Brooding Routine

Mikhail Valhir’s first day as an official member of the Adventurer’s Guild was everything he’d dreamed of—and yet, not quite what he expected.

As he approached the guildhall, his eyes widened in awe at the powerful adventurers moving in and out of the building. These were the people he aspired to be like. Their weapons gleamed, their armor shone, and their presence was commanding.

But then Mikhail actually looked at the guildhall itself. The place was… well, a bit of a mess. The wooden sign out front hung on by a single rusty nail, swaying with every slight breeze. The paint on the walls was faded and peeling, revealing patches of bare wood beneath. The windows were grimy, letting in light through cracks in the glass, and the roof looked like it hadn’t seen a repair in decades, with missing shingles and suspicious gaps that probably let rain in on bad days. Inside wasn’t much better—the furniture was mismatched, with wobbly tables and chairs that creaked with the weight of an average person, let alone a heavily armored adventurer. The floorboards groaned underfoot, and the walls were adorned with faded posters that had clearly seen better days. If the guild members themselves were paragons of strength and heroism, the building was their scrappy, underfunded headquarters that had somehow seen them through it all.

But Mikhail didn’t mind. To him, this was just part of the charm, another obstacle that the true heroes of Fharamun had to overcome. Plus, he had bigger things on his mind—his debut as the dark and mysterious lone wolf of the guild!

Sadly, there were no jobs available for him at the moment. The job board was bare, save for a few notes about mundane errands that didn’t seem worth the trouble. The job about dealing with the undead had been successfully completed about two days ago. So, with nothing else to do, Mikhail resorted to the plan he’d been preparing for: brooding in a corner.

He found the perfect spot—a shadowy nook near the back of the hall where the light from the grimy windows didn’t quite reach. He covered his spear, Stormpiercer, in ragged cloth to give it that “relic of a dark past” vibe, then leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, staring intensely at nothing in particular. He was ready, striking the perfect pose he’d practiced in front of the mirror so many times. Outside, he might have seemed calm and distant, but inside, he was practically vibrating with excitement. This is it, he thought. This is where it begins!

But as the hours ticked by, reality set in. Mikhail quickly realized the one flaw in his plan—a lone wolf who broods in a corner isn’t exactly proactive. It's the type of character that required others to come to it.

Nobody approached him. Nobody noticed him. The adventurers in the hall were too busy with their own conversations, checking gear, and swapping stories about their latest quests. Mikhail’s carefully cultivated aura of dark mystery wasn’t drawing anyone in.

Determined not to be defeated so easily, he decided to up the ante. He slipped out of the guildhall and returned a few minutes later, now draped in a dark, hooded cloak. It added just the right amount of intrigue, he thought, and he resumed his spot in the corner, crossing his arms even more tightly and lowering his head so the hood cast shadows over his face.

Still, nothing. No one even glanced his way.

Undeterred, Mikhail left again and returned with an eye patch covering one eye and bandages wrapped around his arms and hands, as if he’d just come back from some epic battle. Surely, he thought, this will do the trick!

But again, the adventurers continued to ignore him. His dramatic entrance barely earned a raised eyebrow from anyone.

Feeling his enthusiasm start to wane, Mikhail decided to take a more direct approach. He was willing to sacrifice the brooding routine if it meant being able to interact with others. He spotted a group of adventurers chatting nearby and steeled himself to walk over. This was it—he’d stride up to them, say something, probably cool and dark, whatever that meant.

But as he got closer, the nerves kicked in. His heart pounded, and his throat went dry. The adventurers were talking and laughing amongst themselves, and Mikhail suddenly felt like an intruder. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come.

After what felt like an eternity, he simply turned around and slunk back to his corner, utterly deflated. He was really good at the loner part of the trope it seems.

