The Future Is Bright, but There Is No Tomorrow

The next morning, the Ferrara Adventuring Company, freshly stocked with supplies, set out for Suzail with Aaron and Eleanor.

The aloof Cleric had changed back into her freshly laundered robes and put on her face covering, returning to her usual self. After discussing the Ferrara Adventuring Company with Aaron, she had no desire to talk much with people so cunning and so short on scruples.

Ferrara and Montero, on the other hand, seemed to have realized that Aaron was genuinely easy to get along with—or perhaps they had fallen under the sway of his extraordinary charm. They had been on the road for only a few minutes when Ferrara came alongside him and asked in a tone every man understood, "Well, my lord Viscount? Did you get anywhere?"

The mercenary leader winked, looking faintly ridiculous. He had to be over thirty, perhaps even forty. But whatever his age, as long as he was not too old to have lost interest in such things, mercenaries tended to talk about the same few subjects: women, life, money, and gossip.

"What, you think she's some bunny girl serving drinks at a big inn in Zambia? That afterward I can just pull up my trousers, toss her a few gold coins, and call it a night?" Aaron raised an eyebrow and spread his hands with easy familiarity. "Come on! She's not a priestess of Lady Firehair! She's not going to pay me!"

"Hahahahahaha!" The mercenaries, who had all been listening for their viscount's "good news," burst out laughing together. Their laughter filled the sunlit spring road.

"She'd just take that warhammer and give you one gentle tap, solving that particular problem for good." Aaron grinned. "Want to try it? I'll ask Miss Eleanor. Everyone's favorite kind of service: free!"

The mercenaries stopped laughing. The Rogue from earlier instinctively pressed his legs together.

Eleanor obligingly picked up her warhammer and spun it twice in her hand.

Aaron and Eleanor exchanged a glance. Their little performance had probably ensured that Ferrara and the others would not discuss what had happened between them again.

Otherwise, once that sort of talk started, it would never end.

"All right, all right. But my lord Viscount, you're more innocent than I expected. Had a romance you'd rather forget? Or are you already engaged? You don't look it." Ferrara promptly moved to a new subject. His eyes swept over Aaron's fingers and found the family ring on his index finger.

At that, Eleanor could not help listening more closely.

"It isn't as if no one wants to be a viscountess. Unfortunately, my title... at most, it lets me attend the royal assembly in Suzail once a year." Aaron laughed at himself. "Once they learn my circumstances, they gradually drift away. After all, I'm the last Viscount Salian."

"Your..." Ferrara hesitated. He was clearly interested in Aaron's family affairs, especially after what he had heard from the innkeeper and the others. "Was your father an Earl?"

"No. My grandfather was an Earl." Aaron gave a derisive snort. "He performed badly during the Tuigan invasion, so Azoun IV stripped him of his title. Of the whole family, only my father, who still serves with the Purple Dragon Knights, kept a viscount's title. The rest were forbidden to use the name Salian and exiled east to the Great Swamp. If you came from Zambia, you must have passed it."

"That's no place to live. Lady Luck above, may they be safe." Montero broke in, still curious. "But why are you the last Salian?"

"Hmph." Aaron snorted again, but said no more.

Ferrara shot Montero a look. The shrewd mercenary leader knew when to stop.

"Because in Cormyr, marquess, viscount, and baronet are subsidiary titles," Eleanor said, twisting the knife. "They're attached to higher titles: marquess to duke, viscount to earl, and baronet to baron. They can't be inherited. Their holders keep them only while they live. His lordship's son won't be a viscount, so the prospect of becoming his viscountess is naturally less appealing."

Aaron's mouth twitched. He fixed Eleanor with a pointed look.

You're undermining me?

That's what you get for what you did last night! Eleanor silently shaped the words with her lips, a blush flashing across her face.

So Eleanor was not entirely saintly. She had a little taste for revenge, too.

Even better! Aaron laughed to himself.

As Slaanesh liked to say, tears were fine, laughter was fine. It was when you got neither that you had to worry!

