Chapter 8: Roles and Revelations
The next morning, Aurelia's city came alive under a soft golden haze. Bells rang from the high tower, market stalls opened with bursts of color, and the scent of fresh bread mixed with metallic clinks from blacksmiths nearby.
The group stood in front of the guild, yawning, stretching, and ignoring the fact that two of them had literally slept on the ground.
"Alright," Emma said, tying her hair. "Everyone splits up. Meet back here by lunch."
"Agreed," Caroline nodded. "Let's try not to die. Again."
"Or catch weird medieval diseases," Andrew muttered.
Everyone scattered, fanning out into the city.
Emma's Perspective
Emma walked briskly through the guild doors, flanked by two of the other girls—Lena and Sofia. They passed through adventurers clashing wooden mugs and the faint scent of ale and ambition.
"I want to see how this quest system works," Emma said. "Maybe we can earn some coin, get stronger, and figure out what this world wants from us."
At the quest board, she scanned postings.
"Goblin cave patrol?"
"Nope," Sofia said. "Too many sharp teeth."
"Escort for local noblewoman?"
"That sounds like babysitting."
"Demon rat extermination?"
"…Pass."
Finally, Emma settled on a mid-tier quest: Herbal Recovery Mission outside the city gates. Safe, useful, and mildly heroic. As they prepared, a group of smirking adventurer boys walked by, one of them throwing out, "Need help, sweetheart?"
Emma smiled sweetly. "Only if you're volunteering to carry our bags—and by 'bags' I mean your unconscious bodies after we're done with you."
Lena and Sofia high-fived her.
Caroline's Perspective
Meanwhile, Caroline and two others entered The Gleaming Goblet, a tavern near the merchant district. The barkeep, overwhelmed, gladly gave them aprons and orders.
The midday crowd was intense: sweaty travelers, bragging mercenaries, and a trio of drunk fools clearly trying to impress someone—anyone.
One tried to slap Caroline's waist on his way out.
He didn't even finish the motion.
Lena tripped him with a tray.
Sofia dumped a whole flagon of ale on his head.
Caroline, calm as always, leaned down and said, "We're serving drinks, not egos."
The tavern erupted in laughter. Even the barkeep gave them extra coin.
Mario's Perspective
Mario found himself at the merchant square, negotiating armor prices like he was haggling in a video game.
"How much for this chestplate?"
"Seventy silvers."
Mario squinted. "I'll give you thirty and tell everyone your shop made me look ten percent hotter."
"Fifty and you throw in a free sharpening?"
"Done."
With that, he walked off with upgraded armor, a shiny dagger, and one minor ego boost. He also bought a matching set for Emma—just in case.
Totally normal. Totally not romantic.
Probably.
Andrew's Perspective
Andrew had followed the sound of shouting and clashing steel to a banner waving above a large stone courtyard:
"Royal Tactical Trials – Officer Selection Day!"
He didn't hesitate.
The prize? A royal uniform. A badge. Monthly pay. Respect. Command. And best of all—validation that knowing the flanking range of a cavalry charge in historical scenarios wasn't just a "useless hobby."
He signed up immediately.
Three rounds. Two seasoned competitors. Both were older, confident, and local militia veterans. One had a scar across his cheek and a war-worn axe at his belt. The other adjusted his monocle like he was already polishing his victory speech.
Andrew stood alone. No scars. No flashy weapons. Just a sharp mind and a memory full of tactical brilliance.
The simulated battlefields were drawn in sand and stone. Each contestant was given a set of wooden pieces representing archers, infantry, and cavalry. Judges watched from a high podium.
Round one: Andrew opened with a rapid-movement maneuver he called Flashstrike Doctrine—a fast, decisive encirclement that cut off his opponent's supplies within four turns.
Round two: A siege challenge. Andrew pretended to retreat, pulling back his troops before striking from the rear with a hidden detachment. His opponent's fortress crumbled under pressure they didn't see coming.
Final round: The monocled veteran overextended his units trying to corner Andrew's main force. Andrew didn't panic. He let the man commit—then collapsed the flanks and divided his army.
A judge blinked. "Where did you learn your tactics?"
Andrew shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I study military history."
"You don't fight like a student."
Andrew smiled. "I'm not."
Later at the Guild
Everyone had returned, tired, proud, and… in costume.
Emma and the girls wore sleek leather armor from the herb mission. Caroline wore a tavern apron like a battle trophy. Mario had a new polished chestplate and greaves.
Then Andrew entered the guild.
The whole place turned.
His uniform gleamed. His sash flowed like a general returning from war.
Caroline blinked. "Okay… You actually look good."
Mario scoffed. "Is that real gold?"
"It is," Andrew said, striking a pose. "The reward for not sleeping on a floor."
Mario walked over, tossed him a pouch. "Here. I got you a matching knife. And a chestplate. Don't say I never do anything for you."
"Aw. You're getting soft," Andrew teased. "Is this because Emma's here?"
Mario rolled his eyes. "Don't start."
"Too late."
The girls were all watching in silence.
Then Caroline said, offhandedly, "You know, Emma actually likes you, Mario. But let's be honest—you're too dumb to notice unless Andrew explains it in tactical terms."
Emma dropped her coin pouch.
Mario blinked.
Andrew? Already smirking.
Emma turned scarlet.
"I—uh—what?" Mario asked.
Emma: still red.
Andrew leaned in, whispering: "Flashstrike Doctrine, bro. You just got ambushed."