” Euca answered looking at his offered hand. His greasy, scrap-touching hand. Well, he could always wash them later, he thought taking the man’s hand. “I’m Euca.”

 

“So what’s bringin’ you to the guild, Ooca?”

 

“...just looking around,” he said, trailing.

 

The answer though, as expected, rose the man eyebrow in a half-pursed lips; giving him a look. A look of knowing, knowing smile.

 

Of course, he sighed. He had been sitting on the table staring at his food for how long now? Ten? Fifteen minutes?

 

“Well, my ...brother wants to have a try in adventuring.”

 

He answered in the lie he just prepared for this kind of case — snoopers. Not the best lie, he knew. Lamer than anything in fact. It like telling people that you were ‘asking for a friend’. Which if the opposing party was a polite gentlefolk, would wink in understanding instead tearing that obvious, obvious lie.

 

That why he preferred private tables. Preferably by the window so he could, you know, pretended to admire the scenery. Privacy. Yet for all his planning, he was stuck here at the counter. Sitting side by side with four-five people like him who hadn’t got tables or worse ...chose not to get one. He didn’t know ten o’clock —sorry tenth bell was this busy, did all adventurers have early lunch or something?

 

And now he stuck with one of the worst offenders of human society ...a chatty busybody.

 

“Oh, resp’nsible one, eh? Good, good.”

 

The man nodded, which he responded with polite smiles. The one where you flashed a taut in both eyes and mouth for no more than a whole long second —a brief duchenne.

 

Like the rest of his blasted kind though, the man decided to ignore his unspoken signal that should be very crystal in screaming ‘please don’t talk to me’. Instead he immediately sat down on the stool beside him, edging very close.

 

 

Euca turned his head a bit, biting a wafting sigh and moved his smiling eyes into the man smiling face. Honestly. Well, perhaps he could salvage something from this ordeal? Gleaning an information or two. Maybe. This Mr. Barna seemed to gossip, sorry, know a lot.

 

...perhaps it was for the best. Heaven knew he had been trying to collect information here. You knew, listening, jotting down what people said, what people seemed to need and interested about. Market research!

 

After all, what were more organics than eavesdropp— paying attention to a good conversation loosened by job well done? What truth would be left unspoken when people unwound themselves?

 

That was why he was sitting here, the 2nd floor eatery of the adventurer’s guild. Yet as it turned out, reality was tad more difficult than movie. For one, none of them had elaborated on ...those.

 

The tinges of blood, grimes, and loud. The clank of swords clinked against their scabbards. The thud of shields and sacks, dropped from their bearers, dragged through the wooden floor. The muffle of conversations, short on their burst. And damn laughters, raucous and shout. All rang his ear in threatening tinnitus.

 

It was maddening.

 

And somehow normal. To the others that were, for him it was anxiety-inducing. God knew he didn’t need more of that. Well, like always, hindsight was 20/20.

 

So yeah, looking at the man's sagging cheek, he nodded cheerfully. This might be a blessing in disguise he was waiting for.

 

“New young’un loved ta rushed ta everythin’,” the man said, “Would na be the first time this Barna saw ‘em crack a bone, git flashed by those darn slime,”

 

“Slime?” he remembered the jolly blobby monsters. The pathological kleptomaniac. Leave your item drops unattended and a horde of them would wipe it clean by the end of the minutes.

 

They’re easy to kill though. No-strength mage could even plonk them only using staff. So why the worries?

 

“Ye, the [Flash], nasty one at tha,” the [Minder] said, answering his unasked question. “Blinded ye in the face. Then the rest of the pack dropped from the ceilin’.”

 

Monsters knew ambush? Like a freaking ambush? Unbelievable. There was no such thing on [Chronicle]!

 

...well, technically there were. But that was more on the questline kind of thing. And since everyone read wiki, those ‘ambush’ were just predictable encounters where every advantage from the elemental weakness to the blunt/pierce damage choice already optimized to a tee. Yeah, it was sad for the monsters. He even felt sorry for them.

 

 

“...that’s awful,” he said, schooling his face to a taut frown, hoping the man attributed it as fraternal worry for his adventure-chasing brother. “Thank you for letting me know Mr. Barna.”

 

“I might have to tell him n—no… It’s his dream… I-I…”

 

“...anything else I should know?” he said, stimulating a slight tremble, a hint of quaver. “My brothers quite good at ...swordsmanship, but I don’t think he knows about ...ambushing.”

 

“Ye, common probl’m,” the man took a long sigh, stood back, and wiped the table using the greasy rag tucked on his side arm. “‘e should try thar’ classes.”

