A Honey of a Deal
Knock knock knock.
At the light rapping on the door, Yoahim sat up again. He answered the knock, and a maidservant's voice floated in from the other side.
"The bathwater's ready!"
"Be right there."
Yoahim washed up once more and changed into fresh clothes. The maidservant mentioned that the laundry would be dry by morning. He nodded vaguely, locked the door behind him, and headed back out to the streets.
His destination: the mercenary guild.
"Oh, perfect timing. I just confirmed the dungeon's disappearance."
A lanky man stood beside the guildmaster. He didn't look like much of a fighter for a mercenary, but his body seemed agile enough. He gave a casual wave, and Yoahim nodded back once.
"So, the pay?"
"Here."
The guildmaster extended a hand full of silver coins. As Yoahim reached out, they clinked into his palm—heavier than expected. Something felt off, so he counted them: fifteen in total.
"What the hell? Isn't this too much?"
"Pay's three silvers per person. Five people makes fifteen. Sure, a few died, but..."
Yoahim was touched. Normally, if someone died on a job, their share got deducted—but this guildmaster had paid out full for everyone. Bald, but a good guy. Yoahim quickly pocketed the fifteen silvers in his leather pouch. Emily had left without claiming hers, but he couldn't chase after her.
Experience points greatly increased!
As a reward for completing the commission, his experience had shot up too. Yoahim grinned at the massive chunk of EXP. Pouch full, levels climbing—what more could he want?
"Planning to stick around a few more days? I could line up some extra jobs."
"Nah, leaving tomorrow. Got somewhere to be."
"Where to?"
Yoahim answered readily. "The mage tower."
"No way, what a coincidence! Perfect!"
"Perfect for what?"
The guildmaster beamed and handed over a scroll sealed with wax and stamped with the guild's mark.
"Report for the mage tower. It covers how the new dungeon ties into Haellagos. We needed someone to deliver it, and you're heading that way anyway. Why not? You went inside yourself—your account would be firsthand, vivid details and all."
Yoahim hummed thoughtfully. Sounded harmless. Drop off the letter on his way to the mage tower anyway. No hassle, no risk, and paid? Honey of a gig.
Plus, it'll get me inside the tower legitimately.
His real goal: meet Lilith, the tower master. No random adventurer gets an audience with her. Mages-only entry meant he'd be turned away at the gate. But as a courier? Straight in. And with Haellagos's name on it—a demon that powerful—Lilith herself might come out for the report.
Things are falling into place.
Yoahim suppressed a smile, furrowing his brow and grumbling instead. "Deliver a letter to the mage tower? Look, I'm a mercenary, not an errand boy."
One reason for the act: haggle for more pay.
"Come on, you're going there anyway. It's just handing over a scroll. No big deal—don't play hard to get."
Sharp as expected from a guildmaster. But Yoahim feigned ignorance. "Not playing. It's just a pain. Find someone else."
He turned toward the door like he had zero interest. He knew the guildmaster would stop him—this village had no one else up to the task. Reports to the tower needed speed; waiting for passing merchants was too slow. Someone had to sprint there solo, and that meant distance through monster-infested roads. Few in Serina Village could handle it alone. Martin might've, but he was dead.
Yoahim was the only option. He held all the cards.
One step, two, three. Edging away from the guildmaster, toward the door.
"W-wait! Five silvers!"
Yoahim halted. The guildmaster sighed from behind. "Five silvers pay. That's huge for one letter. You know it."
Five people cleared a dungeon for three each. Five for a delivery? Overkill, like he said. Yoahim turned firmly. "Ten."
"You nuts? Ten? I could ride there myself for that."
"Then do it."
"Ten's too much. Let's be reasonable."
Yoahim strolled back slowly. The guildmaster exhaled in relief—room to negotiate.
"Think about it. How many days from here to the tower on foot? Five, no horse. Five whole days."
"So? You were going anyway. Five or six days, what's the diff? Just drop the letter."
"Hazard pay. Once I take this, that scroll's my life. Means risking my neck to protect it."
"That's a stretch."
"Happens plenty."
The guildmaster stared. Yoahim met his gaze unflinching. No one drops dead from a stare—unless it's a demon. And he wasn't.
They locked eyes like a staring contest. The guildmaster broke first.
"Six silvers."
"Nine."
"Seven."
"Eight."
"Seven. Seven! No more, or I'll ride myself!"
Yoahim smacked his lips regretfully. Seven silvers—not bad, but after fifteen fresh in pocket, it felt light. Push more, and the guy might actually go. He nodded. "Seven it is."
"...Whew. Fine, seven. Hold on—I'll write the promissory note."
"Note?"
"Yeah. Can't pay upfront—what am I trusting? And you won't trek back here after. Take it to the Barakan guild—they'll cash it."
Barakan: the city with the mage tower. Yoahim folded the note neatly, planning to store it with the scroll in inventory later.
"Thanks. Don't lose that letter. Safe travels."
Yoahim nodded and left. Exhausted from dawn's nonstop hustle, his body ached. But no straight bed yet—he hit the smithy, sold Martin's armor, Sila's daggers, and junk. Clutching more clinking silvers, he turned for the inn—when commotion erupted nearby.
Merchants unloading wagons, hawking wares. A few armed—probably hired guards.
"Merchants, huh?"
Not here this morning—fresh arrivals. Yoahim wandered over, just in case.
A sweaty guy unloading crates looked up. "Here to browse?"
Kid's got balls, half-familiar and bantering casual. Yoahim scowled. "Not buying. When's the caravan leaving town?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Can I see the caravan master?"
The man gaped. Why?
"Same direction, maybe ride along?"
"Where to?"
"Barakan, mage tower."
"We're bound for Hasen Village. Overlaps halfway. Master's over there—ask him."
Hasen lay between Serina and Barakan. Halfway together? Good enough. Yoahim nodded and headed where pointed: a portly man stroking his beard, barking orders.
He spotted Yoahim. "What is it? Not a customer."
"Name's Yoahim. Heard you're going to Hasen—mind company halfway? Barakan's my stop."
"Mercenary? We're staffed up. No room."
"No pay needed. Just tag along."
The master smoothed his bushy beard, eyeing Yoahim top to bottom. "What's your specialty? Sword?"
"Swords, whatever. All-purpose."
Dark Knight, y'know. He swallowed that—along with black magic and necromancy. They'd boot him as bad luck.
"Mercs are plenty, but no pay... We leave early tomorrow. Be here on time, or we roll without you."
"Thanks. See you then."
Yoahim bowed inwardly triumphant, steps light back to the inn. Things are going too damn smooth.