Chương 32: Hail to the Proven

Blood had dried on Caleb's shirt in patches. Mud caked his boots, and the acrid smell of goblin fluids clung to his clothes. He stepped through Deadfall's gates, his stride confident, ignoring the curious stares from evening merchants packing their stalls. The broken spear in his hand drew many eyes: the weapon looked like it had been through a grinder. Caleb ignored it all. Pack bulging with his grisly harvest, he was all business. He had a transaction to complete and nothing else mattered.

As he approached the Adventurer's Hall he heard the familiar sounds of boasting laughter and the clinking of mugs and they brought him up short. He stopped just outside the entrance, the worn wooden door a barrier between him and the decision he was about to make. Think for a second, man… are you going about this right? The question stopped him cold. Should he slip around to the side entrance? Try to handle this quietly, in private? Was that even possible in a village this small?

People had already seen him walk through town covered in blood and mud. They'd connect the battered half-elf with whoever turned in the goblin haul and the gossip would spread. And did it really matter anymore? He had been playing "Thal" for two months now, and no one had questioned it. He had learned that his status held firm under casual examination. The fact that he was a recycled soul with what were probably anomalous powers remained his secret. What was the actual risk here?

Being recognized as a martial prodigy? There were worse labels to carry. Conscription is the real concern, Foster. The idea of losing his autonomy, of being forced to fight other people. It made his skin crawl. But the Legion didn't only wage war against other nations. They had entire divisions dedicated to clearing dungeons and managing aggressive supernatural wildlife. If it came to that… it might prove more bearable than he imagined. And then there were his goals.

He had a long way to go before he could protect himself the way he needed to. The resources rattling in his pack represented more money than he could have earned in months at the inn, maybe even years. He needed that gold to get stronger, and the Adventurer's Guild offered resources, training, and connections he couldn't access any other way. His instincts told him this was an opportunity to network and build social capital that he shouldn't ignore. Walking away from that would be stupid.

More than all of that, though, he was tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhaustion pressed down on him. He just wanted to get this done and collapse into bed. He pushed the door open. The boisterous noise of the Hall intensified. He strode through the entrance and moved with purpose toward Felicity's counter as a corridor of silence opened through the crowd ahead of him. Upending his pack, he sent a cascade of bloodstained yellow claws tumbling onto the polished wood, one set noticeably larger than the rest.

The clatter was quick and dry, rattling through the Hall's noise. Conversations stuttered and died. A dice game in the corner paused mid-throw. Every person in the room suddenly had their eyes fixed on the trophies.

"Ahhh, look what the misst dragged in. Come to beg for more handoutss, dull-ear?" Branson sneered from the bar, slurring his words. Caleb didn't react. He kept his focus on Felicity who was staring at the pile of claws, her professional composure completely shattered.

"Contract seven-hundred thirty-four," Caleb announced.

"Feral goblins. Objective: culling." Branson laughed, a wet, ugly sound. Pushing himself off his barstool he swaggered over, the stench of stale ale preceding him.

"Look a' that. The little half-breed got lucky and sstumbled on a few gobss, did he?" He leaned on the counter, his bloodshot eyes gleaming.

"Tell ya what, boy. You probably left a messs out there. Real pross know how to harvesst a kill. You tell me where the big 'un'ss body iss and I'll even give you a ssilver for the tip." Caleb smirked. He reached into a separate pocket of his pack and produced a small, cloth-wrapped bundle that revealed the gland.

"Funny you should mention that." A gasp came from a nearby table.

"Is-is that... a matriarch's pheromone gland? A fresh one?" The adventurer who had spoken, a woman with a scarred face, whistled low.

"A matriarch's gland is a key reagent for rare F-tier combat stims. That thing alone is worth thirty gold, easy." Branson stared at the gland, his jaw slack. The liquid confidence had drained from his expression to be replaced by sullen anger, and he turned and left the bar to find a table elsewhere. At a table near the back a young adventurer leaned toward his older companion.

"A teenager? Slaying a matriarch on his first contract? He has to have a hidden bloodline, right? Some ancient power?" The older man snorted into his ale.

"Luck. Tis just luck. The forest gives, and the forest takes. That young'un used up all his luck on one contract. It'll run out." Felicity cleared her throat, a flash of pride in her eyes as she drew the attention back to herself.

"Yes, well. Good work Thal. Let me get you a preservation jar for that gland." She reached under the counter then slid a glass container across.

