The Skewed Scales and a Familiar Impulse

Not long after, accompanied by a ceaseless symphony, like a peacock’s display, Wawalde announced, “We’re here. This is the place.”

Sovenia then saw the entrance to the Gray Adventurers’ Guild. The wooden door, its paint peeling away, revealed the gray grain beneath.

“The guild looks quite unassuming,” she remarked.

Sir Gernon immediately interjected, “This is merely a branch in a small town.”

Sovenia stepped over the threshold. Inside, it was darker than outside, with small windows allowing sparse light to spill across the floor.

In the center of the hall squatted a gray stone statue, its wings half-spread. Its eyes, two brass beads, gleamed brightly from countless touches.

Only a few men, perhaps three or five, clad in leather armor, sat around a corner table, sipping ale and chatting idly.

Behind the counter stood a young woman with brown hair tied in a ponytail. A small copper badge, likely an apprentice’s emblem, was pinned to her collar.

She was engrossed in flipping through a ledger, the pages rustling loudly, as if searching for something she couldn’t find.

Sir Gernon tapped his cane twice on the flagstone floor.

“That bounty,” he announced. “The infamous one.”

The woman behind the counter looked up, startled. Her gaze lingered for two seconds on the silver badge pinned to Sir Gernon’s chest.

Her movements instantly became flustered. She closed the ledger, then opened it, closed it again, and finally turned to rummage through the wooden cabinet behind her.

“Ah… just a moment…”

She pulled a stack of parchment from the cabinet, fumbled through it three times, dropping two sheets to the floor. As she bent to retrieve them, she bumped into the counter’s edge.

Sovenia watched the scene unfold, her expression utterly blank.

‘How clumsy,’ she thought.

Finally, the woman found the correct sheet. She presented it with both hands, as if it were a scorching hot object.

“This is it.”

Sir Gernon took the parchment, unfolded it, scanned it, and handed it to Wawalde.

Wawalde took it and read. Sovenia also cast a glance.

The parchment bore a crude map, marking the location of an estate with a graveyard behind it. The mission description was simple: investigate the “tall, slender figures” appearing near the graveyard, ascertain their origin, and, if possible, eliminate them.

Reward: Three gold coins.

In the bottom right corner of the parchment was an emblem: a set of scales. Three human heads rested in the right pan, while the left pan remained empty.

The scales were severely tipped, the right pan drooping so low it nearly touched the base.

Sovenia’s gaze lingered on the scales for a moment.

‘It reminded her of her life’s ambition: to sever as many human heads as possible and offer them to the Four Gods.’

“What is this?” she inquired.

Sir Gernon was about to speak, but Wawalde interjected, a step ahead of him.

“The Scales of the Goddess of Justice,” he explained. “They mark the danger level of a quest. Each time an adventurer dies on a mission, the scales tip to the right. The heads in the right pan represent the fallen.”

He gestured to the severe tilt.

“Judging by this angle,” Wawalde continued, “at least three parties have attempted this quest, and all of them… failed.”

“Failed?”

“They died,” Wawalde clarified. “And the quest giver hasn’t increased the reward to balance the scales. That’s why they remain so heavily skewed.”

Sovenia stared at the human heads depicted on the parchment.

‘Three parties. All dead. And the reward is still three gold coins.’

A sudden sense of amusement flickered within her.

The adventurers drinking ale in the corner had also noticed the commotion. Their eyes fell upon the parchment in Sir Gernon’s hand, and they began to whisper amongst themselves.

“Someone’s taking *that* quest again?”

“Look how skewed those scales are. They’re practically toppling over.”

“The first three waves were all led by journeymen. All of them perished.”

“That elf girl is quite pretty, though. Being an elf, maybe she has some other tricks up her sleeve?”

“Tricks? What kind of tricks could possibly deal with *that thing*?”

“Who knows? It certainly won’t be me.”

“She looks like she’s been dead for three days,” another chimed in, “so maybe she really does have some special ability.”

Sovenia’s pointed ears twitched imperceptibly, catching the fragmented whispers.

She turned to the woman behind the counter.

“What rank were the adventurers who previously took this quest,” she asked, “here at the Gray Adventurers’ Guild?”

The woman fumbled through the ledger again, her movements still clumsy.

“Uh… the first party was a journeyman adventurer with four apprentices… the second party was also a journeyman with three apprentices… the third party…” She paused. “One journeyman, five apprentices.”

Sovenia remained silent.

‘All journeymen and apprentices.’

She scoffed inwardly.

‘Where were their Silver-ranked masters? Hiding behind the scenes, counting their gold?’

‘Sending their apprentices to die, while they collected the fees. If the mission failed, the apprentices died, not the masters. If it succeeded, the masters still claimed a share of the glory and gold.’

‘Isn’t this just cannon fodder tactics?’

“Are you sure you want to accept?” the woman behind the counter asked, a hint of hesitation in her voice. “The first three waves of adventurers… none of them returned.”

Sir Gernon strode to the counter, planting his cane firmly on the floor.

