The 5th Hero is a Beast [Queer LitRPG Isekai]

Chapter 46: Friends and Secrets



Although waking up to a knock at their door in the morning wasn't optimal, it was infinitely better than whatever the Guildmaster did the other day – looming ominously until Hallvar woke up.

The hero was thrilled for this intrusion once they opened the door; it was Grim, sure, but more importantly it was Pipkin.

"The Guildmaster sent her with me," Grim answered the unspoken question with a cheerful grin. "We had to put her in a cage for the journey, because you wouldn't forgive any of us if we lost your akergryph or let her get hurt."

Hallvar was barely managing to wrangle the little beast, trying to keep her on their shirt so her claws wouldn't scratch their skin as badly.

"Oh, so you've been contained! No wonder you're mad."

The akergryph was loudly cheeping and nipping at her beastmaster, crawling over the human's irritating attempts to hold her as she tried to pull Hallvar's sideburns and ear in her birdy rage.

After a note from Grim saying they'd meet downstairs in an hour, the hero was able to give Pipkin the attention she needed. She calmed down enough to sit on the windowsill and watch outside as Hallvar dressed properly.

They only had one choice of clothes; the original set had been rendered completely useless by all the bloodstains and stabbing.

That… was one of the primary things on Hallvar's mind, honestly.

They didn't resent or regret training with the guildmaster, as it was clearly and obviously helpful in the long run; however, Hallvar was curious if the… let's call it intensity of the training was a normal thing in the world.

Hallvar put that question on the short list of curiosities about how the adventuring party worked, finishing up their morning routine before heading downstairs to greet the others.

By the time the hero stepped into the tavern part of the inn, there were plenty of adventurers milling about.

It seemed early morning was a busy time of day for Claylake Post. It made complete sense that adventurers would head out to work in the [ territory ] early then stay over lunch and maybe return for dinner.

Hallvar spotted Ikraam and Grim at a table with Dagmær, but not before a hand grasped the hero's arm. With the hand jewelry and the flowing, draped clothing, Hallvar knew it was Dagmær's partner.

"Oh, Raj—"

As the hero looked up, two things happened.

First, a hand gently shushed them. Second, Hallvar noted that the rather flamboyant man looked much more feminine in presentation, so much so that the hero almost apologized for mistaking her for someone else.

"Nalini for today, darling."

Nalini winked.

Hallvar felt a flash of understanding go to their brain, sudden clarity dispelling the confusion instantly.

They resisted any dumb responses, only replying: "Of course."

Hallvar knew this wasn't accurate for the world, but if there were, uh, third and fourth pronoun sets – regardless of whether gender was involved – then of course, there were people who varied both pronouns and appearances on a whim.

With patches and symbols to make the transition easy, why not?

The extremely friendly woman guided Hallvar toward the table, whispering some information as the pair went along.

"Use she or her if you see a curled fern – any color, though most use green. I like the yellow-gold type in embroidery, as they look beautiful. For he or him, you'll note a banded agate."

Nalini patted the hero's arm, continuing. "As my fresh-from-bed self tends to receive more he-ing than she-ing, I wear an agate ring and skip the patch."

"A curled fern?" Hallvar responded dimly after sitting at the table, responding to greetings with a smile.

From under her dark veil, Dagmær answered. "Yes, that is the appropriate symbol used by the nations in the south of Aestrux. Brigavalé, Hafneir, and Fyrmann prefer a yellow birch leaf."

The half-beastmaster, half-naturalist was momentarily thrown off by the mention of the leaf.

Yellow birch was a type of birch tree, but yellow color leaves were common among all birches during the fall. Hallvar would have to ask later if it was the color or the species.

"I wasn't questioning anything," Hallvar said slowly, trying to cover their ass in case it came off as rude.

"I just was— early on, before I could talk, I drew some sketches of Stella and added ferns in the background, and I don't know if that was like inappropriate or if I was aggressively feminizing her or what."

They could only imagine what their home-world's equivalent might be. The Barbie doll pink with that rounded petal flower design? A big lipstick mark?

Nalini chimed in, taking a seat next to her partner. "No, the symbolism only counts on patches or other optional ornaments, such as hiwode brooches, jewelry, or embroidery. If you didn't personally choose to wear it, it is not meant to be interpreted."

