Chapter 11 — Mission Report and Other Forms of Torture

"You can collect the coins, but the trauma doesn't go away."

They walked along the trail, footsteps scraping the dirt, crushing dry leaves and uncomfortable silences.

The way back felt longer. Or maybe it was just the weight of reality Kael now carried on his shoulders.

Leon led the way, smiling like every stone on the path was a red carpet. Sylphie spun now and then, letting her dress flare out as if expecting petals to bloom from the ground. Elren whistled, swinging the slimy pouch like it was a trophy — viscous, repulsive, triumphant.

And Kael...

Kael just followed. Eyes hollow. Soul questioning its own contract with existence.

Tharon dangled in his hand, vibrating from laughter. A metallic laugh. A laugh sharp enough to slice the air itself.

They walked. Crossed trails, hopped fences, followed the distant hum of the city rising on the horizon.

Soon... the buildings appeared. The smell of firewood, rust, sweat, and stale bread. The noise of ordinary life.

They stepped onto cobblestone streets, crossed the square, cut through an alley where a dwarf slept — either the same one as before, or every dwarf in that region shared the same hobby and the same barrel glued to their forehead.

A few more steps...

And there it was.

The same tavern. The same crooked door. The same signboard that looked ready to collapse.

They entered.

And everything came back. The smell. The sound. The voices.

The wooden table creaked under the weight of the plates. Wolf liver skewers, glistening with grease, stabbed like the spines of some starving beast. Whole roasted onions… still crying. The damn things whimpered and sobbed as they steamed, releasing the scent of sorrow into the face of anyone brave enough to chew them.

And of course… the beer. Murky, bitter… mixed with the fresh tears of the cook, who, apparently, was going through an existential crisis even deeper than Kael's.

And there they were.

The Sunbeam Squad.

Toasting. Laughing. Celebrating.

They raised their mugs like they'd just slain a flaming ancient dragon.

Leon, wide grin, arm raised high:

— "To great deeds, good friends… and missions completed with mastery!"

Sylphie lifted her glass with that same sparkle in her eyes.

— "To our strength! And to the light we carry!"

Elren plucked his lute, smiling like he was forever stuck in a festival. The strings vibrated with a melody that wanted to be epic… but sounded more like a drunken serenade from a rundown tavern.

— "Our steps echo… like stars in the sky… our blade, our wind, our arrow… the hope that will never fade…" He sang, fully immersed in his own spectacle.

Tharon, dangling in Kael's sheath, trembled from laughter.

— "Kael… my blade's going dull just from being in this environment. I can feel my dignity rusting in real time."

Kael...

Kael was just there. Sitting. Chewing. Eyes lost in the void. Brow furrowed, like he was trying to remember exactly where in the timeline his life had veered into this absurd script.

— "What… what am I doing here…?" he muttered.

The onions kept crying. The beer kept flowing. The lute kept moaning. And the Sunbeam Squad kept… shining.

When they finished, they dropped coins on the table — Leon, of course, paying for everything — and left the tavern like actors ending a play, waving, smiling, convinced they were too beautiful for this world.

They returned to the same inn as before. Same rooms. Same straw mattresses pretending to be beds. Same rats, who probably had names for each other by now.

In the room, Tharon vibrated.

— "So… let me get this straight… you're a swordsman now. You defeated a frog. A frog that screams… QUACK." He laughed. — "If I'm ever melted down and reforged… I hope no one remembers this chapter of my existence."

Kael dropped onto the bed.

— "You know… sometimes I wonder if it'd be easier to just accept life's defeat…" He threw himself back, staring at the ceiling covered in stains that might've been mold — or some form of intelligent life waiting for the right moment to attack.

— "Am I trapped in a nightmare or a bad comedy…?"

Tharon, practically purring with sarcasm:

— "Both. Welcome."

Silence filled the room. Silence… and the creak of a floorboard deciding whether to collapse tonight or tomorrow.

And just like that, they faded out.

Morning came.

Golden light sliced through the cracks in the window. The bittersweet scent of stale bread, straw, and dried sweat floated in the air like part of the décor.

Kael was the first to step out. He stood in front of the inn. Blank stare. Arms crossed. Waiting.

And then… they came. Walking. Approaching.

And for a second, Kael blinked.

Because it looked like the sun itself had decided to take human form and walk down that street.

Leon led the way. His armor gleamed with reflections that felt more magical than metallic. And that smile? A masterpiece.

Sylphie followed close behind. Her dress spun as if winds chased her, light dancing off the platinum strands of her hair. And her eyes? Two mirrors of the sky.

Then Elren — twirling, spinning his lute like it was an extension of his soul. His clothes shimmered, every button, every fold woven from stardust.

The Sunbeam Squad. Literally.

Shining so brightly that for a moment, Kael thought he might need to shield his eyes.

Tharon groaned in the sheath.

— "Here we go. The parade of light, beauty, and… condensed superficiality in three human forms. Look at that… I can see my reflection in them. Too bad my reflection looks disappointed."

Kael took a deep breath. Gripped the sword's hilt. And thought:

— "Why… why am I even here…?"

The long trail back felt more twisted than any road had the right to be. Footsteps, stones, branches… and worse — Elren.

Elren. With that lute. With that smile. With that voice carrying more wrong notes than Kael's entire existence.

