The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Kael stepped into the adventurer's guild, and the sheer energy of the place hit him like a wave. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of sweat, steel, and spilled ale, creating an atmosphere both lively and suffocating. Voices overlapped in a chaotic symphony of laughter, arguments, and the occasional clatter of tankards striking wood. Yet, as Kael approached the counter, all the noise seemed to fade into a distant hum.

Behind the counter sat a formidable figure—a troll with deep green skin that gleamed faintly under the hall's flickering lanterns. Her sharp features were accentuated by the single tusk that jutted from her lower jaw, gleaming like an unspoken warning. Her eyes, a piercing yellow, scanned the room with an air of practiced authority, daring anyone to test her patience. The nameplate in front of her, etched in bold letters, read: "Gorba Greentide – Quest Coordinator."

Kael hesitated for a moment, the weight of the troll's commanding presence pressing down on him like an invisible hand. He took a step forward, his boots creaking on the worn wooden floor, and her sharp gaze snapped up to meet his. For a brief second, Kael felt as though she could see straight through him, peeling back every layer of inexperience he tried to mask.

"You lost, kid?" Gorba's voice was low and gruff, carrying the kind of authority that demanded immediate answers.

Kael hesitated a moment too long, and Gorba's piercing yellow eyes snapped up to meet his.

"Uh, no. I… I'm here to confirm my quest," Kael stammered, his voice barely audible over the surrounding chatter.

Gorba arched an unimpressed brow, her piercing yellow eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing Kael's worth in an instant. Without a word, she reached under the counter, her movements slow and deliberate, and pulled out a small, dog-eared booklet with a title etched in bold, no-nonsense lettering: Adventurer Basics: What You Need to Survive Without Dying Immediately. The edges of the booklet were worn, and faint smudges of ink stained its cover, giving it the air of a frequently used and utterly essential guide.

With a sharp motion, she slapped it onto the counter in front of him, the sound echoing like a hammer strike amidst the chatter of the guild hall. Kael flinched at the noise, his shoulders stiffening as he instinctively reached for the booklet, feeling the weight of her gaze pressing down on him. The moment lingered, tense and uncomfortable, as if the booklet itself were a silent challenge to his resolve. "Read it," she said, her voice flat but carrying the undertone of someone who had watched countless hopefuls falter before. "Might just save your skin."

"First-time adventurer, huh?" she said, leaning forward slightly. Her tusk caught the light, gleaming like a warning. "F-rank, I'm guessing. Means you're under my watch. Congratulations, kid. You just got yourself a babysitter."

Kael's cheeks flushed, but he managed a stiff nod. "Thank you. I… appreciate the guidance."

From somewhere behind him, a familiar voice snorted with laughter.

"Babysitter?" Liora's voice practically dripped with amusement. "Oh, this is too good."

Kael turned to glare at the rogue, who was lounging against a nearby pillar with his arms crossed and a grin plastered across his face. "Don't you have something better to do?"

"Not a chance," Liora replied, pushing off the pillar and sauntering over. He gave Gorba an exaggerated bow. "Gorba, always a pleasure. Treating the newcomers to your legendary charm, I see."

Gorba didn't even blink. "You still owe me three silver from last month, Liora. Don't make me come looking for it."

Liora straightened up with mock seriousness, patting his pockets theatrically. "Ah, well, you see, my finances are in a bit of a… transitional phase."

"Save it," Gorba snapped before turning her attention back to Kael. She handed him the booklet and a small card with his name and rank etched onto it. "Listen up, kid. F-rank means you're doing the dirty work—fetch quests, cleaning jobs, that sort of thing. No glory, no glamour, just grunt work. You survive long enough to rank up, then we'll talk about real adventures."

Kael nodded, gripping the booklet tightly. "Understood."

"Good. Now go find yourself a place to stay. You're not sleeping on the guild floor," Gorba said, sliding a handwritten list of budget inns across the counter. "This—" she tapped the list with a blunt finger, "—is what you can afford. Barely. Pick one, don't complain, and try not to get robbed on the way there."

Liora leaned over Kael's shoulder, squinting at the list. "Ooh, The Rusted Lantern. Sounds cozy."

Kael shot him another glare before turning back to Gorba and offering a stiff, "Thank you for your help." He collected the list of inns, clutching it tightly as if it were a lifeline, before stepping away from the counter. His movements were deliberate, masking the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in his mind. As he reached the guild's heavy double doors, a familiar voice, as casual as it was infuriating, broke through his focus.

"Well, babysitter or not, this should be interesting," Liora said with a crooked grin, falling into step beside him. "After all, what's a hero without an entourage?"

Kael shot him another glare, this one sharp enough to cut stone. "You don't have to follow me everywhere, you know."

Liora feigned offense, his hand pressed theatrically to his chest. "And leave you to fend off Theron's Rest all on your own? Perish the thought. Besides, someone's got to make sure you don't wander into the wrong alley and lose more than your pride."

Kael gritted his teeth but chose not to rise to the bait. Instead, he squared his shoulders, adjusted the strap of his satchel, and pushed the guild doors open, letting the cacophony of the city wash over him. Liora, naturally, followed with a spring in his step and a whistle on his lips, as though the chaos of the streets were merely another stage for his theatrics.

