Bad Fucking Luck

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Morgana’s brain stalled for half a heartbeat before going into a full-speed panic. Out of every damn person in this bustling, sprawling city, of course she would run smack into a holy golden boy in full plate armor and enough holy regalia to make her skin itch.

The gold-inlaid pauldrons, the pristine goddess emblem, the aura of “justice and purity” practically rolling off him in waves, he was a walking, talking, armor-clad problem.

Great. Just great. Because nothing screams “relaxing day” like bumping into the medieval equivalent of a divine executioner. And he’s a paladin? Fan-fucking-tastic.

Out of every dirty alley, every vendor stall, every single street in this godsdamn city — her path just had to collide with someone who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a stained-glass window.

Worst fucking luck in the entire godsdamn universe. Yep, that’s me. Congratulations, Morgana, you’re cursed.

He looked tired, exhausted even, but that didn’t help. She’d read enough fantasy, played enough D&D, to know what paladins were about. She kept her face pleasant, almost warm even, while her mind was screaming. 

She took a quick, subtle step back, as if that extra half-meter of space could somehow keep his holy aura from sniffing her out like a bloodhound. 

Question is… are paladins here like in D&D? Do they get that “Detect Evil” bullshit? Just point, and boom, radar ping: “Congratulations, you’re standing next to a fucking demon.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but her stomach was twisting. One wrong twitch and this guy’s going to go full smite-the-evil on me. Great, Morgana. Real great. Top-tier stealth work.

Her mouth was locked in a pleasant smile, her eyes warm, but inside she was picturing about twelve different escape routes.

God, if he whips out a holy sword and starts chanting, I’m gonna be sprinting so hard I’ll break the sound barrier.

The crowd around them flowed like water, merchants shouting prices, horses clopping past, the smell of bread mixing with the tang of a nearby blacksmith’s forge. And there she was, stuck like a deer in torchlight, pretending this was a normal conversation and not an oh-so-casual brush with absolute disaster.

Avric cleared his throat, polite but hesitant, as though afraid he was intruding on her thoughts. “Um—”

That was all the opening she needed.

Morgana cut him off instantly, beaming like they were old friends. “Morgana Wildrider. Newly registered adventurer. Nice meeting you, gotta go— bye!”

She pivoted on her heel and walked off so fast it was basically a controlled sprint, not giving him the chance to reply.

Avric blinked after her, his hand raised halfway to a handshake before slowly lowering it. His brows knit, a flicker of confusion in his green eyes.

“Something wrong?”

The voice came from behind—smooth, amused. Avric turned to see a younger man in white-and-blue robes approaching, the silver emblem of Lady Alvara catching the sunlight. The priest’s dark hair was neatly tied back, his steps light despite the bustle.

“She just…” Avric trailed off, still looking down the street where Morgana had vanished. “I don’t know. Left in a hurry.”

The priest followed his gaze and smirked. “You realize you look like you’ve been dragged backward through a battlefield, right?”

“I have,” Avric said flatly.

“Exactly.” The priest gestured at him with mock seriousness. “Full armor, dents everywhere, dried blood on your greaves, and that permanent ‘I carry the weight of the world’ look on your face. You probably scared the poor girl to death.”

Avric gave him a sidelong look. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you didn’t,” the priest said, his smirk widening. “But from her perspective? Big armored man. Tired eyes. The faint scent of smoke and blood. And that sword on your back… Gods, Avric, you look like you’re about to kick down a door and arrest somebody.”

Avric opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. His ears were starting to redden. "She was taller than me..." He mumbled under his breath, trying to defend himself.

“Oh, you’re blushing,” the priest teased, grinning like he’d just found a new favorite game.

“I am not.” Avric turned sharply, adjusting the strap of his sword. “I have reports to deliver.”

“Uh-huh.” The priest fell into step beside him, clearly not done. “I’m just saying… if you ever want people not to run away from you in the street, maybe wash the armor first.”

Avric muttered something under his breath—probably a prayer for patience—and the two of them disappeared into the crowd, the priest’s soft laughter trailing behind.

Morgana practically slammed into the Adventurers Guild door, slipping inside like she was evading a bounty hunter. She pressed her back against the nearest wall, one hand flat against the cool wood, her breath just slightly too quick, her heart still pounding.

“That,” she whispered under her breath, “was too fucking close.”

Her gaze darted around the room. No gleaming armor, no paladin kindness, no holy glow. Good. She let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders as if to shrug off the encounter.

If he got even a whiff of what I actually am… She grimaced. Nope. Not going there. That’s a one-way ticket to public execution.

By the time she stepped up to the counter, her usual swagger was back in place. The same receptionist who had registered her last week looked up from a ledger, quirking an eyebrow.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Morgana said with a grin. “Got anything in the ‘go murder things’ category?”

His brow ticked up. “I… suppose you mean a kill quest?”

“Exactly. I need to get out of the city before I start redecorating my walls with boredom. And I’d like to use my scythe on something other than straw dummies.”

The receptionist chuckled under his breath and slid a few parchments toward her. “These are the highest-ranked requests available for D-rank adventurers. I’d recommend—”

“This one,” Morgana cut in, tapping the notice about a goblin camp near the city before he could finish.

He frowned slightly. “That’s one of the harder ones. Are you sure you—”

“Positive.” She plucked the paper off the desk like it was already hers.

He scribbled a quick note in his ledger, then handed her a token. “Fine. Report back once the job’s complete. You need to bring the right ears of every goblin you slayed as well as the head of the chief of that camp.”

“Will do.” Morgana winked at him on her way out. “Try not to miss me too much.”