Chapter 2: Exotic and Trusty Guildmates

“Ooooiii, old hag! Can’t ‘cha make me hover or somethin’ eh?”

A spear-wielding man in his early 30s with a thin, long face that makes him look like a crook calls out as he climbs the steep hill a small distance behind me. Pearls of sweat are sticking to his face, some of which are entangled in his messy goatee. Wheezing, he continues to complain.

“If yer spendin’ yer damn mana on hidin’ from yer buddies, then surely yer could…”

The man never finishes the sentence as a pebble magically flicks against the back of his head, instantly shutting his rant down.

“If you have the energy to complain, then you can walk yourself, you damn freeloader!” a rough, croaky voice originates from somewhere behind the man, although no one seems to walk there. “Besides, you’re at least half a century too young to complain like that!”

“But yer could, right?” The man keeps trying, rubbing the back of his head while scowling.

“I could blast your sorry ass to the moon and whatever remains back here before you’d even realize it happened!” the voice shouted.

I can’t help but chuckle as two of my guildmates squabble behind us. And usually, when that happens, the third rambunctious one won’t keep quiet either.

“Lance, if you don’t cut the crap, she’ll send a whole mountain crashing against your empty skull, so shut it dumbass.”

A young woman walks up to the man called Lance, a dagger resting in a pocket of her leather armor. Anyone could tell at a glance that these two are siblings. They’re both in their early 30s, their hair is pitch-black and even more fussy than mine, and they both have the same way of running their tongue without respect for one another, although Lance is on a whole different level than his sister, who’s trying in vain to keep him in line.

“Oh, not yer too, Lucy!” Lance curses loudly. “Damn women! Yer always stick together! Yer my goddamn sister, so back me up, will yer?! That old hag shouldn’t keep all those secrets for herself! Teach me how to become invisible too, goddammit!”

He may be a tremendous and courageous fighter, but Lance is a colossal idiot…

The spear-wielder raises his weapon at someone no one can see. Meanwhile, his sister, Lucy, notoriously facepalms while he’s not looking her way. The invisible member of my squad is the key to our success. Without her, we’d be utterly screwed, and I mean that. She’s a real witch from a faraway country, and her magic is second to none that I’ve ever seen a human perform. Right now, the old witch Beatrix conceals her presence and the entire squad's presence from anyone nearby. It’s how we can sneak in and out of their territory unnoticed.

“Oh, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t,” Beatrix shouts at Lance from behind him, only the sound of her footsteps and the footprints she leaves on the wet earth giving me a hunch where she might be. “ Trying to teach a simpleton like yourself anything, let alone magic, is like wielding a broken sword!”

“In other words,” Lucy interjects mischievously,” She deems you too dumb to pull it off. And I think she has a point.”

“Oh, you damn little…”

The two siblings start squabbling among themselves, much to my amusement. I tune out for a bit, silently thanking Beatrix for giving the idiot a run for his money.

Practitioners of magic are rare among humankind. Therefore, having someone like Beatrix on our team is extremely valuable. Demons seem much more adept at using magic, but it takes a lot of practice for a human to control and accumulate mana. I can tell firsthand thanks to taking lessons from her whenever there’s time. I can use some support and defensive magic, but Beatrix could easily make a shield a hundred times more durable without breaking a sweat; that’s how powerful she appears. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her struggle during battle.

“Where’d yer learn this fancy magic stuff anyways?”

Lance’s voice captures my attention again, apparently done arguing with Lucy, whom I feel thoroughly sorry for.

It looks like Lance isn’t done bothering Beatrix. Should I be worried about a Lance-shaped crater on the moon soon?

He keeps trying, but the elderly voice immediately shuts him down.

“None of your business, young one. Now bugger off unless you want another pebble drilling a hole through your empty skull. Keeping this barrier up requires some concentration; I’ll have you know!”

And, if I remember correctly, the more noise it must absorb, the more mana it takes to keep it up. Should I tell them to keep it down?

“You heard her,” Lucy says drily, giving Lance a half-hearted kick to prompt him into moving up the rest of the mountain. With a grunt, the young man complies.

Bickering is typical among them, but keeps things lively and usually doesn’t lead to serious fights. Each of them has no place in society. They’re all outcasts, so I took them and haven’t regretted that decision yet.

“Lively, aren’t they?” Kenneth chuckles. He, too, seems to have followed the exchange.

“Yeah, and Berserker just stays out and keeps downing his booze, guess that’s how he manages to ignore them.”

“Possibly,” Kenneth agrees as we both look back at the final member of the guild trailing behind them.

Berserker is a mountain of a man, with a near-bald-shaven head and a copper-colored full beard completing his rugged appearance. Not only is he extraordinarily tall, but he is also vast. A belt of fat around his belly speaks the story of regular alcoholic indulgence, but if, on the off chance, you’ve ever met this giant sober, then you’ll know not to question it. He needs that stuff to function, and a man of his proportions shouldn’t ever malfunction when you’re even remotely nearby. Trust me on this one.

Quickly, the giant finishes off a bottle of barley, burps audibly, and continues trailing after the group, his massive mace sitting fiercely on his shoulder in case he ever needs to swing it. Berserker prefers to let his mace speak; he rarely ever talks and keeps to himself. His entire being is a mystery to me, who’s perhaps two-thirds his size and a quarter his weight. Berserker isn’t his real name; I know that much. The nickname describes him perfectly, so everyone calls him that without asking questions. Despite his weight, the steep terrain doesn’t seem to faze him at all.