Back in his corner, he resumed his pose, though this time his heart wasn’t really in it. The ragged cloth covering Stormpiercer slipped a little, revealing a bit of the spear’s gleaming surface beneath, but Mikhail didn’t bother fixing it. He just sighed

After what felt like an eternity in walked three figures, two of which who immediately caught his eye because of their renown. The first was an attractive, tanned woman with a mane of blonde hair, dressed in a form-fitting suit and heels, with a military coat draped over her shoulders. The second was a girl with black hair tied in a short ponytail, wearing just a sports top and baggy cargo pants.

Alicia Sandmane and Livya Mihnair, two famous members of the guild.

The third person, however, felt out of place—a young man with short, spiky black hair, wearing a t-shirt that read, "I visited Munkarshan and all I got is this lousy t-shirt." He was chatting with Livya about how cold the water was when she hosed him down.

As they approached the front desk, Mikhail strained to overhear their conversation. Alicia was talking to the man about joining the guild, and as they filled out the form, Livya casually dropped a bombshell after reading what the guy wrote.

"So not just a Ghoul,” she said, her tone light as if discussing the weather. “but a Nachzehrer? Damn. You wonder you ate those undead knights that fast.”

Mikhail’s eyes widened, his heart practically skipping a beat. A Nachzehrer? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Nachzehrer Ghouls were the stuff of nightmares—creatures of immense power, feared by all nations. They were the embodiment of every dark and edgy trope he tried to emulate. And here was one, right in front of him, casually filling out a guild form like it was no big deal!

Alicia and Liv didn’t seem bothered by the revelation at all. In fact, they were still joking around with En, whose name Mikhail just overheard, who seemed entirely unfazed by their nonchalant attitudes. But to Mikhail, this was a huge deal. This is it, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. This is my chance!

He desperately wanted to approach them, to introduce himself, maybe even strike up a conversation with En and see if he could find the rival he’d been searching for. His mind raced with possibilities—maybe they’d spar, maybe they’d exchange cool and cryptic words, or maybe, just maybe, En would acknowledge him as a worthy rival!

With newfound determination, Mikhail pushed himself off the wall and took a step forward. But then his nerves kicked in. What if he said something stupid? What if they thought he was weird? What if they didn’t even notice him?

He hesitated, his foot freezing mid-step as a wave of shyness washed over him. He was so close, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, but they just wouldn’t come out. Mikhail glanced over at En, who was still chatting with Liv and Alicia, seemingly unaware of the internal struggle happening just a few feet away.

Mikhail’s shoulders slumped, and he quietly shuffled back to his corner, feeling deflated.

"Young sir," En called out, his voice gentle yet carrying the weight of ages, "Wouldst thou have words with me?"

Mikhail froze in place, his eyes widening as the attention of the entire group shifted to him. Alicia, ever the lively one, grinned widely and waved.

“If it isn’t Mimi!” she exclaimed, her voice full of cheer. Mikhail winced slightly at the nickname, which he absolutely detested but hadn't quite managed to protest against. She turned to En and Liv, still smiling. "He’s another newbie here at the guild, came just yesterday!"

Mikhail felt like the ground was about to swallow him whole. He had to say something, anything, but his mind was a whirlwind of anxiety. Before he could think, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I-I challenge you to a duel!” His voice cracked on the last word.

There was an awkward silence that followed, with everyone just staring at him. Panic set in, and he quickly tried to recover, clearing his throat and forcing his voice deeper. “I challenge you to a duel!” he repeated, louder this time. Yes, a duel, a staple of early meetings between future rivals! But he was convinced he had botched it, and didn't know how to proceed.

To Mikhail’s utter shock, En didn’t laugh or dismiss him. Instead, the ghoul nodded. “Verily, I accept thy challenge,” En replied. “Let us see how our spirits fare in this contest of arms.”

Mikhail’s brain practically short-circuited. He agreed?! He had expected rejection, or maybe a mocking laugh, but not this. Not a calm, confident acceptance. Now he had to go through with it.

Before he knew it, they had moved to an empty lot near the guild. Alicia and Liv, ever supportive and clearly enjoying the situation, had grabbed some snacks and settled in to watch. They were cheerful, waving to both of them.

