The ornate, gilded office hummed with an air of quiet power. Sunlight, filtered through the tall window overlooking the bustling street below, cast long shadows across the rich, mahogany desk that dominated the room. To Sarah’s left, towering bookshelves, packed with leather-bound volumes and scrolls that whispered of ancient brewing secrets, stretched towards the high ceiling. On her right, gleaming brass and copper – the intricate workings of various ale-brewing contraptions – filled glass-fronted cabinets, hinting at the alchemical magic performed within these walls.
Behind the desk sat a young man, his features strikingly similar to the blond lecturer who had so passionately extolled the virtues of life-changing froth. His neatly trimmed beard and intelligent eyes, however, held a different glint, a hint of shrewdness that spoke of the Guild Master, the man in charge of the “Ale for All” enterprise. He exuded an air of calm authority, a stark contrast to the intimidating figures who had escorted her here.
Sarah swallowed, her palms suddenly damp. She knew she'd been pushing her luck. Had it been her blatant curiosity, her eyes lingering a little too long on restricted areas? Was it the fact that a complete novice, like herself, had dared to attend such an advanced lecture? Or, most likely, had she lingered too long, a silent supplicant, before the heavily guarded door, radiating an air of suspicion? She knew better. This wasn't some back-alley tavern; this was the heart of the "Ale for All" guild, and she had been caught red-handed, or rather, red-footed, loitering where she didn't belong.
Her mind raced, desperately searching for a plausible explanation, a way to extricate herself from this precarious situation. She hoped, fervently, that her (Deception) skill wouldn't level up again in the process.
"Welcome, Miss Kemp," the guild master said, his voice surprisingly warm and friendly. He gestured towards a plush, velvet-covered chair. "My name is Eric. Please, have a seat. And do forgive Quinton and Malik. They may seem a tad… Overzealous, but they mean well. Security is paramount, you understand.
"Good help is hard to find these days," the Guild Master rumbled, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards of the ancient brewery. "And they're exceptionally good at what they do – ensuring our brewing secrets remain just that: secrets." He gave a small, almost apologetic smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. They remained sharp, assessing, like a hawk scrutinizing a field for the slightest movement. A glint of something Sarah couldn't quite place – perhaps amusement, perhaps something colder – flickered within their depths, making her stomach churn. The air in the room, thick with the yeasty tang of fermenting ales, suddenly felt heavy.
"It's ok," Sarah managed, trying to keep her voice even. "I was honestly curious why the Guild Master would want to speak with me, a new recruit." She shifted slightly, the rough-hewn wooden chair creaking beneath her. She needed to tread carefully, gather as much information as possible before she inevitably put her foot in her mouth. This man exuded an aura of quiet power, a sense of knowing far more than he let on.
"It's my job," he continued, his gaze never leaving hers, "to watch over those that show interest in the guild, and especially those with potential. You looked… Curious as you strolled around earlier. You may be a member, but some of the brewers have secrets they don't like to share, even with fellow guild members." His argument was perfectly reasonable, yet the emphasis on "secrets" hung in the air like the pungent aroma of hops. It was a word that resonated with a dangerous undertone.
"I was just making a list of what I'd need to start up my own brewing process as a hobby," Sarah explained, hoping her tone conveyed nonchalant enthusiasm. "I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything crucial." She met his gaze, trying to project an air of innocent curiosity, though her heart pounded a nervous rhythm against her ribs. They stared at each other for a moment, the silence punctuated only by the bubbling gurgle of fermentation tanks in the distance, until the Guild Master broke it with a test.
"Tell me what you have so far, and I'll list what you're missing." His eyes, a piercing, almost unnaturally bright blue against the backdrop of the room, bored into her. He was waiting for her to slip up, she knew. Waiting for her to reveal something she shouldn't.
Sarah mentally scrambled, recalling everything she'd observed in the brewhouse. "A brew pot, a couple of fermenting buckets, airlock and bung, siphoning tube, bottles, cleaner and sanitizer, thermometer, hydrometer, and… Ingredients." She paused, racking her brain. "Yeah, that's about it, I think. Ready to make some proper ale!"
