Chapter 15 - The Strongest Muscle is the Tongue
Deficiency makes us grateful for what we once took for granted. For a moment, we'd been abandoned by the world's warmth, so now we praised the hearth fire like gods. The heat that thawed our frozen hands and feet must have melted our hearts too.
On the way here, we'd only exchanged names, but now these party members from different groups were bonding like old friends. First up, the "Banir Lilies," a party backed by the Banir royal family and riding high on recent fame. Then there were the "Lady Countess's Handguns," ex-pirates freed on condition of serving some heroic lady countess. Even the white mages from the magic tower, whose goal was researching demons.
People from all walks of life, sharing stories in cozy camaraderie. Of course, gossip was on the menu too.
"Don't those Mitra paladin bastards just rub you the wrong way?"
A common enemy binds the rest tight. Long live the sun, you fanatics.
Judging this the perfect moment, I pulled out my secret weapon. Rummaging through the bundle enchanted with minor space-compression magic, I brought out salted meat, rye cakes, and sealed milk. Even those who'd kept their distance from our all-women party lit up with smiles. My own party members patted my back, saying I'd done good.
"You got some moves, huh?"
"Tena reeled in a real treasure."
...How many days had I even been on the job? Not even a week? This was worlds away from that Adamanthon asshole's crew. Was this what a real job felt like? Maybe the last party hadn't even been a workplace—just a pile of shit in human form.
It was lunchtime anyway, and adapting to unfamiliar cold burns a ton of calories. Once their bellies warmed by the fire, everyone must've been starving.
A Banir Lilies member, brushing cake crumbs from his mustache, bowed stylishly and asked, "Our deepest thanks. But how on earth did ten ladies haul 100-man portions? Wasn't it heavy?"
"One person could've managed it. We've got a porter in the party."
Esen grinned as she answered, and the mood chilled a bit. The uneasy glances from the other parties spoke volumes.
How the hell does an all-women party have a porter?
They were already picturing some shady plot. I felt wronged. I was the one who'd fallen for Tena's scheme after a few drinks. Esen had straight-up yanked out my scheme-fur by the roots.
Come to think of it, scanning the room, ours was the only party with a porter. The trend these days was to backpack your own gear rather than drag around shady types with bad reps.
I swallowed hard and raised my hand, pinning all my faith on the headband artifact's power.
"It's me. Me."
The Handguns members, hands shaking as they lit their smokes, suddenly looked relieved, like toothaches cured. The young white mage students snapped out of their puberty-fueled fantasies back to reality. Even the Banir Lilies folks scratched their heads instead of hovering near their sword hilts.
"You're a woman."
"Female porters are rare. Impressive."
"We jumped to silly conclusions again."
...I was getting way too used to the perks of crossdressing lately. Was I turning into a total chick?
No matter how many deadbeat porters there were, did the whole profession's image have to tank this hard? Slap a dick on one, and suddenly he's an untouchable rapist. Sure, plenty had pulled major crimes and ended up in prison. Some scandals were straight facts that tanked the industry's rep.
But wasn't that true for every job? Thieves who embezzled party funds and bolted, heroes who'd betrayed the world for monsters. Just different flavors—how were they any better than lecherous porters groping asses?
It almost felt like some conspiracy to trash porters' reps on purpose. Who'd waste time on that crap, though?
But that wasn't the issue right now. The real priority was Esen's promotion.
I took a deep breath and climbed onto my chair.
"Everyone, before you dig in, a quick word."
The Handguns captain froze, front teeth missing, a huge bite of cake in his mouth.
"No, no—if you've already got it, no problem. Eat while you listen."
Many faces brightened again.
"Let's start with a key fact you all know. In a few days—or hours—we face an unknown demon. Upper-grade monster stench of sulfur. Victims' screams. Brick walls scratched by wings. That's all our clues. Of course, I trust that won't spoil anyone's appetite."
The fighters chuckled mid-bite, fierce grins. No one showed fear—at least not outwardly. Pride wouldn't let them. Minimum B-rank combatants all around; it was expected.
"And one less crucial fact—maybe irrelevant to you all. You might've heard. One of our party members is up for promotion."
Esen, sneaking peeks into my luggage for more cake, bristled tail fur standing on end as she jolted.
I patted her shoulder and shouted.
"Yes, I know! I don't think cake and milk alone can buy off elites like you heroes and warriors. Nor am I begging for pity with some sob story. But fellow adventurer pros."
I paused, eyes misty, and continued.
"For this friend, promotion's a lifelong dream. It's the wish of her whole family, whom she can't see now. And due to personal circumstances, this might be her last shot. Duty calls her home, and once she answers, sadly, no coming back to the party. Dream stays a dream."
