Ch 2.2

 The tension was soaring.

Benjamin hung in midair, a thick vine stabbed clean through his stomach. Blood spilled freely from the wound, dripping to the floor below. His limbs were tightly bound by writhing branches that held him aloft like a puppet.

In front of him stood his furious master, eyes blazing with disbelief. The fact that Ben had failed the adventurer license test was almost incomprehensible.

These trials were supposed to be simple, basic, even. Designed so that anyone even mildly useful to an adventuring party could pass. Children had passed them. Beginners passed them. Yet his student had failed.

Blood pooled beneath Ben. He gritted his teeth, refusing to make a sound. The pain was immense, but showing weakness now would only provoke the old man further. And once enraged, his master was nearly impossible to stop.

Veins bulged on the old man’s forehead. His fury was palpable.

Just then, a small blur darted into view. The tiny, fluffy monkey, Mop, climbed the twisting vines and perched on Ben’s shoulder. His three tails flicked furiously, and his fur bristled as he let out a string of sharp growls, snarling in Ben’s defense. Despite his size, the little creature stood defiant, trying to protect his friend.

“Mop… get off me,” Ben muttered, half-chuckling, half-exhausted.

The sight gave the old man pause.
He stared for a moment, then exhaled a slow, long breath.

Silence.

Eventually, he spoke, his tone more controlled, but still stern.

“I hope your excuse for this is better than the one for losing the staff.”

With a snap of his fingers, the living vines unraveled. The one lodged in Ben’s stomach crumbled into dry leaves. The branches dropped away like brittle twigs, fading to dust.

Ben collapsed to the ground, clutching his stomach. He activated his healing magic at once, golden light swirling around his wound. The bleeding stopped quickly; fortunately, the stab had missed his vitals.

He gently scratched behind Mop’s ear in thanks as the little creature curled against his neck.

Then, without a word, master and student stepped inside the small shack beneath the tree’s gnarled roots.

Ben spoke first, recounting everything: the mission, the ant queen, how he fought alone while his party watched, and finally how they turned on him and walked away.

His master said nothing. He merely poured tea and listened in silence, sipping calmly, eyes unreadable.

When Ben finished, the old man set down his cup and gave a small nod.

“I see. You defeated the Queen. For that… I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Ben said quietly.

“But…” The master’s tone sharpened. “You clearly didn’t understand the assignment.”

Ben frowned. “I~ what do you mean?”

“I lent you the staff,” his master said, “so you could blend in. I told you explicitly not to use anything I taught you. That was the deal.”

“I would never~!”

“All you had to do,” the old man cut in sharply, “was sit at the back, wave that staff around a few times, and toss out the occasional healing spell. That’s why I crafted it for you, to help you act like a typical support mage. If you’d just followed that simple instruction, you’d have walked out of there with a green stamp on that card, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.”

To that, Ben remained silent.

His master’s eyes narrowed,
“But instead… You didn’t heed my instructions. You wanted a piece of the action. And look where that got you.”

Ben glanced down, gripping the card tightly. The red rejected stamp glared back at him.

The old man stood and walked toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. Letting out a sigh.

“Well, you’re in luck,” he said. “You still have two more chances.”

Ben straightened up, a hopeful smile forming.
“Right! I swear I’ll behave this time.”

The master turned sharply, shooting him a glare that wiped the grin right off Ben’s face.

“Don’t get cocky. You need that license to complete your mission. It’s the only legal way for you to leave this continent. Screw it up again, and every guild’ll blacklist you. That means no freedom, no travel, no resources, and worst of all, you’ll blow your cover. This entire mission will go up in smoke, along with everything I’ve taught you. Do you understand me?”

Ben winced, glancing away.

“Do you?” the master repeated, voice low but firm.

“…Okay, okay. I get it,” Ben muttered. “I’ll do better this time.”

“Good.” The old man’s tone softened just a touch. “Just behave until the licensing is over. After that, you can go back to working solo if you like.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “And if you pass… I’ll give you a little something I’ve been saving.”

Ben blinked. “A reward? Don’t tell me—it’s more exotic seeds?”

The master smirked.
“I have something even better in mind. But first, you need to secure the approval stamps. Fail again, and you’ll be blacklisted for a full year before you can retry the trial. And as you know, we don’t have that kind of time to waste.”

Ben nodded quickly. “I swear I’ll behave next time.”

The old man snorted.
“You’d better. The next mission will be simple—and if you still manage to fail, I’ll personally behead you for being such an incompetent student.”

Ben swallowed hard but stayed silent.

“Good. Now that I’ll be in my quarters, I need to prepare for your next trial. You should eat and rest. You leave at dawn, so be ready.” With that, the master turned and ascended the stairs.

Ben bowed as his teacher disappeared upstairs. The threat might have sounded like a joke to anyone else, but he knew better. His master was ruthless enough to carry it out.

Shaking off the thought, Ben straightened. He reached up and scooped the little furball, Mop, from his shoulder.
“Hungry? I’ll whip us up something quick.”

Mop screeched happily, tails wagging in excitement.

“Hopefully he stocked something while I was gone…” Ben muttered as he made his way into the kitchen.

But the moment he reached the counter, his smile dropped. The shelves were bare, the canisters scraped empty, unwashed dishes piled in the sink, and on the counter sat a single loaf of bread, moldy, collapsing in on itself, and reeking of sour rot.

Ben pinched his nose. “...You’ve got to be kidding me.”