When I woke up and emerged from my room, Milli had set up an entire presentation on projected revenue generation and optimal quest assignment. The setup was complete with hand-drawn slides, a makeshift easel, and a pointer that was obviously just a stick she’d picked up somewhere. Sharla was already at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of cereal and sipping from a steaming cup of coffee. The tantalizing aroma hit me the moment I opened my door, drawing me out like a moth to a flame.

  “Fuck me, Milli, you’ve got an amazing setup. I haven’t slept that well in years,” I said, stretching and yawning as I shuffled toward the bar.

  Milli didn’t even look up from her meticulously organized cue cards. “I’m glad to hear it. A well-rested guild leader is a productive guild leader,” she said in her clipped, businesslike tone.

  I glanced at the spread on the counter and in the fridge: apples, mandarins, a generic-looking box of cornflakes, and a glass bottle of milk. On the counter, Milli had a ham and cheese toastie that looked far more appetizing than the bland cereal I was eyeing.

  “Where does all this food come from?” I asked, grabbing a bowl and pouring myself some cereal.

  Milli finally looked up, just long enough to give me a brief explanation. “It’s part of the deluxe room package. Each occupant gets breakfast and dinner. The selection isn’t exactly gourmet, but it’s reliable.”

  I stared longingly at her toastie, then back at the fridge. “How come there isn’t anything in there to make one of those?”

  Milli’s response was sharp, her tone laced with irritation. “If you insist on interrogating every minor detail, I’ll be forced to assume you don’t trust me. Suffice to say, I have personal funds I use sparingly for certain luxuries.”

  Sharla and I exchanged a look.

  Sharla:

  Don’t worry about it. I asked her the same thing, and she said she’d set aside some money after buying this place. She’s just drawing on that for now.

  Ryan:

  She doesn’t have to be so testy about it.

  Sharla:

  She’s been up half the night working on this with Louis. She’s probably exhausted.

  I took a closer look at Milli. Her eyes had dark rings under them, and she moved with the jittery energy of someone running on fumes and sheer willpower. I sighed and decided to let it go.

  Ryan:

  Yeah, okay. I’ll lay off her. But, uh, about yesterday… I wanted you to know I didn’t mean to kill Oliver.

  Her spoon froze mid-air before she set it down deliberately. She looked up, at me face. Her eyes shimmered faintly with interface lights, her face calm but resolute.

  Sharla:

  I don’t want to talk about it.

  Sharla:

  Oliver attacked. You stepped in to protect me. That’s all there is to it. Let’s leave it at that.

  I nodded and stared down into my bowl, watching a golden flake slowly soak up milk and sink to the bottom. No point in pushing further.

  Milli’s presentation lasted about ten minutes, and she was in full corporate mode as she spoke. Her voice had the crisp authority of someone used to making PowerPoints in boardrooms. She laid out her case for taking on multiple quests simultaneously, claiming we could complete as many as six quests in one day by dividing them into two shifts. She argued that if we managed this pace for three days, we could take two days off and still earn enough to cover our debt and get Sharla some proper armour, a shield, and a mace.

  At the end of her presentation, she added, “Also, I was wondering if I could take a look at that pole-staff thing you’ve been using. My class allows me to disassemble magical items and potentially enhance them.”

  I hesitated, not thrilled with the idea of dismantling my only weapon. Instead, I pulled the spare pole from my inventory and handed it over.

  “Before I forget,” Milli said, producing my Walkin’ Boots from her inventory, “here are your boots. I already examined them. I’ll send you a report after we’re done eating.”

  She handed them to me, and I took them, immediately checking for any signs of damage. They were pristine, with a faint lavender scent. I slipped them on, their snug fit as comforting as ever, and handed her boots back.

  Sharla, who had been quietly finishing her breakfast, slurped the last of her milk and cleared her throat. She straightened her posture, folding her hands on the counter like a stern parent about to deliver a lecture.

