Chapter 7 — Mission Complete (Side Effects May Apply)

"The problem with surviving… is that you have to keep on living afterward."

They kept walking.

The sun was no longer that sizzling, skin-searing monster from earlier. Now it was sinking slowly, stretching golden shadows across the roadside and dyeing everything in a dull orange hue. The air carried that bittersweet scent unique to twilight — part hope, part melancholy.

The horizon ahead had already begun to lose its color. The border between day and night shifted lazily, like it couldn't be bothered to hurry.

The silence had grown heavier. Not the awkward kind born from fresh wounds — but something deeper. Quieter.

So they walked. One step. Then another. The only sound now was their own footsteps.

Eventually, the outline of the town came into view. The damp ground blurred the scenery, making the buildings look warped — as if the architecture itself was ashamed of existing.

The north gate was open. The gatekeeper wasn't the grumpy guy from that morning. This one had the kind of face that didn't scream curiosity — more like he was so bored he'd poke into someone else's life just for kicks.

"Hey…" He squinted at the bag slung over Kael's shoulder. "That thing… is it a hunt? Smuggling? Or… judging by the smell, a failed attempt at social suicide?"

Kael took a deep breath and cracked the bag open just a little.

"Stoppppp! There are children presenttttt! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"

He slammed the bag shut so fast he nearly caught his own fingers. His face had gone chalk-white.

The gatekeeper's eyes widened — and then he burst out laughing.

"HAHAHAHA! I swear on my mother-in-law's crooked horn… you guys took that onion job, didn't you!? You went to Keboru's place, right? That lunatic still thinks he can survive off that cursed crop?!"

Kael just sighed, utterly drained. "Please… don't."

Tharon, swaying at the hips, spoke in a voice slightly lower than usual — but still sharp as ever. "The trauma's still fresh, partner. One wrong move and it'll splatter."

The gatekeeper wiped tears from his eyes, trying to stifle his laughter. "Haha… good luck out there…" He pointed behind him with a thumb. "Go drop that off with Granny Thalga. And skip the message. She bites."

"She bites, spits, and charges interest," Kael muttered, adjusting the bag.

The two of them started walking again.

The alleys of that town… felt narrower than usual. Maybe even narrower than ever. Every corner they turned brought whiffs of old beer, mold, and stories no one had ever told.

Tharon broke the heavy silence that had followed them from the fields.

"Hey… maybe it's time we considered retirement. You know, swords mounted on walls, ornamental daggers by the front door… Quiet lives aren't all bad."

Kael said nothing. He just kept walking, dodging a suspiciously twitchy puddle at his feet.

"And to think…" Tharon continued, dripping with sarcasm, "Today's career highlight was getting threatened by an onion that wanted to be a ballerina."

Kael sighed again — but his lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

"Shut up, Tharon… just shut up."

And there it was.

That dark alley. A crooked sign swaying in the wind, ready to fall at any moment. The creaking wood sounded disturbingly real.

The Serpent's Eye Tavern "If you're not gonna kill it, at least feed it."

The door was open, as always. Greasy light spilled out, mixing shadows with the scent of regret.

Kael and Tharon stopped at the threshold and peeked inside. First came the smell. Then the sound. It was the sound of… something alive. Or something pretending to be.

Kael took a deep breath. "…Let's go."

The moment they stepped over the threshold, a voice sliced through the tavern air. Dry, raspy, venomous — like someone had gargled gravel and sarcasm.

"Well, well, well! Look who slithered in — the walking disaster duo!"

Thalga hurled the rag she'd been using to wipe the counter and spat on the floor. (Or maybe it was venom. Hard to tell.) She adjusted the living scarf around her neck — a snake, obviously — and grinned.

"You're late. I was this close to sending a curse or a crow."

Kael inhaled again and slammed the bag onto the counter. It made a wet, miserable sound.

"There. The stuff you asked for." He peeled open the bag.