"The Guild's standing offer is twenty-five gold, should you wish to sell." Caleb placed the pheromone gland into the jar and sealed it.

"Thank you, but I think I'll hold on to it for now." I've got plans for this thing… Felicity replied with a knowing smile.

"Very well. Let's settle the bounty on the rest, then." She counted the claws quickly, separating the matriarch's larger trophies from the others.

"Ten sets of standard claws." She finished her count and made a quick calculation on her slate.

"At ten silver per pair of thumb claws and seventy-five copper apiece for the rest, the total comes to two gold and eight silver. The matriarch's claws are another matter." She consulted her rate board with a glance.

"I can do… eight gold for the set. That brings your total to ten gold and eight silver." The sum was a small fortune. Felicity counted out the coins, setting them on the counter in front of Caleb.

"Now, about your advance…"

"Seventy-five silver for the cuirass," Caleb recited.

"One gold ten silver for the spear. And a final gold piece for the Guild fee that was deferred." He pushed three gleaming yellow coins from his new pile across the counter.

"Let's call it three gold even." Felicity smiled delightedly as she swept the coins into her palm.

"Alright then, Thal. It's time to make this official!" She produced a blank bronze badge and a slate-grey metal plate, etched with runes, and put them both on the counter. The badge went into a small depression on the plate. As she adjusted them, the ambient noise of the Hall seemed to recede.

"Place your hand on the badge, Thal," Felicity instructed, growing serious. Caleb did as instructed. The blank bronze felt cool under his palm.

"Now, the Oath. First, push your Stamina into the badge. Show it your strength." He concentrated, drawing on the warm energy in his muscles and channeling it down his arm. The badge grew hot under his hand; a pleasant, radiating warmth that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. An inert rune lit up red on the plate.

"Good. Now, your Mana. Show it your will." He reached for the cool pool of energy in his core and guided a delicate thread of it into the heated metal. The badge's heat cooled to neutral as another rune flared blue. The air began to hum over his hand. Before Felicity could give the next instruction, it happened. An unsettling lurch deep in his core, as if something had been plucked from his spirit. The sensation was gone as quickly as it came, leaving a faint impression of wrongness behind.

A final empty rune on the plate glowed purple, and the mingled energies in the badge combined. White light began to leak from badge and between his fingers.

"Recite the words after me," Felicity commanded, her voice resonant and full of authority. The dim white light from the badge intensified, covering them both in a solemn radiance. Caleb met her eyes and nodded firmly, ready to speak the words that would bind him to this new path. Then he began to pronounce the oath. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Before the eyes of the Guild, and by the soul within me, I make this pledge."

"I give my body's fire to this metal, my mind's light to this mark, and my life's own spark to seal this bond."

"Where the wild dark encroaches, I shall be the ward. Where the innocent falter, I shall hold the line." Caleb affirmed it all, the last line hitting closer to home than the others.

"In the service of my contract, I will not waver."

"My contract is my honor, and my honor is my life." As the last word left his lips the light from the badge flared, then died. He retrieved his prize. The badge now bore the stamped image of a Sitka spruce, with a hair-thin outline of silver mist curling at its base. Felicity took the badge from him, a faint grin on her mouth.

"That's the symbol for the Initiate rank, Thal. It's standard for the first contract and where most everyone starts. Most." She glanced from the simple badge to the pile of matriarch claws still on the counter.

"But killing a feral goblin matriarch on your first run is anything but standard." Before Caleb could ask what she meant she placed the badge back onto the runic plate, touching a specific rune at the device's rim. The badge lit up with a brighter light this time as the image on it dissolved and then reformed. Faint, silvery wisps now curled up the base of the tree, a clear mark of a higher standing. Felicity picked up the newly altered badge and pinned it to the sleeve of his bloodied tunic herself.

Then she turned him to the now-silent Hall, raising her voice to carry across the room.

"The debt is settled and the contract is complete! We have a new member! Hail to the Proven: Thalorin!" A ragged cheer went up from a few tables. The scarred woman who had commented on the gland raised her mug in a silent toast.

"First round's on the newbie!" someone shouted from the back, earning a wave of good-natured laughter. The scarred woman set her own mug down and pushed back from her table, threading through the crowded Hall while Caleb smirked at the jeers. She returned from the bar with a fresh tankard and stopped before Caleb, offering the drink with a tilt of her chin.