The streets of Theron's Rest were a swirling storm of activity. Merchants shouted over one another, hawking everything from exotic spices to battered weapons. Children darted between the legs of passersby, their laughter mingling with the clatter of carts and the occasional bark of a guard.

Kael kept his satchel clutched tightly against his side, his eyes darting between the list Gorba had given him and the chaotic streets. Each inn description was less inviting than the last: "cheap but noisy," "watch your belongings," and "might have rats" were common refrains. He sighed, settling on The Rusted Lantern. It couldn't be worse than the others.

"You're going to love this place," Liora said cheerfully as they approached a narrow alleyway. "It has… character."

"That's one way to put it," Kael muttered, eyeing the faded sign above the door. The paint had long since peeled away, leaving only faint traces of a crescent moon and crossed keys.

Inside, the inn was dimly lit, its warped wooden beams forming an uneven grid across the low ceiling. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by a cluster of lanterns whose flames sputtered weakly against the stale air. The faint, homey aroma of stew lingered faintly, almost lost beneath the sharper, more persistent scent of spilled ale and damp wood.@@novelbin@@

Behind the counter stood a stout man with thinning hair that clung to his scalp like wet grass, his weathered face perpetually etched in a scowl that seemed less angry and more resigned. His thick fingers worked a battered tankard with a rag so stained and tattered that it might have been better suited as a floor mop. The counter itself bore deep grooves and faint stains, a testament to countless tankards slammed down in either camaraderie or frustration. As Kael's boots creaked against the floorboards, the man's dark eyes flicked up momentarily, meeting his gaze with all the warmth of a stormy sky before returning to his polishing. In the background, the soft clink of glasses and muted chatter added to the sense of wearied routine.

"Room?" the man grunted, not bothering to look up.

Kael nodded. "How much?"

"Five silver. Up front." Stay updated through My Virtual Library Empire

Kael's heart sank. He barely had enough to cover that and still eat. Before he could respond, Liora stepped in.

"Come on, Bertram," the rogue said smoothly, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn't overcharge a poor, clueless kid like this, would you? Think of your reputation."

Bertram snorted. "My reputation's just fine, thank you."

"How about three silver?" Liora countered, flashing a grin. "And I'll owe you a favor."

Bertram's eyes narrowed, but after a long moment, he grunted. "Fine. Three silver. But you'd better make good on that favor, Liora."

"Would I ever let you down?" Liora said with mock innocence, tossing the coins onto the counter. He turned to Kael with a wink. "You're welcome."

Kael sighed. "Thanks."

___

After settling into his small, sparsely furnished room, Kael let out a long breath, the kind that carried the weight of an entire day's worth of decisions and doubts. The bed was little more than a wooden frame with a thin mattress, and the single candle on the rickety nightstand barely lit the space. But it was quiet, and for now, that was enough. Still, his thoughts gnawed at him, reminding him of Gorba's pointed advice about supplies. Sitting idle wouldn't do. Kael tightened his grip on his remaining coins, his fingers brushing the worn leather of his pouch as he resolved to make one last trip before nightfall.

The streets were a maze of noise and movement, even as the shadows grew longer. The marketplace buzzed with life, the late-afternoon light casting a golden hue over the cobblestone roads. Vendors shouted above the din, their voices a chaotic symphony advertising roasted nuts, shimmering fabrics, and sturdy tools. Kael's stomach growled at the scent of sizzling meats wafting from a nearby stall, but he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. Rope, gloves, a lantern—those were his priorities.

He moved cautiously, weaving between bustling shoppers and carts laden with wares. A stall caught his eye, its wares glinting faintly in the fading light. Coiled ropes hung neatly beside bundles of thick, padded gloves, their leather polished to a dull sheen. Kael hesitated, his gaze flitting to the price tags. Each item was within reach, but barely. A knot of unease settled in his chest as he handed over the coins, watching his pouch grow lighter with every transaction. The vendor, a wiry man with a toothy grin, handed him the goods and gave an absentminded nod.

"Careful with the lantern," the vendor added, gesturing to the small, metal-cased light now hanging from Kael's belt. "It's sturdy, but drop it once, and you'll regret it."

Kael nodded, murmuring his thanks before stepping back into the stream of passersby. The marketplace was a storm of color and sound, every corner offering something new to tempt the unwary. He caught sight of a street performer juggling flaming torches, a crowd gathering to cheer as the flames danced precariously close to the performer's face. Children darted between the legs of distracted shoppers, their laughter mingling with the bark of a dog chasing after them. It was alive and vibrant, a stark contrast to the quiet simplicity of Lindholm. Yet, the sheer volume of it all weighed heavily on him, pressing against his senses and leaving him feeling out of place.

As he adjusted the strap of his satchel, Kael instinctively patted his pouch to ensure his remaining coins were secure. But his hand froze mid-motion. The familiar weight was gone. His heart leapt to his throat as panic set in. Frantically, he searched his belt, his fingers fumbling over the empty loop where the pouch had been tied.

"Thief!"