11. The Guild Mage

  “AZMIRA!”

  A sharp voice rang from the second floor of the guildhouse, cutting through the usual chatter of the main hall, making the mugs tremble.

  Azmira sighed deeply, already bracing herself.

  ‘What did I do this time?’

  Rykard Aberants, the Vice Guildmaster – and current leader of her guild at the absence of their actual Guildmaster – always had something to say to her.

  Every single week, without fail, he’d drag her upstairs for a lecture about some mistake she supposedly made during her latest assignments.

  Did she start a tavern fight? ‘Yup.’

  Did she cast a spell a bit too recklessly during a hunt and revealed their location? ‘Sure.’

  Did she accidentally burn a woman’s eyebrows off because she lost focus and channeled fire magic instead of healing magic? ‘I swear it only happened once!’

  Or maybe – just maybe – she just breathed incorrectly in Aberants presence? ‘For sure. It had to be it.’

  She wouldn’t put it past him.

  But what frustrated her most wasn’t the fact that Aberants criticized her – it was that he only did it to her.

  She had never once heard him giving these talks to the other mages.

  Was it because she was the youngest licensed mage in the kingdom, having passed the qualification test and getting her license at just sixteen?

  Or…

  Was it because he was jealous of her long, flowing hair that reached her knees?

  The guy was bold as a polished stone, after all.

  Azmira rose from her stool, stretching lazily before cracking her neck.

  “Want me to come with?” Kayla, her best friend, asked, swirling her drink with a smirk.

  Azmira shook her head. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Yup, let pipsqueak take care of Aber-baldy on her own.” Wayne, her other best friend added, grinning from ear to ear.

  Azmira rolled her eyes at him before she rolled her sleeves, smirking. “That’s right. I’ll show Baldy over there he should stop messing with me!”

  Kayla laughed, clapping her hands enthusiastically before quickly returning to her drink, taking another sip. “Will history be made today?”

  Azmira took a deep breath, ignoring the jab, and made her way toward the stairs.

  She climbed the stairs with purpose, head held high.

  ‘Alright, this time, I’m putting my foot down!’ She told herself, radiating self-confidence all the way from Dalina down to the Ostian Kingdom in the southern hemisphere of Terra as she climbed the steps.

  She was going to march into his office, flip his table, and let him know exactly how annoying he was.

  She was going to stand her ground.

  She was going to –

  She hesitated.

  The higher she climbed, the more she remembered Aberants’ enormous size, the way his massive arms were the size of tree trunks, the way his veins bulged whenever he scolded her.

  And, of course, there was that gleaming bald head of his that somehow made him look even more menacing.

  Azmira gulped.

  She glanced down at her rolled-up sleeves, suddenly feeling a lot less confident.

  ‘Well…actually I’m not really that mad. Maybe I’ll let it slide just this time.’

  With slightly less enthusiasm, she reached the top of the stairs and continued down the corridor to Aberants’ office.

  The large wooden double doors loomed over her, carved with runes of protection and reinforcement made by Aberants himself – he was a War Mage in his past.

  She knocked on the door twice before stepping inside.

  Whatever lecture he had for her today, she just hoped it would be quick.

  And there he was.

  Rykard Aberants, Vice Guildmaster, former War Mage, and full-time pain in her ass.

  The man was massive, with broad shoulders and a thick, muscular frame that made him look more like a mercenary that a scholar of magic. He had the face of someone who chewed metal for breakfast and asked why it was so soft and soggy. His bald head gleamed under the sunlight coming from the window behind him.

  For the ten-millionth time since she met him, Azmira wondered. ‘Did he…oil it?’

  'Probably.'

  His guild uniform – a thick, dark green tunic with golden embroidery at the collar – did nothing to soften his appearance.

  As Azmira closed the door behind her, Aberants sighed heavily, like her very presence was a personal inconvenience.

  He grunted as he saw her. “Took you long enough, kid.”

  ‘Kid?!’

  Azmira immediately shrunk slightly.

  “S-sorry, Vice Guildmaster!” She stammered, trying not to sound too nervous – failing miserably.

  Aberants squinted at her, looking even more annoyed. “Uh-huh. Sit down.”

  She did. Quickly.

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  She kept her hands on her lap, resisting the urge to fidget under his scrutinizing gaze.

  Aberants pulled a rolled-up scroll from his desk and slapped it onto the table.

