A Group Of Thugs

The following weeks passed quickly in a constant training. From sunrise to sunset, Amukelo poured everything he had into refining his technique. Each morning, he woke before dawn, sometimes even before the facility opened, sneaking in drills in the open yard before the official classes began. The instructor worked him hard, but Amukelo pushed himself even harder.

He sparred with anyone willing, sometimes cycling through multiple opponents in a single session, refining his balance, adjusting his footwork, learning how to maximize each swing without leaving himself vulnerable. His body ached constantly, but he relished the exhaustion—it was proof of progress. Each strike felt sharper, each block sturdier. And the best part? He could feel the improvement, see it in the way his opponents hesitated more against him, in the nods of approval from his instructor, and in the small murmurs from the other members whenever he finished a session.

Bral and Idin were impressed by his relentless work ethic, but they also didn't let it consume them the way Amukelo did. They trained diligently, but they also took time to do other things than just growing stronger. Bral enjoyed sparring, but he also spent time in the marketplace, bartering and learning more about the various guilds in the city. Idin found himself more invested in the creation of the ring for her sister. Occasionally he would visit the shop where Ezein and his father worked, watching the process, and even helping with minor adjustments.

Pao, on the other hand, was just as obsessive as Amukelo, but her focus was on her magic. She spent hours locked away in the inn's small reading area or practicing alone in the training facility's spell chambers. The teleportation grimoire she had acquired consumed her completely. She worked tirelessly to refine the spell, focusing on precision and control. Her enthusiasm was infectious—she often rambled to Amukelo and the others about the nuances of mana manipulation, the theories behind spell growth, and how she planned to improve it over time.

Bao also found herself improving at an unexpected pace. Originally, she had planned to train a little more on tthe close combat, but still train her archery. However, after her defeat in the facility, something changed in her. She became much more determined, training longer hours and pushing herself harder. She sparred often, testing herself against stronger opponents, and refining her archery until her shots became almost unnervingly accurate.

By the end of those few weeks, they were sharper, faster, and more confident than ever. But as the days went on, they realized that training alone wasn't enough. Their money was running thin, and they needed to return to questing soon if they wanted to afford their necessities.

That was how they found themselves back at the adventurer's association, scanning the board for a suitable quest.

Amukelo ran his fingers across the various notices, feeling an unexpected sense of nostalgia. "It's been a while since we've been here," he mused, eyes trailing over the parchment pinned to the board. "I can't wait. I feel much more confident now that I got rid of my bad habits."

Idin, standing beside him, chuckled. "It was just a few weeks, Amukelo. Not that long. But yeah, it's exciting."

Bral smirked. "Let's get something more interesting than pigs this time."

They browsed through the board, looking for something that was challenging but still within their rank. Amukelo's eyes landed on one in particular, and he tapped it with his finger.

"What about this one?" he asked, pointing at the parchment.

The others leaned in, reading the details.

"Get rid of the golem that has settled near the merchant trail. It has been interfering with trade routes, causing issues for travelers and merchants alike. Minimum required guild rank is Bronze Rank Seven, possibly higher difficulty than expected."

Idin nodded. "Seems like a good challenge."

Bral crossed his arms, grinning. "If we pull this off, we'll be at Silver Rank for sure."

Amukelo took the quest paper and, with an eager smile, turned toward the counter to submit their acceptance. But before he could take more than a few steps, a solid mass suddenly stepped in his way, colliding into him with enough force to make him stumble slightly.

Amukelo blinked in confusion and looked up. A broad-shouldered man with a smug expression stood before him, arms crossed over his chest, flanked by a few others who were already chuckling behind him.

"Ohh… my bad," Amukelo said casually, taking a step back. "I was walking too fast."

The thug, however, didn't move aside. Instead, he let out a slow chuckle, glancing back at his companions before fixing Amukelo with a condescending smirk. "Well, well, well… new adventurers," he said mockingly. "Look how happy he is to take on a quest. Like a puppy getting its first scrap of meat."

The men behind him laughed. One of them leaned against the board, smirking. "What's the quest, huh? Killing slimes? Clearing out rats from some poor farmer's barn?"

Amukelo's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't react. 

Before he could respond, Bral's brow furrowed, and he stepped up beside Amukelo, standing slightly in front of him with a sharp glare. "Any problem?" Bral's tone was sharper than usual, his usual playfulness absent.