 

“Classes?”

 

“Ye, Telin’s. But he hates it. Doin’ the same thin’ for twenty seasons made her crazy or sum’thin.” he said. “So she only held it for three days on the end of the month.”

 

“She’s good tha, saved more kids than aye could count, yer brotha’ should give it a try.”

 

“...Thank you Mr. Barna.”

 

“Hah, ain’t no Mister! Right Ooca, you seemed to be a good man, resp’nsible one! So lemme tell ye another good thing, once aye had—”

 

“Barna!!”

 

A voice boomed from the back door, he jerked, flinched as the door slammed. Had he been found out? Someone saw through his lies? He turned his head sharp toward the voice and found a man, stocky man, were staring at him.

 

“Ooch, the boss callin’,” Barna suddenly replied. Oh, he stared at the [Minder]! Not at him. Sighing, he nodded, looking then man frantically trying to sort the plates on his box before fleeing at once.

 

“See ye later Ooca!”

 

What... Was—was he seeing things? The man had somehow sprinted across the room in less than three seconds. Three seconds while carrying the box on the top of his head.

 

Huh...

 

The man’s superhuman ability aside (which wow, but at this point he already started to getting numb because of course it must be a skill), he had really gave him something to ponder about. First, as the [Minder] had elaborated, adventuring was a dangerous job. He had to look at their injury rates —if the guild made those public or even kept that record somehow. Which he was once again thankful. Being adventurer was too dangerous.

 

Second, well, second was the fact that he knew next to nothing about this town. Their economy, their need. Which was bad, since that what he supposedly fetter out from the man... Why he so easily distracted?

 

 

He had been avoiding this but...

 

Aound him there were only few people left. One group was talking on the table, and two who left beside him, drinking from their cups. Apparently, his and Barna's conversation was the only time required for the rushrush hour lunch to pass.

 

Cutting a slice, he munched his first bite, feeling the juice leaked, coating his tongue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Euca decided he needed to sit down.

 

 

He stared at his ordered meil, sipping the warm, floral touch, as he mulled at the confusing, undecipherable lexicons he glanced from the questboard.

 

 

Well, not nothing, for one he knew there was a class of adventurer, probably started on E-rank and work alphabetically upward.

 

Second that the adventurers or at least their guild were very safety concerned. Which was good for them. And depending on how long they finish each campaign, his leftover twenty six thousand something golds probably worth like ten-twenty years their income.

 

 

He came here with one purpose, scoping the possibility of business. And since this was supposed to be adventurer town, well, here he was, on the adventurer guild, trying to get a feel of what adventurers possibly needed.

 

Now the logical thing was creating something that adventurers need, preferably a consumable —the cheap ones— they need to purchase every day. That the way of most coins.

 

If he could just zero in on what that was.

 

Munching the meil-dipped koshi, he looked at the window. From the far east, a rolling cloud was threatening another rain.

 

Well, he might as well went home for today. Note the finding. Sleep on it.

 

Gather more data.

 

Yet as just he finished his last bite, preparing to left the coins, he saw him. A scraggy twenty-something, slumped on the table across the room, snoring. His right hand held the flagon sideways, spilling clear yellowish liquid on the table.

 

 

He took a gander, a quick peek to left and right. The room were mostly clear, the man’s teammates if any, were not present. One group on the left side was chatting among themselves muted, another woman was sipping a drink by herself. If he wanted to take a gamble, well, this was the time.

 

Worst came to worst he’d just gave the man some coins.

 

“[Appraisal].”

 

He said under his breath, feeling the tendril of the mana touch-feel the man aura, bubbling and bursting before disappearing completely to nothing —paying the system’s price.

 

Using the pinky of his cup holding hand, he swept the screen to his far left with one swift motion, leaving it to hang on edge of his peripheral, allowing his direct vision unobstructed. Bringing the cup to his mouth, he swirled the leftover meil, trying to ignore the bitter leaves bits that remain on the bottom before gulping it down, teary from the burst of menthol aftertaste.

 

Propping his head with his free hand, he spared a glance left and right, putting down the cup, and tapping the table several times —almost loud.

 

Two minutes later, he stood up.

 

“Couldn’t even keep up with his promise, really.”

 

He spoke to no one in particular, rummaging his pouch, and tossed four silver coins to the table, little tip for Barna if the man cleared his table.

 

As he walked out of the open dining room and to the stairs, he peeked again at the drunk and sighed in relief. He was still sleeping.

 

Maybe watching all those spy movies finally paid off? He’d take a look at the appraised status of the man later, for now he wanted to go back.

 

He had enough adventuring for the day.