Maybe Nicely Is Different For Every Person

“Wait!”

The man shoved through the crowd, shouldering past two merchants before darting into the side street.

"Stop running!" the armored man roared, already closing the distance.

Flint had followed after them without a second thought, his boots hammering against the cobblestones. The chase tore through the heart of Vega, the fugitive ducking beneath a low-hanging clothesline with his pursuer hot on his heels. Flint, however, was less agile. A wet shirt slapped squarely across his face as he failed to duck in time.

"Ah..."

He peeled the fabric off his face, handed it back to the bewildered woman hanging laundry, and offered a quick, sheepish bow.

"Sorry!"

With that, he took off again, though by the time he rounded the corner, the trail had gone cold.

"Ah, shit!"

The runaway slipped between two wagons before disappearing into another alleyway.

Flint and the armored man reached the intersection together, both skidding to a halt as four different roads stretched out before them. They exchanged a frustrated glance before the pursuer clicked his tongue.

"Which way did he go?" Flint asked, chest heaving.

"If I knew that," the man wheezed, "I wouldn't be standing here, kid."

They split up, but the result was the same. Flint checked a nearby alley only to find a pair of fishermen mending a net, and when he doubled back, he found the armored man emerging from another street with a look of pure, weary defeat.

"Gone. God damn it," the man muttered, resting a hand against the wall to catch his breath.

Flint scratched the back of his head.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I thought you were harassing him.”

The man looked at him, eyes narrowed.

“What if I was? I've been trying to catch that man for four days, you know!”

“…Then I really am sorry.” Flint smiled apologetically, “But what did he even do to you?”

For a moment, neither of them spoke as footsteps approached from behind. Isla finally caught up, breathing a little harder than the other two.

“…You both run... surprisingly fast.”

Flint smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

She blinked.

“…Why are you apologizing to me?”

“The kid’s apologizing to everyone today,” the man muttered.

Flint rubbed his neck awkwardly as silence settled like a blanket over the damp alleyway, his gaze drifting toward the maze of streets where the man had vanished.

“Will you tell us about him?”

The man followed his gaze.

“Not much to tell. He was the only lead I've had.”

Flint frowned.

“Lead for what?”

“What’s it to you, eh?” The man waved him off, “Go home, kids. You’ve done plenty for the cause already.”

“Hey!” Flint followed, stopping in front of him, “We want to help you.”

“We… do?” Isla smiled wryly, not sure when they had agreed on that.

“Help who? The criminal escape? Congratulations, your endeavors bore fruit.”

Flint didn’t budge despite the man’s dismissive tone.

“I feel responsible that he escaped. I want to help you catch him.”

“But first we’d also like to know what happened.” Isla pointed out, “If we’re helping then we should know what’s at stake first.”

The man hesitated, his shoulders dropping as he let out a long and weary sigh, running a hand through his perpetually unruly orange hair. His scratched breastplate and single steel pauldron sat lightly over dark travel clothes, the fitted armor doing little to hide his lean frame.

“Fine, fine…” the man grumbled, “People have been… disappearing.”

“…”

Isla and Flint stared at him in silence.

“People. Townsfolk.”

“Oh!”

The man cleared his throat and continued.

“They accept jobs from the board... and they never come back.”

Isla's brows drew together.

“How many are missing?”

“…Enough for people to notice.”

Flint looked toward the crowded streets where the man had disappeared into.

“And what does he have to do with it?”

“I believe he's the one recruiting them.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive.” The man answered honestly, “Every trail I've followed eventually leads back to him.”

Flint thought for a moment before asking the next question.

“…Are you with the city guard?”

“No.”

“An adventurer, perhaps?” Isla chimed.

“Not… exactly.”

“Then, why are you chasing him?”

The man shook his head wearily for a moment.

“…Because nobody else is.”

Flint couldn't think of anything to say to that. He was simply… surprised to hear of such a noble mindset.

“And maybe they’ll reward me for my efforts too, who knows?”

Isla narrowed her eyes, the respect he’d gained with his earlier comment instantly evaporating.

“I’m Flint.” The young man introduced himself, smile already lighting up again.

“Isla.”

The man gave a small nod.

“The name’s Murry.” He coughed into his fist, almost awkwardly, “…Former knight.”

Flint blinked.

“…Former?”

Murry ignored the question, instead pushing himself away from the wall.

“I need to start over.”

“Then we’ll help you do that.” Flint announced proudly, hands resting on his hips.

Murry wrinkled his nose in response.

“By the Lord, now I’m a babysitter.”

“We’re not kids.” Isla frowned at him, feeling a strange annoyance at being addressed that way when she was used to being the level-headed mage of their village. Flint nodded without an ounce of hesitation.

“Yeah, you act older than you look.”

“I’m 26, kid.” He said, scratching his patchy stubble.

“See? That’s not old.”

Murry sighed, and started walking.

“Whatever. Just don’t get in my way.”

The two quietly followed behind him, though about ten steps later, Murry looked over his shoulder.

“…Why are you still following me?”

Flint answered without hesitation.

“We said we would.”

“Good grief…”

𓌏

The three of them stood against a wall, their eyes surveying the busy dock yard.

Murry pushed off first.

“Now then. Let’s start asking around. Back to square one…”

Without another word, he began walking.

Flint blinked.

“I’ve never looked for missing people before. What are we asking about?”

“I don’t know, anything.”

“…Is there something I’m not getting?”

Murry disappeared into the crowd before Flint could ask anything else. When Flint turned towards Isla for answers, she simply tilted her head and smiled.

“…We'll improvise.”

Then she walked off in the opposite direction.

Flint watched the two of them leave.

“That’s even less specific.”

𓌏

“Excuse me, sir?”

