At this point, the Greenveil was about as dangerous as a strong breeze.
Ashara knew that. They all knew that. That was the point. After the dungeon raid, nobody in the squad had said "let's take a piss-easy contract and pretend we're being productive," but everyone had thought it, and the F-rank extermination posting on the guild board had disappeared into Mira's pocket before the ink was dry.
So here they were. Four D-rank adventurers walking a dirt road through open meadow toward a forest full of monsters that a particularly motivated farmhand could probably handle with a pitchfork.
"I'm just saying," Mira said, walking backward so she could face Isendra, "if you didn't want people to know, you shouldn't have asked the guild clerk."
"I asked a simple scheduling question."
"You asked which contracts Ashara had signed up for this week."
"For coordination purposes."
"Three times."
"I will freeze your tail off, Whitepaw!"
