6 Like Metal, Forced to Fit a Mould

The scent of pinewood and overripe fruit filled the square, the constant hocking of merchants a static background one couldn't escape. As it was mid-spring, the weather was exactly warm enough to be comfortable, the chills of winter swallowed by the warming winds. Attractive colors caught the eye of passerby, unknowingly leading those whom weren't accustomed to scams into purchasing something past their value.

Of course, the main attraction was a large, towering building. It was mostly made of dark, expensive wood, with stone pillars supporting parts that jutted from the side like tumors. A large sign was hung above the tall doorway, the common Diotla script titling the building as "Sailhads Guild" in bold, silver lettering. Sailhads was, of course, the name of the town where this guild was based. Rather than an official knight system, the government of Genkai created a guild system to enlist the common folk to protect towns, allowing them to put money into things other than protection. It worked mostly well, but as the government had not put restrictions on the power of the guilds, they often took advantage of their unchecked strength to scare citizens not affiliated with them into submission. Not that this stopped any of those same citizens from attempting to join those guilds, if anything it enforced the idea that they should.

But of all the Genkai guilds, Sailhads was one of the more well known. Both for its size, and for the fact that it was near the slums. The slums, or what was referred to as the slums, were a large area of Genkai of which those who weren't fortunate enough to make a profit were kept. Black markets, shady deals, and criminals filled the streets, so much so that a physical wall was made to keep them out of Sailhads. So much so that it was a sport to hunt the ones that made it past that wall. It was a cruel fate to the unfortunate, but it wasn't as if anyone hadn't complained. Evigt, one of the oligarchs, was in fact a leader of a campaign to deal with them accordingly. But as many profited from the suffering of those in the slums, the only ones that listened were those who were feeding off her wallet.

In short, the guild was desirable in size, and large amounts of funding were given to keep the slums in check.

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"Gods and goddess above, it's been an hour already!"

A man complained. His hair shone with a metallic copper, misplaced in the bright colors that many others had. Digging his palms into his steel-gray eyes, he pressed until he could see patterns swirl in his lids.

Really, even the masked weirdo next to him was asleep. That should be sign enough that this system was flawed! This was his breaking point, he would topple the government, rebuild a kingdom from the rubble, and he'd behead all the-

"Sir Devyn Ciadil? Your application has been approved. We apologize for the inconvenience."

A girl dressed in uniform interrupted his thoughts.

"Fuck, you'd think with all the funding that gets pumped into this damned place, the waiting times would be shortened."

Devyn grumbled. He did have other things to do, after all. Really, he should have been the priority over all these poor idiots.

"Um, if we can do anything to fix our mistake, please let us know, Sir Ciadil. Ah, while I'm here... you. Er, Izivel. You've been approved too. They finally figured out how to read your writing..."

Continued the guild worker.

As the masked figure beside him stirred, he could assume that they were 'Izivel'. As it was a name most often used by older women, it seemed strange for someone so seemingly young to be called that. While he couldn't see their face, judging from her figure she wasn't any older than him. But as from under their cloak he could see strands of white hair, it was either a cruel joke by her parents, or just a really short old person.

"Now, if you'll follow me, then I can take both of you to receive your licenses."

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The three of them were led down a hallway, and up some twisted stairs. Twisted was the only way to describe them, as they seemed overly complex for no reason. Devyn wondered why they didn't just invest in teleportation between floors, as it would be easier and less wasteful than using up all this wood. He almost felt sorry for the tree that had the be used to create these stairs.

Suddenly, they stopped short in front of a metal door with an intricate design. It looked brand new compared to the rest of the building, as if someone had ripped out a mansion's master room and implanted it in a century-old slum house. This was probably where all those funds were ending up, the greedy bastard who ran the guild was just wasting it on this one room. But not even the oligarchs could govern how Sailhads spent their money. If they decided to throw a fit about their funds being lessened, then all of the slums would take advantage of it.

Entering the room, even the door was incomparable to the shining decor littered across the place, the most valuable of it being centered around a cow. No, that wasn't right. The cow, in fact, was the guild master of Sailhads, Girhald, dressed in the skinned pelt of a Minotaur. Or at least that's what it looked like to Devyn.

Of course, he was unimpressed, but what did surprise him was the lack of reaction from the masked girl that had come with them. Usually, those of lower status would be stunned by even this much. Was it possible she was a noble in disguise? He would keep this possibility in mind for later, as it may be worthwhile to get closer to her.

"Ah, it seems you two are finally here."

A smile stretched across Girhald's face reluctantly, as if it was having an issue supporting the weight of the fat on his face.

"You say that as if you didn't keep me waiting."

Without waiting for permission, Devyn sat on one of the velvet cushioned seats that were facing towards Girhald's desk.

"A-hmm. Water under the bridge, Sir Ciadil. We simply had needs of... other issues... to attend to."

His beady eyes flickered to the masked girl, who had seated herself next to Devyn, indicating that she was the 'other issue'. She didn't seem to notice or care, as she just kicked up her feet on an expensive-looking table, causing Girhald to flinch.

"Hmm! Anyway, as you've been kept so long, I'd love to just give you your license..."

"So? Just give it then."

"Er. Hmm, well... there was an issue that came up. Your father, he, hum... heard about, hmm, you applying here."

Devyn's eyes turned daggers. What he meant was, he wagged his tail to get an extra bite of gold, and tattled.

"A-hmm! D-don't look so upset, Sir Devyn! Y-your father, well, he didn't say you couldn't join. He just, hmm... well, wanted to make sure you had a friend, yes!"

Devyn immediately saw where this was going.

"No..."

He pleaded. His father, he wouldn't. He wouldn't do something so marginally embarrassing as that, would he? He wouldn't have hired a babysitter, would he? He wouldn't. This must be a joke; a bad one, for sure, but at least it would soften the cushion of being flat out denied. So why wasn't Girhald saying it was a joke?

"Er, hmm, I hope Miss Izivel isn't upset by this prospect either, but he was impressed by your... abilities. And, hmm, since you are also applying around the same time, yes, he, hmm... offered payment, if you want, to be sure our Sir Ciadil wasn't, hmm, getting into too much danger."