Chapter 1969: Registering as Adventurers
He pushed open the door and stepped into a hall lined with contract boards. Counters occupied the far wall, with drinking tables filling the space to his right.
"I’m telling you, the wheel was already-"
The speaker stopped as Vex entered beside Quinlan.
"Damn! Anyone know her name?"
"They look like seasoned veterans but I never heard of them... What’s their rank?"
Such questions sounded as Ayame followed, then Lucille and the others. A man carrying a tray turned to watch them until the mugs slid against one another.
"Careful!"
He caught the tray against his chest, spilling beer down his shirt.
Quinlan surveyed the hall through Synchra. Men were staring openly at Serika’s tanned legs, at the curves beneath Seraphiel’s travelling cloak, at Blossom’s tail brushing through the doorway.
The attention spread as his companions kept entering. Lilith walked past the staring tables with her sword at her hip, Bronnya beside her, and more than one mouth closed at the sight of their weapons.
Aurora observed.
Ayame promised.
Quinlan approached a registration counter while the women gathered around him. Serika and Kitsara took the open space to his right, facing the clerk with their backs toward the drinking tables.
The human clerk looked over Quinlan’s shoulder at the crowd before setting a stack of forms on her desk. Quinlan glanced at the questions on the top sheet, leaving the pen where it was.
"New registrations?"
"We’re considering it. We know the basics, but could you give us a general overview before we sign up for anything?"
"Certainly. Are you all registering together?"
"Two parties," Lilith answered, coming to his left.
Quinlan indicated his own companions.
"There are twelve of us in mine. Is that a problem?"
"Not a problem. Though depending on what quest you accept, you might find yourselves sharing a very modest reward among a great many people."
She pointed toward the boards nearest the entrance.
"If someone needs herbs collected or a stretch of road inspected, they pay for that task. Bringing twelve people won’t make them pay twelve times as much."
"Could we take several jobs and divide the work?" Serika asked.
"Depending on your rank, yes. For starters, we do not allow such a thing to protect our members from their own ambition.
"But if you’re permitted to split up, you’d tell us who’s going on each quest so we can check that the people actually doing the work meet its requirements. You can remain one party in our register while completing separate contracts."
Ayame leaned against his arm.
Quinlan’s mouth twitched, especially as he heard a certain petite samurai’s delicate giggling in his mind.
"Your numbers can also be an advantage," the clerk continued. "Big contracts have a minimum headcount that surpasses your average team’s numbers. We won’t authorize a departure until enough qualified adventurers have signed on.
"Clearing a large infestation, for example. You need people watching the exits while others go inside. An expedition might need guards for its camp as well as fighters accompanying the explorers."
She turned a notice lying beside her ledger so they could see the requirements beneath its description.
"Usually several parties join together to fill those places. A large enough party can take the whole contract itself, provided it meets the other conditions too."
Now that sounded even better. His women knew how to fight together, and he trusted them with his life. Getting to explore a ruin with them without some stranger deciding he ought to lead the expedition sounded excellent.
Quinlan read farther down the sheet. Alongside the headcount, a minimum grade was listed.
"My partners and I are quite a bit more powerful than your hopefuls with pitchforks. Can our starting rank reflect that?"
"I’m afraid not..." The clerk carefully shook her head. It was clear to all that she had to fight a great number of arrogant people demanding to be given a higher rank.
"Your rank reflects your standing with the Guild. A new registration starts at Grade One, no matter how individually powerful. Completed contracts build your record, and we review that record for promotion. The higher the grade, the more demanding the work we’ll entrust to you."
"Hmm..."
’Grade One? Their system is different.’
On Iskaris, ranks went from Iron to Adamantite.
The ladies were pondering the same thing, creating a moment of silence.
The clerk took it as them being dissatisfied with her answer, quickly adding, "Being able to kill a monster doesn’t tell me whether you’ll abandon a caravan halfway to its destination, or if you know how to proceed in other delicate situations.
"As adventurers you represent our organization, so we need to know that you’ll finish what you agree to do."
"...Fair enough. What information do you need from us?"
