The Essence Flow

Chapter 30: Off The Books

Over the next few days, Towan and Elliot lingered around the adventurers’ guild, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Lytharos. But hope didn’t pay for food, and Bronze-rank commissions barely paid enough for bread and a guilt sandwich.

To make it worse, ranking up to Plat? Fifty successful missions. Minimum.

At their current pace, they’d achieve it by retirement—if they didn’t starve first.

Most of the available jobs were locked behind higher ranks: bandit raids, cave scouting, dangerous investigations. All the good stuff. All just out of reach.

That evening, the brothers sat cross-legged on the rooftop of the hotel they'd been crashing in—Towan's legs already tingling from sitting too long. The sky was quiet, tinted orange, and the distant clamor of the marketplace below faded into background noise.

Both had their eyes closed, breathing steady, focusing on the pulse of their Essentia flow.

Until one of them—of course—broke it.

“Yo, Elliot,” Towan muttered, cracking one eye open.

Elliot didn’t need to look. He could already feel the stupid idea forming.

“I know that tone,” he sighed. “What are you thinking now?”

Towan smirked. “What if… instead of waiting for a bandit commission we can actually take… we just find a real one and do it ourselves?”

Elliot blinked. “You mean… skip the secretary?”

“Yeah. Just go do it. No pay, no fuss.”

“We won’t get paid that way.”

“The goal’s not money,” Towan pointed out. “It’s finding Lytharos, right? He shows up on these kinds of jobs. If we beat him to one—or cross paths mid-fight…”

Elliot paused. That wasn’t the worst idea. Risky, yes. Possibly illegal… also yes.

But effective?

“…You know what?” he said, standing up and stretching. “Let’s do it.”

Towan grinned. “Now that’s the spirit.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “If we get arrested for freelancing bandit murder, I’m blaming you.”

They made their way to the adventurers’ guild just before sunset, slipping through the crowded main hall and toward the commission board.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Dozens of parchment sheets fluttered slightly in the warm breeze from the open windows. Towan leaned in, eyes scanning each one.

“Hmm…” he muttered. “They all look the same. Bandits here, bandits there... How are we supposed to know which one Lytharos might take?”

Then he said it louder—too loud:

“Why are there so many bandits around here anyway?”

A sudden hush fell around them.

Some adventurers looked up.

Others flinched.

Someone muttered, “Rookies…”

Another: “Doesn’t he know what’s going on?”

Towan blinked, confused, but unbothered.

Elliot, however, clenched his jaw. “Tsk.” He could feel the judgment like static in the air.

Then a voice—calm, friendly—cut through it.

“Just became an adventurer, huh?”

They turned. A man stood nearby, tall and broad-shouldered, a massive longsword strapped across his back. His armor was scratched and dented. Bruises trailed down his arms like trophies.

Towan nodded. “Yeah? How’d you know?”

The man chuckled. “That kind of question gives it away. Everyone knows the corruption zone’s pushing bandits toward the outer cities. Stoneveil’s just the most vulnerable. The bandits get rich stealing, and no one's been able to push them back properly.”

Towan’s eyes widened. “Oh… makes sense.”

Elliot stepped in, his tone unusually polite, formal. “May we know your name, kind sir?”

Towan glanced at him, confused. That tone was Elliot’s “something’s off” voice.

The man smiled. “Name’s Karn. Most just call me the Wall.”

Towan’s eyebrows rose. “That’s kinda cool.”

“I try,” Karn said with a grin. “Listen… I overheard you two earlier. You’re looking to hunt bandits, right? Trouble is, at Bronze rank, you’ll never get the commissions worth anything. But…”

He leaned closer.

“…if you want real experience, I’ve got something lined up. Slightly off the books. You tag along, get some action, learn what it’s really like out there. No pressure.”

Towan looked ready to agree instantly.

Elliot, though, held his tongue. His eyes locked onto Karn’s bruises. Something about them felt wrong. They weren’t defensive bruises. Not random wounds. They were clean, controlled… like someone who fought to hurt.

“Sounds good to me. I’m Elliot, and he’s Towan,” the boy replied, voice calm.

No one gives information for free, he thought. But we might learn something first.

“Great,” Karn said, turning on his heel. “Follow me.”

They walked through the bustling streets of Stoneveil, Karn leading the way with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to take up space. His bruises caught flickers of torchlight as they passed, painting him in patches of shadow and scar.

“You boys remind me of myself,” Karn said. “Curious. Green. Hungry for action.”

He pointed to a tavern across the street. “That place? Never accept commissions from the guy with the eye patch. He once sent a team to clear a ‘rat problem’—turned out to be a cave full of mutated dire rats. Half the squad never came back.”

Towan blinked. “Noted.”

“Also,” Karn continued, “never trust a client who offers too much gold upfront. If they’re paying big, it’s because they expect you not to come back.”

“Useful advice,” Elliot said, tone neutral. But his eyes were on Karn’s boots. Polished. Too clean for someone claiming to fight bandits daily.

“And if you’re chasing bandits? Always look for the broken patterns—missing cargo crates, bribed gate guards, shopkeepers who ‘don’t see anything’ too often.”

“Like that alley back there?” Elliot asked, casually gesturing behind them.

Karn gave a small laugh. “Exactly. Good eye.”

But Elliot wasn’t smiling. That alley was a test. And Karn passed it too fast.