The guild was filled to the brim with mercenaries and their chatter with occasional shouts and brawls. The five counters had lines spanning to the entrance comprising densely clothed bodies, and the quest board had its own small horde.

The brawlers were often thrown to the streets by the sturdy men guarding the five counter for mischievous bunch, but I bet they were one too, if not on the task. A distinct smell of ale lingered in the room, soldiers checking the army recruits for any sign of intoxication, while the rest of the counters weren't bothered to address the drunkards. As long as you got things done, it didn’t matter how badly. 

“Subjugation it is,” my lady said, once we joined the swarming crowds. Garlan nodded and sneaked past the mob, carrying his colossal body, earning disgruntled cries and a couple of punches along the way. All Garlan did was return a hip bump which had the assaulter eating dust, giving rise to more brawls until the lines almost got cleared out.

I sighed, but my lady was laughing underneath the cowl, moving forward as more as more brawls cleared the line for us. It hardly took a few minutes for us to reach the counter, but without Garlan, as the guards had thrown him out for his enormous favor.

My bread lad might be undead after all. His tricks and sleight were as unique as his penchant for bread. Perhaps, I should test out by killing him one of these days. If he died, then he was no undead. If he lived, then we needed to have a deeper conversation than just bread. Maybe I should ask him what variety of bread other worlds entailed. Average mortals don’t see any difference between conversation about bread and type of bread, so I can hardly blame you if you think that I am a bonehead.

“Which task?” the man behind the counter asked, raising the flap that had just fallen over his counter.

“Any would work,” I said, hiding my lady behind me.

“There’s a notorious bandit gang terrorizing travelers on the way to port Achlon. They are quite dangerous, but can you handle them? We are short on high-level mages, so we got to do with Amateur ones. You can take help from others if you want, or I can assign you a party–”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I know a sturdy mage, so I’ll get him to tag along.”

“Eight shins is the fee,” he said once I handed him my pass.

What?! Accepting a quest costs one loaf of bread? How come businessmen remained the same in all the worlds? Exploiting poor undead runs in their blood, I suppose.

With much hesitation, I handed the eight shins my lady had fished out, and the color of the inscription on my pass changed to red.

“Red means you are under contract. Unless you finish the task and report to us, it will remain red, which means you cannot accept any other quest while under contract. Even in case of failure, except for these eight shins, you will not lose anything. If you come back alive, that is,” the man explained patiently. “You can accumulate points for clearing quests and exchange them for exciting rewards.”

“Do the rewards include bread?” I asked.

“Uh,” he gave me a confused pause. “You can exchange the points for money too, so I guess yea…”

I nodded while my lady smacked me.

“Anything else that we should know?” I asked, noticing the impatient expression on my lady’s face.

“You need to submit a written report in case of failure so that we can adjust the requirements accordingly. For instance, the bandit subjugation needs at least two Amateur high-tier mages, so we will increase its prerequisite and rating if you come back scathed.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Nothing for now,” he said, glancing at the long line behind me in annoyance. “Good luck, newbie. I will see you soon if your head doesn’t get chopped.”

Those should have been my words, but well, I decided to let him have them for the day.

Garlan waited for us at the entrance with a few bruises on his face, which had me laughing. He almost punched me but withheld his rage seeing my lady walk out of the adorned portico. ‘Femor Adventurer Guild' strapped in bold glistened over the entrance, the inscription too aggressive to ignore.

“That was clever, Garlan,” I said, patting his shoulder. “How I wish to see you do it again!”

“Damn you, bastard! It was hard enough to make some room in the guild, but I didn’t expect those thrown-out men to gang up and beat the shit out of me. I have remembered each one of their faces. And yours too!”

“You have my approval to try that again, mutt,” my lady smiled. “It was quite a sight watching a ball roll from one end of the room to another. If people had unsheathed their swords, it would have been a better sight to behold.”

Garlan rolled his eyes at my lady and glanced at the red-colored inscription on my talisman. “What’s the quest?”

“Subjugation of felons,” I said, handing my pass to my lady. She stuffed it inside her pochette before ambling toward the southern gates with jubilance evident on her face. We followed her, me making sure the cowl didn’t come off, while Garlan just tagged along for a change.

“You joining us?” I asked and glanced at my lady, who was walking back and forth between the stores. “Careful, my lady.”