"The name you’ll work under and a way to contact you while you’re staying in the city. If you use a working name, please keep using it. Your completed jobs need to remain attached to the same person."
Quinlan wrote Black, then passed the remaining forms along the counter. The women used their usual names, leaving surnames and titles off the sheets.
Their names were never announced universally by the Soul Records; thus, only Quinlan had to use an alias.
Ayame read his entry and smiled.
Behind them, a chair scraped across the floor.
"Grade One," a man repeated. "Fuck me. I thought someone important had walked in."
Quinlan glanced toward the nearest drinking table. It stood beside the passage along the counters, with three men seated around a collection of empty mugs.
The speaker wore a padded coat with grease darkening its collar. He had turned his chair to face the women, his legs spread across half the passage.
"That’s a lot of protection for a nobody. Your daddy pay for all that?"
Quinlan returned his attention to the form. Beside him, Vex laid her completed sheet on the counter.
"Daddy paid for the women too," the blond man across the table suggested. "Look at them. You think they’re following him around for his charming personality?"
"What personality? He hasn’t got a face!"
The third man, whose nose bent sharply to one side, slapped his friend’s shoulder and barked a laugh.
"Hasn’t got a face! Hah! Probably scared they’ll all run off if he takes that thing off."
"I’d keep it on too if I had that lot. Fucking hell, look at the redhead..."
The greasy man’s eyes travelled up Serika’s legs and stopped at her chest. He leaned sideways in his chair when Kitsara stepped between him and his view.
Then he noticed the foxkin’s ass.
"Oh, come on. That’s just unfair."
"Sharing is caring, you know?"
His friends laughed again. The blond lifted his mug toward Kitsara, sloshing beer across his fingers.
"Oi, foxy! We’ve got a spare chair here. Or you can sit on my lap if you prefer."
Kitsara passed a pen to Serika without looking at him.
"She prefers the lap," his crooked-nosed friend announced. "Look at her. That’s a woman who appreciates a comfortable seat."
"Mine’s fucking comfortable."
"You’ll have to move your gut first."
The blond shoved him, laughing hard enough to spill more beer. He wiped his hand down his trousers before calling after Kitsara again.
"Don’t listen to this prick, sweetheart. Come over here and I’ll buy you something better than whatever your Grade One nobody lets you drink."
"Yeah! We’re Grade Two bigshots about to enter Grade Three!"
Quinlan heard every word. Anger was growing beneath his armour, made uglier by the ease with which these bastards discussed his women as things to borrow for an evening.
"It’s them again..." a woman muttered under her breath, face scrunched in visible disgust. "There are ten grades. Why are they so boastful about picking herbs for a hundred years?"
Quinlan aligned Vex’s finished form beside his own while the clerk checked their entries. Ayame’s fingers had stopped moving over her pen, and Vex was glaring at the men.
The blond saw her looking.
"There we go. That one’s interested."
"In you? She’s looking at me."
"Keep dreaming. You’ve got a wife."
"Bah! Don’t remind me of that ancient harlot. I’ve been thinking of changing her anyhow."
Their table erupted. The crooked-nosed man leaned back, delighted with himself.
The clerk returned a sheet that needed their team name declared. Quinlan accepted it.
"How much is he paying you, then?" the greasy man called. "Must be a fortune to keep you all smiling at him."
Serika collected the finished sheets from the far end of the counter. Carrying them back to Quinlan took her along the narrow passage beside the men’s table.
"Here comes one," the blond muttered loudly. "Told you."
"Not to you, she isn’t."
The greasy man sat forward, smoothing a hand over his stained coat as Serika approached.
"You getting bored over there, gorgeous? Come have a drink with men who’ve actually done something. We could show you around. Get you out of that armour for a bit."
"Give her a proper welcome," his friend added, grinning up at her.
Serika walked past them, her expression empty as if she didn’t even realize they existed. The greasy man seemingly mistook her refusal to stop for an invitation to lean farther out of his chair.
"Aw, don’t be like that. I can afford you."
He reached for her hip.
And just like that, the room erupted.