An Adventurer's Wage

The morning light that filtered through the Gilded Gryphon’s grimy windows was a different beast from the smoky, torch-lit chaos of the previous night. It was thin and grey, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and revealing the true extent of the floor’s stains. The tavern smelled of sour, spilled ale and old regrets. It was quieter now, populated by a few grizzled veterans nursing hair-of-the-dog remedies and Greta, who was wiping down the scarred bar top with a rag and a thunderous expression.

Kael approached the counter, every muscle in his body protesting the movement. The fight with Brolin had been a brutal introduction to his new life, and the strange, inexplicable power he’d used had left a buzzing in his mind, like the echo of a plucked string. He placed his 36 bronze cirens on the counter. The small pile of dull, heavy coins felt like both a king’s ransom and a pathetic joke. It was the first money he had truly earned in this world, and it was barely enough to survive.

“I need a room,” Kael said, his voice still raspy.

Greta paused her wiping, her sharp eyes flicking from the coins to his face. A ghost of a smirk played on her lips. “Finally decided you’ve had enough of the floor, have you? After the show you put on yesterday, I’m surprised you’re not asking for a suite.”

“I’d just settle for a door with a lock,” Kael retorted dryly. “Less chance of being tripped over by a drunken giant.”

The smirk became a genuine, if brief, smile. “Fair enough. Rooms for adventurers are upstairs. Ten bronze cirens a night. Pay in advance.”

Kael slid a third of his small fortune across the counter. Ten cirens. He did a quick, desperate calculation in his head. That left him with twenty-six. A loaf of that dense, hard bread might be five cirens, and a few slices of cheese another three. He could eat for two, maybe three days, and have a roof over his head for the same amount of time. After that, he’d be back to zero. Less than zero. The gnawing anxiety of his old life, the constant pressure of dwindling numbers, was a universal language.

“Key on the hook. Third door on the left,” Greta grunted, pocketing the coins. “Don’t bleed on the sheets. I charge extra for that.”

He took the simple iron key, the cold metal a comfort in his hand. The room was exactly what ten bronze cirens bought: a small, clean-ish space with a hard-looking cot, a rickety washbasin, and a single window overlooking a grimy alley. But to Kael, it was a palace. The wooden door closed with a solid thud, and the sound of the key turning in the lock was the sweetest music he had ever heard.

He didn't just sleep; he collapsed into it. For the first time since he’d woken up in this impossible world, he felt a flicker of something akin to safety. He was no longer a ghost haunting a stable; he was a man with a room. It was a small, pathetic distinction, but it was a start.

When he woke the next day, the aches in his body had settled into a deep soreness, and the pit in his stomach had returned with a vengeance. Survival demanded the next step. He needed more work, more cirens.

He found them at a rough-hewn table in the corner of the main hall. Ronan and Nira were already there, locked in a low-intensity argument that seemed to be their natural state of being.

“...I’m simply stating,” Nira said, her voice a clipped, aristocratic whisper, “that if your snoring continues to vibrate through the floorboards, I will be forced to take measures.”

“It’s a healthy, manly sound! Proves my lungs are in good working order,” Ronan boomed, before Nira shot him a look so venomous it could curdle milk, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial grumble. “Besides, it scared off the rats, didn’t it?”

Ronan’s head snapped up as Kael approached, a wide, toothy grin splitting his beard. “There you are, Tricksy! We were just about to post a quest to find you.”

Before Kael could ask about the nickname, Greta’s voice roared from across the hall. “Keep your voice down, you damn barbarian! It’s too early in the day for your nonsense!”

“Ah, Greta, my love, you wound me!” Ronan bellowed back, earning a thrown rag in his direction, which he caught with a laugh.

“We were waiting for you,” Nira stated, cutting through the noise. She gestured to a piece of parchment she’d laid on the table. It was a quest notice, pulled from the board.

“A new job,” she explained, her slender finger tapping the details. “Goblin extermination in the farmlands east of the city. A nest has become increasingly bold, raiding supply lines.” Her eyes met Kael’s. “The pay is five silver cirens upon completion. The requirement is proof of fifty kills—a pair of goblin ears for each.”

Kael’s mind seized on the number. Five silver. He remembered the simple, tiered system he’d observed: bronze, silver, and gold. He’d overheard the conversion rate from a merchant haggling in the market. One hundred bronze cirens to one silver. Five silver was

five hundred bronze. Even divided five ways, that was one hundred bronze cirens each. A fortune. Ten nights in his room, with enough left over for food, maybe even a new shirt. The hunger and anxiety in his gut were momentarily silenced by the sheer, beautiful mathematics of it.

“There’s a catch,” Nira continued, her tone all business. “The guild has flagged it as a D-plus quest. Goblins are weak individually, but a nest of this size is tricky. They’ve set a minimum party requirement: five Copper-rank members.”

“But there’s only three of us right now,” Kael pointed out, his brief flicker of hope dimming.

“Don’t you worry, Tricksy, have some faith!” Ronan rumbled, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force to make his teeth rattle. “The rest of the party is on their way. Look, what did I tell you?”

Following his gaze, Kael saw Cyras and Catherine entering the Gilded Gryphon. Cyras moved with his usual quiet, unnerving grace, his dark eyes immediately finding Kael and fixing on him with that familiar, scholarly intensity. Catherine looked more rested, her simple robes clean, a gentle but determined light in her eyes. They had clearly decided, on their own, that the previous day’s success was something worth repeating.

As Nira efficiently explained the quest details to the newcomers, Kael looked at the four people gathered at his table. A boisterous barbarian shield, a proud elven archer, an observant and unnervingly sharp mage, and a gentle Saintess on a divine mission. A collection of broken pieces and sharp edges, all looking to him, the man from another world, for the final word.

This is it, he realized with a jolt that had nothing to do with magic or danger. This is my new reality. He was no longer Kael Ardyn, the failed office worker from a world of grey concrete and quiet desperation. He was Kael, the Copper-rank adventurer, leader of a band of misfits, about to go hunt goblins for a living.

A grim, ironic smile touched his lips. It was absurd. It was terrifying. And it was the first thing in a very long time that felt undeniably real.

He gave a single, decisive nod. “Alright. Let’s go kill some goblins.”