  “I would like to table something for discussion,” she began in a formal tone. “After yesterday’s encounters, it is abundantly clear that neither of you has any real combat training. Frankly, I spent half the time saving you from what are essentially children with poor dental hygiene.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Even though I had been able to help, for most of our encounters, I was more of a hindrance than anything else. Acting as a meat shield for Milli and corralling the goblins for Sharla to handle was the best I could manage. In several fights, Sharla had been forced to take on two goblins at once when I failed to scatter them or got overwhelmed, leaving her at risk of being attacked.

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  “I’m no instructor,” Sharla said, “but I can show you a few things, Ryan. The quarterstaff is a menace of a weapon in the right hands. As for you, Milli, I think keeping you in the backline is a good plan. But do you think you could make something like a slingshot to give yourself more range?”

  Milli’s eyes lit up, and she slammed her hands onto the bench. “You just gave me a brilliant idea. I’m going to need some supplies, but I think I can pull it together before we head out this morning. Can you give me, like, an hour?”

  Sharla nodded, and Milli sprang from her stool, slipped her shoes on, and skipped out the front door. I quickly finished my breakfast as Sharla asked me to help her clear some space in the common area for practice. We pushed the couches and coffee table against the walls, creating a roughly three-meter square area in the centre of the room.

  Sharla started me with the basics: a block, a parry, and a strike. Once I memorized the movements, she had me drill them over and over as she circled me, pointing out corrections. She adjusted my foot placement, showed me how to hold the staff for maximum leverage, and scolded me whenever I didn’t put enough power into my moves. After thirty minutes of this, my shoulders burned with exertion.

  “Now, conditioning,” she announced with a smirk, ushering me into sets of burpees, knee touches, and squats. She did the exercises alongside me, ensuring my form stayed correct and urging me to push until the very end. By the time Milli returned, I was sprawled out on the floor, panting and soaked in sweat. It felt like I had gone another round with the wolf.

  Sharla, barely winded, explained that she’d been doing HEMA since her last divorce. “It started as a stress reliever,” she said, “but it turned into a full-blown obsession. It’s how I keep sane.”

  When Milli came back, she excitedly produced several items from her inventory: a long wooden pole, some netting, a metal U-shaped object, and a stack of leather strips. Sharla and I watched in fascination as she meticulously assembled the materials. In less than twenty minutes, she had crafted a strange scoop-like implement, which she brandished with pride.

  “You are looking at the 16-and-above lacrosse team captain for the Sydney St. Bartholomew’s All-Girls Boarding School,” Milli proclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement.

  Sharla and I exchanged blank stares.

  “Watch this,” Milli said, unfazed. She placed a small wad of leather on the floor, scooped it up with her newly crafted weapon, spun on her heel, and launched it with impressive speed. The wad hurtled across the room and collided with the window, reverberating with a loud THWANG.

  “Wow,” I said, genuinely surprised at the power behind her throw.

  “That’s not all!” Milli beamed. “I’ve already got ideas for other things I can load into it and I can fling stones way farther and harder with this thing.”

  “That… that’s actually really useful,” Sharla admitted, examining the weapon with newfound respect.

  Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, I snuck off to my room, wary of Sharla forcing me into more drills. I took another shower, relieved to find that my clothes had been magically cleaned and folded neatly on my bed again. When I rejoined them, the two were deep in discussion, strategizing ways to use our new loadouts. Sharla had devised a plan for the day: she would isolate single targets for Milli and me to handle, only stepping in to back us up or heal if absolutely necessary.

  We headed out of the tavern, which was already packed with adventurers jeering and laughing over drinks. Many were bolstering their courage with a hefty dose of alcohol before setting out on their quests. I tried to order a drink myself, half-jokingly asking Milli to spot me, but Sharla interjected with a firm, “We don’t have time to waste getting shitfaced.”

  We made our way through the streets to the community board where we picked out two patrol quests and a collection quest. We planned on staying out all day today cycling between a few areas nearby the settlement. Our patrol tasks were for goblins and wolves. The memory of my last encounter gave me shivers and I tried to object. Sharla assured me that the wolf I faced was some kind of freak and the ones we'd be taking on were more like large dogs. I reluctantly agreed. They would be a profitable quarry for us because aside from the quest rewards they dropped valuable crafting materials that we could sell to Zilph basically doubling the reward. The collection quest was for a type of freshwater muscle that the quest had told us could be found along the banks of a lake only 15 minute walk from the western gates.