— ♫ "Through the fields we walk… shining hope…" — and off he went, strumming, singing, spinning like life itself was a permanent stage.

Leon marched with that annoyingly flawless glow. Sylphie twirled, laughed, as if gravity didn't exist in her universe.

Kael…

Kael just wanted a ditch. A grave. A dimensional crack. Anything that would swallow him. Right there. Right now.

Tharon…

Tharon rattled, vibrating in the sheath, practically begging for one — or all — of the lute strings to snap.

— "If any higher entity loves me… let it snap one of those strings. Just one. Just so I can watch the disaster unfold." He whispered, acidic, venomous, and deliciously bitter.

Hours. Hours that felt like days.

And then… there it was.

On the horizon.

The wall. The city of Anselm.

The sky already tinted deep blue, night biting at the edges of reality.

They reached the gate.

The guard, relaxed and in good spirits, looked at the group — who resembled a magical circus troupe more than adventurers.

He smiled. Waved.

— "Welcome back, adventurers. No questions today… just good luck to you all." He said, waving them through.

Leon, of course, responded with that smile warm enough to heat an entire village in winter. Sylphie waved, winked, leaving behind a trail that almost shimmered in the air. Elren spun his lute and bowed.

Kael… just walked past. Head down. Steps heavier than they had any right to be. Tharon? Trembling from holding back bitter laughter.

They crossed streets, passed through squares, cut through alleys. The sound of the city had changed. Night made everything more muffled, more whispered, more suspicious.

And then…

The guild doors.

They pushed. Entered. The scent of old wood, dried sweat, and underpaid adventure filled their lungs.

And there they were. Back again.

Boots hit the wooden floor with a sound that hammered every last drop of sanity Kael had left.

Leon led the way, smiling like the world revolved around him, chest puffed out, cape swaying as if there were wind indoors — there wasn't. Sylphie? Waved at every living soul that glanced her way. Sparkle in her eyes. Too much sparkle. Uncomfortably bright.

Elren, spinning his lute, walked like he was on life's main stage.

Kael just… passed through. Head down. Steps heavier than karma itself.

Tharon trembled. Not from tension. From contained laughter. Acidic. Corrosive.

They reached the counter.

And she was there.

The receptionist. Crooked glasses, posture like she'd been born bored with everything and everyone.

— "Mission… delivered?" She looked up over her glasses, as if the question itself were existential.

Leon puffed his chest.

— "Exactly! The screaming frog has been successfully defeated!"

She adjusted her glasses.

— "Defeated… or temporarily silenced?"

Elren stepped forward, smiling:

— "Skinned, removed, eliminated!"

— "Eliminated… or merely transferred to another plane of suffering?" She replied, voice dry, monotone, eyes already back on the registry book.

Sylphie placed her hands on her hips, tilted her head, smiling wide:

— "You're joking, right?"

— "Joking… or reflecting?" She shot back, without moving a single muscle on her face.

Tharon vibrated so hard in the sheath he looked ready to combust from sarcasm.

— "By the blade, this is gonna be good," he muttered — just loud enough for Kael to hear.

Leon, either oblivious to the venom in the air or choosing to ignore it, held out the scroll.

She took it like she was holding a dirty scrap of paper.

— "Filled out… or just filled with intentions?"

Kael squinted.

— "For the love of—just pay us already."

She flipped through it. Once. Twice. Three times.

— "Interesting… very interesting."

— "What?" Kael choked on the word.

— "A rookie… delivering the final blow… on a mission? Is that… common? Or perhaps… extraordinary?" She adjusted her glasses, eyes locked on Kael.

Leon practically exploded into a pose:

— "Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary! This man here—" he pointed at Kael, "is a shining example of determination, courage, and triumph!"

— "Courage… or reckless impulsiveness?" She countered, tossing a coin pouch onto the counter.

The sound was dry. Satisfying. Almost.

Tharon, now trembling like he was laughing internally, muttered:

— "This is better than puppet theater."

Leon smiled like he was offering world peace:

— "Could you split it into two pouches? One for me, one for my friend Kael, the Shadow Swordsman!"

Kael put a hand to his face.

— "Shadow… swordsman…" he murmured, more to himself than to any other being in existence.

She gave him a bored glance, pulled out another pouch, and poured half into it.

— "Half… or slightly less?"

— "Completely fair!" Leon replied, as if he'd just closed the greatest deal in history.

And Sylphie, smiling like a falling star:

— "We're going to miss you two!"

Tharon practically snapped inside the sheath.

— "This… this… this is refined psychological torture."

Elren, already handing over the spoils — a frog leg, a random stone, and a vial of who-knows-what — sang like it was poetry:

— "Behold, treasures, glory, riches…"

The receptionist looked up.

— "Treasures… or sentimental trash?"

Kael couldn't take it anymore.

— "I… need… to leave." He shoved the coins into his pouch, turned his back as fast as his body allowed, and bolted for the door.

— "Leaving so soon?" Leon raised a hand, half laughing. — "We'll miss you, partner!"

— "Brave warrior!" Sylphie waved, winking with that glitter trail sparkling from her eye.

— "Come back anytime!" Elren spun his lute.

Tharon, once they crossed the door, exhaled without pause:

— "I… don't know… if I hate you… or admire you for not throwing yourself off a bridge yet."

Kael let out a dry, hollow, exhausted sigh.

— "Honestly… I don't know either."

End of Chapter 11.