Faith is Earned 1, page 19
It wasn’t the tallest building, but it felt the most permanent.
He walked through the double doors.
Inside, it smelled like leather oil, sweat and chalk dust. Maps were pinned to corkboards. Weapons leaned against the walls. Adventurers filled the space, some standing, some lounging, some halfway into arguments about payouts, equipment and monsters with too many teeth.
Luke walked slowly.
[Hunter], [Archer], maybe [Axe Fighter], ...ugh [Dancer] …maybe?
He read the Classes in their gear, in their posture. The way one moved like a thrown knife and another like she was dancing with blades.
He stepped up to the front counter.
Didn’t have to wait long.
The man at the desk looked young, but already too tired for his face. He didn’t even lift his eyes when he spoke.
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking for low-level missions.”
Pause. Then a flick of the eyes.
“There’s always low-level work.”
“Could I see a few? Pick one that fits?”
“You affiliated?”
“No.”
“Then you’re on a twenty percent tax. Affiliates only pay 10%.”
Luke hesitated.
He didn’t want to be tied down yet. He needed freedom. Needed movement. He still didn’t know where he would go, only that he wouldn’t stay still.
“I’m fine with the tax.”
The man shrugged and flipped open a ledger.
“Class and Level?”
“[Votary – Level 10]. [Sanctified Fighter – Level 4].”
That got a pause. Barely a flicker of surprise.
“Healing?”
“One. Mental only. I can... restore resolve. Help people recommit.”
“Combat Skills?”
“Two.”
The man frowned faintly.
“With that loadout, I’d only give you small monster hunts. Maybe just animals. Probably not even predators.”
Luke’s hands curled slightly. He wanted to speak. To say I fought through a monastery. I watched her die. I broke men who wielded Miracles.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he took a breath.
“I climbed a hill. With a group. We reached the Summit and I fought the Champion. I lived.”
That turned a few heads.
A [Spear Dancer] a few steps away leaned against the wall and smirked.
“Sure you did, robes.”
A [Mercenary] cleaning his blade snorted.
“Bet the hill apologized after.”
Laughter rolled low through the Guildhall, dry, amused. It may not have been cruel, yet it carried the same message.
You don’t look like someone who’s done what you say you’ve done.
Luke held his ground.
“Believe what you want.”
“Everyone’s climbed a hill, until they’re halfway up and their spine says no.”
“Did the Champion give you a hug and ask you to leave nicely?”
Luke closed his eyes for a moment. He felt the familiar weight of doubt, not his own, theirs. And the burn that always followed it. That need to prove.
He opened his mouth.
Then a voice behind him, sudden and solid.
“If it's a fight you're looking for, we'll take you, lad.”
He turned. Stopped. Turned again. No one.
“Down here.”
He looked down and saw a dwarf looking up at him.
Chapter 20
Luke looked down at the dwarf. The dwarf did very much the same thing, only in reverse.
"Well?"
"...who's we?"
The dwarf blinked, looked to his left, then pointed at the air beside him.
A beat passed.
He lowered his hand slowly, coughed into his fist and mumbled something about getting ahead of himself.
Then he turned on his heel and barreled out of the Guild Hall, metal boots clanging against stone.
Luke raised an eyebrow.
He turned back to the [Clerk], who only shrugged without lifting his head from the ledger.
"Not even the weirdest fellow today."
Luke folded his arms on the counter.
"Tell me the last one was at least missing pants."
"Third bell this morning. Thought he was invisible."
They shared a look, before a snicker appeared on the [Clerk]’s face. A sacred moment of shared exasperation with adventurers.
The peace was shattered a minute later as the door slammed open again and the dwarf returned and he wasn’t alone. Four others marched in behind him, stomping like a parade of armored goats.
They were short. Even shorter than Luke expected, each one coming up to about his waist. But there was nothing delicate about them. Their armor was full-body, thick and layered, covering them from neck to boot in plates of dull gray metal. Not iron or steel, but something darker, less reflective, almost stone-like in texture. The kind of armor that didn’t shine, but endured.
No flesh showed beneath their gear, only their faces and their beards remaining bare. The males had braided facial hair with metal clasps and rings woven in, while the females wore theirs tucked short and neat, but no less proud. Each one carried either an axe or a maul and each one moved like they knew how to use them.
The lead dwarf beamed and puffed out his chest with pride as the others formed up behind him like a parade of armored barrels. He jabbed a thumb at himself.
"Brag. Brag son of Brog. Don't need the rest of it unless you're marryin’ me."
He gestured to the woman beside him, who had a braided beardline tucked with tiny silver charms and eyes sharp as quarrels.
"This here’s Krin. Don’t arm wrestle her unless you want a broken wrist and a bruised ego."
The other woman raised a gauntleted hand in lazy greeting, helm tucked under her arm, a cocky smirk playing across her face.
"That’s Ylsa. Smiles sweet, swears like a drunk forgehand."
Brag waved at the two males bringing up the rear, one squat and stocky even by dwarven standards, the other leaner but with a jaw like a granite slab.