  Our first encounter was with a pair of feral goblins. Using the tactic we’d honed the previous day, we dispatched one of them quickly. Sharla knocked out the second, then dragged it into a clearing just off the road. After healing it, we waited for it to regain consciousness.

  “You two are going to work on your combat techniques and teamwork. I’m not going to interfere unless I think you’re about to die,” Sharla said simply.

  We hadn’t discussed this, but from the way she spoke at the meeting, it was clear this had been her plan from the start.

  As it stirred, Sharla leaned casually against a tree, gesturing for us to begin.

  Milli and I had hashed out a plan beforehand. I would harass the goblin with hit-and-run strikes while Milli bombarded it with stones from a distance. We took our positions. The goblin scrambled to its feet, its yellowed eyes darting around with fear and fury. When I stepped in close, it lashed out with its gnarled claws and mismatched teeth.

  “I’ll kill you and make a blanket from your skin!” it shrieked, swatting away my staff.

  “NOT LIKE THAT, DOWNWARD STRIKE!” Sharla yelled from the sidelines, her hands cupped around her mouth.

  The goblin glanced at her, distracted. I took the opportunity to lunge, gripping my staff at one end and raising it overhead. With all the force I could muster, I brought it down.

  Too late.

  The goblin darted aside, and my staff slammed into the ground with a sharp CLANG. Vibrations jolted up my arms, and I dropped it instinctively. Before I could react, the goblin leapt at me.

  WHOMP.

  A fist-sized stone smashed into the goblin’s head mid-air, sending it sprawling to the forest floor.

  “YES!” Milli pumped her fist, triumphant.

  The hit had torn a deep gash in the side of its head, thick, foul-smelling blood staining the grass. While it writhed, I ran up and kicked it hard in the stomach. It wheezed as the air rushed from its lungs. Grabbing my staff, I moved to finish the job.

  “WAIT!” Sharla barked, holding up a hand. She jogged over, placing her prosthetic foot on the goblin’s chest to keep it pinned.

  “Reset,” she said simply.

  The goblin wheezed pitifully, clutching its stomach, as Sharla launched into critique mode.

  “Milli, your aim was great—you’ve got solid instincts. But remember, your job is to create openings for Ryan and me. Time your attacks so we can follow up.”

  Milli nodded thoughtfully, already looking for ways to improve.

  “Ryan,” Sharla turned to me, her tone all business, “you need to be more aggressive. When an opening presents itself, you have to commit. But don’t just charge in blind—that’s how you lose your weapon like before.”

  My face burned. Sharla smirked and clapped my upper arm, nearly knocking me off balance.

  “You’re both doing great,” she said. “Let’s go again.”

  Sharla healed the squirming goblin, who looked understandably confused as its wounds closed. She jogged back to her spot by the tree, and the goblin staggered to its feet, still disoriented. We retook our positions.

  We repeated this process four more times. By the end, the goblin had stopped fighting entirely. It sat dejectedly on the grass, swiping half-heartedly when I prodded it with my staff. Its yellowed eyes met mine, hollow and resigned. For a moment, guilt gnawed at me. I had the strange urge to apologize, maybe even let it go.

  Before I could act, a stone hurtled from Milli’s lacrosse stick with a sharp crack, smashing into the goblin’s temple. Its head jerked violently, and it toppled to the ground. Thick blood oozed into the grass, and it let out faint, pathetic whimpers.

  Sharla walked over, her axe glinting in the sunlight. Without hesitation, she swung, cleanly severing the goblin’s head.

  I watched in silence, unsure of what to feel. Guilt? Relief? Accomplishment? As Sharla wiped her axe clean, I opened my notifications. To my surprise, I’d gained several experience points in Quarterstaff Mastery—a skill I hadn’t even realized my class allowed me to train it.

  Despite my morning workout, I felt surprisingly strong, the soreness in my body mitigated by my passive healing factor. I glanced at the goblin’s lifeless body, I suppressed a rising feeling of nausea.