Ep.53 The First Job

The cobblestone streets of the town stretched before us as we left the Guild hall. The warmth of the day was beginning to fade, and a cool breeze carried the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery. We'd barely made it a few blocks when a crushing realization hit me: I didn't have a weapon. The thought settled in my stomach like a lead weight, making each step feel heavier than the last.

I wrestled with embarrassment for several moments, the words stuck in my throat. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my worn tunic, a nervous habit I'd never managed to break. Finally, I managed to speak up, my voice smaller than I would have liked. "U-uh, Smith?"

He turned, meeting my eyes with a questioning look. The veteran adventurer's weather-worn face showed hints of exhaustion from our earlier meeting at the Guild. "What's up, kid?"

I hesitated, each word feeling like it had to be dragged out. "I don't have a weapon... nor the money to buy one." The admission came out in a pathetic trickle, each syllable tasting of shame. I could feel the weight of everyone's stares, though I couldn't bring myself to look at any of them directly.

Smith's expression became unreadable for a moment before he responded, his calloused hand absently stroking his short beard. "W-well, how's your magic? Could you rely on that for just this once?" The hope in his voice only made what was coming next harder to bear.

My hands began to tremble at his words. Of course—he didn't know yet. Didn't know what I was, or rather, what I wasn't. I couldn't maintain eye contact anymore, my gaze darting anywhere but his questioning eyes: the worn cobblestones beneath our feet, the merchant's cart rattling past, the pigeons pecking at scattered breadcrumbs. The words I needed seemed trapped somewhere between my brain and my mouth, refusing to form.

"Well, spit it out, kid," Smith prompted, his patience wearing thin. His boot tapped against the stone, each quiet impact like a thunderclap in my ears.

I froze completely, my throat constricting around the admission I couldn't voice. But then, like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, Rowan's voice cut through my paralysis. He'd always had a knack for stepping in when I needed him most, even if his methods weren't always gentle.

"He can't use magic—not now, not ever," Rowan declared, his words sharp and clear as crystal. The nearby pigeons scattered at the sudden sound. "He lacks any sort of latent mana whatsoever. So he uses a sword to compensate, and he seems to be lacking such a weapon, so it would be in all of our best interest if we got him one." His matter-of-fact tone somehow made the truth both easier and harder to bear.

The seriousness in Rowan's tone created a heavy silence that seemed to draw in the very air around us. Smith seemed to be formulating a response, his eyes distant as he processed this revelation, but before he could speak, Cecilia's voice exploded into the quiet like a firecracker in a temple.

"No magic? At all?" Her words dripped with disbelief and anger, her golden hair practically bristling with indignation. "Are you kidding me, Smith? We can't take him on a goblin-slaying job—he'll get killed! This is ridiculous." Her hand clutched her staff so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Smith's expression shifted, softening into something that made my stomach clench—the look of a father about to deliver bad news to a child he didn't want to hurt. "She's right. I was having a hard enough time bringing a couple of kids on this job, but now you're telling me you can't even use magic? There's no way I can in good conscience effectively lead you to your death. There's only so much we can do and prote—"

Maya's voice rose like thunder, her face contorted with rage. "HEY Y—"

But Rowan cut her off, his voice carrying a maturity that surprised me once again. The shortest of our group somehow managed to command the most attention when he spoke. "No offense, Smith, but we don't need your protection. We'd of course be grateful for the company of some experienced adventurers, but if need be, we will go without you." His green eyes flashed with determination, daring anyone to challenge him.

Smith's face twisted unpleasantly at Rowan's cold words, but he caught himself. Taking a deep breath, he reset his expression before letting out a soft sigh that melted into a chuckle. The sound seemed to release some of the tension in the air. "All right then, it's your funeral. Let's go."

The three of us jumped in shock. Despite everything, he was still willing to come? My surprise was interrupted by Cecilia's renewed protests, but Smith waved off her concerns with the casual confidence of someone who'd faced far worse than an angry young mage. His dismissal only seemed to fuel her anger, her face flushing red as she opened her mouth for another tirade. It took Lilia's gentle intervention—a soft hand on Cecilia's shoulder and whispered words I couldn't quite catch—to finally calm her down.

We started moving again, the sun now high overhead, time slipping away from us like water through cupped hands. The town's outer buildings grew more sparse, replaced by vegetable gardens and the occasional chicken coop. But just before we reached the town's edge, Smith stopped abruptly. Without a word, he unbuckled the sword sheath from his hip and tossed it to me. I barely managed to catch the heavy piece of metal, my eyes wide with surprise. The leather was worn smooth from years of use, and the pommel bore scratches that told of countless battles.

"Take it, just for this job," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I can survive off just my magic for a job like this. After we get back, use the money to get your own." He adjusted his belt, looking almost naked without the familiar weight at his side.

I stood there, the borrowed sword feeling both foreign and right in my hands, words failing me once again. The blade that had protected this veteran adventurer through countless battles was now entrusted to me—someone who couldn't even summon a spark of magic. Finally, I settled for a simple nod and a quiet "Thank you." The words seemed inadequate for the gesture, but Smith's slight smile told me he understood.

And then we were off, leaving the safety of the town behind us, stepping into whatever adventures—or dangers—awaited in the forest beyond. The weight of Smith's sword at my hip was a reminder of both his unexpected kindness and the long road ahead of me in this world that seemed determined to reject me at every turn. As we passed the last buildings, I caught glimpses of the dense forest ahead, its shadows holding both promise and threat. Whatever came next, at least I wouldn't face it unarmed—or alone.