"Well done, lad. Most don't make it back from a matriarch hunt a'tall, let alone with a gland. The first one is on me. Tis tradition." Caleb looked at the offered drink, then at the faces in the crowd watching him. He saw respect on some. Acceptance on many. And expectation. The deep, cellular exhaustion from his ordeal was a burden pulling him toward the inn, toward the promise of rest.

But his previous life's instincts, honed by years of managing perceptions, told him this was the last, crucial step of the first impression. Just one more thing, Foster. Then you can find your rest. He took the heavy mug from the woman. Then, raising it to the crowd in salute he tilted it back and drank. The ale was bitter and watery, but he forced it down in determined swallows, his throat working until it was completely empty.

He slammed it down on the counter with a thump and, summoning a reserve of energy he didn't know he had, let out a loud, rattling belch that resounded throughout the quiet hall. A few chuckles broke the silence, then a smattering of appreciative laughter. Jack would have been so proud of that, haha. Evelynn… less so. Caleb reached for the pile of coins on the counter and selected a gold piece, its surface gleaming in the torchlight. With a flick of his thumb he sent it spinning through the air.

A young serving girl who had been watching the spectacle snatched it deftly from its arc, her eyes widening.

"The next round is on me," Caleb announced loudly. The Hall erupted at that. The scattered laughter became a full-throated cheer, the loudest one yet. Mugs were raised, backs were slapped, and the usual boisterous din of the adventurer's life returned in full force. He turned back to the scarred woman who was watching him with an amused, knowing look.

"I appreciate the welcome," he said, his voice now colored by the fatigue he could no longer hide.

"Truly. But I think I need a bed more than I need another drink right now." She chuckled.

"Even better. A kill tha' big should leave ya wrecked. Get some rest, lad. Ya earned it." She clapped him on the shoulder and returned to her table.

"One more thing," Felicity interjected, leaning in as Caleb collected his earnings.

"About that gland. You know who the players in the village are. Be smart about which one you approach. Getting caught in the alchemists' war is not something you want. And getting on the wrong side of Zarven is something you want even less." Caleb looked her in the eye and nodded.

"Got it. Thank you, Felicity." He turned for the door to head out. He had money in his pocket, a growing reputation, and a very clear understanding of his next steps. As he stepped into the cold air of the main thoroughfare, Felicity's warning replayed in his mind. Zarven. The name was a reminder that the dangers here extended beyond fang and claw. For now, however, the heavy purse was a more immediate reality. It was security.

It was the means to better gear, better accommodations, and maybe, just maybe, a real future. The Hearthsong Inn was in the throes of late-night revelry. The common room was a chaotic mix of clattering mugs, loud voices, and the lively tune of a bard. Yet Caleb's entrance had the same effect it'd had in the Hall. Conversations faltered as patrons took in his blood-spattered appearance and the broken spear. Cassia rushed from behind the bar.

"Thal! My goodness, are you alright? What happened to you?" Her hands fluttered around him, hovering over his filthy clothes as she checked for injuries.

"I'm fine, thanks. I was able to complete the contract, but I could really use a room to clean up in."

"A room? But your cot in the staff quarters—""I'm not staff tonight." He pulled out his coin purse and jingled it, letting her hear the musical clink of gold and silver.

"I'm a paying guest. For now, at least." Understanding dawned in her brown eyes.

"Of course, of course. You can take the room on the second floor, third door. There's a washing basin with hot water runes." She hesitated, then added softly, "I'm glad you're safe."

"Me too. It's good to be… home." Cassia lit up at that admission and Caleb offered a tired smile in return, the earnest care of the exchange a comfort. Then he ascended the main staircase under the lingering stares of the common room patrons and found his room. Closing the door felt like sealing off another world, leaving the looks and the noise behind. The room was small and clean, with a proper bed and the promised washing basin.

Caleb stripped off his blood-stained clothes and activated the water runes with a touch of his Intent. Hot water poured from the spout, and he scrubbed away the grime of battle meticulously. As the water in the basin stilled he leaned closer, studying his reflection. A quiet, unnerving focus had settled over his features, replacing Thal's haunted legacy and the weary resignation of a forty-year-old man in a different world. It was the look of someone who'd faced the darkness and held his ground.

He stared for a long moment. A while later, clean and dressed in fresh clothes a housemaid had brought him, Caleb descended the stairs. The common room had quieted and the crowd had thinned out. He saw Gareth behind the bar, wiping down the polished wood with a cloth. Caleb walked up and placed the deboning knife on the counter. It was clean, oiled, and as sharp as when he'd received it. Gareth paused his work. He picked up the knife and tested its edge with his thumb, then looked from the blade to Caleb.