She finished with a touch of bravado, the word "ale" echoing in the surprisingly quiet room, hoping it would mask the tremor of uncertainty that vibrated in her throat. She was genuinely proud of what she'd remembered. But under the Guild Master's intense scrutiny, she felt like a novice being judged by a master craftsman, her carefully constructed confidence crumbling like dry hops. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, seemed to see right through her. Had she missed something vital? Something that would betray her true intentions, the real reason she was here?
"You have forgotten one of the most important tools. Something a brewer can't work without." The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken questions, the only sound the frantic drum of her heart. Sarah's mind raced. There were a few specialized items, a hydrometer, a wort chiller, but none were absolutely essential to the basic process.
Was he testing her again? Seeing if she would slip up, reveal the flicker of (Deception) she desperately tried to hide? The air in the room, thick with the malty aroma of fermenting ale, suddenly felt suffocating. She pictured the brewery, the gleaming copper kettles. Her palms began to sweat, a cold slickness that made her fingers tremble.
Eric chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. He leaned back against the rough-hewn table, a sly glint in his eye. With a flourish, he reached behind him and produced a meter-long ladle, its wooden handle worn smooth with use, the wide, flat head gleaming dully in the firelight. "How are you going to stir your mixture?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Sarah's breath escaped in a silent rush. Relief washed over her, so potent it almost made her weak. She hadn't been found out. Not yet, anyway. But the relief was quickly followed by a fresh wave of unease. She was still dubious about the Guild Master and the "Ale for All" guild in general.
The air in the brewery, despite the comforting smells, felt tainted, heavy. Someone had just died here, after all, a fact that settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone as she thanked Eric for the present and left.
The brewery's comforting aroma of malt and hops couldn't mask the underlying taint. Death hung in the air, a thick, invisible presence that settled in Sarah's stomach like a cold stone. She offered a quiet word of thanks to Eric, the brewery's owner, for the gift of the ladle, her voice barely a whisper, and then slipped out into the afternoon sun.
Outside, Sarah stored the ladel in her ring, the cool metal a small comfort against her skin. She grabbed a honeycake from a nearby stall, the sweet, sticky treat a momentary distraction from the grimness of the brewery. She munched thoughtfully as she headed towards the east gate.
She had souls burning a hole in her pocket, ready to be spent on expanding the living quarters within the tower. But that could wait. A more immediate opportunity beckoned beyond the walls, a chance to potentially… Acquire more souls. If her luck held, she'd return with a heavier purse, more options and, hopefully, a level up.
At the gate, she flashed her newly issued guild identification, her "get out of grower free" card, the official I.D smoothing her exit from the city. The guards barely glanced at it, accustomed to seeing adventurers come and go. The world outside the walls was a dangerous place, but it was also a place of opportunity.
Not far from the gate, just beyond the city's protective embrace, Sarah encountered her first challenge. A flash of white fur against the green grass caught her eye.
- Wiley White Rabbit - 2 - Extremely fast
The Wiley White Rabbit was a fleeting ghost against the colorful landscape, a blur of snowy fur that defied the eye's attempts to focus. It wasn't just fast; it was a study in nervous energy, a twitching, erratic dance of perpetual flight. Its large, pink eyes, like polished rose quartz, bulged with a frantic, wide-eyed terror, as if the very air itself might spring a trap. Every muscle beneath its pristine fur seemed coiled, ready to launch it into another unpredictable burst of speed. The creature was a heart attack waiting to happen, its fragile existence balanced precariously on the edge of cardiac arrest.
Sarah remembered Leo's warnings. Control, Sarah, control. Her training had drilled into her the necessity of restraint. Unleashing her full suite of enhanced abilities before she'd acclimated to her new reality would be reckless, potentially disastrous. This time, she wouldn't rely on skills; she would take the rabbit down with raw, untamed speed and strength, a clean capture without the unfortunate side effect of a furry explosion. She needed the XP, and a heart attack kill wouldn't cut it.