Does that mean gifts didn't count either? If a mother gave her child a dress covered in fern embroidery, did that change anything upon being worn by the undecided child?

With a practiced air of disguised interest, Dagmær spoke. "I am curious why you drew Stella, if I may ask."

Hallvar stuttered and turned red as Grim and Ikraam exchanged glances.

"I—I've drawn a lot of people! The guildmaster, random people in the market. I'm pretty sure I drew Grim too! And I'm not trying to marry or date him! Or whatever you're assuming!"

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"Oh! Let us see!" came Grim's immediate response, enthusiastic as always.

"Do you want to marry Stella?" Ikraam homed in with a killing blow, much to Hallvar's dismay.

"Stop it," the hero demanded over the laughter of Nalini. Even Dagmær seemed to be giggling under her veil. "I only kind of know how the brooch works. We're not anywhere near that step."

"But you are dating."

Hallvar grumbled and laid their head down, avoiding this discussion. Breakfast for the table arrived with impeccable timing, forcing the hero to sit up and be a polite member of society.

Pipkin, who had previously been perched on the antler of a taxidermy beast, swooped down to steal tidbits of egg from Hallvar's plate.

Thankfully, the akergryph was labeled adorable and delightful by Nalini, who practically cooed that she needed a macrow of her own.

Hallvar paused their eating, hesitant to interrupt lest their relevant query – if a macrow was a macaw and a crow combined, and if it was therefore named by a hero? – draw attention back to the topic of the beastmaster's dating life.

They couldn't avoid being the subject of the discussion for long. A few wandering dialogues about birds and recent travels to the Qhai Republic later…

"How has the guild treated you, Hallvar?" Grim asked. The big softie was probably genuinely interested in the answer, too.

"As I understand," came a patient addition from Ikraam, in a near chiding tone. "Their adventures prior to now are more complicated than needs public discussion."

Grim waved off his companion's concerns. "Oh, I know that. It's not what I asked."

True, the armsbreaker's idea of subtlety usually included a wink and a knowing nod. Hallvar did take the question at its face value as posed from Grim, not the others.

"It's going well, I think."

That warranted an immediate correction; Hallvar was still very tired after the intense training.

"I mean— I don't doubt that it's going well, it's just I don't have a baseline for guilds. We had groups, organizations before, but nothing like this guild."

Hallvar continued, habitually lifting a nippy Pipkin up to their pauldron so she could peer about the room and preen. "Everyone is very friendly and helpful. Even Viktor, between the educational stabbings."

The group was surprised, but the surprising part of Hallvar's statement was split evenly among the group.

"You must mean the guildmaster." Dagmær tone was polite but assertive behind her veil, her true statement hidden within.

Calling the guildmaster by his first name was an unspoken taboo, one whose violation ended in either an uncomfortable correction or the worst quest assignments imaginable.

Ikraam nodded, affirming the correct and safe way to refer to the guildmaster. Heroes were not immune to irritable authority figures.

At nearly the same time, Grim brought up the second curiosity. "The stabbings?"

He had concerns, making hard eye contact with Nalini who mirrored Grim's confusion. They had great respect for the guildmaster – nearly everyone in the Amnasín adventurer's guild did – but the old fighter was an asshole on the best of days.

They all regularly joked about the guildmaster being combative and violent, but it was all in jest. The entire city thought the old man was scary and mean, carrying his weight like a rogue who'd grown distinguished over time. He was formidable but—

The guildmaster was more apt to silently delay your payment or place harsher requirements for your next guild task. He didn't directly involve himself in adventurer discipline.

Grim knew that Hallvar wasn't familiar enough with guild gossip to make a funny little comment about the alleged violence, the haha he'll kill us quips when they pretended to skirt the rules.

No, it wasn't a joke. Neither was using the guildmaster's name so casually.

"I've done something wrong," Hallvar stated, a twinge of dread in their voice.

"Darling, no." Nalini reached out over the table to place her hand on the beastmaster's. "Of course you haven't. How could you?"

She pushed a curl of hair away from her face with a dramatic gesture, pinning the awkward Hallvar down with a kohl-lined gaze. "But—"

They groaned. "There's a but?"

