Chapter 8: The Morning After
[THE NEXT DAY]
The adventurer guild was quieter than a grave. Bridget, the attendant with blonde hair and glasses, hummed an off-key tune as she prepared for the inevitable morning rush.
She pulled fresh parchment from beneath her counter and walked to the mission board, the soft thwack-thwack of the paste brush marking the arrival of new opportunities—and new dangers.
Returning to her station, she braced herself. Soon, adventurers would burst through the doors, eager for quick food missions, and the air would thicken with noise and competitive chatter.
A loud sigh escaped her.
"Mornings are tough," she muttered, rubbing her eyes.
CRASH!
The heavy wooden doors were thrown open with undue force. Bridget flinched.
"Whyyyy..." she groaned, her exhaustion overwhelming her annoyance.
"They're never this early."
She turned, ready to scold the interlopers, only to see Cogan and his team limping toward her counter. They looked exactly as they always did after a grueling mission: bruised, filthy, and entirely too banged up for her peace of mind.
"What in the Abyss happened to you?" she asked, her worry clashing with her lack of surprise.
Cogan managed a forced, painful smile.
"We got it pretty bad, Bridget." He leaned heavily on the counter.
"This is exactly why I don't like giving out favours," she chided, though her voice softened slightly.
"I'll let you go after a B-rank monster because even though you're all C-rank, you have a numbers advantage."
"Noted," Cogan agreed, his smile fading.
His teammates slumped onto the nearest empty chairs. They were the only patrons in the large dining hall.
"I'm just glad you're alright," Bridget said.
"Thanks," Cogan replied, dropping a huge, heavy burlap sack onto her counter. It landed with a dull thud.
She didn't need to ask what it was, but the guild protocol required confirmation. She quickly sliced a tear in the rough fabric. A massive, lifeless, milky-white eye stared back at her from the gloom of the sack.
The bridget stretched her hand toward the grim trophy. It glowed with a soft, pure-white light before dissolving completely into dust. She scanned the battered team—one, two, three, four, five.
"Wait," she said, a chill running down
her spine.
"What about the last guy? The mysterious one in the cloak and hood?"
The rest of the team, who had been on the verge of dozing off, were jolted awake by the question. A heavy silence fell. Even Cogan was unusually quiet. Bridget imagined the worst.
"Don't tell me... is he—"
"No, no, he's very much alive," Cogan quickly cut in, recognizing the fear in her eyes.
Bridget let out a long sigh of relief. "Then where is he now? He didn't bother to get his share of the kill?" Her suspicion returned.
"Who was that friend of yours, Bridget?" Cogan asked, the question that had been plaguing him since last night finally escaping.
"Friend?" She frowned. "I don't even know him. Never seen him around here before."
"What exactly happened out there?" Bridget asked, sensing something deeply unsettling in their continued silence.
Cogan looked at the others, then back at Bridget, his voice low with disbelief.
"Whoever he was, he saved our lives. He single-handedly slayed a B-rank dragon... without struggle."
"That's impossible!" Bridget snapped, her disbelief shaking her professional calm. It was impossible. Even a seasoned, lone A-ranker would struggle immensely against a beast of that magnitude.
"Was he an S-ranker?" she pressed Cogan.
Cogan rubbed his temples, still nursing a terrible headache.
"I don't know. All I know is he had purple hair, was incredibly powerful, and could... summon the undead."
"A Necromancer?" Bridget whispered.
She had only encountered two in her life, and neither had purple hair.
"Bridget, do you have a room or two? I still have this headache from last night," Cogan pleaded.
"Yes, we have two," Bridget said, pulling herself back to the present.
"The person who used the second room yesterday left early this morning, like they were in a hurry." She turned, grabbing two keys and a large pouch of gold coins. Cogan stared at the pouch as she placed it on the counter.
"There you go," she said.
He didn't take it.
"Where is the second bag of money?" he asked. He didn't need to count the coins to know the amount was nowhere near what they were supposed to get as the reward.
Bridget looked him straight in the eye.
"There is no second bag."
When it came to money, adventurers could get violent, and the sudden shift in Cogan's demeanor was mean and aggressive.