And then—

"Don't chop meeeee! I have dreams!" "Save meeeeeee!" "I'm not food! I'm art!"

Screams, sobs, wails — like a preschool full of onions facing existential doom.

Thalga opened one eye. It was greenish, veiny, cloudy… and somehow still glowing.

Then she laughed. Loud and jagged, like her throat was made of broken glass. Even the snakes in her hair flinched, unsure whether to giggle or hide.

"Aaaah… that despair. Music to my ears." Cough cough. She rasped like stones grinding together. "Now I'm hungry."

Tharon, swaying at Kael's hip, hissed back with his usual bite. "Of course you are. Misery's your favorite seasoning."

Thalga didn't even glance at him. She banged her elbow on the counter. One of the snakes slithered forward and stared at Kael, tongue flicking.

"Sit down, kid. I'll cook you something. Complain after you eat."

Cough cough. "Maybe it's the dust… or maybe it's the customers. Who knows anymore."

Kael raised his hand, dodging the snake's glare. "Not now. I need to hit the guild and file the mission report. I'll come back after it's confirmed."

Thalga crossed her arms. The snakes curled around her shoulders like they were judging him too.

"Fine. But hurry. My mood's already halfway to murder."

Cough cough… She looked down at the bag. Inside, the onions were groaning in muffled despair.

"They're mine now. I could pickle them… or use them for psychological torture."

She tapped the bag. A voice squeaked from inside: "Not the roots! Please, not the roots!"

Tharon clicked inside his sheath. "That old hag… she's somewhere between hunger, threats, and maternal instinct. Weirdly relatable."

Kael sighed, adjusted his cloak, and turned toward the door. "I'll be back soon."

And with that, he vanished into the damp night.

Left behind: the smell of stale beer, fried regret, and a countertop full of traumatized onions.

The rain had stopped, but the humidity clung to skin, leather, and soul. The lantern dripped steadily, casting yellow light that couldn't pierce the alley's gloom.

Kael's footsteps were heavy. The sound of wet soles tapping stone echoed behind him.

And Tharon, as always, whispered poison from his sheath.

"Hey…" He dragged the word out dramatically. "I used to think swords were glorious. Held high by legendary heroes. Adventures. Fame…"

—A metallic sigh.

"…But this? This is group therapy. For onions."

Kael pulled his damp cloak tighter and sighed.

"At least it's done. Mission complete. Just need to report it to the guild."

"'Just the report,' huh…" Tharon rattled with sarcasm. "So what's next? A bounty on a Screaming Frog? No thanks. If that thing screams like the onions did, I'll snap myself in half. For real."

Kael let out a dry laugh. "No Screaming Frogs, please. My mental health is already maxed out."

The central plaza emerged from the shadows. A drunk staggered past. A woman in a shredded cloak argued with a cart stuck in the mud. Off in the distance, tone-deaf music leaked from a cracked window.

They turned into a narrower alley. Cramped, filthy — where mold and sour beer battled for dominance.

And then—

SPLASH.

Kael tripped, nearly kissed the ground. He spun around to curse — and saw it.

A dwarf. Flat on the ground, arms crossed, one foot propped on his barrel — snoring like a dragon choking on a pig.

"…Seriously…" Kael wiped his hand on the wall, staring down in disbelief. "How do these guys survive?"

Tharon chuckled, metallic and dry. "That dwarf's closer to scrap than I am. And I'm a relic."

"Not even twitching…" Kael nudged him with his foot. The dwarf snored louder, hugging the barrel like a lover.

"Let's not." Kael shook his head. "If we wake him, he'll pull a knife and scream 'You're after my barrel!'"

"Well… I was eyeing it. That barrel's probably older than half the town," Tharon muttered, venom intact.

They left the alley. A sign creaked in the damp wind, groaning like it regretted being born. A few steps and a turn — and there it was.

The guild door. Slightly warped. Its hinges screeched louder than onions. The faded sign hung by a single nail, barely clinging to life. Even the nail looked exhausted.