  Azmira winced at the sound, bracing herself for the worst – an official complaint.

  “L-look, whatever I did this time, I promise I didn’t mean it!”

  Aberants raised a thick brow. “Relax, kid. You’re not here to get scolded.”

  Azmira blinked. “Wait. What?”

  Aberants sighed. “Yes. I have a quest for you. A solo quest, to be precise.”

  Azmira’s stomach flipped.

  Her? A solo quest?

  Her mind immediately jumped ahead, painting images of dangerous tombs, rogue mages, handsome companions, deadly monsters lurking in the wild.

  This was it.

  Her first solo quest.

  She was finally getting recognized, finally being sent on a real adventure!

  Her first big step toward making a name for herself.

  Maybe…maybe Aberants wasn’t all that bad, after all!

  “I won’t let you down, Vice Guildmaster!” She declared, her nervousness making way for her growing excitement.

  “You’re going to Terenhill.”

  Azmira’s fantasy came to a screeching halt.

  “Teren…what?”

  Aberants grinned, as if he enjoyed watching her hopes die. “Terenhill. A small farming village in the countryside. Population? Who cares. They got crops. Your job? Making sure those crops don’t get moldy in the winter.”

  Azmira stared at him.

  Then she leaned forward, her voice flat. “You’re telling me…my grand solo quest is…babysitting crops?”

  Aberants nodded, completely serious. “Yep. Hope you like wheat – “ he quickly glanced at the scroll, “sorry – barley, kid.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Vice Guildmaster, with all due respect, do I look like a farmer to you?”

  Aberants raised an eyebrow. “No. Too short and scrawny. But you do look like a mage who has a Level 3 Thread in Water Magic. Which is exactly why you’re going.”

  Azmira opened her mouth to protest, then caught the look he gave here: ‘This is not up for debate’.

  She immediately folded, lowering her head slightly. “…Understood, sir.”

  ***

  Aberants had only given her two days to pack and leave.

  The monster.

  Azmira stood in her small guild quarters, staring at the suitcase she had barely managed to pack in time.

  How long would this boring quest even take? She had no idea.

  She couldn’t believe someone as talented as her was being reduced to such…an embarrassing quest. The guys from the academy would probably laugh at her for all eternity if they heard about it.

  She had stuffed three extra tunics, some decent traveling boots – just in case, a book about water magic – for show, obviously, and a small mirror – because no way in hell was she letting herself look like a disheveled farmhand out there.

  And a bunch of romance novels.

  She just hoped Teren…whatever had hot baths installed and wasn’t one of those extremely outdated villages where people still bathed in lakes.

  ‘EW!!!!’

  If she had to wash in a pond with frogs watching her, she was going to blow something up.

  The guild didn’t provide her with any sort of transport, which meant Azmira had to figure things out herself.

  Horses? Too expensive.

  Carriages? Only for the wealthy.

  Walking? ‘Are you crazy?!’

  So she did what any reasonable young woman would do…she caught rides with strangers.

  And thus, her thrilling adventure to Terenhill began.

  It started with a grumpy farmer who reeked of cabbages, barely saying a word to her for one whole month before dropping her off halfway to nowhere and moving on.

  Then, a traveling herbalist who spent two weeks explaining the medical benefits of moss when it’s mixed with peanuts – which she didn’t even ask for!

  And then, finally, her last ride…a young, handsome merchant.

  ‘At long last!’

  Azmira’s mother was a romance novels author, famous across all Stulan. And so, obviously, her daughter grew up to be a hopeless romantic who had no idea how actual humans interacted romantically.

  It didn’t stop her from being a dreamer, though.

  They rode together for three days, and he seemed like a trustworthy enough fellow.

  It was clear to her – she was definitely falling for him.

  It was inevitable, really.

  Three days alone on the road, sharing fireside meals, exchanging stories about their travels – this was exactly how every great love story began.

  Her mother’s romance novels always had scenes like this. The mysterious woman and the devilishly handsome young traveler, thrown together by fate, slowly realizing their undeniable attraction to each other.

  And sure, she might have been doing most of the talking, but that was just because the merchant was one of those brooding, quietly amused types.

  Which, obviously, only made him more attractive.

  One evening, they rode the carriage, a breath away from each other.

  Azmira adjusted her cloak, pretending to be indifferent to their proximity.

  He was tall, with sharp cheekbones and rich blonde hair, dressed in fine robes that hinted he was more than just a regular traveling merchant.