Her legs, now imbued with twice the power they possessed on Earth, coiled like springs. She exploded forward, the ground blurring beneath her feet. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of pure velocity. Yet, remarkably, control remained within her grasp. She wasn't overwhelmed by the amplified strength and speed; she commanded it.
The rabbit, a blur of white fur and panicked twitching, became a projectile. One brutal kick, a sickening thud, and it arced through the air, lifeless before it even touched the earth. No triumphant fanfare echoed in the quiet countryside.
No surge of victory coursed through Sarah's veins. Instead, a cold knot tightened in her stomach, a hollow echo of regret. Did I really just… Yeet that bunny? The word, so incongruous with the brutal reality, echoed in her mind. Even if it was a monster in disguise, the casual violence felt wrong, a stain on something she couldn't quite name. The ease
with which she’d ended its life disturbed her. Sarah knew she needed a different kind of fight. Something less… Domestic. Something that screamed "monster" from its very core.
She scanned the horizon, her gaze settling on a ramshackle farmstead in the distance. A flicker of movement near the edge of a cornfield drew her attention. Peeking out from behind a meager clump of weeds was her next target.
- Goblin - 3 - Slow
Its skin was a sickly green, stretched taut over sharp bones. Its eyes, beady and malevolent, glittered with a primal hunger. Surely, she thought, surely she wouldn’t feel a pang of remorse for dispatching this creature. This time, there was no hesitant approach.
As soon as the goblin spotted her, it erupted in a screeching war cry, a high-pitched, grating sound that ripped through the stillness. It charged, a crude, rusty knife held before it like an offering to some dark god. Instinct took over.
Years of knife training, a relic from her old-world life, surfaced from the depths of her memory. She met the goblin’s charge head-on. As the creature lunged, its knife aimed at her heart, Sarah’s hand shot out, a blur of motion.
She seized the goblin’s wrist, the grimy skin surprisingly slick. With a swift, practiced twist, she bent the arm at the elbow, forcing the goblin’s own momentum to drive the rusty blade deep into its own putrid flesh.
The goblin’s shriek intensified, morphing into a gurgling rasp. But Sarah wasn’t finished. Channeling mana, a surge of raw power that tingled beneath her skin, she amplified the force of her next move.
Her fist connected with the goblin’s face, a sickening crunch echoing through the air. The impact was devastating. The goblin’s head exploded in a shower of gore and bone fragments, splattering the surrounding area in a gruesome mosaic.
Sarah had wanted to ensure the creature was dead, to obliterate the threat it posed. She hadn't fully considered the… Consequences. Now, the stark reality of her actions was painted in vivid crimson across her pristine white robe. The rain of blood, thick and viscous, coated her from head to toe, a grotesque baptism in violence. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, a stark reminder of the brutality she had unleashed.
The goblin’s corpse, what remained of it, slumped to the ground, a grotesque parody of life. Sarah stared at the scene, the initial surge of adrenaline replaced by a chilling emptiness. Even this monstrous creature, this embodiment of malice, had ceased to exist because of her hand. The weight of her actions pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. The fight was over, but the unease within her lingered, a dark shadow cast by the brutal efficiency of her actions.
Sarah wasn't as weak as her level suggested. Her titles certainly helped, but even without them, she was a force to be reckoned with against level 3 monsters. Still, the gap between her and someone like Leo was vast. She knew that titles could only take her so far. Real progress demanded training, practice, and unwavering dedication.
If she returned now, Sarah would have nothing to show for her work. The rabbit she'd punted into the next county was gone and the goblin she'd obliterated no longer had the tradable goods she needed. Her tower was likely generating income, but it wasn't the same as earning her own keep. It was a matter of principle, something Carol had drilled into her years ago.
With daylight to spare, Sarah resolved to continue her hunt. Each encounter was a lesson, a chance to refine her skills and grow stronger. It was a long road, but she was determined to walk it step by step, through hard work and perseverance.