"But, you should call him the guildmaster." A flash of gold distracted Hallvar from Nalini's gaze, ringed fingers waved in the air. "For survival, if not our collective sanity. It's just not done, you know?"

Ah, okay. So the name itself made the adventurers uncomfortable. That tracked, honestly; Stella used guildmaster too.

"Right." The beastmaster nodded. "Is—was anything else wrong? I don't want to step on any toes, if I can avoid it."

Grim nudged the resident rogue, who cleared their throat to take up the task of subtlety and intervention.

"Are you aware that the guildmaster's tendency toward violence is a joke that we perpetuate? We wouldn't want you repeating that sentiment among the wrong group."

Despite Ikraam's waiting gaze – and Nalini's continued observance – Hallvar struggled to answer quickly and efficiently.

"I—uh, sure. I know it's a joke. I mean, I can see how it would be." They paused, deciding to take the path of least resistance instead of explaining the horror of the last two days. "I'll be more careful with that, I guess."

The table lapsed into awkward silence.

Ikraam took charge. Grimvold may have been the emotional leader, but Ikraam was the structural backbone of the group.

"Let's regroup outside; we have a cull quest, so bring a day's provisions. We will return here tonight."

The others agreed. Hallvar lingered at the table, having all of their possessions on-hand. They'd assumed breakfast would be to-go, not a sit-down affair.

Ikraam waited too, already prepared.

Was that a rogue thing? Or the fighter equivalent? Always prepared, like a boy scout—

Hallvar nearly jumped as Ikraam asked another question.

"Did he stab you?"

It was spoken politely, almost as if it was a query about whether tea was ready.

The beastmaster didn't answer, looking quizzically at Ikraam. There were wrong answers to all of these questions. Hallvar didn't want to set off another hidden social trap.

Ikraam fiddled with their bandolier or belt, placing a sheathed weapon on the table. A dagger, almost identical in style to Viktor's.

Ah. That was a statement. Hallvar had pulled the spiritual twin of that dagger out of their own flesh enough times to see it in their dreams, let alone recognize it in person.

"The guildmaster is not known for helping beyond what is necessary for his station at the guild. Independence is a strong value among adventurers, one that he fosters. For all that we jest about his disinterest, he does provide limited but exact assistance when requested."

Right. Hallvar knew this.

"Yet, he has his curiosity. If someone were to meet those requirements, perhaps through an unspeakable system designation or a unique nature, the guildmaster may personally intervene in their training."

Unique was a word only used for heroes, according to Stella. Did that mean Ikraam was the other? Did they have some special system thing that Viktor knew about?

"Clearly the guildmaster has taken an interest in your development. It would be foolish not to. However, if you would like to talk about the… methodology the guildmaster applies, I am available."

Ikraam smiled; Ikraam knew.

Hallvar's limited inhibition broke. Not in sobs or cries for help, but a stream of pure unfiltered thoughts.

"Why does he have—He had a case made to hold 104 vials, healing potions. Why? Was that fucking custom for his secret training bullshit? Does he regularly do scary fights enough to need one hundred and fucking four healing potions in one go? Was that made specifically for me?"

A laugh came from Ikraam, pure amusement at the hero's thoughts.

"You are designated for endurance, yes?"

"But that doesn't mean I want to!" Hallvar complained dramatically. They lowered their voice quickly. "Ikraam, I was stabbed so many times."

"I know."

"I almost died."

"It's an inevitability."

Hallvar snorted, but they were relieved.

The pair spent some time gossiping in hushed tones about the guildmaster's methodologies, leaving only when they saw Nalini rushing downstairs, very late.

It was reassuring that Hallvar wasn't alone in being fundamentally tortured for training.

Clearly Ikraam was trained for different purposes – the concept of an assassin was never implied, but Ikraam spoke of a significant amount of infiltration and the breakneck requirements of scaling "fine masonry" that one could only find in upper class or royal establishments.

Broken bones weren't the same thing as hundreds of stab wounds, but they kind of were, for the purposes of a quick group therapy session.

Yeah, it was nice being able to talk.

Hallvar still had a sense of trepidation regarding their tolerance of pain, suffering it or inflicting it. It didn't feel healthy. Time would reveal if that was a necessary numbness or a pervasive rot in their psyche.


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