The Quartermaster’s Table

The guild quartermaster's office wasn't part of the main hall. It sat behind a heavy wooden door in a quieter annex, past shelves of equipment logs and route archives. Ren followed the assistant in silence, the sound of their boots muffled by old woven rugs. When they reached the door, the man tapped twice, opened it, and nodded for Ren to step in.

Inside, a long table dominated the room. Five people sat around it—three men, two women—none of whom Ren recognized. All wore guild badges of some form, but their robes were plain, practical. No flourishes. No obvious rank.

One of the men at the center waved him forward. "Ren Hoshikage?"

"Yes."

"Lay it out."

Ren unrolled his terrain map with slow care. The parchment snapped into place with the tension of curling edges, and the detail drew immediate murmurs.

He had added everything he could: slope grades, ridge line elevations, potential erosion zones, even directional water flow using tiny arrow notations. There were no artistic flourishes—just clean, measured geometry.

"This was drawn from field experience?" one woman asked. Her tone was curious, not skeptical.

"Yes," Ren said. "Three days west of the village. I've mapped the gradient every fifty paces, with markers placed for rechecking. This section covers roughly half the fertile slope facing southeast."

Another man leaned forward, tapping a section of the map. "These hatch marks—this is bedrock exposure?"

"Yes. Indicating shallow soil layers. Not suitable for deep planting, but viable for root vegetables."

The group fell silent for a few minutes as they studied the paper. One of them retrieved a magnifying lens. Another began flipping through a leatherbound ledger of prior land clearances.

Finally, the man in the center spoke again.

"We've seen work like this before—on military campaign maps. You're saying you walked this terrain alone?"

"I had two assistants for measurements," Ren said. "But the drafting is mine."

"You're not guild-trained."

"No," Ren said. "But I'd like to be."

The woman who had spoken earlier sat back, arms crossed. "This kind of work isn't standard for adventurers. You're suggesting a new branch. Civil mapping. Terrain logistics. That's not an easy sell."

"I'm not asking you to change your structure," Ren said. "Just to let me formalize this process. Field reports are part of every quest. I'm proposing we stop treating them like afterthoughts."

Silence again.

Then a quiet voice from the end of the table: "What would you need to continue this?"

Ren glanced at the speaker—an older woman, with ink-stained fingers and a slight bend in her posture.

"Two things," Ren said. "Material clearance to draw and store maps. And permission to submit land surveys as supplementary quest data."

"Would you accept a trial period?" the lead man asked.

"Yes."

"A month. You'll submit three full reports on new territory, starting with the remaining southeast quadrant. If those pass review, we'll draft a proposal to formalize a new record-keeping category."

"I accept," Ren said.

The older woman nodded slowly. "We'll notify you within the hour. Dismissed."

Ren rolled up his map, bowed once, and walked out.

He didn't look back.

---

Outside, the air felt sharper. Cooler. More real.

Tarn and Leif were waiting near the corner.

"Well?" Tarn asked.

Ren didn't smile. "One month. Three reports. Then they decide."

Leif clapped his shoulder. "Then let's get walking."

They gathered their tools and started westward.

---

By midafternoon, they reached the upper shelf of the south ridge. The area was less explored—brushier, with fewer visible pathways—but the elevation gave a broad view of the terrain ahead.

Ren marked the slope every fifteen meters this time. He wasn't just doing this for approval anymore. He needed accuracy. He needed to see the land before the others tried building on it blindly.

Leif handled the plumb line. Tarn marked stake points with red dye.

And Ren, crouching near a dry streambed, ran his hand across a stone embedded in the earth.

Basalt.

Volcanic origin. Probably old, but it meant the water source here had once run deeper.

"Shift the waterflow marker ten degrees south," he called. "If the spring comes back, it'll carve that way."

"Got it," Tarn called.

Hours passed.

When they finally rested under a scrub oak, Ren glanced at the map in progress.

Clean lines. Measured gradients. No magic.

But for the first time in this world, someone was charting the land not for war or monster hunting—but for sustainability.

And soon, he hoped, for civilization.

