Aiven quickly introduced himself and the three walked towards the registration desk. The walk felt like a funeral procession to Virelle, who trailed behind Aiven with a pout so profound it seemed to darken the air around her. Rysa, oblivious or simply indifferent to the magical girl's mood, whistled a jaunty tune as she slapped the Rock-Shelled Lurker scroll onto the polished wood counter.
"Morning, Clara," Rysa said, leaning against the desk with a casual grin. "Registering a party for this D-rank cull. Sector 4 Caves."
The receptionist, a sharp-eyed woman with silver spectacles, adjusted her glasses and looked at the trio. "Badges, please."
Rysa produced a bronze plate engraved with a 'D'. Aiven followed with his battered iron 'F'; each has a name carved below the letter.
"And yours, miss?" Clara asked, looking at Virelle.
Virelle didn't even turn her head. "I do not require a piece of scrap metal to prove I am superior to every soul in this building," she said, her voice dripping with cold arrogance. She raised a hand, her fingers twitching. "In fact, I find your tone so irritating that I'm considering whether your hair would look better if it were currently—"
"She's a volunteer!" Aiven interrupted, stepping in front of Virelle and laughing nervously. "She's a specialized mage who helps out for the experience. She doesn't need the reward money, and we aren't asking for rank-up points for her. It's a... private contract."
Clara stared at Aiven, then at Virelle, who looked ready to turn the desk into sawdust. After a long moment, the receptionist shrugged. "The Guild doesn't care about volunteers as long as the liability waiver is signed and the party has the required rank. If you want to let a high-tier mage do your work for free, that's your business."
She stamped the parchment with a heavy thud. "Official. Subjugation of Rock-Shelled Lurkers. Don't go below the third floor; the mining crews are working the vein down there, and the government doesn't like adventurers poking around the airship fuel minerals."
"Got it," Rysa said, grabbing the scroll. "Come on, team. Sector 4 is waiting."
As they exited the Guildhouse, Rysa checked a small pocket watch. "I've already booked a carriage through the Guild's transport service. D-rank perk—it beats walking three miles to the cave mouth. Should be here any second."
"A carriage?" Virelle asked, her nose wrinkling. She looked at the small, two-wheeled cart pulling up to the curb—a vehicle designed for two, maybe three people at a squeeze. "Master, this is ridiculous. I can fly you there in a heartbeat. We can finish this 'subjugation' and be back before this commoner even finds her seat. She's merely slowing us down."
Aiven rubbed his temples, the exhaustion of the last hour finally showing in the slump of his shoulders. "Virelle, please. Be polite. Rysa is the only reason we aren't back on the bulletin board looking for 'Rock Gathering' or 'Slime' quests. Without her D-rank badge, we'd be stuck in the mud. She's our ticket to actual progress."
Virelle looked at Rysa, who was leaning against a post, watching the exchange with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement.
"Rysa helped us," Aiven continued, his voice firm. "So we follow the plan. We use the carriage, we work as a team."
Virelle pouted again, her silver hair shimmering with a faint, agitated violet glow, but she finally fell silent as the carriage clattered to a halt in front of them.
"Seats are small, honey," Rysa said, hopping into the back and patting the bench beside her. "Hope you don't mind getting cozy."
Virelle glared at the seat, then at Rysa, and then finally at Aiven. With a heavy, dramatic sigh, she drifted into the carriage, making sure to leave exactly one inch of space between her and the red-haired pugilist. Aiven climbed in last, feeling like he was sitting on a powder keg as the driver flicked the reins.
The carriage jolted over the cobblestones, the rhythmic clopping of the horse's hooves the only sound for the first few minutes. Rysa sat with her arms crossed, her sharp green eyes studying her new companions.
"You know," Rysa began. "I've got a decent nose for mana. The sassy elf there... she's leaking energy like a cracked resonance crystal. I can tell she's strong. But you? You look... well, incredibly average."
Virelle's eyes snapped toward Rysa. "If my Master is average," she said, her voice a low purr, "then you must be something significantly worse. A pebble, perhaps? Or a particularly dull piece of moss?"
"Virelle, stop…" Aiven said. He turned to Rysa with a strained look. "I am so sorry. Please be tolerant; she's new to this."
Aiven then returned to Rysa's question. "I only became an official adventurer three days ago," he admitted. "Though I used to explore quite a lot during my younger years—just for fun."
"What about combat? Or magic?" Rysa asked, leaning forward. "What can you actually do?"
"She's being far too nosy, Master," Virelle commented loudly, staring out the window.
Aiven sighed. He thought about the near-infinite mana he had to keep suppressed. "I'm limited," he lied. "I can managed a few basic spells, but I'm exhausted after a few casts. As for combat... it's been years since I fought so much as a small kobold."
Rysa shook her head. "Honing your skills should be the priority. Partying with a higher rank for the money is fine for a bit, but it's not ideal for long-term sustainability."
"I plan on it," Aiven said. "I've been thinking about looking for a swordsman willing to teach me."
"I actually know someone," Rysa said, her eyes lighting up. "A former instructor. I could give you a recommendation sometime."
"Thank you, Rysa. I'd appreciate that."
Virelle whispered to herself, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "Hmph. This red-haired vixen is clearly just looking for an excuse to get close to Master."
Rysa simply smiled at Aiven, while Aiven leaned his head back, feeling tired before the quest had even truly begun.
After around ten minutes, the carriage stopped. The air grew cooler, smelling of damp stone and minerals. At the entrance to Sector 4, the government sentries checked their stamped quest proof and party info.
"Keep to the upper levels," the guard warned. "Good luck."
Inside the cave, the walls were illuminated by bioluminescent moss. It didn't take long for the first wave to appear: Rock-Shelled Lurkers. They looked like jagged grey boulders with mouths and four needle-sharp legs that sparked against the stone.
"Stay back for the first wave. I'll open them up!"
With a sharp chant of "Ignis Circulus!", Rysa's knuckles erupted in flame. She charged forward, smashing the creatures effortlessly. CRUNCH. Her fists shattered the mineral shells under the heat and impact.
Aiven watched, his adrenaline pumping. Seeing a real adventurer in action reminded him why he had loved the idea of adventuring so much. But then he looked down at his nicked short sword. A small but gradually growing feeling of pessimism took hold. I should have bought a proper sword first. This sword won't amount to much against stone shells.
Virelle noticed him standing there, his shoulders slumped. She drifted closer, her violet eyes flashing. "Don't look so pathetic, Master," she whispered.
She raised her hand and pressed a sigil into his back.
Aiven gasped as energy raced through him, sharpening his vision until the Lurkers seemed to move in slow motion. Then, she tapped his blade. The short sword erupted in a blinding, white-lavender glow. The nicks vanished, replaced by a crystalline edge that hummed with mana.
"I don't want my Master to feel inferior to that red-haired brute," Virelle winked. "Go on."
Aiven thanked her, feeling lighter than he ever had. He lunged forward. His movements were still somewhat sluggish, but they improved with every swing. He swung his sword, and the rock-shells were cut like butter.
Virelle hovered in the center of the cave, watching with a satisfied hum. She thought she could annihilate the entire swarm in a second, but figured it was time to let her Master shine. She simply flicked her fingers, blasting mana beads whenever a Lurker tried to ambush Aiven's blind spots.
"Eyes on the front, Master!" she cheered. "I'll handle the cowards!"
Rysa, finishing her own cluster, turned around and stared. "What the... Aiven? What kind of enchantment is that?!"
Aiven didn't answer yet, too focused on the rhythmic dance of the blade, finally feeling the weight of the dust lift from his spirit.