(Book 1 Complete!) Side Quest [Isekai / LitRPG]

The wood elf eyed the chicken warily. Confusion flickered across his face, and he scanned the roof for any other dangers before his sight settled back on Logan. "That's a chicken, not a monster."

Logan cocked his head. "Yeah, I said it was a chicken."

"Then what triggered the monster alarm?"

So that's what the gongs were. "Oh, yeah, there was one of those, too. I killed it."

Some villagers descended halfway down the hill path Logan had come from. The majority maintained a safe distance between him and the Adventurers' Guild, but a handful of middle-aged individuals ventured beyond the bystanders' edge.

They all wore matching uniforms, like the small elf eyeing Logan. Dark leather vests molded to their torsos, worn over slate-gray tunics with rolled sleeves and reinforced stitching at the shoulders. Their pants were sturdy, a few even dust-streaked from travel, and tucked into calf-high boots built more for endurance than style. Each wore a short, half-cloak clasped at the collarbone, stamped with an insignia.

The fellow below him, however, was the only one holding something that looked like a compass, its needle wildly fluctuating despite him standing still. "Prove it," he said.

Logan bent to pick up the orb, but a sharp pain reminded him of his wounds. The momentary ecstasy from the level gain had dimmed it, but not erased it. His health was nearing full again, but he suspected the pain would linger a while longer. He still had bruising on his ribs from falling off branches in the blighted forest yesterday, even if the actual injuries had long since healed.

He bent at the knees to avoid excessive shoulder discomfort and lifted the monster trophy, presenting it.

"Is this proof enough?"

Logan faltered.

One of the elf's companions had reached his side and raised an open palm toward him. The new guy was human with a single gray streak in his crewcut styled black hair. He looked like a star-fleet commander in a space opera. A green light radiated from his hand's edges like a sun flare captured through a smeared lens. At the center of his palm, a bright green pinpoint pulsed.

The others, still at varying distances from the building, assumed the same aggressive stance as they approached.

Logan lifted his hands higher, hoping the universal symbol of surrender carried the same connotation in this world. "Did I do something wrong? I was just defending myself."

The bespectacled wood elf pursed his lips, then his posture eased. "There's no need, Brannick," he said to broad-shouldered man. "Look. He's only Level 5. He can't possibly have scarred the ambient mana, let alone wield a tool with which to do it." Despite the pacifying gesture, the elf's scrutiny and tone didn't match his words. He sounded like a lawyer laying a trap.

The human male, Brannick, lowered his palm and the glow faded from it. More had gathered, and they followed suit.

Logan felt on display to plenty of others' Analyze skills, and it made his skin crawl. He did an analysis of his own and then bit his lip. The group now numbered a dozen people, all ranged from levels 31 to 37.

Someone tugged on the elf's arm, calling him Thessin, and directed his attention to the hill's cusp where more villagers gathered.

Thessin cleared his throat, put on a fake smile, and waved his hands above his head, which did little at his stature. "Don't worry, there is nothing to see here, citizens of Gnashridge Heights." Something, probably magic, amplified his voice. "You are in no danger. You are dismissed."

When he faced Logan again, his smile inverted into a tight frown, and he nudged two of his companions. "Bring him down before he makes a greater spectacle."

Logan tugged at the cold steel joining his wrists. He hadn't yet forgotten Silence's manacles back in the mountain.

They didn't address him, so he didn't speak. Clearly, these people had questions, and it wasn't worthwhile to aggravate them. If they wanted him dead, they could have killed him the moment they escorted him inside, away from public view.

Bright tapestries and colorful paintings in ornate gilt frames lined the long hall, giving a sense of luxury and pristine cleanliness. The expensive-looking art was interspersed with open doors, allowing natural light to flood the space from outside.

They passed a notice board that could be a replica of the one near the village square's vendor stalls.

After that, the next length of hallway darkened for a stretch, void of art or the natural light. Only two, opposite-facing closed doors broke the sterile walls until the decorations and sunlight picked up again at the far side.

They didn't make it to the brighter end. Instead, they took the closed door to the left, which led into a massive conference-length room with no windows. This must be the backside of the archery range.

