Being a Silver-ranked adventurer was strangely… bureaucratic. The day after our return was spent drowning in paperwork, updating Guild records, and signing a stack of parchments that basically said, "Yes, we understand we are responsible for our own monumental disasters from now on."
The advance payment we received was immediately devoured by old debts. Torin was paid — his scowling face almost cracking into a smile as the coins clinked onto his counter. Several other merchants we had wronged over previous chapters appeared as well, each with a detailed invoice that, I suspect, was slightly inflated to cover "emotional damage."
But for the first time since I fell into this world, my coin pouch wasn't empty. We had funds. Enough for a decent inn, hot meals, and — gloriously — a private hot bath. Sitting in a tub of steaming water, feeling months of grime and tension being washed away, I almost cried. It was paradise. Of course, peace lasted about five minutes before I heard loud voices in the hallway.
"I'm going first! I'm the goddess here!"
"My mana's low — a bath would revitalize me!"
"I just want to see if the water's hot enough to melt a coin…"
I closed my eyes and smiled. Some things would never change.
As I dried my hair, a shadow passed over my window. A great silver-feathered eagle — an elven messenger. It dropped a small crystal tube onto my windowsill before flying away. Inside was a single parchment sheet, bearing the elegant handwriting of King Elandor.
"The debt is remembered. The calling will come with the full moon. Be prepared."
It wasn't a quest. It was a reminder. A reminder that our "victory" in Lytheria had a price, and that price had yet to be collected. A chill ran down my spine — but also a spark of anticipation. It was frightening, but also… meaningful. This wasn't about collecting herbs or killing frogs anymore. It was something greater.
Later, in the main tavern (not Torin's — we decided to give him a break), we were reviewing the list of Silver-ranked missions. They were different now.
"Investigate disappearances in adamantium mines."
"Negotiate truces with centaur tribes of the northern plains."
"Escort a royal ambassador through the Shadowlands."
These were missions that shaped the world — not just our bank balance.
"This one," Vespera said, pointing to a request about recovering a stolen artifact from a temple. "Looks fun. Chance for some good, controlled chaos."
Elara, beside me, studied a mission about containing a magical anomaly near a fishing village. "I could practice my containment spells. I should be able to hold them for seven seconds now, maybe."
Liriel, of course, was bored. "All so… mortal. Where's the quest to 'overthrow a rival deity' or 'rearrange the constellations'?"
That's when a group of rookie adventurers — no older than I was when I started — approached our table hesitantly.
"You're… you're the Strippers, right?" one of them, a young mage in a brand-new robe, stammered.
Vespera grinned, showing a bit too much fang. "The official name is 'Endless Misadventure', but yes. The very same."
The rookie's eyes lit up. "We've heard! About how you faced the elves! And about… well, everything! How do you… how do you keep going, you know? With all the… this?" He gestured broadly, as if trying to encompass our entire history of disasters.
Elara, Liriel, Vespera, and I exchanged glances. I was the nominal leader. It was a fair question. How did we keep going?
"Because in the end," I said, choosing my words carefully, "it's not about avoiding the mess. It's about who's beside you to clean it up." I looked at Elara, who blushed slightly. "It's about finding strength where you least expect it." I glanced at Vespera, who nodded. "And about learning that even the greatest disasters… pass." Liriel rolled her eyes, but didn't disagree.
"Besides," Vespera added with a mischievous glint, "sometimes it's really, really funny."
The rookies seemed a little disappointed by the lack of epic wisdom, but they thanked us and left.
That night, sitting on the inn's rooftop with Elara, we looked up at the stars. The moon was nearly full.
"I'm scared," she admitted softly, almost whispering. "Of that 'calling' from the elves. Of everything."
"So am I," I confessed. It was easier to admit that now.
"But," she continued, her hand finding mine in the dark, "I'm less scared than I used to be. Before… well, before all this."
We stayed silent for a while, watching the twinkling lights of Vaelor below us. The city was a living thing — noisy, smelly, full of problems. But it was our city now. Our endless misadventure.
The legacy of our elven "calling" wasn't fame or fortune. It was responsibility. It was realizing that our actions — however accidental and disastrous — had consequences that stretched far beyond the walls of a tavern or a field of wheat.
And, looking at the woman beside me, at the dysfunctional family I'd gathered, and at the moon that heralded a dangerous future, I realized I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Well, maybe for unlimited hot baths. Some things were still sacred.