Chương 12: Dust Off Your Boots

By the time the city walls of the capital came into view, Tessa's shoulders had started to ache from tension she hadn't even realized she was still carrying. The return trip had been slow, mostly for Larry's sake. His injuries weren't bad enough to stop him from traveling, but between the bruises, the limping, and the occasional stubborn squawk when a joint flared up, she hadn't pushed him too hard. They'd taken the long way around any trouble and avoided the main roads.

No bandits, no monsters, no strange mana surges. Just worn paths, early autumn wind, and the sound of Larry's claws tapping out a familiar rhythm on packed dirt. And now—finally—home. The capital rose in uneven tiers, built on layered stone and history. Smoke from chimneys curled against the overcast sky, and the familiar din of street vendors and distant forge-hammers bled out to meet them. Tessa exhaled through her nose, not quite a sigh, but close. They'd made it.

She guided Larry through the gates with a flash of her courier token and a tired nod to the guards. No one stopped them. The city swallowed them easily, just another returning face in a sea of travelers. As they passed down into the stable lanes, Tessa glanced back toward the main road—toward her house tucked two districts over, where her bed and her spare boots and all her overused crafting scraps waited. Her back ached for that bed.

Her eyes stung just thinking about a pillow that didn't smell like sweat and saddle leather. But first things first. She reached the city stables.

"You're not subtle," she muttered, offering Larry a faint smile.

"Yes, you were very brave. And yes, you deserve all the treats." He gave a short, throaty chirp and limped into his usual stall without complaint. The stablehand on duty gave her a wave and offered to check his wounds, and Tessa left behind a small coin pouch for fresh meat and restock fees. Larry would get looked after. Clean hay, water, space to sprawl and sulk. She gave his feathers one last pat before stepping back onto the cobbled street. Now for the other part.

Tessa headed toward the Adventuring Guild, her satchel bouncing softly at her side. Her bones ached, and her brain had started rehearsing her walk straight from the front door to her mattress. But money came first. Always had. Always would. Inside the guild, the scent of old parchment, sweat, and tavern spice hit her like a welcome-home slap. The hall was buzzing—early evening foot traffic, adventurers lingering after reports, gear clattering, boots scuffing on floorboards worn smooth by years of weary feet.

The familiar chaos of people who survived by planning for unpredictability. Tessa moved toward the front desk, already reaching into her satchel for the sealed proof of delivery token. The receptionist behind the counter glanced up— —and broke into a grin.

"Well look who is back," said the man, the same clerk who'd signed her up on her first day, all bright green eyes, ink-stained fingers, and earrings shaped like tiny daggers.

"You returned. Love to see it" Tessa smiled and dropped the delivery token onto the desk.

"Scroll was delivered. But the 0utpost was a bit of a mess. A dungeon appeared." He picked up the token and tapped it lightly against a small polished disc on his desk. It flared briefly with a quiet ding, confirming completion.

"Guild ledger logged it," he said, flipping open a bound register with his other hand.

"Vire turned dungeon before your delivery?" Tessa nodded.

"It did. Closed again now. Not sure what happened, but the soldiers were handling it." He gave her a longer look now, his smile fading just a touch.

"You alright?"

"Little bruised. Not bad. My mount got banged up worse than I did."

"Still, good to see you upright, and congrats to the levels," he said, and then returned to his usual tone.

"Alright, coin time." He counted out the reward—more than enough to make the job worth it. Tessa's fingers closed over the warm weight of the pouch with quiet satisfaction. The man leaned forward slightly.

"Got some new postings if you want to line up another job after some sleep." Tessa laughed under her breath.

"Maybe. After I stop smelling like dirt. grass and panic."

"Fair," he said, slipping the register closed.

"Rest up, courier." Tessa gave him a mock salute, turned on her heel, and finally— finally —started walking toward home. She didn't look back. Her coin was earned. Larry was resting. The Cube was still tucked in her satchel, cool and quiet. And she had a bed waiting. Tessa's workbench was cluttered, loud, and perfect.

Half the coin from her last job had already vanished into materials: rivets, better leather, more durable stitching wire, a fresh jar of sealing wax, and a few rare scraps of chitin she'd bartered off a beetle-hunter in the northern quarter. Every piece of it sat laid out across her workspace now, catching the morning light as she worked a whetstone across a bone-edged tool. Her fingers moved on muscle memory—cut, measure, burnish—while her thoughts replayed every second of that fight in the outpost.

The way Larry had turned into a feathered weapon. The way the armor she'd made had mattered. She'd seen the numbers. The experience points. The blood. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. She adjusted a metal ring and slid it into place against a chest plate mock-up designed specifically for Larry's front. The old armor had worked, but it had been cobbled together—leather, fur padding, basic straps. And it had been made with the intent to match her saddel and support it.

Now she was reinforcing the curve across his chest with shaped plates, subtly spiked at the front where he tended to collide first. The design wasn't pretty. But it would hurt like hell to bite into and get rammed with. She adjusted one last strap on the armor, then stepped back to check it under proper light. The plates sat low and tight along the chest, overlapping like scales.

The spikes weren't dramatic—they didn't jut out like some bloodthirsty war mount—but they were sharp enough to punish whatever tried to sink its teeth into Larry again. She packed it carefully into a padded cloth wrap, tucked her tools into her satchel, and slung the bundle over her shoulder. The weight dragged at her arms immediately. The streets were busy as usual, a blur of early-afternoon movement.

Merchants shouting about fruits from the coast, a pair of kids racing along the gutter, someone hammering on the roof half a block over. Tessa passed them all with her head slightly down and her pace steady. She tried not to jostle the armor too much—she'd spent too many hours on the plates to let someone's carelessness scratch them up. By the time she reached the stables, her shoulder was aching and her shirt stuck lightly to her back. The stablehand waved her through with a nod.

