Chapter 251: Unstoppable Force vs Immovable Object

With a fresh tankard of my grandfather’s favorite beer in hand, I recline against the chair and stare my opponent down from across the table. Count Drisford wants me to convince him that we’re the right Guild for the undisclosed job, does he? Very well. Let’s see how he withstands my verbal assault.

With as much confidence as I can gather, I begin my argument. “There are many reasons you should choose my Guild, Count Drisford,” I tell him. “Chief of which is that the problem you’re facing, whatever it may be, is clearly unique.”

“I don’t follow.” The Count replies, unimpressed.

“If these quests were something you could just casually issue any old Guild in Arrark without a second thought, I wouldn’t be here. The Dawnstead Guild Master would be. Furthermore, you don’t strike me as the type to just go along with someone else’s idea unless you see some merit or opportunity in it. Opalina may have bugged you for a week straight, but there’s no way you agreed to meet me just get her off of your back. There’s a specific reason why you ultimately agreed to give the Dewhurst Guild a chance. It’s because we’re theoretically best for the job.”

“There were an awful lot of assumptions in that proclamation of yours.” He replies, his low, soft voice taking on a menacing cadence.

“And I could say the same about your assessment of my character. If you’re willing to hear them, I have even more assumptions to voice.”

“Go on, Guild Master.”

“You and the Duke both want someone to do away with the criminal who goes by the name of the Duke of Dewhurst, and the quests you want to register are going to be bounty quests that are strictly under the table. Only you, my Guild, and the Association would know. I can’t think of any other reasons you’d be so secretive regarding the quests unless you don’t want anyone who hasn’t already agreed to know that you’re using a Guild to stealthily wipe out a criminal syndicate.”

“...And why would Duke Gloomcrest care who knows, supposing you’re correct?”

“For one, because it makes him look weak and like he can’t solve his own problems.”

Bertrand chooses this moment to interject, despite what little common sense I thought he still had. “How dare you say such vile, despicable things about the honorable Duke of Arrark! Count Drisford, this farce has done long on enough, I-”

Without taking his eyes from me, the Lord Steward puts Bertrand in his place with a chilling threat. “If you open your mouth so much as one more time without being spoken to, so help me, I will find a way to strip you of your nobility and reduce you to nothing but a commoner.”

After nodding his head, Bertrand starts sweating profusely. His face goes gaunt, pale, and his hands tremble. He’s crying, too, and I’m almost impressed with how silently the Chamberlain can cry. I’m guessing Count Drisford has given him plenty of excuses to practice.

“Guild Master, you’re right about one thing. Duke Gloomcrest is weak. He can’t solve his own problems. But without his leadership, I’m the one who picks up the slack. Your assumptions are implying that I can’t straighten a single, troublesome town in the Duke’s province without relying on underhanded tactics.” He purposefully turns my words into an attack on his own character- very crafty of him.

“With all due respect, that is not what I’m implying at all.”

Without seeming like he believes me or not, Count Drisford demands, “Explain.”

“You were the one who espoused the values of being aware of the wider world, Count Drisford. I will not pretend to know the political landscape of Arrark, but as important as Dewhurst used to be, it’s only one city. I don’t believe you are the sort of man who would intentionally let a town rot to the point it becomes a hive for criminals. No. The province is bigger than Dewhurst. You and Duke Gloomcrest’s attention must have focused on more pressing issues that I’m unaware of. Then, by the time Dewhurst was corrupted, it became difficult to do anything about it.”

“Hmph...” The nobleman closes his eyes, considering my words while giving me nothing to go off of regarding his body language. “If what you say is true, then why would we get a Guild to clean up Dewhurst as opposed to the many other options we as a noble House have at our disposal?”

“I can think of many reasons, mainly that it would be a waste of troops and resources that might be better used elsewhere. While you could certainly ask for help from neighboring provinces that would involve political favors with other nobles or the King...” I give him a few good examples before pushing back with my own assertion. “Ultimately, though, the reason is completely irrelevant.”

“Is it really?” He questions, his eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.

“A Guild is meant to help those in need of help, not question why they need it. If you come to my Guild with a problem, you will leave with it solved. No questions asked.”

Silence. There’s no indication that I’m getting anywhere with him, but I’m still confident in the direction I’ve taken this conversation. After thinking on what I’ve said, the Count retorts with, “An inspiring sequence of words, truly, but no matter how you dress it, your Guild is still a Guild. There are four more in Arrark, and you’ve yet to make a case for why these theoretical set of bounty quests should go to you.”

He just gave me a way to segue into one of my strongest arguments, so I pounce on the opportunity like a rabid animal. “That’s the thing, my good Count. I don’t need to make a case. You already have one of the Duke’s most important men sitting in your dungeons right this very moment, thanks to my courageous adventurers. My case is already made.”

