The Bakasa Branch Adventurer's Guild building didn't look like a neat registration office. The structure looked more like a stone fortress converted into a giant bar. The walls were made of sturdy black bricks, the front door was a four-meter high wooden gate that was always open, and from inside came a low hum resembling wasps inside a tin can.
Dayat stood in front of the gate, looking up at the Guild emblem: A Sword crossing with a Wrench over a shield. A strange emblem for a fantasy world, but perfectly logical in the Junkpunk city of Bakasa.
"Is this the place, Dol?" Dayat asked, adjusting the cloth bag on his back that hid the Tactical Crossbow. His bandaged right hand still throbbed, pulsing every time his heart pumped blood faster.
"Affirmative. Coordinates match," Dola replied from under her cloak hood. "Noise level inside: 85 decibels. Be careful with belongings; pickpocketing rate in the lobby area reaches 15%."
"Got it. Stick close to me. Don't let anyone touch you again."
Dayat stepped inside.
The Guild's interior was spacious, yet crowded. The air smelled of a mix of cheap beer, sweat, tobacco, and engine oil. Hundreds of adventurers from various races gathered here.
There was a group of Beastkin (wolf-faced humans) counting stacks of coins at a corner table. There was a burly man in plate armor cleaning his giant axe with an oily rag. There were also hooded mages sitting in dark corners, probably planning something illegal.
Dayat felt small. He was just a skinny guy with a bandaged hand and a wife who looked like a beggar.
"To the registration counter," Dola whispered, pointing to a long desk at the end of the room.
Dayat dragged his feet there, splitting the crowd that looked at him with disdainful gazes.
Behind the counter sat a receptionist. She was an Elf, but not the elegant and friendly type. Her dull blonde hair was tied haphazardly, her eye bags were thick, and she was chewing gum (or licorice root) with her mouth open.
Her name was written on the desk nameplate: Nyssia.
Nyssia didn't look up when Dayat arrived at the desk. She was busy sorting piles of mission papers.
"Excuse me, Miss. Want to register," Dayat said politely.
Nyssia stopped chewing for a moment, glanced at Dayat briefly, then returned to sorting papers.
"Can you read and write?" she asked curtly.
"Yes."
"Have a criminal record in Bakasa?"
"No." (At least not caught yet).
"Registration fee is 20 Silver. And put your hand on that crystal."
Nyssia pointed to a clear crystal ball embedded in the wooden desk.
Dayat placed 20 silver coins (almost a third of their remaining money), then hesitantly placed his left hand (the healthy one) on the crystal ball.
"What's this for?"
"Mana Check. To know what class you fit in. Mage, Mana Warrior, or trash," Nyssia replied flatly.
Dayat swallowed hard. He remembered Dola's words: His energy was 'Electricity', not 'Water'.
Dola, standing behind Dayat, silently activated a micro-scale Jamming Signal from her eyes. She had to mask Dayat's signal so it wouldn't blow up the crystal or read as an anomaly.
[Stealth Protocol: Masking Signature. Output: Low Level Mana.]
The crystal ball glowed.
But the glow was very... pathetic. Just a dim gray flicker fading in and out, like a 5-watt bulb about to burn out.
Nyssia snorted. She wrote something on her form with rough strokes.
"Mana Capacity: Negligible. Type: Non-Elemental."
Nyssia looked at Dayat with a gaze usually reserved for cockroaches.
"You have no magic talent. Muscles like stick figures. What do you want to do here? Want to be Goblin bait?"
"I am... a Marksman," Dayat replied, trying to sound confident.
Nyssia laughed. Her laugh was dry and insulting. Several adventurers at nearby tables turned and chuckled along.
"Marksman? Using what? A slingshot?" Nyssia shook her head. "Listen, Bro. The Guild doesn't need Porters right now. Quota is full. Go home, plant cassava."
Dayat felt his face heat up. He was rejected not because he was evil, but because he was deemed weak.
"I don't want to be a porter. I want to take extermination missions. I have a weapon."
"What weapon?" Nyssia challenged. "A kitchen knife?"
Dayat didn't answer with words. He lowered the cloth bag from his back. With careful movements (because his right hand hurt), he untied the knot.
Swish.
The cloth fell to the floor.
Revealing the jet-black Tactical Crossbow on the reception desk.
Its angular shape, the cams (pulley wheels) at both ends, and the composite material unknown in this world immediately drew attention. It didn't look like an elegant elf wooden bow, nor a heavy dwarf iron crossbow. It looked like a killing machine.
The atmosphere around the counter suddenly went silent.
Nyssia stopped chewing. She stared at the object.
"This... what is this?" she asked, her finger almost touching the scope but pulling back.
"My work tool," Dayat answered. "Can I test it?"
Nyssia looked into Dayat's eyes. She saw determination there. Not the determination of a fool, but the determination of a man who knew what he was holding.
