Squad Games [Squad Building LitRPG] [Book One Complete]

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Wilson asked Eva.

Georg 'The Hoffmeister' Hoffman's partner was becoming used to having a bear live at home. Wilson wondered whether adding a warg might be too much.

But it was late. Hubert had retired to his shed in the garden, and Sharptooth was curled up by the fire in the hearth. It didn't make sense to disturb them.

"It's fine. I feel safer having them around."

Wilson wasn't sure why someone wouldn't feel safe in Mer Khazer. It was the most peaceable place in Gal'azu. It was more likely the human woman was being polite. Politeness was a concept the gnome struggled to grasp. It involved saying things that weren't true—things the other person was expected to know weren't true, but be grateful they'd been said, nonetheless. At least, he thought that's what it was.

He knew for sure that Sharptooth was happy. Animals are much easier to understand than humans.

Georg kissed Eva goodbye, and the two mercs made the short walk to The Squished Plums. The sun was finally setting in the sky, but the inn would be open all night, available to travellers arriving in the town. Mer Khazer had escaped the depredations of the Sargassians. It continued to grow, attracting a variety of craftsmen who were free to sell their wares to the townsfolk and the farmers and villagers who visited regularly.

They were the last to arrive. All the Rotten Apples in Mer Khazer had been invited, and all had come. Some, like Rilie, looked enthusiastic about what was to be announced. There were sceptical faces, like Vixen. Then there were folks like The Harvester, whose thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

Larik and Randall, architects of whatever this was, took up position before them.

"Randall and I are proposing something we believe will revolutionise our lives." The Bludgeoner's eyes sparkled, and his voice was loud. "Not just this year, but for the future. We call it the Guild of Dungeoneers. A fellowship, where every member is equal. It is something we have discussed for a while, but our recent experience in the Deepwood sealed it. There is treasure there, and greenskins who guard it."

"The goblins came quickly, in large numbers, after the necromancer was destroyed," Randall added. "There'll be more. Orcs, as well."

"It's an opportunity," Larik continued. "Places like Mer Khazer want the region kept safe. People will pay for it. Treasure, and experience, are there for the taking. I know we all started out as Rotten Apples. We all owe something to Stiff for recruiting us and seeing us through the last turbulent year. But times are changing. We can work for ourselves and get rich doing it."

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"What do you mean, every member is equal?" Wilson asked.

"Every payment received, and every treasure haul is divided equally amongst the party of dungeoneers who earn it."

"Come now," said The Guvnah. "I well remember the frustration of earning less than others when I started out. But the merc pay system works. Why should I get paid the same as someone who did next to nothing, while I took down a band of goblins? It'll just lead to squabbles."

"People are free to sign up for whatever party and dungeon they want," Larik answered. "If you think the offer is unfair, you simply decline. Likewise, a party is free to recruit whomever they wish. Dungeoneers who offer nothing won't get invited."

Wilson thought it all a load of nonsense. Then he saw Georg nodding along to everything that was said.

"I should add," said Randall, "that we're not about changing the merc pay system. The Guild of Dungeoneers aren't mercs. We're something different entirely. And Larik and I have agreed that we're not excluding mercs. You can work for the Apples as well as sign up with us, as far as we're concerned. Of course, Stiff may say different. That's for him to decide. That said, Larik and I will resign from the Apples. I don't think we can run the Guild and work for a company."

"So you two are in charge?" Wilson asked.

"For now," Larik agreed. "Someone has to be. But I envisage our roles becoming elected positions in the future. Guild members should decide how it's run. Now, I am offering you all a chance to sign up and become a founding member of the guild. Who knows? It might be our names go down in history."

"You're joining?" Wilson asked The Hoffmeister as he stepped forward.

"Of course. I'm to be married, Wilson. I'm not going to suffer the same fate as Victor and Eddie, and leave Eva a widow. You're not?"

Wilson shook his head. "I dreamed of being a warrior. This is…something other than that. And unlike you, no one will mourn my death."

"That's not true."

The gnome shrugged, and Georg joined the queue of founding members. With him were Lurin and Rilie. Then, he was surprised to see Jaelin and Mila, after some private words, join it as well.

On the other side of the room, The Harvester looked on with disapproval. The Guvnah, Vixen, and Bletcher stood with him.

This has divided us already, Wilson realised.

"Bletcher?" Larik asked. "I thought you would join. You were in favour last time we spoke."

"Yes," Bletcher agreed.

"But now he's changed his mind," said Vytenis flatly.

"Hey now," Randall growled. "You can't go putting pressure on people not to sign up."

The Harvester took offence. "I haven't done anything of the sort, dwarf. Take that back."

"Bletcher," said Mila. "What do you wish to do?"

"He needs to transport us back to Avolo," said The Guvnah.

"We could do with a wizard in the guild," said Larik. "And I think Bletcher would be better off with us."

Bletcher looked from one speaker to the next, clearly unable to decide what was best. What was worse, tempers were fraying and would soon get out of hand.

"By the gods," Wilson found himself roaring. "Take it easy on the boy. Let him sign up for the guild, then he should transport those of us who need to get back to Avolo. After that, he can spend a few days working out what he wants to do, with no one bending his ear."

No one opposed the solution, and so that was what they did.