The room was wide and surprisingly cozy, lit with the warm glow of candlelight, although Logan saw no candles. Wooden shelves brimming with scrolls and books lined the wall, while a round table with a gleaming surface occupied the center. Five chairs circled the table, their carved armrests engraved with intricate detail.

Thessin gestured for Logan to sit while several other imposing figures stood on either side, their postures stiff and watchful. The big guy, Bran, was one of them.

Logan took the seat, but sat on its edge, his cuffed wrists resting on the table. I just have to answer their questions and get out of here. He scoffed at himself. Easier said than done.

Thessin leaned forward across the table, hands spread wide as he rested splayed fingers against the polished wood. Only his chin cleared the table's edge. It was a valiant effort, but far from intimidating. "Who do you work for?"

"What? Nobody. I mean, I was helping Liorna—the chicken lady—but I don't work for her."

The wood elf's eyes narrowed. "I will ask you once more. Who do you work for?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Logan let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. "I'm really sorry, but I don't know how else to answer your question."

"You're lying." He drummed his fingertips on the table and took a deep breath. "You bypassed Adventurers' Guild defenses, entered an infused calibration field, somehow altered the ambient mana compositions so vastly that you scarred the strata and conjured a monster, and yet"—his voice rose to a squeak—"you expect us to believe you are only Level 5?"

Logan blinked and raised his cuffed hands. "I didn't do it!" He laughed nervously. "Why would I summon something that tried to kill me?"

The door opened, and a tall, slender woman with jet-black hair and braided bangs entered, hands clasped behind her back. She wore the same dark leather outfit, but her cloak was full-length, its hem stopping just inches above the floor.

"What is the meaning of this, Merrow?"

Thessin composed himself and bowed, as did all the others. "Captain Krett!"

She seemed as unimpressed by the elf's scraping as Logan.

"This cretin," Thessin sputtered, "was discovered interfering… with the stabilization frequencies… atop…"

The sleek line of her thin, raised eyebrow made the elf trail off. From behind her back, she revealed a double-rolled scroll and set it on the table. It unfurled lightly, revealing multi-colored markings that looked like a modern art interpretation of a seismograph.

Janie had once scoffed at Logan for going on a weekend trip to Oregon with a seismographer group. When he had asked what she thought about him maybe pursuing a career in that field, she laughed curtly and rattled off a long list of other jobs he had mentioned before. He hadn't even gotten the chance to show her the aptitude test results that said he might be a good fit.

Thinking back on it now, that was the first weekend she and her girlfriends had started their bowling nights. That guy he had walked in on her with had a jacket emblazoned with bowling pins and the words Lucky Rollers League. The thought disgusted Logan, and he realized he had missed a question.

"Sorry, what?"

This Captain Krett woman gave him a funny look. She held up the orb his restrainers had wrested from outside. "Did you truly defeat that Ripper on your own?"

"Uh, yes."

"He's ly—"

"And," she continued, cutting Thessin off, "you did this at a mere level 5?"

"Actually, I was level 4. Killing it is what made me level up."

Thessin pointed smugly at Logan's hands. "With that?"

"Yes," Logan said, slowly clenching his fists to show how the gauntlet tightened. He couldn't fix the wonky one since his wrists were bound, but he hoped that made him seem less threatening right now.

"Very… peculiar workmanship. But impressive." Captain Krett tapped her lips and paced a few steps. After a prolonged silence, she cleared her throat with a glance at Thessin and a forceful nod at the scroll.

The wood elf timidly approached the paper and inspected it before leaning in for a double take with a disbelieving scoff. "These readings are wrong. I configured those calibrations myself. I would never register both frost and fire mana on a shared channel while using the redux method."

Krett didn't look up. "And yet this is the second time Void-aligned disruptions have shown up in a zone that's supposed to be Life-dominant."

"That would imply our mana fields have been misfiring this entire time. Inverting against themselves. That could—" He stopped short, eyes darting between Logan and the paper.

"Could create a scar," Krett finished, "regardless of what our guest did or didn't do. Don't you think?"

Thessin's voice dropped. "I suppose. But I assure you... I didn't miscalibrate."

Logan jostled his wrists, making the metal clink against the glossy wood. "Do you always treat your guests like this?"

The captain smiled at him and waved the others to assist with unbinding Logan.

He may have made a bit of an excessive show with rolling his wrists, as if he had been handcuffed for days and not mere minutes.