Kael stopped, took a deep breath, cracked his fingers, and glanced at Tharon. "Let's finish this."

"Yeah. Just… no more Screaming Frogs. My sanity's hanging by a thread."

Kael pulled the door open. Warm light spilled out — along with sweat, beer, old parchment, and the scent of failure. It smelled like welcomed depression.

They stepped inside.

The guild hall was chaos with a touch of efficiency. Voices flying. Broken laughter. Suspicious whispers. Clashing mugs. Dice rolling. And that signature scent: sweat, damp leather, stale beer, and moldy paper.

Kael, looking like he'd used up his weekly drama quota, approached the counter. He dropped the mission report with a soft flap. It sounded like a sigh that had turned into paper.

Behind the counter— Scroll piles. A quill with bite marks. A cracked stamp. A toppled nameplate. And her.

The receptionist. Feared by all adventurers.

Glasses dangling off her nose. A face carved from stone. A posture that screamed "I'm not paid enough for this." (Assuming she's paid at all.)

She slowly looked up and adjusted her glasses — which immediately slipped again.

"…So you're alive. Or maybe this is a shared hallucination from sleep deprivation… Or an overdose of idiot adventurers… No one really knows."

Her voice was a harmony of philosophical sarcasm and poetic despair.

Kael exhaled deeply and handed over the paper. "Mission… complete… probably…"

She pulled the report closer, skimmed it, tried to fix her glasses — but they refused to cooperate. She shook her head slightly and muttered—

"Screaming frogs… Whoever came up with that quest is clinically insane." Kael muttered. "That farmer should be sued for ethical violations… Then again, we're a guild that profits off other people's problems. So maybe we shouldn't talk."

Tharon rattled with sarcasm from his sheath. "If you're gonna sue someone, sue the universe. It's all glitched anyway."

The receptionist sighed — the kind of sigh that weighed a ton. Without looking up, she pulled a small coin pouch from a hidden drawer and dropped it on the counter like she was tossing out trash.

"Pain earns payment. But unresolved trauma? That'll cost extra."

Kael took the pouch silently. The clink of coins inside sounded like they were laughing at him.

"So… you looking for another quest? Or just here to philosophize about the void?" She didn't even glance up, just pulled out a random scroll.

Kael gave Tharon and the receptionist a look of pure despair. "Isn't there… something slightly less awful?"

She flipped papers, spun a board, opened a drawer that groaned like it was dying, and replied without lifting her gaze:

"There's one called Screaming Frog. Interested? Not sure your mental state can handle it, though."

Kael stepped back two paces. As if the name itself had a smell.

"N-nope. Absolutely not."

"Why not? It's just a frog. Or is its voice louder than the trauma you're ignoring?" She tried adjusting her glasses for the third time — they fell again.

Expressionless, she raised one eyebrow. "You're really turning it down? You sure? What if I told you it only screams half the day? Or… three-quarters? Tempted?"

Kael raised both hands. "I'm done. I'll come back tomorrow. If my psyche survives. Which… probably not."

She crossed her arms, adjusted her rebellious glasses, and spoke like she was chewing sarcasm for breakfast.

"Tomorrow, huh? By then, the frog might've lost its voice. Would that be a win for you? Or just another existential defeat?"

Kael turned without a word, tapped the counter, and walked off. Tharon clinked bitterly.

"Kael… onions… If the next quest involves a fish in marriage counseling, I swear I'll dismantle myself and become a spoon."

The guild door creaked open, ejecting them into the outside world. Even the streetlights seemed mildly repulsed by their mood.

Kael rubbed his temple and took a deep breath. "Is today over…? Or did it just end me?"

Tharon chimed sharply. "If someone brings us a quest right now, I'm diving into a well. A deep one."

And so, they kept walking. Frustrated. Exhausted. And just a little bit… defeated by their own existence.

The night wasn't over yet.

— End of Chapter 7