“Is it? It could be a fluke. How hard could it have been to capture a street pimp?” Finally, there it is. The first signs of weakness. Count Drisford’s arguments are becoming frailer to the point where he’s deliberately diluting the truth.

“Don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes. I know very well who that man was, and I know what Percival Chasteworthe did in his checkered past.” The grave, thoughtful older man closes his eyes. I push on. “We both know he was no common street pimp. I saw his might with my own two eyes.”

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This gets a different result than I was expecting out of him. “Hold on just a moment. You were there when your adventurers battled him? I was told there was some sort of obnoxious, phallic, palace-dungeon-”

I interrupt him then and there, saying, “Oh, you knew? But didn’t you just wonder aloud how hard it could have been to capture a street pimp?”

“Hmph,” Count Drisford growls, while the silent Chamberlain stares at me for having the gall to speak out of turn. “That’s beside the point. How did you see Chasteworthe’s power first hand? You don’t expect me to believe you accompanied the party you sent out to capture him, do you?”

I lower my gaze for a moment, thinking whether or not to reveal one of my remaining trump cards. In the end, I flip the card faceup on the table, asking him, “Have you ever heard of a power known as Taskmaster?”

Count Drisford becomes as hysterical as a man of his poise possibly can. “No, no, no. Guild Master, I am many things, but I am not a fool. You can’t possibly mean to imply that you share the same sacred eyesight as the Hero King of Karnalle.”

“Would you care to see it?”

“...The burden of proof relies on you. You’ll show it if you have it.” He says, trying to hide his interest.

“Open Guild Roster; Zutiria Syndaline and Merille Tillot.” My eyes flash pink as two familiar magical displays burst forth. With my hand, I turn them towards the Count so he can read them. Obviously, I leave out Sam’s dossier since the Count outright said he’s met Her Highness before.

Zutiria may be a slight gamble as well, but I don’t think she mingled with the nobility much whereas Sam was forced to. He may also recognize Meri from her class and her last name, but at least that could be written off as a coincidence, and it wouldn’t implicate me in the abduction of a Princess.

“Guild Master...” Count Drisford’s jaw drops as he stares in open disbelief. At first, I fill with worry, anxious that he may have recognized Zutiria. But the Count then reacts to something more shocking altogether. He asks, “Why in all hells does this magical screen show a list of your adventurer’s fetishes?”

...Gods damn it all.

I forgot to shrink the screens to leave that part out. I’ve been thinking so hard during this conversation that such a minor detail slipped my mind. Now Count Drisford, of all people, knows that Zutiria likes sniffing my balls.

I don’t know how to deal with that knowledge.

“My version of Taskmaster is a bit different. I’m a true, red-blooded Karnallian male, remember? Let’s just leave it at that.” I fix my error before Bertrand can read any of it. Despite his continued silence, he looks disappointed he didn’t get to learn more details of my sordid love life.

Count Drisford closes his slack jaw and then his eyes. After a moment of silent contemplation, he nods his head. “...Indeed. From one man to another, you have my respect for that much, at least.”

“Thank you. Moving on,” I cough into my fist and point at the row of buttons. “The button labeled ‘camera’ will turn the screen into a sort of remote viewing experience where I can watch their actions and transmit my voice to them, essentially coaching their fights and advising during dungeon crawling. I would show you an example, but I have no way of knowing what they may be doing right now. For all I know, they could be bathing or any other number of embarrassing things, really.”

This perks the ears of a certain mashed potato-faced butler, and I’m starting to hope he speaks out of turn.

“Say no more. I believe you...” Count Drisford sighs as he crosses his hands over his forehead. He continues with even more silent contemplation. “However... you aren’t here to sell your own talents, but those of your Guild. Certainly, you have some fancy tricks at your disposal. I won’t deny that. But how does that apply to your Guild’s strength?”

“Each of my adventurers are strong rookies who have more power than their bronze ranking would have, you think. My guidance and tactics allowed them to take on Sir Pimpington, many of his armed prostitutes, and numerous monsters within his mysterious dungeon. All three adventurers came out of the ordeal much stronger than they went in.”

With an almost wry tone, he asks, “You’re saying your adventurers have potential, then?”

“No, Count Drisford. A piece of coal has the potential to become a diamond, but it’s still a piece of coal. What they have are results.”

The stony old man suddenly grins.

My gut instinct was right. He brought up ‘potential’ as another conversational trap. I saw through it and used it against him before he tried arguing what I just brought up. Now, caught in his gambit, he expresses a surprising level of amusement. “I see...” Count Drisford admits. “I think I’ve heard all that I need to hear out of you, Guild Master.”

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