  And – by the gods – he smelled good.

  “So,” Aldric, the merchant, finally spoke. “Terenhill, huh?”

  It was the last day of their journey together.

  Azmira sighed dramatically, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

  Aldric chuckled. “Still upset about babysitting crops?”

  She groaned. “Completely wasted potential. Imagine – someone like me, a brilliant mage, a daughter of a general, sent to a tiny farm village to get rid of their mold.”

  “Tragic.”

  “Exactly.”

  She glanced sideways at him, still hoping he would finally make the move. “What about you? Are you ready for your big trade?”

  Aldric simply grinned. “Of course.”

  Azmira pressed on. “But why that direction in particular? Is there something interesting around Terenbog?”

  “Terenhill.” He corrected her. “And no. Just clients there.”

  Azmira blinked.

  ‘That’s it?! But mother’s books…’

  She tried not to look too disappointed. “Ah. Clients. Of course.”

  Aldric smirked, catching her expression. “Were you expecting something else?”

  Azmira cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He let out a soft chuckle. “You’ve been acting like you’re waiting for me to reveal some grand, dark secret for the past three days.”

  Azmira sat up straighter. “I have not!”

  He hummed in amusement. “You’re disappointed that I’m just a simple merchant. That much is clear.”

  Azmira opened her mouth – then closed it.

  Her entire romantic fantasy was falling apart.

  Then she remembered a line from one of her mother’s books. “Some men are merchants in occupation, but fighters in heart.”

  Aldric stared at her. “What?”

  Azmira winced. ‘That sounded…way better in my head.’

  She cleared her throat. “I mean – everyone has deeper depths.”

  Aldric smirked. “Deeper depths? Really?”

  Before Azmira could die of shame, she just shouted. “Just focus on the road, goddamn it!”

  ***

  When they finally reached Terenhill, Azmira gladly hopped off the cart, her face still burning as Aldric gave her a polite nod, as if she were a normal person who hadn’t just made a complete fool of herself.

  She wanted to crawl into a hole. Cover herself in mud. And just die.

  But before she could do any of that, the sound of laughter and music filled her ears.

  She blinked, glancing around. The village was aloud with festivity.

  Lanterns hung from wooden posts, and banners stretched high declaring some sort of ‘Festival of First Harvest’….?

  Azmira sighed. “Great.”

  Then, begrudgingly, she adjusted her cloak and stepped into the heart of the village.

  It was time to find the Lead Farmer and get this stupid job over with.

  She made her way into the heart of the village, scanning the area for anyone who looked like a menacing, burly man, when her eyes landed on the elevated stage in the village square.

  A woman in elegant robes stood there, addressing the gathered crowd. “…I’d like to introduce a young musician, one whose talent had moved us all. Terenhill’s own, six-year-old Kal Varren, playing the lyroca!”

  The crowd clapped enthusiastically as a small boy stepped onto the stage holding a lyroca.

  Azmira raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, great. A child musician. Figures these boonies would do something like this…’ She shook her head. ‘What’s he going to do? Strum out a lullaby? What a joke…’

  Ironically, she had no patience for this.

  She was about to turn away, completely uninterested, when she felt it.

  An overwhelming wave of mana.

  Her eyes immediately snapped back to the boy on the stage, her brows furrowing.

  ‘What the hell?!’

  His mana presence was insane.

  And the strangest part? It wasn’t controlled. It was wild, unstable, crackling around him like there’s no tomorrow.

  Azmira’s gaze flickered to a fellow mage nearby, dressed in fine robes, clearly one of the attending noble’s people.

  ‘He had noticed.’ She thought. ‘He had to have noticed as well. But…why wasn’t he doing anything?’

  Azmira narrowed her eyes, watching the kid walk up to the stool on the stage.

  His magic aura was going wild, touching things around him without him even realizing it.

  Including…The wooden arc above him.

  Azmira felt danger immediately, and she stepped toward the stage.

  Then, right on cue – SNAP.

  The wooden arc gave way.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd.

  “KAL!”

  But Azmira didn’t even think. She was ready.

  Her body moved fluidly, activating her Level 3 Cognition Thread in Air Magic.

  She thrusted her hand forward, catching the falling arc with the power of her magic.

  A smug smile crossed her face. ‘Lucky for you I showed up when I did, kid.’

  But of course, she had to throw a sassy remark right after it to ruin her heroic entrance.