Chapter 31: The Otaku Registers at a Guild (And Buys "Normal" Like It's a Luxury)
The aftermath didn't explode.
It… lingered.
Southval didn't scream about what happened in the Lost Foal. Not the way villages screamed when something burned.
It whispered.
Whispers were worse.
Because whispers didn't need proof.
They only needed a shape.
A rumor.
A "friend of a friend" who swore they felt something cold, then warm, then saw a crack in the floor upstairs and a man with too-pretty hair walk out like he'd just paid for dinner.
Meliodas hated whispers.
Whispers got you hunted without ever declaring war.
By the time he, Kaelen, Bud, and the mage finally left the tavern—using the back stairwell, because Rem insisted that "fiancés don't flee through kitchens" and Meliodas insisted that "fiancés don't die for pride"—the street had already adjusted into that uncomfortable middle state.
People weren't panicking.
They were watching.
Lanternlight painted faces gold. Eyes slid off and back again. Conversations died when he passed and restarted the moment his footsteps did.
{Indistinct} softened it, but it couldn't erase it.
Not with {Adorable} sabotaging him from the inside.
Bud stayed palm-sized, quiet, pressed close at the collar of Meliodas's coat.
Not scared.
Still annoyed.
The kind of annoyed that made his glow sharpen at the edges whenever a stranger stared too long.
Kaelen kept his hood up, shoulders tense, trying to look like a normal traveler.
He was doing a good job if you ignored the fact that he walked like a prince pretending he didn't.
The mage stayed a few steps back, careful about positioning. Careful about angles. Careful about being too close to Kaelen.
Careful in a way that didn't feel like loyalty.
Meliodas didn't trust him.
But he also didn't trust the town.
So he kept them both in his peripheral and kept walking until the Lost Foal was behind them and the noise became distant enough to stop feeling like teeth.
They found an inn—not the Lost Foal, not tonight, not after the cracked floorboards and the "drunk" body upstairs and the fact that Rem's sister had looked at Meliodas like she was measuring the distance between "dangerous" and "must be contained."
It was a smaller place with clean windows and a sign shaped like a lantern.
The owner took one look at Meliodas—then at Bud—then at Kaelen's hood—and decided he liked coin more than questions.
Which was the best kind of innkeeper.
Meliodas paid.
No arguments.
No bargaining.
He wanted one thing.
A door.
A lock.
A moment where nobody touched his life with their curiosity.
When they were finally in the room—small, simple, clean—Meliodas set Bud gently on the bed like he was setting down a fragile light.
Bud immediately curled into a loaf position with the offended dignity of a creature that had once sealed a breach and now had to listen to mortals gossip about tavern drama.
Kaelen stood near the window, peeking through the curtain like a paranoid noble in a play.
The mage sat in the corner chair with the posture of someone who expected the chair to accuse him.
Meliodas rubbed his face once, slow.
"Tomorrow," he said.
Kaelen turned. "Tomorrow?"
"We get paperwork."
Kaelen blinked, then looked confused in a very specific way. The way a prince looked when confronted with the idea that power sometimes came in the form of stamps.
"Paperwork… for what?"
"For existing," Meliodas said flatly. "In a way that doesn't get us dragged into a cell the moment someone points."
The mage's eyes narrowed slightly. "You mean the Adventurer Guild."
Meliodas looked at him.
Not angry.
Not warm.
Just… present.
"I mean options."
The mage held the stare for a heartbeat, then looked away.
Good.
Meliodas liked people who remembered they were not the most dangerous thing in the room.
Kaelen hesitated. "Will they ask where we're from?"
Meliodas paused.
He didn't answer too fast.
Too fast meant lying.
And he didn't want Kaelen to learn the wrong kind of lying.
"They'll ask," he said carefully. "We won't answer more than needed."
Kaelen nodded slowly, tension settling into something more stable.
A plan.
Plans were comfort.
Plans kept fear from turning into mistakes.
Bud shifted on the bed, tail flicking once.
Meliodas understood the feeling through the bond anyway.
Not words.
Just: Don't make us famous.
"Trust me," Meliodas murmured, mostly to himself. "I don't want to be famous."
The mage's voice was quiet. "After tonight… you already are."
Meliodas exhaled.
Then he did the only thing he could do when the world threatened to pull his life into chaos.
He tried to buy normal.
---
Morning came clean.
Southval woke up like it didn't know it had teeth underneath.
Sunlight hit stone streets. Merchants opened shutters. A baker yelled at a boy for stealing bread like the greatest danger in the world was hunger and not the things hiding in warm buildings.
Meliodas watched it from the inn window for a moment and felt something in his chest loosen.
Not trust.
Just relief.
He hated that too.
Comfort made you stupid.
But it also made you human.
He pulled his coat on, adjusted it with a practiced motion, and felt {Dapper} settle the fabric like the world itself wanted him to look presentable even when he didn't deserve it.
Kaelen dressed quietly, hood up, sword at his side. He looked less like a prince now and more like a young noble trying to cosplay survival.