Idin, Bao, and Pao followed closely behind, forming a united front.

Amukelo looked between them, slightly confused. "What's going on, why are they doing this?" he muttered to Bral.

Bral exhaled through his nose, keeping his eyes locked on the thug in front of them. "They're trying to start a fight," he murmured back. "Like what happened in the pub. But this time, they're sober. So it's not the alcohol talking—they're just garbage humans."

The atmosphere in the association shifted slightly. Other adventurers were beginning to take notice, glancing toward them from their tables and counters. A few murmurs spread through the room, but no one stepped in.

The thug grinned wider, clearly entertained. "Oh? Is that a problem? We were just curious about our new little adventurers." His gaze flickered to Amukelo. "Especially this one. He looks… eager."

The men behind him chuckled darkly.

"What do you even want from us?" Idin asked, cutting through the low murmurs of the other adventurers who were now watching the scene unfold.

The thug tilted his head, cracking his knuckles lazily. "Look at all this gear," he said, his grin widening. "Nice weapons, good clothes... and then we thought to ourselves—hey, there are only five of them. Why not help them out a little? Take some weight off their backs, lighten the load?" His voice dripped with mockery as the men behind him chuckled. "So, do you want a little bit of help?"

Bral rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "No thanks. We can take care of ourselves. Now move, and leave us alone."

The thug's grin faltered slightly, but he didn't step aside. Instead, his stance shifted, his fingers twitching as if he was waiting for an excuse to escalate things. "Ohh... Don't think you can just brush us off like that," he sneered. "There are only five of you. Meanwhile, we've got—" he gestured toward his group, "sixteen. I really insist you reconsider before—"

But then a sudden blur of movement cut him off, and a fist slammed into the side of his jaw, sending the thug sprawling onto the ground. Gasps and murmurs erupted throughout the guild as the big man crashed down, clutching his face.

"Hey, fat fuck," a voice rang out, sharp and unyielding. "Leave them alone. Otherwise, you'll have to deal with us."

Amukelo and the rest turned toward the voice. It was Gloram.

Standing beside him was Shaw, arms crossed over his chest, his usual disapproving scowl deepening as he surveyed the situation. And behind them were at least twenty other adventurers. They were either their guildmates, or people who were simply displeased with the thugs.

The lead thug groaned, his hand pressed against his jaw, blood trickling from his mouth as he winced. He spat onto the floor, and a single tooth hit the wooden planks with a soft clink.

He turned his furious glare toward Gloram. "Tsk..." He wiped his mouth, glaring daggers at him. "Guys. We're leaving."

His men hesitated, glancing between each other. Some seemed unsure, others clearly angry, but none of them dared to challenge the numbers stacked against them.

The lead thug rose to his feet unsteadily, still rubbing his aching jaw. But as he turned to leave, he paused, locking eyes with Gloram.

"You'll regret this."

Gloram's expression didn't shift. He stared him down with a calm, almost amused look before scoffing. "Want to end up on the ground again?"

The thug clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, but he knew better than to test his luck.

"Let's go," he growled, motioning for his men to follow. One by one, they slinked away, some muttering curses under their breath, others throwing lingering glares toward Amukelo and his group. But none of them dared to say another word.

Gloram huffed as he looked at them leaving. "Pussy."

The tension in the guild finally loosened as the last of them exited, leaving behind only the onlookers still murmuring about the unexpected turn of events.

Bral let out a breath and stepped toward Gloram, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thank you, brother."

Bao, who had kept her usual unimpressed demeanor through the ordeal, studied Gloram for a moment. Though she had still held a bit of resentment toward him for ruining their night weeks ago, this was... different. He could've ignored the situation entirely, let them fend for themselves, but instead, he stepped in. Maybe he wasn't such an ass after all.

Gloram shrugged. "No problem. I'm not gonna let some assholes bully my friends. Not that I think you would've let yourselves be bullied, but you know." He tilted his head toward the door. "They had numbers. Things could've gotten messy."

Bral chuckled. "If not for you, this could've gone bad. We owe you one."

Gloram waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, nah, nah—don't start that. I owe you for ruining your night at the pub. If anything, we're equal now."

Bral smirked. "Well, thanks anyway."

Gloram turned slightly, beginning to walk off, but before he did, he glanced back over his shoulder. "Anything, brother." And with that, he left.