They returned to the guild just before nightfall, parchment rolls tucked beneath their arms and boots caked in dry soil. The guild's front lobby still buzzed with activity—adventurers boasting about completed contracts, others lining up at the quest board, scribes exchanging updated reports.

But Ren didn't stop to soak it in. He veered toward the side hallway that led to the storage annex, where he'd been granted a drawer for map storage under his temporary clearance.

Inside, dim lanterns cast warm glows over tall cabinets. He slid open the drawer assigned to him, carefully placed the day's map inside, and took a moment to smooth the edge flat. Not a single line was smudged.

It wasn't much, but it felt like something real. Tangible. Not a fleeting skill, or an unstable dream.

He turned to leave—and found the older woman from the review table already standing near the entrance.

"You're fast," she said.

"You're quiet," Ren replied.

That earned a faint smile from her. She didn't introduce herself, but he recognized the ink stains on her fingertips. She motioned for him to sit at a small desk beside the archive shelves.

"I wanted to speak before the others get involved. You've got potential," she said. "But you're also naive."

Ren didn't argue.

"I've seen ideas like yours burn out," she continued. "People think structure means control. They get protective. Especially in the field."

"I'm not here to replace adventurers," Ren said. "I want to help them stop dying needlessly."

She nodded. "Good answer. Just don't expect easy allies."

Ren looked at her closely. "Are you my ally?"

"I'm a record keeper," she said simply. "I serve the truth. If your maps are accurate, I'll defend them. If they're flawed, I'll bury them."

Fair enough.

She stood, tucked a rolled parchment into her sleeve, and walked off without another word.

---

The next day, they headed further south.

This terrain was denser—thickets gave way to tangled roots and uneven clearings. Elevation shifts were subtle, but dangerous if missed. One wrong guess could flood a crop field or send runoff into a housing plot.

Ren paced slowly, measuring every incline. Tarn adjusted the plumb line against trees. Leif recorded numbers on the fly.

By mid-morning, they hit a wall—literally. A crumbling stone structure, half-swallowed by earth and ivy, blocked the planned line of sight. It was old, definitely pre-guild. Ren tapped it with a branch. The echo was shallow.

"Just a foundation," he muttered.

Leif tilted his head. "Think it's worth digging out?"

"Not today. We mark it as unfit and reroute the grid."

It took an extra hour, but they corrected the path and re-aligned the elevation plan. By the time they paused for lunch, they'd completed another full panel.

Ren drew quietly, sketching the new outline beside the older grids. The patchwork was slowly growing into a clear map—one that could, with time, support real development.

Not scavenged ruins. Not temporary tents. Actual roads. Farms. Villages.

But they weren't there yet.

---

When they returned that night, Tarn handed Ren a sealed envelope.

"It's from the records office."

Ren broke the wax and read:

> Clearance extended. Preliminary review passed. Next submission deadline extended by three days. Report back for final evaluation after third survey.

He folded the note. "We keep going."

"You expecting a promotion already?" Leif asked.

"No. Just hoping the foundation holds."

---

That night, Ren slept hard. His body was sore, but his mind buzzed.

When he awoke the next morning, the system window flickered to life.

---

[Sleep Bonus Acquired]

Skill Unlocked: "Efficient Topography"

— Terrain mapping speed increased by 30% when using hand-drawn tools.

— Auto-correction margin: 2 degrees slope deviation.

Trait Upgraded: "Spatial Recall I" → "Spatial Recall II"

— Now includes basic depth estimation and memory of terrain elevation patterns.

— Enhanced mental rotation speed.

---

Ren stared at the screen, blinking sleep from his eyes.

This wasn't a combat skill.

It was better.

He pulled out his sketchpad, ran a few lines on the corner, and tested a quick slope diagram. The angles came faster. Cleaner. He didn't even need to remeasure—he could already feel where the drop began.

This wasn't magic.

This was mastery.

Quiet, unseen, and perfectly timed.

By noon the next day, they reached a rocky basin on the outer edge of the forest grid—an area previously marked as too unstable for building. The soil was loose, but Ren wanted a closer look.