She nodded, but her pacing didn’t slow down in the least.

“I need my commission,” Garlan laid out his true intention.

“Commission for doing nothing?”

“Commission for helping you out on the quest. I am quite versed with the routes in and around the capital, so you can count on me to be your guide,” Garlan raised his arm to his chest.

“Well, if you can skin the rabbit meat for us, then I doubt my lady would have any qualms about you tagging along.”

“I need forty percent,” he raised his four fingers at me as we split up to let an arrogant noble pass between us.

“Fifteen,” I said.

“Thirty-five,” Garlan wasn’t ready to concede, but you never negotiate with an undead. They are horrible at it.

“Fifteen,” I said again.

“Thirty,” Garlan snarled.

“Ten,” I said, which had him agreeing to fifteen like his life depended on it.

I laughed and patted his back. “Fifteen percent, bread lad. We are running low on cash just like you, and I want to buy my lady a new dress for her birthday.”

“You are a good man, aren’t you, Rudolf?” he placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Am I?” I asked him, seriously doubting his intentions.

“You are,” he had that crafty smile on his face. “How about twenty percent?”

“I’m giving you ten percent. No more negotiations,” I said with a grin.

We walked through the crowded streets of the dawn, steering clear of alleys that had drunkards sprawling around. The cheerful ambiance warranted attention, as the King’s Birthday was coming up in a week, and decorations had already begun outside many stores. Winter marked the era of change of clothing, and the advent of the ruler’s birthday, the most celebrated festival in the entire capital. Bunters of papers had started forming erratic lining in many streets, somehow managing to preserve the aesthetic beauty. Pointless it is, but mortals sure know how to waste time efficiently.

A couple of cloth retailers beckoned us to the elaborately sprawled clothing, but I was good with my thin attire. Money was our primary concern, and resorting to thievery would be our only way out if my lady’s growth bolted in the next couple of years.

“Hey Rudolf,” Garlan called out, pointing to my lady. “Why is she so excited? I mean, it’s just the stores we see every day.”

“No idea, bread lad. It’s hard to understand a young maiden’s heart.”

He nodded and glanced at my lady, whose eyes twinkled when she saw fishes swimming in the large wooden barrel.

“I feel so old when I glance at those excited bunch. Wish I did something worthwhile when I was young and bold.”

“Well, the early thirties is hardly considered old, Garlan,” I said and certainly meant it. How old does two millennium sound anyway?  “You got your entire life lined up before you. There’s no harm in killing a few more mortals, is there?”

“You are the only person who cares for me,” he wiped his eyes with his sleeves. “How–“

“I’ll cancel your commission altogether if you ask for more,” I said and rushed to my lady, who was having a heated conversation with the fish store owner. Apparently, she had scooped out a fish, and it died after struggling in the open for a while.

“Pay me twenty shins, brat!” The owner almost grabbed my lady’s cloak when I held his hand.

“Hey chief, aren’t you selling those fishes for meat?” I asked, pushing my lady behind me before she could worsen the situation any further. Her tongue, which I was proud of, wasn’t meant to handle such unfavorable circumstances.

Garlan joined us soon and picked up the dead fish before throwing it to the myriad of dead fishes lying atop the elevated rack for sale. He glanced at the price tag and looked at the owner after a brief glance in my direction.

“It says the fish costs two shins, bastard. You trying to scam us?!”

“That is a different fish!” he said. “You better pay me twenty shins before I get the Escavs!”

Escavs were the soldiers designated to maintain order in the capital. Similar to the cops of the modern world, albeit more ruthless even without guns.

“I wonder who is gonna get fried,” Garlan laughed. “This man here,” he shouted, looking at the commuters passing by, “just tried to sell us a single fish for twenty shins. Don’t ever buy from this vile man; you may not have a roof over your head tomorrow.”

Whispers resounded around us, and Garlan nudged us to move along the crowd as the owner was yapping something about work ethics and the likes to the small mob that had gathered to witness a mercenary’s pleas.

We walked quite a distance away when my lady looked back at Garlan, who was grinning like he had subdued a raging bull. “He’s pretty efficient, mongrel.”

“That’s what friends are for, my lady. They are meant to be used in situations like these.”

“You are quite the heartless mongrel, aren’t you?” she smiled and held my gloved hand. “But my heartless mongrel."