Flint stopped beside a merchant arranging barrels outside his shop, catching him just as he paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“Have you seen anyone suspicious around these parts? Maybe running or…”

The merchant looked him over.

“Define suspicious for me, kid.”

Flint opened his mouth, pausing to consider.

“…That's a good question. What’s suspicious to you?”

The merchant thought.

“Well a man in black armor was asking around. That was rather shady if you ask me.”

That was probably Murry.

“Ah, well thank you anyway.”

—

“No, never seen him.”

—

“I don't remember.”

—

“Looking for work?”

“No but thank you.”

“Oh.”

—

By the time Flint admitted defeat, he wasn't even sure who he was supposed to be looking for anymore.

𓌏

Murry was the first to return. He folded his arms and leaned against a post near the docks, a toothpick hanging between his lips.

“I've asked half the labor district.”

“Did you find anything?”

“They've all seen somebody. Nobody remembers who.”

Flint scratched his cheek.

“…That's unfortunate.”

“The more you grow up, the more you say that every day.”

Isla waved from across the street as she hurried over, weaving between dock workers.

“Here comes the savior.” Murry huffed.

“I found something.”

Murry waved his hand.

“See? I told you kids–” He stopped mid sentence, raising a brow as far as it could go.

“You what?”

“I think it's a lead.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Murry leaned closer.

“An older dockworker told me there's been a man lingering near the notice board. He never puts up a notice.”

“Uh huh…” Murry nodded.

“When someone comes looking for work, he approaches them first. He mentioned something about a “Mr. Rowan” to those who were interested.”

“That does sound like a lead!” Flint’s eyes lit up.

“The last man he saw left with him and never came back.”

Murry straightened up at the sound of Isla’s report.

“I’ll be damned. That’s the same guy I had cornered! The notice board guy!”

Isla smiled in triumph.

“It wasn’t as hard as I thought.”

“…How?”

Isla blinked.

“How the hell did you get them talking?!” Murry flipped, a vein popping in his forehead.

“I asked nicely.” Isla replied, her easy grin always present.

Flint quietly nodded.

“Isla is very approachable.”

“I have been asking nicely too!”

“Maybe nicely is different for every person.” Flint rubbed his chin.

“Good grief…” Murry shook away his frustration, focusing on the task at hand, “And? He say anything else?”

“Only the name.”

Murry's eyes narrowed as he fell into thought.

“…Rowan.”

He repeated it quietly, almost to himself.

“…That's the first name I've gotten.”

Flint frowned.

“So where do we find Mr. Rowan?”

Murry had already started walking again.

“If he's hiring workers inside Vega, he'll have a contractor's registration.”

Murry smiled for the first time since they'd met. Flint hurried after him, keeping pace.

“Can we verify that somewhere?”

“There’s only one place to go. The Adventurers' Guild.”

“Are we allowed to look into such information?” Isla scowled, suspicion creeping into her expression.

Murry didn't even look back.

“Who says what you can and can’t do?”

Flint narrowed his eyes.

“That sounds like a crime, Murry.”

“I assure you kid, it’s not. It’s just information.

𓌏

The Adventurers' Guild stood at the center of Vega, its wide stone halls bustling with adventurers coming and going. Blue banners lined with crimson and gold waved in the breeze.

Murry studied the second-floor window.

"...Give me five minutes."

"What do you want us to do, Murry?" Flint asked.

"Just distract the receptionist."

"How do we do that?"

Murry looked between Flint and Isla.

"I'm sure you two will think of something. Maybe ask nicely.”

Before either of them could object, he disappeared around the side of the building.

Flint looked toward Isla.

"...Do you have a plan?"

“Yes.” Isla grinned with overflowing confidence that didn’t quite match what she was about to say next.

“We’ll improvise."

"That answer keeps worrying me."

The two stepped inside. The hall was bustling with life and loud voices. Armored men, women in robes, staffs and spears carried around casually. As they walked to the counter, the receptionist greeted them with a pleasant smile.

"Welcome to Vega Adventurers' Guild! How may I help you?"

Isla stepped forward, confidently and politely.

"Hello. We were hoping to ask a few questions about registering as adventurers."

"Of course!”

As the woman began explaining the process, Flint noticed Isla subtly keeping the conversation going far longer than necessary.

"...And what rank do adventurers usually start at?"

"Beginners usually start at Bronze."

"And how long does promotion normally take?"

"That depends on experience."

"...Do magical aptitude tests—"

Flint glanced toward the staircase.

Please tell me he's faster than this...

THUD

CLANG

Flint felt sweat drip down his back as loud noises drifted from upstairs.

What did Murry do?!

The receptionist froze, while Isla’s expression remained composed.

Save for her complexion that had grown a tad paler.

“Please forgive me.” The receptionist fidgeted awkwardly before bowing, “We’ve had a rat problem the last few days, you see...”

“Rats?!” Isla squeaked, before catching herself and coughing into her fist.

“Oh if it’s rats, I can lend a hand.” Flint offered without thinking.

“You would?” The receptionist smiled, “Most adventurers don’t bother with rats when there’s bigger fish to catch.”

Isla nudged Flint beneath the counter.

“Sure, if you just point me—“

Isla nudged him again, this time harder.

A few seconds later, Murry casually walked inside. He gave the pair the slightest shake of his head as he dusted his breastplate muttering to himself.

"Damned rats..."

Flint and Isla exchanged a glance.

"Actually, maybe another time.” Flint and Isla bowed.

“Oh.” The receptionist waved in disappointment.

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You too…”

Outside of the building, Murry folded his arms.

"...He's not there."

Flint frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I checked every registered contractor in the ledger."

Murry looked between the two of them, disappointment etched across his features.

"There’s no Rowan."