"Rud. Doesn’t talk much, hits like a falling boulder. And that's Jorik. Fast hands, fast feet, faster mouth."
Jorik grinned, already unwrapping a piece of jerky as if he'd been invited to a feast.
Together, the five of them looked like they'd walked straight out of a tale sung in taverns, if the tale involved reckless charges, ale-drenched brawls and bragging contests measured in broken bones.
"So, whad’ya say?"
Luke eyed the newcomers.
"I mean... I’d like a few more details about the job."
"Sure, sure, no problem. Come on, with us."
They didn’t wait.
The group wheeled around and marched down a hallway to the left, not bothering to check if Luke followed.
He did.
The side chamber they led him into was modest, low-ceiled, and absolutely filled with dwarves. Ten more waited inside, each armored like the others, sitting on benches or leaning against the walls. They looked up when he entered and a few gave welcoming nods.
Brag, if that was still the lead dwarf’s name, pulled him toward a bench and slapped down a rough tray of cured meats, dark bread and something that steamed faintly.
"Eat. Sit. Talk."
Luke sat.
Brag clapped his hands together.
"Right! So here’s the thing. We’ve got ourselves a mission. Been sitting on the board for months now, marked as medium-hard. Technically classified twenty-five to thirty, Level-wise, by Guild standards."
Luke choked.
"What? I’m nowhere near that Level!"
Brag waved a hand.
"Yeah, yeah, not the point. We all hover around Level 20 ourselves. Give or take a few. Not like we’re diving in with blades between our teeth. We got prep. Plans. Strategy. It’s been reserved under our names for weeks. Nobody’s taking it but us."
"Still, that’s quite a jump."
"Aye, and it’ll make us rich. And if you join, you get a share. Not a bad deal, right?"
Luke leaned back slightly.
"Depends on what the job is."
Brag grinned and tapped his nose.
"That’s the twist, lad. I’ll tell you, but only if you sign. Contract. Magic-bound. No sharing the job’s details, no selling the info to another team. Standard stuff."
Luke hesitated. His fingers brushed the edge of the bench.
"Why me? I’m not high-Level. Not a great fighter. I’m not even sure you could call me a [Priest] properly. My God doesn’t do... favors on command."
Brag laughed. The room joined him, a thunder of chuckles echoing off stone walls.
"Lad, we got our own Gods. And trust me, they don’t do favors either. At least, not when you want them to."
A female dwarf stepped forward, crossing arms over her armored chest.
Brag nodded at her.
"That’s Suth. She’s a [Team Coach]. I’m a [Captain] myself. We know how to read folk."
Luke raised an eyebrow.
"That’s nice... but maybe not enough to go on?"
Brag’s grin widened.
"Right, right. So here’s the real reason. We both got Skills. Mine’s [Evaluate Usefulness]. Hers is [Talent Finder]. And both of ‘em pinged. Hard. As soon as we laid eyes on you."
Suth smirked.
"So I elbowed him, and he ran out like a mad badger to grab the others."
The room burst into laughter again.
Luke blinked.
He looked at their faces, all wearing various shades of smug and amused.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"So... that was the whole reason, wasn’t it?"
Brag clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off the bench.
"Now you’re getting it, lad. You’ve got something. Don’t know what, don’t care what. But the Skills don’t lie. We’ve used ‘em for years and they don’t go off like that unless there’s a reason."
Luke looked around the room. Every dwarf in it was nodding.
He exhaled.
Maybe they were thick-headed or maybe they were overly proud.
But loyalty radiated off them like heat. They believed in their methods, in each other and for reasons he didn’t yet understand, they believed in him too.
He took another bite of the dark bread.
"Alright. I’ll hear the offer. Just... no more running through walls to find people, please."
Brag slapped the table and roared with laughter.
"No promises, lad. No promises."
Brag produced a magical contract from a pouch at his belt, its parchment marked with glyphs that shimmered faintly even in the dim chamber light. Suth stepped forward, unfurling it on the table with practiced ease.
"Just a simple vow-binding. Once signed, you won’t be able to speak of what we’re about to tell you. Not even hint at it, unless someone was already involved."
Luke bent over the parchment, scanning it. He could read most of the formal runes. A whisper of Xelreth passed through his thoughts, but no warning stirred. Still, he paused.
"Could I break it?"
Brag shrugged.
"Only if you want your tongue to wither off and your lungs to collapse. Temporarily, of course."
Luke gave him a flat look, then signed.
The ink flared gold and the parchment burned into harmless smoke. A tingling sensation prickled in the back of Luke's throat, then vanished.
"Alright. Let's talk gold and stone."
He leaned forward, elbows braced on the table.
"This job isn’t just about monster hunting. Our city, one of the freeholds up north, sent us to claim a hill. Not just for the reward, mind, but for what's under it. Our [Mining Scouts] reported that it's thick with veins. Silver, copper, maybe even traces of mithril. Gems too. Enough to make a whole forge-quarter sing."
Suth took over smoothly, her voice more measured.
"We don’t just want the surface. We’re dwarves, not humans. We think in layers. The plan is to claim it, build into it and found a proper mining town. Underground streets, molten-run forges, the whole lot."
