Burdens Old and New
Why the hell was there another bard in the party? Damn it, just hearing the word made my stomach flip. Thanks to those girls who betrayed me, now even the first syllable of "bard" sent a sharp pang through my chest. Something jabbed at me relentlessly. That word... it was nothing but revulsion now.
"Come on, follow me."
The burly dwarf warrior shrugged his thick shoulders and strode out of the guild lobby. I followed silently behind him. Iron armor clanked here and there from the adventurers milling about, and the magical display board on the wall scrolled through today's quest listings.
"Oh, right—I never told you my name. I'm Bolcas. Bolcas Bern. I'll be bothering you all day today."
"Yes, looking forward to working with you."
"Good. Today's quest is simple: hunt down three swamp lizards in the northeast marshes and come back. Low risk, but the ground's gonna be muddy as hell, and the stench'll be brutal."
"Good thing I rented a Krubal yesterday."
Krubal. A beast of this world with a rhino-like sturdy build and short, powerful legs. Its broad back had a reinforced saddle frame perfect for loading cargo. Temperament mild, personality docile—it'd follow the path on its own with a little coaxing. It never complained under heavy loads and wouldn't buckle from ordinary shocks, making it the adventurers' go-to pack beast.
"Hm? You don't own your own?"
"No, I just started yesterday. Planning to earn enough to get one soon."
"Hmmm."
Uh-oh, what's with that look? Bolcas stroked his bushy beard and eyed me up and down. There was clear hesitation in his gaze. Distrust.
I knew porter work wasn't easy. Saying I'd just started probably didn't help my case. The role looked light but was brutally demanding. Party efficiency rose or fell on your skill, and in combat, it could mean life or death. Screw up, and the whole group's condition tanks—no more hunting. A porter was the party's Sherpa: strong and silent, unbreakable mentally, good cook, knows the terrain, tends wounds, manages gear... ten bodies wouldn't be enough half the time. That's why the leader picked them most carefully. Smooth talk and a big frame weren't enough to get in.
I'd only landed this gig because of my experience touring with the girls—I slipped some cash to the reception girl. World ran on bribes. Without that, no party today.
Still, porters had the least say in the group. Weakest position. One word from Bolcas, and I'd be fired on the spot, heading home.
Can't let that happen. Gotta eat.
I said desperately, "If I mess up, I won't take my cut today."
Bolcas's eyes widened a bit. Then a chuckle leaked from his beard. "Bold! Alright, I'll trust you once. Hah!"
His steps resumed. I let out a quiet sigh of relief and followed.
"Bolcaaaas~!! Oveer heeere!! Right here!!"
Ahead, a girl was jumping up and down, waving her arms wildly. Her voice seized my ears instantly—clear tone, ample volume, crisp resonance.
She could voice-act, no problem...
I glanced up absently. The moment I looked toward the sound—my body froze.
Petite frame, rose-pink cape, twin tails bouncing like bells. Her face brimmed with vibrant energy, matching her voice. And that face—
Whoa.
……Whoa, for real.
In that instant, every noise in the first-floor guild lobby faded. People's chatter, clanging armor, footsteps—all blurred into the background. It felt like the screen had paused, and in the midst of it—a girl stood, claiming all the world's color for herself. She was the only one in full chroma; everything else was grayscale.
"Pretty" was too mundane. This was shock, pure awe.
That pretty, and that lively?
Questions, doubts, and raw attraction surged inside me. Pretty girls usually played it cool—quiet, demure, mysterious. Like Lilfrea, whom I'd raised. But this girl—with that face, that overwhelming presence—was shouting. Childlike, innocent.
Her face held a pristine glow untouched by the world's grime. Her pale, translucent skin dazzled like morning sun through a window.
Up there with Lilfrea, the prettiest I raised... no, with some makeup, she might surpass her.
No makeup, yet her features were impossibly sharp and harmonious. Unreal. Like she was from another world altogether.
"Bolcas! Over here! Oh, is that the porter?"
She waved again, picnic-excited, her gestures bubbling with sunlight energy.
"Ugh, that girl's insane lung capacity. Always so damn loud."