"This area could be viable for terraces," he said, crouching to scoop up a handful of soil. It sifted through his fingers like dry powder. "But it would need reinforcement."

"Reinforcement with what?" Leif asked, glancing around the exposed terrain.

"Timber retaining walls. Maybe stone reinforcements later. But first, we need drainage routes."

Tarn pointed to a narrow incline toward the west. "That run-off trench might work if we clear it."

Ren marked it on his map. "We'll flag this area as conditional. It's not ready for development yet, but if we stabilize it, the slope could support a multi-tiered layout."

"Who decides if it's worth the effort?" Leif asked.

"The guild doesn't want long-term answers," Tarn replied. "Just ones that'll get results in a season or two."

Ren frowned. "Then we'll make the results hard to ignore."

---

They worked into the late afternoon. Ren's upgraded mental recall let him track terrain elevations more fluidly, which sped up their progress without cutting corners. He didn't need to double back for slope checks—he remembered the angle from an hour ago.

It was strange. Like drawing from muscle memory that hadn't existed yesterday.

He didn't mention the change. Tarn and Leif already looked at him differently these days—not badly, just warily. Ren figured it was safer not to sound too extraordinary.

By evening, they returned with another full grid recorded.

This time, the guild quartermaster was waiting.

He wasn't dressed like a scribe. A heavy leather vest hung from his shoulders, worn and functional. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing forearms crisscrossed with old scars. Two rings hung on a string around his neck—both iron, both engraved.

Ren approached cautiously.

"You're the one submitting these?" the man asked, tapping Ren's map roll.

"Yes, sir."

"You did this slope calculation by hand?"

"With help," Ren said, gesturing to his team.

The man gave a small nod. "I'm not here to test your ego. I'm here to see if these numbers hold. Because if they do—"

He unrolled the map flat on the nearest table.

"—you've just given us a seasonal rotation path that cuts transport time between four villages by a third."

Ren blinked.

"That much?"

"That much," the man repeated. "Our quartermaster routes are barely holding. The old ones are guesswork from a generation ago. No terrain data. Just speed and luck."

He tapped his finger on the corner of the map.

"This is the first document I've seen that treats terrain like infrastructure instead of an obstacle."

Ren didn't know what to say.

The man folded the map carefully and tucked it under one arm. "Report to Room C-4 tomorrow morning. You'll be placed under provisional review for logistical coordination."

"Wait—what does that mean?"

"It means if you pass the next evaluation, you'll be handling routing prep for official expeditions. No more grunt submissions. No more waiting in the side halls."

Tarn gave a low whistle behind him.

Leif stared, then mumbled, "You just skipped five rungs on the ladder."

The man turned back. "Don't celebrate yet. You're still on trial. Your work's clean, but field accuracy is only part of the job. If you can't defend your logic in front of old dogs like me, you'll be tossed back out before lunch."

Then he left.

---

Back in the quarters, Ren sat on the edge of his bunk, the folded note from the guild still in his hand.

He wasn't sure how to feel. The promotion was temporary—conditional on another evaluation—but it marked a shift. Not just for him. For how the guild might start seeing field support.

If he passed, he could suggest routes that kept adventurers alive.

If he passed, they might stop treating maps like background decorations.

Tarn leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

"You didn't lie to them, did you?"

Ren looked up. "What?"

"Your maps. The methods. You didn't fudge anything to look good?"

"No," Ren said firmly.

"Good," Tarn said. "Because if they put you up there and you can't defend your work, they won't just demote you. They'll assume every field mapper is a fraud."

Ren nodded. "I won't fail."

Tarn grunted. "Then don't talk like someone who's already passed."

---

That night, Ren pulled out all his completed maps and reviewed every single slope calculation, every water marker, every risk tag. He rewrote the transit logic for the southern routes from scratch, double-checking against known terrain markers.

When he finally leaned back, the candle beside his bed had burned low. But the maps were clean. Defensible.

Tomorrow, he'd walk into Room C-4 not as a hopeful explorer, but as someone with answers.

And if they didn't like that?

He'd give them better ones.