"What is your name, young man?"

"Logan. Uh, captain."

She smiled and sat at the edge of the table, oddly casually. "Dalia, please."

"Right."

"What were you doing on the roof?"

"The chicken was up there," he said, nodding his head at the barrel-chested Brannick who held the brown-feathered farm bird in the crook of his arm. The chicken cocked its head as it eyed various parts of the room, but remained quiet. "Liorna asked me to help her find her chickens, and I said yes."

"I know the girl," said a bright-cheeked woman with purple eyes and auburn hair pulled into a tight bun. A quick analysis labeled her as a fairy. Her standard-human height surprised Logan, but it also raised his Analyze to level 14. "The girl does seem to lose her chickens often," said the fae woman.

Logan mouthed a thank you to her, but she was busy squinting at the scroll's readings alongside Thessin.

Somebody else walked in with another stack of papers. "He isn't a guild member."

The man was dressed like the others, but with a different insignia clasping his cloak. He looked like a young Errol Flynn from the original Robin Hood, complete with the thin little mustache and trimmed goatee.

"I only just arrived today," Logan said. He didn't want to offer too much information, but he didn't want to look like he was hiding anything, either. He could stick to simple truths. "I arrived with a girl named Senna. She should be in your records."

The brusque man with the papers flipped through them and nodded. "Senna Hewett. Third month in." He held the paper back from his eyes as if he had forgotten reading glasses. Logan's mother also did that. "She's assigned to a team with Cassandra Varesh."

Some people murmured excitedly, but Logan's head was starting to swim.

The captain seemed to pick up on Logan's state of overwhelm. "All right, that's enough. We can discuss this later, Jorek." She lifted a hand to dismiss everybody but Logan, Thessin and the purple-eyed fairy. "Thessin, Vellia? I want to know what happened with those calibrations."

They looked like children being sent away from the principal's office.

Dalia escorted Logan into the hallway with an apology. "Please excuse our rashness. This is a highly unusual occurrence. The Guild should be thanking you for taking care of the Ripper. Not punishing you."

She sounded too much like a politician trying to win over a voter, but Logan offered a nod to look polite. "I don't suppose you could spare a few coins for some pants and a night at the inn?"

The captain chuckled. "Officially, we cannot give you money unless you are a registered adventurer. Allotments are strictly monitored." She frowned with a backward glance at where Thessin and Vellia had vanished. "More strictly, it seems, than some our most promising magical advancements." She shook her head and sighed, facing forward again. "But we can arrange for your lodgings for the next few nights. Let the innkeeper know I sent you."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

Dalia nodded. "Protocol demands we pause administrative functions to double-check our calibrations, but we should reopen for public services in two days."

Logan waited for her to continue, not knowing what that meant for him.

She appeared to pick up on Logan's inability to connect the dots. "That includes services such as admittance into the guild. The process normally requires several days of rigorous physical and mental evaluations… but we can modify the requirements based on your accomplishment today."

They came to a table at the front where the contents of Logan's pockets had been confiscated and laid out. Logan snickered at the odd collection of gray and green mosses, the purple Thalara's Mercy flowers, and the dismembered tail from that alpha flicktail bully.

"You may also keep this," Dalia said, presenting the dark-tinted silver orb that had appeared when the monster died.

"Thanks," said Logan slowly, accepting the gifted trophy remnant of a monster he himself had killed. "And the chicken?"

"And the chicken."

He refilled his flannel pockets and received the bird, who squawked once during the exchange, but otherwise clucked contentedly in Logan's arms.

When he finally exited the building, Logan shook his head. Senna had described the Guild as an easy way to make money, but he just witnessed some strange dynamics at play. How competent was the guild supposed to be?

Whatever the case, he didn't want to make enemies of them. He didn't have to join them, but he felt it best to keep their possible involvement in the monster breach under wraps.

He approached the base of the low hill that led up to the quirky gnomish home. Hopefully, answers awaited him there.

He scritched the bird, cradled in one arm, and the chicken clucked, tilting its head for optimal scratching. Logan shook his head with a small laugh.

The door to the house was twofold, with one larger frame built for a human, and a smaller one inset into it, the height of which only came to Logan's waist. Logan lifted his hand and knocked.