Suzail was not far from the Kalan Inn. If nothing delayed them, they would reach the city by three or four that afternoon and enter Cormyr's capital.

Ferrara and his companions gradually relaxed. They were nearing one of the kingdom's more prosperous regions. Forests grew scarcer along the road, fields more plentiful, and guard posts more frequent. Patrols organized by the nearby villages could be seen as well.

Across the Realms, monsters abounded. Countless peoples and creatures inhabited the mountains, forests, grasslands, swamps, rivers, and wilds, and any one of them might threaten human lives. Every village therefore organized its own militia and patrols to keep the peace.

Unlike most countries in the Realms, Cormyr had a powerful army and an impressive corps of war wizards. Its people were proud to be Cormyrians. When a village came under attack, its inhabitants could count on the Cormyrian army coming to their aid.

But the catastrophe two years earlier and the Goblin war a few months ago had cost the Cormyrians their beloved king and greatly weakened the kingdom's army. Villages had since strengthened their defenses, and their people were especially wary of outsiders.

Aaron's presence solved much of that problem. As soon as the villagers saw the purple dragon emblem on his surcoat, they relaxed, smiled, and waved the party through.

Ferrara and Montero kept smiling too. Aaron had spared them a great deal of trouble. They no longer even needed to send out scouts; they could simply follow the road.

"That's enough about me. What about you, Mr. Ferrara?" Aaron asked. "You're at least twice my age. Why haven't you considered settling down?" Since Ferrara and Montero kept taking an interest in him, he decided to turn the conversation around.

"Just Ferrara will do, my lord Viscount." The mercenary leader stroked his beard and sighed. "I'm an adventurer. Isn't settling down and taking a wife a bit of a luxury for an adventurer?"

"I know some mercenaries can buy themselves a place after they retire, serving on a patrol or as town guards." Ferrara pointed to a few young people patrolling nearby under two veterans. "But you know those positions mostly go to local adventurers when they retire. An outsider like me can forget it... Besides, that isn't the life I want."

"What sort of life do you want?" Aaron asked, intrigued.

Ferrara was a second-tier Elite fighter. Fighters might be common as dirt in the Realms, but his Elite-level ability was enough to land him a position as a patrol captain or town guard somewhere.

In the Realms, adventurers were broadly divided into four tiers.

Those in the first tier were generally considered novice adventurers. They were still learning their profession's characteristics and mastering its basic skills, while finding their path. Collectively known as Apprentices, they could handle minor troubles near a farmhouse or village.

Aaron and Hicks, the former war wizard apprentice, were both at the Apprentice tier.

Mortals in the second tier began to stand out. Non-spellcasters developed considerable fighting skill, while spellcasters gradually learned third-level spells such as Fireball and Lightning Bolt. They became capable of resolving crises affecting towns, cities, and even small countries. Collectively, they were known as Elites.

Ferrara, Montero, Eleanor, and Asha, the female barbarian, all belonged to this tier.

Notably, it was at this tier that differences in strength began to widen, and multiclassing or "subclasses" started to appear.

Mortals in the third tier had risen far beyond the ordinary crowd. Even among adventurers, their skills were exceptional. Many spellcasters gained sixth-level spells, capable of extraordinary effects, while non-spellcasters could perform astonishing feats in the midst of their attacks. These powerful adventurers faced threats to entire nations or regions.

They were collectively known as masters.

The gulf between one master and another could be greater than the gulf between an ordinary person and a Kamen Rider.

The fourth tier was the famed legendary tier. A legend's every move could shape the future of a continent—or even the multiverse.

And the gulf between legends could be greater than the gulf between an ordinary person and Ultraman.

Still, the four tiers were not impassable barriers. If they fought now, for example, Aaron was confident he could beat Ferrara.

He was a spellcaster, and Ferrara knew nothing about him.

Aaron did not fear close combat, either. A properly trained mage rarely did.