He gave nothing away for a few moments. Finally, after Caleb had started to sweat, the man gave a quick dip of his head. He headed into the kitchen and came back with a bowl full of the night's stew, placing it on the bar along with a mug of dark ale and a thick slice of bread, before returning to his work. Caleb sat at the bar, appreciating the man's way with words. He was too tired for conversation and just wanted to fill his belly and sleep. Naturally, that's when Corinne slid onto the stool beside him.

"You have to tell me everything! Did you really kill a feral goblin matriarch? Was it big? Did it have giant teeth?" Cassia arrived a moment later, looking exasperated.

"Let him eat, Corinne. Can't you see he's exhausted?"

"But Mom, he—" Gareth gave his daughter a look and Corinne fell silent, though she continued to vibrate with barely contained curiosity. Caleb ate a spoonful of the stew. The rich flavor of roasted meat and root vegetables was the taste of safety. Of home. He looked at the three of them: Cassia, Gareth, Corinne. His employers. His friends. His... family? The idea was at the same time unsettling, yet strangely welcome. Caleb took a deep breath and began to recount the hunt. He described the scouting and the plan.

His initial kill and the subsequent ambush, along with the frantic fight in the quarry. His narration was analytical, colored by his new Skills and understanding. He spoke of the goblins' flanking tactics and the leader's intelligence, of how he'd used the chokepoint to his own advantage. When he described his first kill, though, Corinne leaned forward, eyes sparkling.

"Wow! Did its head really just go... pop? Like a melon?" The question was so jarringly cheerful, so utterly disconnected from the vicious reality that it almost made him laugh. He looked at her innocent, excited face and saw the vast gulf between the stories she'd heard and the experience he'd just survived.

"Something like that…" he whispered. He finished his tale, describing the final, desperate gambit against the matriarch and purposefully leaving out any mention of the cave and the dark. As he fell silent, Gareth, who had been listening stoically, gave Caleb his second, deeper nod of the night. It felt like one warrior acknowledging another.

"So you're an adventurer now, are you?" Corinne asked, breaking the moment.

"Seems like it. Which brings me to business. I'd like to keep a guest room here now that I can afford it. The staff quarters are generous, and I'm incredibly grateful you let me stay there. But now that I'm starting to gather some equipment… I need extra storage space." Cassia and Gareth exchanged a look, but it was Cassia who spoke.

"Of course, dear. We'll even give you the family rate. Our only condition is that you promise to help in the kitchen from time-to-time when we need you." He released a quiet breath he hadn't realized he was holding, easing the tension from his frame.

"I also need to settle my debt." He placed three gold coins on the bar.

"For the healing potion." Cassia pushed one of the coins back toward him and smiled warmly, giving him a look of maternal pride.

"A man who settles his debts so honorably deserves a discount. Two is more than sufficient." Caleb tried to protest but the firm look in her eye stopped him cold. He pocketed the coin with a smile of thanks.

"You've earned your rest tonight, Thal. But be careful. A reputation like the one you earned today... it attracts attention. Not all of it is desirable."

"Got it. I'll do my best." She was right, of course. Tonight he had carefully constructed an image of Thal the Proven, the competent adventurer who walked out of the forest with a matriarch's spoils. Tomorrow morning, however, he was supposed to revert to Thal the Mediocre, the trainee who was determined to be of middling competence in front of Captain Hatch. The two personas couldn't survive together in a village this small. News of the first would make a mockery of the second.

Hatch would connect the dots easily when his modest newbie was suddenly the subject of tavern tales. But that was a problem for another day. Tonight, he was an adventurer, not a recruit. Caleb appreciated the rich, savory broth, letting the contentment of a full belly after a long day chase away his concerns. He ate another bite of the stew and took it all in. Sitting in the common room, a patron and a victor. He'd won his place here with blood and loot. The food tasted different after that. And it tasted good.

When he finished his meal he stood, nodding to the Hearthsongs.

"Good night. Thank you for everything." As he walked toward the stairs that led to his guest room, he appraised the broken spear at the landing where he had left it. The ruined tip was evidence of the price of his triumph. He carried it with him as he climbed, the worn wood comforting. The failed tool had become a memento. A warning. And a promise.