The mage followed without comment.
Bud climbed onto Meliodas's shoulder and stayed small, glowing faintly like a decorative threat.
Meliodas stepped out into the street and immediately felt it.
Eyes.
Not everyone.
Not obvious.
But enough.
The kind of attention that didn't stop you.
It just remembered you.
He didn't let his expression change.
He didn't speed up.
He walked like he belonged.
Because in a town, confidence was armor.
And he already had too many reasons to get noticed.
They followed directions to the Adventurer Guild—because Jorren had been right about one thing: names and paper kept the wrong kind of attention off you.
The building wasn't a castle.
It wasn't a grand cathedral of heroism.
It was… practical.
Two floors. Wide doors. A sign carved with a crossed-sword emblem and a little metal plate bolted under it that looked like it had been replaced more than once.
Inside, it smelled like ink, steel, and people who had learned to laugh at danger because crying didn't pay.
There were tables.
A bulletin board covered in parchment.
A few adventurers arguing about rewards like they were discussing weather.
A clerk at the counter with the dead eyes of someone who had seen too many "future legends" come in and try to negotiate basic rules.
Meliodas loved that clerk instantly.
No nonsense energy.
Perfect.
He stepped to the counter.
The clerk didn't smile.
The clerk didn't bow.
The clerk just looked at Meliodas, then at Bud, then at Kaelen's hood, then at the mage.
"Registration?" the clerk asked.
Meliodas nodded. "Yes."
The clerk slid a form across the counter like a weapon.
"Name."
Meliodas took the quill, wrote cleanly.
Meliodas.
"Age."
He paused.
He wrote something reasonable.
"Origin."
He paused longer.
He didn't look at Kaelen.
He didn't look at the mage.
He wrote: Traveler.
The clerk's brow lifted slightly.
Not suspicious.
Just… unimpressed.
"Profession."
Meliodas wrote: Swordsman.
The clerk's eyes flicked to Moonsing and went back to the paper.
"Affiliations."
Meliodas wrote: None.
The clerk exhaled through their nose like that was the most believable lie so far today.
Then the clerk tapped the paper.
"Any special classification? Mage. Beast tamer. Alchemist."
Meliodas kept his face neutral. "No."
Bud shifted, offended at being ignored.
Kaelen's posture tightened.
The mage stared at the counter like it might explode.
The clerk stared back at Meliodas.
Longer.
Then shrugged.
"Fine. You're applying as F-rank."
Meliodas nodded once.
The clerk slid a small metal plate across the counter—dull iron, stamped with an "F" and a serial mark.
Then the clerk pointed to a second stack of paper.
"Rules."
Meliodas took it.
The clerk kept speaking in the tone of someone who had said these words so many times they had become a curse.
"F-rank means small jobs. Town perimeter. Simple escorts. Harvest assistance. Message runs. No dungeon contracts. No bounty hunts. No monster subjugations unless posted for F-rank specifically."
Meliodas nodded.
The clerk leaned forward slightly.
"And if you cause property damage, you pay."
Meliodas nodded again.
"And if you cause a public incident, you get fined."
Meliodas nodded again, slower.
"And if you start a fight inside the guild hall, you get banned."
Meliodas nodded like a man making peace with a new religion.
Kaelen stared at the plate like it was a sacred relic.
The mage watched it like it was leverage.
Bud flicked his tail like it was all beneath him.
The clerk finally looked at Kaelen.
"You registering too?"
Kaelen froze.
Meliodas didn't answer for him.
Kaelen swallowed, then stepped forward.
"Yes."
The clerk slid a form.
Kaelen filled it carefully, handwriting neat in a way that screamed "tutors." He didn't write anything that screamed "royalty," but he also couldn't stop himself from being… correct.
Meliodas watched, resigned.
Kaelen was trying.
That mattered.
The clerk looked at Kaelen's page, then at Kaelen's hood.
"Hm."
Kaelen stiffened.
The clerk shrugged.
"F-rank."
Kaelen's shoulders loosened.
Then the clerk looked at the mage.
The mage didn't move.
The clerk raised a brow.
The mage's jaw tightened.
"…Not today," the mage said quietly.
The clerk nodded like that was normal too.
"Your funeral."
The clerk stamped the two forms, slid two plates into a small pouch, and pushed it over.
"Go pick a job. Bring proof. Get paid. Don't die. Try not to bleed on the paperwork."
Meliodas took the pouch.
And felt something settle.
Not safety.
But structure.
A piece of the world that didn't care about who he was—only what he did.
He could work with that.
Kaelen stared at his own plate like he'd just been knighted.
"Master," he whispered, awed, "we're… registered."
Meliodas exhaled.
"Yeah," he said. "We're officially poor."
Kaelen blinked.
Bud sent a pulse of amusement.
The mage muttered, almost to himself, "Paper makes people brave."
Meliodas didn't disagree.
He turned toward the bulletin board.
