— Sorry, but I think I made it clear from the start: I'm a wanderer, not an adventurer. I'll admit, discovering my powers was amazing… but risking my life like this? That's not for me. —
— Listen here, kid… I don't think you've understood the potential you carry. You doubled that dwarf's stats just by him standing next to your companion, with a single buff. And that's without even having truly awakened. Do you have any idea what that means? —
— Of course I do. But if you read it like I did, you must've seen what was written right below. —
Life's irony always had a unique and cruel way of finding me. I was never good enough — neither deep enough, nor high enough. Some said I was just a mediocre baritone. Mediocre… that word seemed to follow me. Whenever something good happened, something else came along to push me right back to the center of mediocrity. And in this specific case, everything came down to a simple phrase:
🌀 SUPREME BARD 🌀
Level: 1
Strength: 5
Endurance: 3
Speed: 4
Dexterity: 1
Mana: 22
Magic: ∞
Available points: 0
🎵 Music: As long as you sing what you feel, a temporary buff is activated for those who hear it. The buff is random, but always of Supreme level.
⚠️ No Second Chance: No buff can be repeated or stacked. Ever.
Maybe you haven't grasped the weight of my restriction…
The buff I used — it can never be used again. Ever.
And I can't stack them either.
Every time I use one, it vanishes forever.
When my repertoire runs out… so will I.
— But… you're a bard. You can always create new songs, right? —
No. She was wrong. I never created anything decent. What I was good at was copying. Imitating. Repeating. I've always been just a mynah, a bird that repeats sounds, looking for its next echo.
— I'm sorry, but I can't do this. —
— Okay, that's fine. I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let's try something else… There are some young folks trying to conquer the first floor of the dungeon. Most of them don't last even a year. I could talk to the Guild Council and suggest you provide buffs for them. No risk at all. You won't make much… but you also won't die trying. —
It was the first time I'd heard of this so-called Guild Council. But it was clear that in that city, there was more than one guild. And the deal, on second thought, didn't seem bad. I'd still be making some money — I just needed to figure out how much.
— Hmm… sounds interesting. But how much would I earn from that? —
— Considering your buffs are Supreme level, I think we could charge the newbies a 20% cut of their profits. They earn, we earn. If my math is right, that would be around 100 silver coins. —
Even in a new world, the economy was surprisingly simple:
1 bronze coin bought a snack;
100 bronze coins were worth 1 silver coin — enough for a quiet night at an inn with everything paid except drinks;
100 silver coins were worth 1 gold coin — and with a gold coin, you could live comfortably for a month in a tavern far from the dungeon.
Fly, for example, preferred to pay more to stay at the guild's tavern. He knew he could make a lot more money there.
— And look… since I like you, I can offer you a stay here for the same price they charge on the outskirts. Believe me, that's a rare offer. What do you say? —
Fly was still weighing the pros and cons. He didn't want to be an adventurer — and he certainly didn't want to die trying to become one. But the offer was tempting. He would give the buffs before the youngsters entered the dungeon, meaning he wouldn't be at risk. And the pay… wasn't bad.
— But let me see if I got this right… I'd be like a sort of asset to the Council, is that it? So I'd also be under your protection? —
— Exactly. I can include that in the proposal. Besides being a bard, you're smart. If you stay with us, I can guarantee all the protection you'll need. —
Fly was thinking about something that had bothered him ever since he first saw his abilities: what if he ended up reduced to a slave for adventurers? It wasn't common, but it did happen — especially with members of pacifist races, like the forest dwellers. They, like Fly, were known for granting buffs and debuffs, but were usually weak and dependent. Fly definitely didn't want that fate.
— Thank you very much… I accept. —
— Ah, and since you'll be under my wing, I think it's time you told me your real name, don't you think? —
— Fly is my real name. No last name. We were running away from the orphanage… and that part's true. —
The giantess stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a sigh.
— I'm glad to hear that. I'll admit, at first, I thought you two might be some kind of assassins. It's a pleasure to meet you, Fly. My name, as you've probably heard, is Malaca Rhino. If you need anything, just call me. —
A lump formed in Fly's throat when he heard the word "assassin." Because that's what he was — or at least what he felt he had become. He had killed someone. Even knowing it was in self-defense, the result of a betrayal, the guilt still weighed on him. The food in his stomach threatened to come back up. He forced a smile… but he wasn't even sure if it was real.
He'd told half-truths, and didn't know how Malaca would react if she knew everything. A headache was slowly forming. He just wanted to lie down and disappear… But what about Helena? Who would protect her? Damn it…
— When can I start? —
— Well, you arrived at a great time. I'm going to speak with the Council today. If all goes well, tomorrow morning we'll already have the new batch of students from Bruminor. This year, from what I've seen, the rookies are especially weak — so I think it'll be easy to convince the Council. Either way, you'll have an answer by the end of the day. Don't worry. —
Knowing he had little time before it all began, Fly hurried. When he got to the room, Helena was already dressed in the only change of clothes she hadn't used yet — the one she'd saved for a special occasion.
— I think it worked out. We'll need to go out to buy a few things… but I think we can take the chance to buy some clothes too. What do you think? —
The smile on her face was the reflection of everything he wanted most: a better, safer life. Fly didn't want distractions, vices, or hobbies. He wanted to breathe in every second of knowledge, joy, and peace this new chance could offer.
They stayed out on the streets until late, exploring the city until the moon started to rise, taking the sun's place.
— Wow, I loved that cricket leg! How do they make it taste so good? The tarantula blood was good too, but the name… seriously, they should change it. Thanks for taking me to the clothing store! —
The clothes Helena wore now were very different from the ones she had on when they left the guild. Fly had insisted on buying her a few new outfits. He felt she deserved it.
