Mireya folded the report and slid it into the archive drawer with practiced care.
“The guild has started a formal investigation into the orphanage’s funds,” she said, tone professional but not cold. “Several Iron-rank adventurers accepted supply and escort requests. One group has already departed for the main town to verify records.”
Ivaline listened without interrupting.
“The results should come back within a week,” Mireya continued. “Until then, the orphanage will be… stable.”
Ivaline nodded.
A small movement. But deliberate.
Safe for now.
That was enough.
She stepped away from the counter and turned toward the quest board.
Copper notices filled most of it.
Lost pets. Missing parcels. A runaway apprentice. Boar hunting requests pinned in uneven rows, some old, some freshly inked. Mundane. Honest. Safe.
Her eyes moved calmly from one to another.
- Finding a lost cat — Copper
- Lost person notice — Copper
- Boar hunting request — Copper
Nothing unusual.
Nothing urgent.
Then, near the edge of the board — a newer parchment, pinned slightly crooked, stamped by a different receptionist’s seal.
Investigate Goblin Sighting
Rank: Iron
Ivaline stopped.
She read it carefully. Once. Then again.
Rumors of goblin activity near the west gate. No confirmed attacks. No casualties. The guild requested reconnaissance only — confirmation of presence. Avoid combat at all costs. Engagement permitted only as a last resort.
Her fingers curled slightly.
“If it’s just sight confirmation,” she murmured internally, “think we could do it, Chronicle?”
A pause.
Then his calm reply.
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“I would recommend against it if proof is required,” Chronicle said. “But if it is purely visual confirmation, then yes. You and I might handle it.”
That was enough.
She reached up, unpinned the notice, and turned back toward the counter.
Mireya saw the parchment before Ivaline said a word.
“No.”
One word.
Flat. Immediate. Final.
Ivaline stopped.
Chronicle understood at once.
Rank mismatch. Age. Risk assessment. Guild protocol.
From Mireya’s perspective, the decision was obvious.
From Ivaline’s—
She said nothing.
She simply looked at Mireya.
Not pleading.
Not angry.
Just… steady.
A quiet, unwavering stare that carried no expression at all.
Mireya felt it hit her a second later.
“…Ivaline,” she began, then stopped.
The girl didn’t blink.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t ask why.
She just stood there, parchment still in hand, gaze level and unyielding.
It wasn’t defiance.
That was what unsettled Mireya most.
It was expectation.
Like someone who had already weighed the outcome… and disagreed.
“…This quest involves goblins,” Mireya said carefully, choosing each word. “Even a sighting can turn dangerous. Iron rank or not, this is not something I can approve for you.”
Still nothing.
The silence stretched.
A few adventurers nearby glanced over, sensing tension but not understanding it.
Mireya swallowed.
Why does it feel like I’m the one being evaluated?
Mireya didn’t raise her voice.
She didn’t snap.
Instead, she rested both hands on the counter and met Ivaline’s gaze properly this time.
“No,” she repeated. “And I’ll explain why.”
Ivaline remained still.
Listening.
“First,” Mireya said, “you’re underage. Even by guild standards. That alone makes goblin-related investigations a restricted approval.”
She lifted one finger.
“Second. You have no prior track record in reconnaissance or information-gathering quests. No confirmed scouting reports. No tracking logs. No retrieval missions involving hostile territory.”
Another finger.
“And third.”
Her eyes dropped, briefly, to Ivaline’s equipment.
A simple dress.
No reinforced leather.
No padding.
No charms.
No emergency kit.
A wooden stick, worn smooth by use.
“And this is the most important,” Mireya said quietly. “Your gear is unacceptable. No defensive wear. No reliable weapon. No supplies. If something goes wrong, you won’t have the margin to escape.”
She exhaled.
“This quest requires someone who can retreat safely if discovered. Right now, you can’t.”
The guild hall was quiet.
No one mocked.
No one interfered.
Mireya straightened.
“If you build a record in finding and information-related work,” she continued, “upgrade your equipment, and join a party—then I’ll reconsider. But for now…”
She shook her head once.
“No.”
Ivaline nodded.
Immediately.
No argument.
No lingering stare.
She bowed, deep and proper.
“I understand,” she said softly.
Chronicle observed the decision.
Reasonable. Sound. Correct.
Ivaline turned back to the board.
Her eyes moved again—calm, methodical.
She unpinned a different notice.
- Locate a missing delivery crate — Copper
- Gather information on a runaway apprentice — Copper
Information.
Finding.
Tracing.
She selected one.
Returned to the counter.
“This one, please.”
Mireya blinked, then nodded.
“…Approved.”
The stamp came down.
Ivaline bowed again, thanked her, and turned toward the exit.
No disappointment showed on her face.
Only intent.
As she left the guild hall, Chronicle spoke quietly within her thoughts.
“You accept this without resentment.”
“I need the qualifications,” Ivaline replied simply.
She stepped out into the morning light.
Not toward danger.
Not yet.
But toward preparation.