Quests, jobs, requests—pinned in messy layers.
He scanned them quickly.
Not with {Knowledge Mage}—that would be too much, too public, too obvious.
Just eyes.
Just common sense.
F-rank.
· Help clear weeds from the north irrigation channel — 3 copper, lunch included.
· Deliver a sealed letter to Westmill — 8 copper.
· Assist with wagon unloading at the eastern storehouse — 5 copper.
· Collect three bundles of marsh reeds — 4 copper.
Meliodas stared at them.
His brain had expected goblins.
Bandits.
A dramatic "slay ten wolves" poster with blood stains and a skull stamp.
Instead he got…
Chores.
He felt something in his chest tighten.
Not disappointment.
Something warmer.
Human.
"People actually… use adventurers for normal work," he muttered.
Kaelen nodded. "It keeps the town running. And it keeps lower-rank adventurers fed."
Meliodas stared at Kaelen.
"You sound like a textbook."
Kaelen flushed slightly. "I had tutors."
Meliodas couldn't even tease him for it.
He respected it too much.
He reached up and pulled one parchment free.
· Escort a supply cart from Southval to a nearby farmstead (Halfday). Threat: Minor beasts possible. Pay: 12 copper.
That one was perfect.
Not glamorous.
Not suspicious.
Not too public.
Just movement.
Just travel.
Just a reason to be on the road and watch the edges of town for anything that felt wrong.
He glanced at Kaelen. "This."
Kaelen read it quickly and nodded. "Reasonable."
The mage leaned closer. "Escorts are watched."
Meliodas looked at him.
"I know."
The mage's eyes narrowed. "Then why choose it?"
Meliodas didn't answer with what he was thinking.
Because what he was thinking was: If something infernal is rooted here, it doesn't just live in taverns.
So he answered with something safer.
"Because I want to look boring."
The mage's lips twitched like he wanted to laugh but didn't dare.
Kaelen nodded as if "boring" was a tactical doctrine.
Bud shifted on Meliodas's shoulder and sent a pulse that felt like: At least this isn't a party.
Meliodas almost smiled.
Almost.
He took the parchment to the clerk.
The clerk stamped it, handed him a small token, and pointed toward a side door.
"Cart's out back. Don't lose the token. If you lose the token, you don't get paid. If you lose the cart, you don't get paid and the merchant cries."
Meliodas nodded once.
They walked through the side door into a small yard behind the guild.
A short, broad merchant stood beside a loaded cart, arguing with a stable boy.
He turned when Meliodas approached.
His eyes slid over Meliodas.
Then stuck.
Because {Adorable} didn't care about economics either.
The merchant blinked, then cleared his throat like he was trying to remember how to speak to strangers.
"You the escorts?"
Meliodas held up the token. "Yes."
The merchant's gaze flicked to Kaelen.
Then to Bud.
His expression shifted into mild alarm.
"What… is that?"
Bud's light sharpened slightly, offended.
Meliodas kept his voice calm. "Companion."
The merchant swallowed.
"A… beast?"
Meliodas nodded carefully. "Small one."
Bud's claws flexed.
Kaelen's posture tightened, but he stayed quiet.
The merchant stared another second, then made the smartest decision of his life.
"Fine. Fine. As long as it doesn't eat my grain."
Bud looked deeply insulted by the concept of eating grain.
Meliodas stepped closer to the cart, checked the harness, checked the load, checked the road direction.
Professional.
Normal.
Boring.
Exactly what he wanted.
Then, at the edge of his vision—
Blue text flickered.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a quiet reminder that the world was still watching him too.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: QUEST UPDATE — SHADOWS IN SOUTHVAL]
{A severed root does not mean a dead tree.}
Secondary Objective Available:
· Establish a stable identity in Southval (Guild registration counts)
Progress: 1/1 — COMPLETE
[Reward: +1 Destiny Shard]
Meliodas didn't react.
Not outwardly.
But inside, something clicked.
So the system was watching.
Just… differently.
Not for every action.
For actions that mattered to the chain.
He filed it away.
Kaelen noticed the pause anyway. "Master?"
Meliodas shook his head once. "Nothing."
The mage watched Meliodas's face, trying to read what he wasn't saying.
Meliodas didn't give him anything.
He climbed onto the cart bench beside the merchant like he belonged there.
Kaelen walked alongside, hood up, hand near his sword.
The mage trailed behind, quiet.
Bud stayed small and glowing, perched like an ornament that might bite.
The merchant snapped the reins.
The cart rolled forward through the back gate, out onto the clean streets of Southval.
Meliodas watched the people as they passed.
Clean clothes. Clean stone. Clean smiles.
And he didn't trust any of it.
Because he'd already learned the rule.
Clean towns didn't have fewer shadows.
They just lied better.
But today—
Today, he was officially an F-rank adventurer.
Which meant, for at least one halfday…
He got to pretend that being normal was possible.
And that was enough.
For now.
---
[END OF CHAPTER 31]