Chapter 19: Kicked Out?

We were walking along a long cobblestone path that wound between worn fences and the occasional crooked post. The sun had only just begun to rise, casting amber streaks across the morning haze. The scent of dew still clung to the earth, and I could hear the distant caw of birds waking up the world. Beside me, Lydia walked with her hands behind her back, her steps purposeful yet relaxed.

"So, when you say ‘supernatural cases,’ what exactly do you mean?" I asked, breaking the early silence. In a fantasy world where people flung fireballs and magic existed, what even counted as supernatural?

Lydia didn’t look at me when she replied. “Anything that involves fiends, possession, ghosts, and everything that couldn’t be explained by common sense.”

“Define common sense,” I muttered. “Because back home, ghosts weren’t exactly standard fare. But here? Your gang boss could shoot out invisible wind blades. Is that considered supernatural or just another normal day for your average joe?”

She smiled faintly. “Thanks to the sciences, many things have been de-mystified. Even your everyday commoner knows a bit about the wider world now. Sure, it's not professional-level knowledge, but it’s enough to help them survive.” She gestured at the road ahead, which led into a busier district. “A farmer might know how to apply salves made from thornmoss. A blacksmith might learn basic talisman crafting to ward off ill omens. These aren’t just village tales. Instead, they’re practical knowledge passed down or taught.”

It was odd to hear ‘science’ spoken of so plainly in a world filled with magical powers and divine bolts of light. Still, it made sense. If monsters could rip through your front door, you’d want to know how to keep one at bay. There was no luxury for ignorance.

“Knowledge is power,” Lydia continued. “And if commoners can equip themselves with that knowledge, they don’t have to rely on adventurers for every trivial thing. We need adventurers for dungeon nests, beast infestations, and resource hunts… not herb gathering or courier errands.”

She wasn’t wrong. As we moved further into the city, more adventurers passed us. Some looked like proper warriors, grizzled veterans with battered armor and cloaks covered in dust. Others were leaner, scrappier, perhaps newer to the game. Then there were the vagrants, mercenaries without guild tags, wandering spellblades, and the occasional unlicensed caster looking for work. They all carried weapons, tools, or peculiar gear strapped across their backs.

Lydia gestured to them as they passed. “The Adventurer’s Guild isn’t just a board for bounties. It’s a knowledge hub. These people are trained. They’re vetted. A registered adventurer is a professional, someone a lord can trust to carry out dangerous, crucial work without needing a leash.”

She stopped suddenly.

I turned to her, then followed her gaze to the building in front of us. I frowned.

It looked like a leftover ruin from a forgotten century. The roof sagged on one side, barely holding back the creeping vines that reached down its walls like claws. Its signboard was cracked and half-hanging, swaying slightly in the breeze. The windows were clouded with grime, and the door sat crooked on its hinges.

“…This is the Guild?” I asked, eyeing it with suspicion. “Looks like a building waiting to collapse on someone.”

Lydia stepped forward without answering.

I followed her, hoping the interior might prove better than the outside.

I was wrong.

The moment we stepped inside, the smell hit me. Huh? How did I even retain my sense of smell? It smelled of musty wood, spilled ale, and damp parchment. The lighting was dim, filtered through old curtains and flickering sconce crystals that buzzed faintly like dying insects. A few tables were strewn around with mismatched chairs, and a cluster of adventurers loitered near the job board, tossing dice or nursing mugs of questionable contents. One man was asleep in a corner, snoring into his plate. Another was picking his teeth with what I really hoped wasn’t a dagger.

Lydia sighed. “It used to be better.”

I asked plainly, “Why is this place such a wreck?”

Before Lydia could answer, a loud crash echoed from the counter ahead. A stool toppled, clattering to the floor as two adventurers squared up, one a scrawny guy with too many belts and a feathered hat, the other a burly woman whose fists looked more familiar with knuckles than utensils.

“I was next!” the man shouted, jabbing a finger forward.

“You were in the latrine,” the woman barked back. “You leave the line, you lose the line!”

The barkeep, a frazzled half-elf with ink stains on his sleeves, groaned and slammed a tankard on the counter. “You’re both banned for the rest of the week if you don’t shut up and sit down!”

The arguing adventurers kept yelling anyway, now dragging bystanders into their petty squabble about line etiquette and queue sovereignty. It was like watching a couple of angry ducks in chainmail.

I turned back to Lydia. “Judging by how much you talked up the Adventurer’s Guild, I thought this place would be… more…” I waved vaguely at the creaking beams, flickering lights, and the distinct smell of wet dog. “You know… posh?”

Lydia didn't say anything, avoiding eye contact.

I waited, then added awkwardly, “Uuuh… is it fine for us to just leave the kids at the church? Now I’m suddenly worried for Nira. What if she burns the place down? Or declares herself queen?”

“They’ll be fine,” Lydia replied, her voice carrying more assurance than I could summon. “The kids can handle themselves for a while. Nira’s probably elbow-deep in potato stew right now, surrounded by friends. She needs that.”

I guessed she was right. Still, it gnawed at me.

Lydia’s eyes scanned the room with faint disgust. Maybe she’d been here before, back when this place had a semblance of dignity. But judging by the way her shoulders stiffened, I had the feeling it hadn’t been this version of the Guild. She took a step forward and raised her voice at a figure passing by.

“Excuse me!”

The dwarf she addressed paused mid-step and turned. He had a wild red beard, braided poorly, and an expression that looked somewhere between tired and tipsy. His eyes were glazed, and he was definitely swaying a bit more than walking.

“What’s ‘er problem, lad?” he slurred.

Lydia stiffened. “I’m not a lad, but a lass.”

The dwarf peered harder. “Lad… lass… lassie… pffttt… I can’t tell with you ‘umans…” He waved a hand as if to swat away the issue entirely.

Lydia pressed, “What happened to the Guild? I used to be an adventurer myself. It’s been a while, sure, but I remember this place not being such a wreck two years ago.”

The dwarf chuckled… or coughed, it was hard to tell. “Two years ish a long time, ‘ass.”

I blinked.

Lass. He meant lass. Probably.

Still, the accidental insult hovered in the air for a second too long. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. If Lydia heard it the same way I did, she didn’t show it.

The dwarf staggered, leaned his elbow against a nearby post, and shook his head. “The Enmar Adventurer’s Guild ish… done… His lordship ‘as decided to kick ‘as out.”

And just like that, the joke died.