Bolcas grumbled, picking his ear, but headed her way naturally, like it was routine.
"Hey, Estel. I can hear you fine—pipe down. You'll wear us out before we even start."
"I was worried you couldn't spot me 'cause you're short! This place is full of giants!"
"Don't diss 150 cm! I see everything!"
As Bolcas shot back proudly, Estel planted hands on hips and peeked toward me. Then she waved brightly.
"You're our party porter, right? Kyaa~! Nice to meet you!"
I nodded politely. "Ah, yes... Nice to meet you too."
"You look sturdy and cool!"
Her voice was definitely something. The pitch control was dizzyingly erratic, but refined, it'd be beautiful. My instincts screamed it.
No, damn it. What am I doing? Not the time to judge voices. I'm out of that industry.
As I thought that, Bolcas said with a weary face, "This is our party bard, Estel. Been with us since last week—driving me nuts with the noise."
"Aw, you love it! Bolcas is just shy."
"Shy ain't in the dwarf dictionary, Estel!"
Bard...?
The word hit like a sour note, freezing my face. I nearly scowled before catching myself.
Estel. My good first impression shattered. Her image plummeted to rock bottom.
Traitors. All bards are like that.
Anger. Resentment. Lingering attachment. Suddenly, innocent Estel looked hateful.
Just ignore her.
I resolved: no talking all day. My unresolved rage poured onto her.
Bolcas and Estel were still bickering. I deliberately kept distance from her and scanned the room.
Other party members eyed me appraisingly. First in sight: a man leaning on a corner wooden table, chin propped, chewing dry jerky. Messy brown hair. Dark circles under tired eyes, but his gaze pressed with subtle intensity.
"Archer Pardel."
He spoke first. Mouth moved, expression didn't. His weary eyes scanned me head to toe—not casual.
"Han Seru."
We shook, and turning, I saw a woman in mage robes beside him, book open. Long hair neatly tied, her light blue robe exposing shoulders—sexy yet her page-turning fingers calm.
"Lijel."
She greeted without looking up, haughty like a cool miss.
Then a gentle voice from behind: "Hello. Priest Minerri."
"Han Seru."
Her voice warmed the party's vibe instantly. Soft, clear timbre, warm smile. Early thirties, calm and kind-faced. Oldest woman in the party, it seemed.
"Han Seru."
After greeting her, I relaxed a bit. Someone to lean on, at least.
Ask her if I'm unsure.
Unconsciously seeking support. Could I pull this off? Unfamiliar work meant mistakes loomed. Still, I had to seem capable. No clumsiness. No incompetence. Especially before facing Lilfrea, Maribel, and Clara.
"Alright, hand the gear to Han Seru and let's roll!"
Dwarf warrior Bolcas bellowed heartily. With that, members rose one by one, passing me their loads.
Archer Pardel tossed three spare quivers first. Different lengths, worn leather with frayed straps. Waist one, shoulder one—piling into my hands.
Manageable. Expected this much.
Next, mage Lijel. A bag stuffed with spellbooks and tools. Then a frilly cloth bag.
"Spare robe, underwear, mirror, perfume—handle with care."
My arms sagged instantly. Pardel's quiver nearly slipped; I caught it quick.
Then priest Minerri. Thick leather bags, one per hand. My back bent 90 degrees taking them.
"Potions, antidotes, bandages, toiletries, mirror, herb-picking gear—all in there. Heavy, huh? Sorry..."
"N-no problem."
I forced a smile, but my spine screamed.
"Hold mine too!"
Bolcas chucked his bag at me.
"Just waterskin, spare axe, snacks, dried tobacco!"
...The bag felt like rebar. Barely lifted it.
And last.
"Uh... be careful with this! My instrument parts!"
Estel offered her lute repair toolkit and clothes bag. She craned her neck, gesturing to hang it on mine.
"Tough start for you. Thanks!"
She politely slung them over my neck.
Bard...
My heart sank unpleasantly again. Betrayal wounds lingered into day three, churning my guts—but I wouldn't forget my job.
She's innocent. Stay professional.
No personal grudges. I gave Estel a small smile, then hefted the load energetically and moved out.