“Of course we’ll take it,” he declared, his tone imbued with an arrogant sense of entitlement.

“Such a minor task is mere child’s play for them.”

The woman’s gaze swept over Wawalde and Sovenia.

“Are you certain your companions possess sufficient strength?”

“Absolutely,” Gernon affirmed.

He pulled his silver badge from his pocket and handed it to the woman behind the counter.

The woman took the badge and pressed it onto the parchment.

An owl with outstretched wings appeared on the paper.

She then turned, retrieved a large copper seal – the branch guild’s official stamp – from beneath the counter. She aligned it with the silver imprint and pressed down firmly.

The moment the two seals overlapped, Sovenia witnessed a peculiar sight.

The silver owl and the copper owl merged, forming a single, complete imprint. The owl’s wings folded, its eyes closed, as if it had fallen into a deep slumber.

Simultaneously, her peripheral vision caught a change on the notice board.

A duplicate of the mission parchment was posted there. As she watched, five words materialized on it:

“Accepted by Adventurer”

The lettering was faint gold, as if seeping from within the paper itself.

Sovenia’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Interesting.”

Sir Gernon picked up the stamped parchment from the counter, turned, and presented it to Sovenia, waving it slightly as if displaying a prized contract.

‘For some reason, Sovenia was reminded of “Peace for our time.” How strange. Was this a memory from her previous life on Earth?’

“Don’t let those simple gestures deceive you,” Sir Gernon explained. “When this seal is applied, the same quest is simultaneously updated across all Gray Owl branch guilds nationwide. Everyone, from the Imperial Capital to the smallest border town, will know this mission has been taken.”

He extended the parchment further towards Sovenia.

“Take it. It’s mere child’s play for you two, and it comes with a reward of three whole gold coins.”

Sovenia did not reach out.

‘Three gold coins.’

‘Three parties dead, and still only three gold coins as a reward.’

‘She remembered the white dress. The one she had admired in the clothing shop, embroidered with silver threads. The shopkeeper had quoted a price in gold coins, but three wouldn’t even cover a fraction of it.’

She remained rooted to the spot, unmoving.

Wawalde sighed, then reached out and took the parchment on her behalf.

“Thank you, Sir Gernon,” he said.

Sir Gernon nodded, his smile growing even more radiant.

“With how strong you two are, I’m no longer needed,” he stated. “I have other matters to attend to, so you two may proceed.”

He turned and strode towards the door, the hem of his velvet robe sweeping the floor and kicking up a faint wisp of dust.

Sovenia watched his retreating figure vanish beyond the doorway.

‘It seemed this was yet another Silver-ranked master who embraced and excelled at cannon fodder tactics.’

****

She and Wawalde exited the guild branch, one after the other. The sunlight pierced her eyes once more, and she squinted, waiting for her vision to adjust.

Outside the door, a few idlers had gathered, pointing and murmuring around the notice board.

“Look, who took the tall, slender figures quest?”

“Seems like those two who just went in. An elf girl.”

“Just the two of them?”

“They don’t look like much. The lad’s dressed in rags, like a beggar.”

“The elf is quite beautiful, though… what a shame.”

“A shame for what?”

“A shame they’re going to their deaths, of course. None of the previous three parties returned.”

“Maybe this time they’ll succeed?”

“Do you believe that?”

“No.”

Laughter.

If Sovenia hadn’t possessed such keen hearing, she would likely have dismissed the sounds as random, inexplicable laughter from those around her.

Sovenia walked past the group, her face devoid of expression. Her pointed ears twitched almost imperceptibly, and nothing more.

Wawalde walked beside her, and the two proceeded down the street. The number of pedestrians gradually thinned.

Wawalde’s voice suddenly broke the silence.

“Miss Sovenia.”

She did not stop walking.

“Hm?”

“Back at the inn,” Wawalde continued, “were you considering killing Sir Gernon?”

Sovenia’s footsteps faltered.

She turned her head to look at Wawalde.

Wawalde looked back at her. His eyes were a clear azure, the color of a cloudless sky. In them, there was no anger, no accusation, only a calm inquiry.

Sovenia said nothing.

‘He noticed?’ she thought.

‘She recalled the earlier scene: her hand had indeed brushed her sword hilt. Her impulse wasn’t fleeting; she had carefully assessed the feasibility of killing him. Kill him. Take the gold. Leave.’

‘Such an act would be perfectly normal in the Demon Realm, but this was the Human Realm, and Wawalde stood beside her.’

Sovenia didn’t know how to respond. Her pointed ears pressed back slightly, like those of an alert cat.

Wawalde was still awaiting her answer.

Finally, Sovenia remembered she could read his mind. She reached out, grasping Wawalde’s hand.

‘Wawalde? I want to hold your hand,’ she thought to him.

‘Hm? Why this sudden request?’ Wawalde’s thought echoed in her mind.

‘In the Human Realm, I feel so lost,’ Sovenia’s lie flowed smoothly. ‘Only by holding your hand do I feel at ease.’

Wawalde’s hand remained still as Sovenia successfully grasped the ‘foolish dog’s’ hand.