“Have fun, boys!” Alicia called out, grinning. “But don’t go too wild, okay? Anything we can't treat with first aid we'll have to cut off!”

En seemed entirely unfazed by the situation, standing calmly as he waited for Mikhail to make the first move. He carried the air of someone who had seen countless battles and had nothing left to prove, while Mikhail... Mikhail was sweating bullets. What did I get myself into? he thought, trying to keep his nerves from showing.

A fucking Nachzehrer—a creature of legend, feared by all. And here Mikhail was, challenging him to a duel like it was some kind of game. His bravado was quickly evaporating. He could already see himself roasted like a chicken and devoured.

But there was no backing out now. This was it—the moment to prove himself, to live up to the tropes he idolized. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves as he gripped Stormpiercer. The spear thrummed with energy, but Mikhail knew he’d have to be careful. One wrong move, and this could end very badly for him.

“Ready thyself,” En said, his tone polite but with an edge of formality that made it clear he wasn’t taking this lightly. “The first move is thine.”

Mikhail swallowed hard, steeling himself. Okay, here goes nothing, he thought, trying to summon the confidence he’d practiced so many times in front of a mirror.

With a burst of energy, he charged forward, Stormpiercer crackling with electricity as he aimed a swift thrust at En. His heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was it—the moment of truth.

There was a bit of wind whipping through the empty lot, and a stray piece of paper was carried along by the gusts. It fluttered across the ground, unnoticed, until it skidded right under En's foot just as he was about to move to defend against Mikhail’s first strike.

Mikhail lunged forward, Stormpiercer crackling with energy, aiming for what he hoped would be the first and last blow. But just as En was about to step aside, his foot slipped on the paper—a printed article by Astrid Mercury, of all things—and he lost his balance completely. The momentary stumble was all it took, and before anyone could register what had happened, En’s head went flying clean off his shoulders.

There was a collective gasp. Mikhail’s eyes went wide in shock as he stood frozen in place, staring at the now headless En.

“Ah,” he uttered, his voice barely a whisper.

“Ah,” echoed Liv and Alicia, though they were far less shocked, exchanging glances as if this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

En’s body toppled to the ground with a dull thud, leaving behind a tense silence.

Mikhail’s brain scrambled to process what he’d just done.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he let out a strangled cry before turning away, curling into a ball on the ground. His mind raced with all the possible consequences—his adventuring career was over before it even began, and worse, he was definitely going to jail! Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the snot as he sobbed uncontrollably.

I wanna go home... he thought.

In the midst of his meltdown, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Without thinking, he reached out, accepted the tissue offered to him, and blew his nose loudly. “Th-thanks,” he mumbled through his sobs, not even questioning where the tissue came from.

Then it hit him—wait, what? He turned around, his tear-streaked face meeting the sight of En’s headless body standing beside him, casually holding out another tissue. Mikhail’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.

En’s body, seemingly unfazed by its lack of a head, calmly bent down, picked up his own severed head and placed it back on his neck. There was a brief moment where the head wobbled a bit before it settled into place, good as new.

“Well met!” En declared, as if nothing unusual had occurred. “Thy strike was most masterful, young one.”

Mikhail’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled to form words, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of En back to normal as if nothing had happened. He managed to sputter out a few incoherent sounds, pointing at En in utter disbelief.

Understanding Mikhail’s confusion, En chuckled softly. “Worry not, lad. I am undead, as you see. Such minor inconveniences are hardly fatal to one such as myself.”

Mikhail stared at En, his mind racing. The sheer intensity of the situation was too much for him to handle, and his eyes rolled back as he fainted, muttering, “That’s cool...” before collapsing in a heap.

En looked down at the unconscious Mikhail, a small smile playing on his lips. “He shall make for a fine rival, methinks,” he mused, before turning to Liv and Alicia, who were now both laughing and clapping, thoroughly entertained by the entire ordeal.