“Ooooiiii, Berserker bro, yer wouldn’t carry me, would yer?”

Lance won’t stop trying to bribe a ride, but his attempt is thwarted before the drunk giant can think of an appropriate response.

“OW!” he winces as Lucy stabs him in the side with two of her fingers.

“Do you have no pride, brother?” she taunts, quickly evading a counter from Lance. “Are you even a man?”

“Last time I checked, my lance was still down there, so yes, I am!” he protests, but Beatrix cuts him off before he can elaborate on his nonsense.

“Yeah, and that’s where you ruddy pervert shall keep it unless you want old Beatrix to hex it away,” the mage yells loudly.

“You heard her, brother; keep that puny thing where I can’t see it,” Lucy adds for good measure.

“Man, everyone’s conspirin’ against me…” Lance complains, a pout emerging on his face. Lance may be an idiot, but he’s loyal and fierce with his long polearm and a tall but thin supporting shield. Lucy, a trained assassin and specialist in evading melee and ranged attacks, commissioned me to rescue him from a death sentence back then, which I did. In return, they started working for me.

“Quit your silly act, brother,” Lucy shouts at him eventually. “We’re not conspiring; we’re using common sense. You’re a goddamn rapist; you might do it again. Next time, I definitely won’t bail you out again!”

“I told you many times before; it was consensual!” Lance argues fiercely, but Lucy confronts him with the facts.

“She was underage, Lance! Too young to give consent anyway!”

“So what?! Yer a damn slut sellin’ yerself!” Lance retorts, wheezing from exertion as we climb up the slope. “Yer ain’t any better, sis!”

“You’re stealing; I’m selling. You’re breaking the law; I do business,” Lucy grins at him with the confidence of someone who knows they have won the argument. Lance grunts something unintelligible and, to everyone’s surprise, keeps his mouth shut and sulks for a while, at least until we conquer the hill that caused him to whine and bitch in the first place.

…Like I said, they’re all people who aren’t met with acceptance by society, which doesn’t mean they’re bad folks. With a bit of guidance here and there, they’re helping our human population now. It doesn’t matter if they’re convicts, prostitutes, witches, or just too damn huge and intimidating in Berserker’s case. They’re my guild, and I will do anything to protect them, even if Kenneth teases me for being overly cautious.

Soon, we arrive at the top of the hill, prompting me to halt and study our map. We will have to go downhill until we reach the bottom of a trough in the landscape where the settlement is supposed to be. We begin heading there, but as soon as Lance has caught enough air to complain again, he does.

“Oooiiiiii! Kenny!” he calls out, capturing everyone’s attention. Only Lance calls Kenneth ‘Kenny’, but he’s an idiot. “When are we finally there? Will there be young demon maidens just waiting to be enticed this time?”

“We’re not here for entertainment!” Lucy deadpans, kicking her brother with enough force to knock the wind out of him to end his spouting nonsense early. Kenneth still has it in him to give Lance a thorough response regardless.

“My friend, no one knows what to expect from this mission,” he cryptically says before a hint of mirth mixes into his voice. “However, if you keep yapping like this, even Beatrix’s strongest barriers won’t block your voice, and you’ll expose us.”

“You heard him,” Lucy grunts and kicks him again for good measure. “Shut. It. Up.”

“Now, if you kick him too much, he won’t be able to fight, Lucy,” I remind her, finally joining the conversation as the target city draws closer. “Cut him some slack; we may need him if he exposes us, and then I’ll let him take the brunt of it.”

“I can still blast him to the moon if you prefer, master,” Beatrix interjects, finally lifting the invisibility cast upon herself and revealing a figure that consists of 10 percent voluminous pointy witch hat, 89 percent black, worn-out robe, and one percent grumbled face. Berserker isn’t the only secretive member of the guild; old Beatrix knows how to conceal herself even when not concealing herself. No one knows her age, but the bit of skin she doesn’t hide suggests a number with three digits. I never dared to ask, and that isn’t going to change today.

“That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate the offer,” I reply, which makes everyone, barring Lance, laugh one last time before everyone grabs their weapons. I shove my messy hair deeper under my iron helmet. Some of it still peeks out, though. Sucks to be me.

“We’re getting close now,” Kenneth says as everyone enters battle formation without a command needed. I guard the front, the siblings taking the rear, Berserker in the middle, and Kenneth and Beatrix staying further behind but close enough to be within Berserker’s insane reach if something were to sneak up on us from behind. Her camouflage is still intact, but we need to be cautious from now on. Extremely cautious. The village is just another ten minutes away, and we mustn’t be caught, or that entire village will be on our heels.

“Okay, guys. You know the drill,” I announce, a little timid now, or as Ken would put it, ‘anxious’. “Keep quiet, move slowly, and don’t bother Beatrix. Remember that we’re here to spy, not pick a fight.”

A round of nodding runs through the group, even Berserker participating for once. I can only pray that nothing goes wrong. Then, I signal to advance, my sword on my right and my broad shield on my left.

We’d better find something of value here, damnit.