"Firing range in the backyard," Nyssia said finally, her tone changing from dismissive to curious (and slightly wary). "If you can hit a target 50 meters away right in the center, I'll give you an F-Rank badge. If you miss, you get out and don't come back."
The Guild's backyard was an open area filled with straw and destroyed wooden targets. Several adventurers were practicing swordplay or shooting small fire magic.
They all stopped when they saw Nyssia bringing "The Hobo" (Dayat) into the firing area.
"Oi! A show!" shouted an adventurer. "The hobo wants to shoot!"
Dayat stood at the boundary line. The distance to the wooden target with the red circle was 50 meters. For a normal archer in this world, that was medium range. But for Dayat, whose hand was trembling from burns, it looked very far.
Dola stood right behind Dayat's left shoulder.
"Condition Analysis," Dola whispered. "Master's right hand is experiencing tremors due to muscle pain. Aim stability decreased by 40%."
"I know," Dayat hissed while loading the carbon bolt into the flight track. He had to use his foot to hold the bow while pulling the string (since his right hand wasn't strong enough to pull 185 lbs alone).
CLICK. String locked.
Dayat raised the weapon. Heavy. His right hand holding the trigger grip shook violently. The pain from the burn stung.
"I can't hold this for long, Dol."
"Use left shoulder as main support. I will provide wind correction data," Dola instructed.
Dayat aimed. He looked through the scope. The target wobbled inside the lens because his hand was unstable.
"Wind from 3 o'clock. Speed 4 meters per second. Aim correction: Shift 2 millimeters right from target center."
Dayat shifted his aim slightly to the right. He held his breath, trying to ignore the pain in his hand.
The crowd of adventurers started whispering, mocking.
"Taking forever! It's gonna rain soon!"
"What tool is that? Why so many wheels? A kid's toy?"
Dayat closed his eyes for a moment. Focus. This wasn't just about joining the Guild. This was about pride.
He opened his eyes.
HOLD BREATH.
His bandaged index finger squeezed the trigger.
THWACK!
The release sound was short, sharp, and mechanical. Different from the usual bow twang.
The bolt flew so fast the naked eye could barely follow it.
THUD!
At the end of the field, the wooden target shook violently.
Nyssia narrowed her eyes. She walked closer to inspect the result. The crowd of adventurers moved forward too, curious.
When they saw the target, the atmosphere turned dead silent.
The black bolt didn't just stick in the center of the red circle (Bullseye). The bolt embedded so deep that its fletching (rear fins) sank into the wood. The thick wood cracked around the impact point.
"Accuracy: 99.8%," Dola whispered in Dayat's ear. "Good shot for a temporarily crippled person."
Dayat lowered his weapon, sighing in relief while wincing, holding his hand which hurt from the recoil.
Nyssia turned to face Dayat. Her mouth was no longer chewing gum.
"Passed," she said briefly. "Go inside. Get the badge."
As Dayat was about to put his weapon away, a wrinkled but strong hand held his shoulder.
"Wait a moment, Young Man."
Dayat turned. A short old man with a thick white beard and strange double-lensed goggles stood there. He wore a leather apron full of workshop tools.
It was Master Dalgor, the Guild's Head Artisan.
Master Dalgor's eyes didn't look at Dayat's face. His eyes were glued to the pulley wheels (cams) at the end of Dayat's crossbow.
"This mechanism..." Dalgor's voice trembled with intellectual excitement. His oil-stained fingers pointed at the pulley system. "This is not reinforcement magic. This is... Leverage Physics. How did you think of this? How did you get such a light draw ratio for such explosive power?"
Dayat smiled awkwardly. "Uh... family secret, Gramps."
Dalgor looked up, staring into Dayat's eyes with an intensity that made Dayat step back.
"Family secret my ass. This is a revolutionary design. You..." Dalgor brought his face closer. "You're not just a low-level adventurer, are you? You are an Engineer."
The word "Engineer" was spoken by Dalgor with a tone of high respect, as if it were a noble title.
Dola nudged Dayat's foot. Signal: Business Opportunity.
"You could say that," Dayat answered carefully.
Dalgor grinned widely.
"Good. Forget the sewer rat extermination missions. After you get your badge, come to my workshop on the second floor. We need to talk about... patents. And money."
Dalgor patted Dayat's shoulder hard (right on the sore shoulder), then walked away laughing to himself, muttering about "force vectors" and "torque".
Dayat looked at Dola.
"Dol, looks like we just got a shortcut."
"Analysis: Subject Dalgor possesses high authority in the Guild. Collaborating with him will provide political protection and access to rare materials," Dola said. "Strategy accepted."
Dayat smiled. His hand hurt, his body was tired, but he had just silenced a room full of people who underestimated him, and got a VIP invitation from a VIP.
A productive day.