I am Just an Average Tamer

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"Do you even know what you're saying, Daniel?" said an old man with a frown, appearing to be in his 60s.

"Yes, Mayor. My brother confirmed it," Daniel replied, meeting the mayor's gaze with arms crossed over his chest.

The people in the room began murmuring among themselves.

They were seated around a large round table, and judging by their attire, they appeared to be of high social standing—nobles, elders, and a few high-ranking commoners.

"But sir, shouldn't we also tell the others the truth?" asked a man in his 40s with blonde hair, directing his question toward the mayor.

"No. It will only create unnecessary panic among the people," the mayor said firmly, his expression serious.

The murmuring grew louder, until a lady spoke up. "Then what should we tell them about the notice?"

"Yes, Mayor," added another lady in her 30s with blonde hair. "It'll cause a lot of unrest when they realize we're postponing the Year Festival."

The Year Festival was an annual celebration held in Ashenford Town at the beginning of the winter season to honor the town's first-ever 'Beast Tamer', Elijah Ashenford.

This festival was celebrated on the same day, Elijah Ashenford was born.

And yes, the town was named after Elijah Ashenford, no one knew much about his background, and frankly, no one cared.

In this world Beast Taming was a rare and highly respected profession—even among nobles. Beast Tamers held power above that of low-ranking nobles, regardless of their origins.

Whether they hailed from humble or obscure backgrounds, their social standing transforms the moment they were recognized as Beast Tamers.

But why was the profession of Beast Taming so rare and widely respected?

Why did it hold the highest authority among other professions and even have the power to challenge low-ranking nobles?

Well, it was rare because the majority of professions were more common: warriors—including swordsmen, archers, and tankers—then mages and rogues.

Most of them don't have the capabilities to tame beasts and control them, even if they could, they can only control one or two.

However, Beast Taming was held in high regard due to the extraordinary feats of tamers.

Unlike warriors who fought on the front lines, mages who supported from the middle or rear, and rogues who specialized in stealth and tracking, Beast Tamers commanded magical beasts.

These were creatures capable of wreaking havoc on towns and cities if provoked.

Yes, beast tamers tame these beasts and form bonds with them.

What set them apart was their ability to control not just one beast, but often several at once. Some Beast Tamers were even rumored to possess power equal to or greater than entire kingdoms.

This made them widely respected, and in many cases, feared.

Their influence was so significant that kingdoms went out of their way to avoid antagonizing them, often granting Beast Tamers higher authority to stay on their good side.

Beast Tamers held significant authority among professions, but they didn't have the highest authority.

That position belonged to priests, with the High Priest's authority second only to that of the ruling King.

But if High Priests wielded such power, then why were they not feared like Beast Tamers?

The answer was simple—not all Beast Tamers could achieve the extraordinary feat of taming legendary beasts.

On average, most tamers only managed to control common or rare-ranked beasts. In contrast, the accomplishments of High Priests were consistent and universally impactful.

Even though Beast Tamers were widely respected, discrimination still persisted within their ranks. Nobles and higher-status Beast Tamers often looked down upon those of lower status, creating a social divide within the profession.

Elijah Ashenford was one of the strongest and most feared Beast Tamers in his kingdom.

Elijah commanded such respect and power that even the royal family avoided crossing him.

His reputation was a key factor in elevating the status of his town, granting it significant power and authority within the kingdom.

"Any news regarding His Highness's order yet?" the mayor asked, turning to Daniel.

"No, but my brother is still in the castle. We'll know soon what His Highness has to say," Daniel replied.

The mayor's face grew solemn. "I knew this day would eventually come, but I didn't expect it to be so soon."

Sigh!

He sighed deeply. "Well, there's nothing we can do now to prevent it."

A heavy silence fell over the room, the weight of unspoken concerns thick in the air.

"Yes, but wouldn't it be better to tell them the truth now, instead of waiting until the last moment?" the blonde-haired man spoke, breaking the silence.

The mayor shook his head. "I understand, but it's for the best. We can't announce it yet. The best we can do is delay it—for now, at least. There could be spies among the townspeople."

"Then what should we tell them?" the blonde-haired man pressed; his brow furrowed.

"Don't worry," the blonde-haired woman interjected confidently. "We can come up with a few excuses to buy time."

"But for how long can we delay it?" the blonde-haired man countered; his voice tinged with concern.

The mayor leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the table. His voice was firm but measured. "Until we are absolutely certain about..."

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"Huh?"

"Wait...what?"

"..."

"Hey come look at this!"

The town square buzzed with restless energy as a crowd gathered in front of the main hall's notice board.

The air was filled with murmurs, complaints, and confusion as townsfolk tried to make sense of the message hastily pinned up.

"What the...Why are they postponing the festival?" a middle-aged man growled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his frustration plain for all to see.

"I've been waiting all year for this," a younger man chimed in, his voice tinged with irritation. "I even came back home for it, and now they're delaying it?"

"This is ridiculous. They didn't even give a proper reason! Just 'circumstances'—what does that even mean?" A woman nearby, holding a basket of freshly picked apples, shook her head.

"Something's off," an older man with a walking cane muttered, his voice quieter but no less resolute. "The festival's never been postponed before. Not in my lifetime."

The crowd's murmurs grew louder, mixing indignation with speculation. Whispers of rumors began to spread:

"Did the mayor fell sick?"

"Did his daughter run away?"

"Hey, what the hell are you talking?"

"Well, his wife did the same, who knows?"

"Could it be the King's doing?"

"Or worse—those beasts again?"

The tension in the square was palpable. People glanced toward the closed doors of the Mayor's office, as though expecting an explanation.

But for now, the doors remained firmly shut, leaving the crowd in their growing unease.