"I’ve seen something like that. A mo- a stronghold I fought in. It was built into the hill, ran deep. The stone walls were fortified."
"Aye? Hells, you might be more useful than we thought."
"We get a share of the mineral rights, a fixed bounty for laying claim to the zone and if the town gets founded, permanent bonuses from the city. It’s good work. Gold today, income tomorrow."
"So. What are the dangers? Monsters? Weird zone effects? What am I walking into?"
Brag grinned.
"Monsters, sure. Loads of them. Low-Level stuff. That’s why the Guild rated the mission 25-30. It’s not about the strength of any one beast, it’s the numbers. You get swarmed, you get eaten. But look at us. Fifteen dwarves, all armored to our asses. Plus you. We’re not worried."
Luke raised an eyebrow.
"What kind of monsters?"
"Slimes."
He blinked.
"Seriously?"
The dwarves chuckled.
"Not all slimes are jokes, lad. Acid Slimes. Poison Slimes. Lava Slimes, even. There’s talk of a few Sewage Slimes too. Nasty buggers."
"That armor you’re wearing... that’s for the slimes?"
"Exactly. This stuff doesn’t corrode, doesn’t catch and doesn’t stink. Not easy to make, not easy to wear. But it lets us get up close."
“And nothing else?”
“Nope. Well, almost. There might be an Elemental or two, but very weak ones. There’s not enough magic on a hill to form one stronger or power it long enough.”
Luke leaned back, thoughtful.
“I fought something like an Elemental once. A Rock Matron. She turned crystalline, right near the end. Hardest thing I’ve ever faced… Damn near killed me."
Silence rippled through the room. The dwarves didn’t laugh this time.
"On a hill?"
Luke nodded.
"We believe you. That’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes the System pulls something strange from the land. We’ve had anomalies too."
Brag piped up.
"But not this time. Our [Scouts] combed the place. No Elementals, no poison clouds, no strange gravity. Just slimes and a few spawn ponds. But otherwise, clean."
Luke glanced between them.
"What about the Summit Champion? Every hill has one."
"Not this one. And yes, I know that sounds like we’re daft. But it’s true. Some places don’t get one, not enough ambient magic. Maybe the System didn’t bother. Or maybe whatever it spawned was killed off ages ago. We’d know if it was still around."
"Best part? Even if it does exist, our contract doesn’t say we have to kill it. We’re just supposed to clear the claim zone. Let the city send a formal team to finish it."
Grumbles came from a few of the dwarves.
"We’d like a crack at it. There’s glory in that."
"And System rewards."
Brag waved them quiet.
"We’re not here for ego. We’re here to finish the job and get paid."
Luke considered all of it. The gear, the professionalism, the unity. They were loud and strange, but they weren’t fools. And they weren’t unskilled.
"What do you expect from me? And what am I being paid?"
Brag grinned again.
"Expectations? Motivate us when you can. Heal what you can. Fight when you can. No more. We believe in our Skills and we believe in our Skills telling us your moment to shine will come. And if you don’t prove useful?"
"You still get paid. A thousand gold, flat. Plus equipment. You want a suit of armor? We’ll fit you. Or… I guess you prefer robes? We have enchanted ones. Or you can skip both and take a share of the spoils."
"That’s generous."
"We believe in investing well."
He thought it over. The uncertainty of it tugged at him, but it was the kind of uncertainty he’d come looking for. Growth, trial and danger without recklessness.
"Alright. One condition."
Brag leaned in.
"Can I get a sword?"
There was a silence.
Then laughter. Huge, braying, hammer-on-anvil laughter that echoed through the chamber.
"Nope! But we’ll give you an axe. One of ours."
Suth winked.
"Blessed by the forge, polished by blood."
Luke chuckled, raising his hands in surrender.
"Fine. I’ll take the axe."
Brag stood up and clapped his hands.
"Then come on, lad. Let’s confirm this negotiation the proper, dwarven way."
"With a contract?"
"With drinks!"
Chapter 21
The headache arrived before the light.
Luke woke with his face buried in rough wool, his limbs sprawled across something too narrow to be a real bed. The first sensation was pressure behind his eye, dull and pulsing like someone was trying to carve a sigil into his skull with a wooden spoon. Then came the smell: stale ale, sweat, and something smoky that clung to the stone walls like memory.
He cracked open one eye.
The dwarven bunkhouse was dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of a shield-lantern in the corner. Bunks were stacked into the walls like drawers in a forge cabinet, most of them snoring. Somewhere to his left, someone let out a prodigious belch. Someone else laughed in their sleep. The sound of a mug falling to the floor and bouncing once echoed like divine punishment.
Luke sat up and immediately regretted it.
The world tilted left, then right, then stabilized into a nauseous equilibrium. His mouth tasted like ash and regret. He hadn’t even drunk that much or so he remembered. But dwarven ale had its own opinions about quantity.
He slid off the bunk and shuffled to the washbasin, which had been blessedly enchanted to trickle cool water. He splashed his face, then drank straight from the spout.