"This is the life I want: making good money, eating hearty meals, finishing one commission after another, and roaming the Realms." Ferrara spoke without a care. "When I've got the coin, I'll go to a tavern and order a partridge, a flamingo, a quail, a moorhen, a lark, an egret—anything, really. Failing that, a venison chop or some roe deer will do. Then three slices of cream cake and a hot glass of gin, with the finest Death Cheese from the Great Swamp."

"Very good, Mr. Ferrara. That menu rivals a king's dinner." Aaron nodded. "I don't eat that well at home."

"Could I afford food like that if I weren't a mercenary? How many coppers would guarding a town pay me in a year?" Ferrara said dismissively. "This one trip will earn us at least a hundred or two gold pieces. Make a few more trips in a year, and why shouldn't we eat like kings now and then?"

"But don't you ever think about..." Eleanor could not help speaking up. Her tone was hard to read.

"Hey, we mercenaries do this for freedom and the thrill of it, don't we?" Ferrara spread his hands, unconcerned. "One job at a time until a job kills us. Who cares about anything else?"

"I could retire on my own, sure. But I've got all these pups under me. They followed me and put their lives in my hands. What happens to them if I walk away?" The mercenary leader thumped his chest cheerfully. "I'll keep going until I can't anymore."

These reckless fools had no idea how precious life was!

Eleanor gave up trying to persuade him.

The Church of the Lady of Silver had one admirable custom: it never forced its views on others.

Aaron saw it differently.

These people were free-roaming hired hands who would do anything for money. They also earned several times what an ordinary town guard did. Aaron was not even sure whether the eight hundred gold lions he received each year from the Obarskyr Royal House could match what the Ferrara Adventuring Company made in six months or a year.

Of course, those astonishing returns came with an extraordinary casualty rate.

According to authoritative figures from Candlekeep scholars, twenty percent of adventurers ended their careers after their very first outing, killed or disabled. Having veterans along lowered that number a little, but not by much.

Adventurers did receive generous commissions, but they bore enormous risks. Nobles and other employers could post jobs at adventurers' guilds and on town noticeboards, then legitimately hire people to risk their lives without providing food, lodging, benefits, or medical expenses. If an adventurer died, there was no pension or funeral payment; if the job failed, there was not a copper in compensation.

It was almost too good a bargain.

Even a country like Cormyr, with its strong crown and elite army, was reluctant to give up such cheap fighters. Other countries and the unruly alliance of lords in the North had even less reason to do so.

Of course, one adventurer was not necessarily like another.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain and King Elessar; Boromir, son of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor; Gimli, Dwarf prince and first cousin once removed to Dáin Ironfoot, King under the Mountain; and Legolas, prince of the Woodland Realm, were adventurers too.

So were Ferrara and his people.

The two groups could hardly be equated.

The discussion here concerned only the latter sort: people with no fixed home or long-term goal, living entirely on commissions, war, trade, and adventure—which often included raiding, robbery, and murder.

As for the ballads in which adventurers found ancient treasure and artifacts, the entire party effortlessly grew rich, and the hero married a beautiful, gentle princess before becoming king and reaching the pinnacle of life...

Ha. Ha.

That was not to say such things never happened.

After all, a village constable from Sishui and a monk from Fengyang had both become emperors.

Aaron realized he could look at all this with an almost chilling detachment.

Was this how nobles thought?

"Mr. Ferrara, I'm a Sorcerer, but my family background has given me some training as a fighter too." Aaron took the opportunity to make a request. "You're a veteran Elite fighter with twenty years in the trade. If I plan to go adventuring or take field assignments regularly, is there anything you could teach me?"

"Oh? The esteemed Viscount Salian of Cormyr is asking a mercenary leader like me for advice?" Ferrara was genuinely surprised.

"A sage once said that adventurers' wisdom is boundless." Aaron smiled, plainly sincere. "It can't hurt to listen."

His extraordinary charm worked its magic once again.

"In that case, I suppose I'll have to share the hard-won adventuring wisdom of Ferrara, veteran fighter of Zambia."

Update!

Right now, the protagonist really is just a rookie at the apprentice tier.

But rookies can be strong too!

(The end.)