A bit off from the truth, but whatever.
"It hits close to home for me too. I gave up my own dreams to cover my sibling's living and tuition. And that fellow fighter who collapsed in my arms once—he dreamed of being a baker. Never happened."
My quiet words didn't draw tears or applause, but the Handguns captain's hand trembled filling his pipe. I didn't miss it.
Adventuring gigs like hero parties? Tons with family or friends back home. Plenty who'd seen coworkers die. Some risking lives for cash they never wanted. Common threads I'd spotted assisting countless parties.
They'd sacrificed too much to get where they were. A warrior-adventurer's life is bitter. And those who share bitterness empathize easiest.
"Please. She's strong enough to rip a troll solo. If our party member Esen gets a chance to help you, trust her with your gear. No need to yield spotlight to the alliance supervisor who just hit the john. No need to spread word of her merits."
Total lie. Spread it loud.
"Just give her a shot to fight shoulder-to-shoulder. I'd be grateful."
I bowed deep, hopped down. The warm vibe went dead silent.
Esen, beet-red, looked ready to crawl into a hole. I played embarrassed too, side-eyeing the others. Counting down inside.
Three. Two. One.
"Got it. Fine. You're just asking for help, right?"
Knew it. The Lady Countess's Handguns captain, hawk nose scrunched, spoke up.
"But like you said, for some bread?"
"An honor to meet you, Liberator of the West Sea, Captain Tomco."
Liberator of the West Sea. Tomco's lips twitched into a grin. Knew he'd like that. You're a hero deep down, after all.
"Not begging favors, as I said. But if you graciously help, we'd repay in kind. How can we settle the debt to you, Captain?"
Framing it as assumed help, ending like it's already promised. One-and-done rhetoric—twice would seem too slick, raise guards.
"Obvious, right? We've got lasses up for promo too. You help us, we help you. Unspoken code among capable parties."
"Indeed."
"Don't say you can't. I know your girls' feats on risky ops. Some scary bitch slayed a salamander in fire recently? And days ago, someone bare-handed a troll—oh, right. You just said. She's right here."
Tomco pointed at Esen. She giggled, waving at the grumpy captain.
"Can't promise as a mere porter. But I'll pitch it to our leader, the hero. I'm sure she'll wisely consider your reputation, Captain Tomco."
Tomco beamed, nodding.
"If our girls dig traps and corner 'em, we'll make sure you can take their heads."
Planning to help from jump, but playing it calculated. What a scheming softie.
Next, Banir Lilies. Couldn't stay quiet after the pirate spoke, so their gentleman captain sighed.
"Frankly, I hate solicitations like this. If it'd been cash instead of food, I'd have walked before hearing you out."
Walk where? Upper floors at best. Outside's a frozen hell.
"But not grabbing merits or tripping us—just don't hold us back? Seems clean enough. We can do that. And one more thing."
Bourden irritably twirled his mustache.
"Heard some foul play from your rivals. A Mitra paladin up for special-rank promo too. And they picked a fight first? True?"
Pirates scowled, outraged. Merit grabs were open season between parties, but public callouts were taboo. Fouls and bro-code coexist everywhere.
"True. But I won't ask you to take sides over it."
"No sides here. But they seemed to tire us out on purpose earlier, grabbing initiative. Doesn't look pure. If Mitra paladins push competition too far, everyone's safety's at risk. From now on, if they threaten you, I'll guard you on the Lilies' honor."
Perfect. Esen gets the credit. She held back like I asked. Without that unprovoked tension, Bourden wouldn't side us.
"Deeply grateful, Lilies' hero Bourden."
"Just a Banir gentleman doing right."
The lily-emblazoned hero yanked his mustache harder, sheepish.
"Grateful? For what? No big help."
But inside, I cheered. "Don't interfere" to "We'll block theirs too"? Huge win.
The mood fired up again. Finally, our party gawked.
"Thought your heart'd burst. Why show off?"
"And why'd showing off work? You planned this?"
"Just appealed to their hearts. Wasn't wrong, right?"
Played humble outside, but yeah—I knew. Nailed the two parties' and heroes' vibes.
Lilies' leader Bourden? The lunatic who rescued an old flame's daughter from enemy lines with ten men. Handguns' Tomco, fellow hero-type leader? The madman who rammed the captain's ship during a mutiny over whipping slaves.
Heroes gracing this backwater with crap rewards for upper-grade beasts? Obvious. Not promo-chasing like Esen, so pure duty. If not me, who? That's their type.
I sipped milk, grinning.
"Frontline heroes are romantics at heart, after all."