Tessa made her way to the back pen where Larry was kept. He perked up the moment he spotted her. He let out a low, curious chirp and took a few steps forward, tilting his head at the bundle she carried.

"Oh, you know what this is," Tessa muttered, dropping the armor at his feet with a solid thump.

"And no, you don't get to pose until I'm sure it fits." Larry flared his feather-ruff and stepped forward, visibly trying not to look too eager. She worked quickly, fitting the harness over his shoulders and adjusting the straps. The new armor settled into place across his chest like it had always belonged there. The plates curved close and clean, overlapping where needed, tight across the sternum. The spike sat low, just between where a predator's mouth might aim if it lunged for his throat.

Larry moved the moment she stepped back, stretching out one leg, then the other, twisting slightly at the torso. The armor flexed with him, no slipping, no binding. He gave an approving grrk and hopped once in place, wings spreading slightly with the motion. The plates gave off a soft metallic hiss as they settled. Tessa crossed her arms and took a long look. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't flashy. But it would do damage. And it would protect him. She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

"You're not pretty," she said to the armor, "but you'll get the job done." Larry strutted a few steps across the pen, clearly enjoying the feel of the gear. Tessa shook her head.

"Alright, alright. Don't get cocky." But she couldn't stop watching him—how the armor moved with his steps, how the design she'd labored over wasn't just theory anymore. It was real. It worked. And she'd made it. Time moved strangely when every day started with a map and ended with a delivery. From sleepy roadside inns to overgrown footpaths, weaving between wandering caravans and empty outposts, she and Larry cut paths across the empire's veins.

Her job was simple: take the thing, bring it to where it needed to be, and don't die doing it. So far, she'd managed all three. She rode through drizzling mornings and sun-baked afternoons, navigating hill passes, rickety bridges, and dirt roads that looked like they'd given up being roads entirely. Sometimes she rode for hours without seeing another soul. Other times, she had to duck behind cover while Larry fought off things that thought they looked easy. They were wrong. Larry had grown fast.

Not just in size—though he took up more stall space now than he had when they started—but in power. He'd learned how to fight like he meant it. Slash, stomp, twist, leap. There were fewer beast now willing to press their luck when he hissed. He'd clawed his way up to level 53 over those three months, feathers sharper, movements tighter, talons like curved blades.

And every time he fought, every time something tried to take them down and failed, Tessa gained experience points right alongside him—armor worn in combat meant points for her class. She'd climbed to level 29. Every few days, she returned to the capital. Rion always had a job ready.

"You're back early again," he said once, handing her a new job.

"You're starting to mess with my calendar."

"Start paying me in calendar pages, then," she replied, rubbing dust from her sleeve. Rion never asked too many questions. He knew how to choose routes that are a great fit for Larry. And he never offered her anything flashy. Just solid work. Reliable coin. At night, when the stars were out and the only sound was Larry's breathing nearby, Tessa would sometimes pull out the Cube. Twist a few rows. Listen to the clicks. It never did anything new. No light, no hum, no dramatic system prompt.

Just the same weight in her hand, the same faint warmth if she held it too long. She didn't know why she kept trying. Maybe she just liked the ritual. She arrived at the Adventuring Guild with a light pack, her satchel slung over one shoulder, and a set of well-fitted light armor laced snug across her chest and arms. Padded leather reinforced with stitched paneling, easy to move in, easy to run in. The guild hall was already busy. A group of fresh-faced novices stood by the board arguing about escort jobs.

A courier she vaguely recognized leaned against the wall, counting coin with a pleased look on her face. The same scent of ink, dust, and too much sweat hung in the air. Tessa made her way toward the front desk. Rion glanced up as she approached. He gave her a nod and set aside the stack of papers he'd been flipping through.

"Morning," she said, tapping her fingers lightly on the counter.

"Got anything for me?"

"No jobs for you today," Rion said. Then, after a pause, "I have something else." Tessa raised an eyebrow.

"Something else?"

"A favor," he said, tone even.

"Personal. Not logged through the guild." Her hand stilled.

"That's… unusual." Rion looked around, as if checking that no one else was listening, then pulled a sealed scroll and a small, wrapped parcel from beneath the counter. Both were plain. No markings. No wax from any house, no guild sigil. He placed them on the counter between them.

"It's a delivery. Just like any other. Scroll and package, to a man named Jorran. Settlement southeast of the Ridgewell crossing." Tessa narrowed her eyes.

"Are you allowed to hire people from the adventuring guild without the guild getting a cut?"

"No," Rion said.

"Which is why I'm paying you more than the normal rate. Significantly more." She glanced down at the items. They didn't look like anything special. Still… a favor from Rion? By the person who should be the most by-the-books in the building?

"Why not use someone else?" she asked.

"Because you're shown to be reliable," he said simply.

"And you don't talk." Tessa frowned. It wasn't untrue. But it didn't make her feel any better. After a long pause, she picked up the scroll and the package, weighing them in her hands. Light. Nothing ticking.

"And if I say no?"

"I'll give the job to someone else," Rion said.

"But I'd rather it be you." She looked at him again, studied his face for some trace of motive. There was nothing there but that same composed, unreadable focus. She'd never had a reason not to trust him. But still...

"Fine," she said, tucking both items into her satchel.

"But if this gets me into trouble, I'm telling them everything."

"Noted," Rion replied, already returning to the stack of papers. Tessa stepped away from the desk, the scroll and parcel pressing gently against her side through the bag's lining. She didn't know why the request made her uneasy. But it did.