— Don't mention it. And anyway, I was happy to get the material I needed too. —
— And what are you going to do with that wood and those steel strings? —
Malaca found it odd that Fly, being a bard, didn't have any power to summon instruments. According to her, all the bards she'd met could conjure their instruments through magic. The problem was, if they tried to use any other instrument, the powers wouldn't work.
Fly was different. And that didn't make sense — not even to him.
That's why he needed to build his own instrument manually. He knew how to work with wood, but the hardest part was getting the right materials.
— I'm going to build a different kind of musical instrument. —
The body of the guitar required the ideal wood. He found it in a common regional tree, but with many similarities to German spruce. It wasn't cheap, but its true potential was still unknown — sturdy, solid, and at the same time, easy to shape.
As for the guitar neck, it needed to be light but resistant to the friction of the strings. Fly asked everyone in the city who worked with wood for help, until, with the aid of a gnome carpenter, he found a type of wood similar to ironwood from his homeland.
While everyone else used magic to build, Fly chose the manual path. The only ones who still worked like that were the dwarves, in their forges. He feared that if he asked someone else to make it for him, the result wouldn't come out the way he wanted. So, he rented a workspace from the gnome, paying a fee to build the guitar base himself.
However, there was still a serious problem: the strings. The bronze he'd used so far was low quality. Not only did it go out of tune easily... it also hurt his fingers.
What helped in the end was almost a miracle: the sound that came from the improvised guitar was surprisingly good. But even so… it wasn't something he wanted to rely on again.
Unfortunately, he ended up having to turn to the dwarves. It cost him nearly fifty silver coins — a steep price, but expected. Dwarves hated doing anything outside of their routine, and a request like his, something probably only Fly would ever ask for, was considered far too strange for their taste. The price shot up because of that.
With almost everything ready, all that was left was to assemble the pieces. Soon the instrument would be finished.
— Thought you two weren't coming back — said Malaca, arms crossed as she saw them.
— Miss Rhino… we just took a walk around the city. It's very welcoming. —
Malaca glanced at Helena's new clothes, then gave Fly a curious look.
— Yes... especially to those who spend money, Miss Helena. — She raised an eyebrow. — Fly, could you come with me? I've reached an agreement. —
After a full day of dealing with suppliers and exploring the city, all I wanted was to crash onto the bed. But the anxiety about what might come next spoke louder. I asked Helena to wait for me in the room and went to the same meeting room as that morning.
— Well, I have good news… and bad news. —
— Okay… give me the bad one first. —
— I thought you'd want the good one, but alright. The bad news is the rookies didn't agree to the 20% cut on their earnings. They only accepted if it were 10%.
— So that means I'll be getting half of what we agreed on? —
— Not necessarily. The bigger problem is that the budget for the first level is tight this year. Most adventurers need to go through that floor, so the royals believe it already ensures a "natural cleansing" of the dungeon. I think it's ridiculous too, but… they're the ones paying in the end.
— That's awful. How much do you think I'd make, then?
— By my calculations… somewhere between 20 and 50 silver coins, at best.
— That's terrible! I mean… it's less than half of what you promised me!
— Yes, yes… but remember I said I had good news too? A student from Bruminor — who technically shouldn't even be in this city — ended up coming here by a twist of fate. My friend from the Lion guild mentioned you to her. Turns out she's the daughter of a rising bourgeois. And she's rich. Very. She wants to make an exclusive deal with you.
— I already said I won't enter the dungeon. And I'm definitely not going to be anyone's servant.
— Calm down, you haven't even heard the best part yet! She agreed to all your conditions. She's willing to pay sixty silver coins. And all you have to do is sing for her and her friends… or whatever they are. What do you say?
— So I don't have to enter the dungeon? Just sing and leave?
— Well… an exclusive deal is a bit more restrictive. You won't be allowed to perform for others or make money from your music in other ways. But yes — that's basically it.
— I accept. When does she want to enter the dungeon?
— Tomorrow. Is that okay?
— I'm finishing assembling my instrument… I can do it if it's the day after tomorrow. I'll be ready.
— Perfect. I'll let my friend know. But prepare yourself well. Oh, one more thing… She wants to know what kind of buff you intend to use on her.
— I… don't know.
— …?
Malaca's expression said it all. She was clearly expecting a better answer. But I couldn't lie — not about this. I really didn't know. Maybe it had something to do with the music, with the moment… but so far, everything had happened randomly, intuitively.
— You know that doesn't help at all, right? —
— I know. But I can guarantee the buff will be at a level she's never seen before.
— Hm. I'll try to make that work as an argument… but let me give you a piece of advice: start understanding this power of yours as soon as possible. And all its consequences.
That night didn't go as I had hoped. I was too anxious to pay attention to Helena, and too worried about finishing the instrument. When morning came, the dark circles under my eyes gave away the sleepless night of anxiety.
— Fly, you really need to get some rest. Want me to go get breakfast for you? —
— No need… I won't be able to rest until I finish my instrument. —
Breakfast wasn't exactly bad, but it wasn't good either. It landed somewhere in that strange middle ground between acceptable and questionable — a kind of bland flavor, like so many other things in this new world. But that didn't matter. I needed to eat as much as I could. I couldn't afford to feel weak today. The day was far too important.
I'd already gathered all the materials. Now, I needed to bring them together, fit each piece into place, and finalize the instrument. Only then could I test it. Only then would I be ready for the meeting with my client.
— Mister Bernald, I'm here. —