James felt great. Drinks were flowing, names shared, Squire stole unguarded morsels off the table, and the “team” while unofficial, barely formed, were all noticeably tipsy and starting to get along.

  They were here for him, maybe, but mainly for a new start. James figured, if he was going to lead, he should start now.

  He leaned in, voice calm but clear.

  “Alright,” he said, cutting through the noise. “Before we go any further I want to make my position clear. I'm not just looking for an arena squad. I'm looking for party members who protect each other, both in and out of combat, and want adventures. Long-term comrades. Big missions. Dangerous bounties. Creature captures if possible. That’s my goal.”

  That drew a pause. The dwarf, Ja’ra, looked a little put out but didn’t get up. James noted it. Good.

  “I know that might sound selfish,” James added, “but I’m after strong cards. If I can Death Mark or capture something rare, I will.”

  This time, it was Lae’ni, the elf, who raised a brow, faintly disapproving. Still no one left.

  “Anyone sitting on quests they need help with, I’m open to short runs. But my goal’s a full party. Something we can train with, grow with, maybe even win some arena fights with once we’ve got cohesion.”

  He paused, scanning the faces around the table. Watching for tension.

  Crossed arms. Tight jaws. Even the faintest flare of prejudice, and he braced for it.

  Nothing.

  Lae’ni didn’t look down on the humans. No curled lip, no distant aloofness, just steady interest, fingers idly tracing a groove in the table.

  Ja’ra didn’t scowl at the elf. He just shifted his weight and scratched his beard, thoughtful but not bristling.

  Edward gave a small, open smile. The kind that said And Ken, gods bless him, gave a casual thumbs-up, already halfway through his second tankard.

  James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  That was a good sign.

  “Now, roles,” he said, straightening a little. “Even if I can summon backup, I’ll need coverage. Does anyone here have healing skills?”

  He looked at Lae’ni, half-expecting something druidic: vines, glowy hands, the whole forest-whispers deal.

  Instead, Ken raised his staff.

  Just a quiet lift, no flourish, no words.

  Edward nodded and stepped in, like he always did.

  “Ken’s a dedicated healer. Staff focus. Been keeping me alive since I could throw a punch.”

  Ken gave a modest wave, eyes soft behind his oversized spectacles. Zero ego. Just quiet competence.

  “Can anyone tank?” James asked, then caught himself. “I mean… anyone here built to draw attention? Soak hits while others deal damage?”

  He didn’t know if this world had a word for it, but that was the role. Someone who could take a hit and make it look easy.

  Edward filled the gap automatically, ever helpful. “Front-line defense, yep, I can.”

  Ja’ra snorted into his mug. “Lad, will be taking that role. Good to have a backup, though.”

  He said it with the casual certainty of someone who he could take a beating and grin through the blood.

  James didn’t argue.

  You don’t argue with someone who looks like they bend steel for stress relief.

  “Good to know,” James said, then hesitated, just half a breath.

  The table had gone quiet. Not solemn, not dramatic. Just… listening.

  James, sensing the moment, decided to speak with a bit more weight.

  “My name is James,” he said, straighter in his seat now. “Commander class.”

  He kept it simple. Clear. No swagger. Just the facts.

  Then he pointed loosely around the table, inviting the rest.

  “Edward,” came the quick reply. “Warrior. Weapons focus.”

  James took him in properly now: tall, broad through the shoulders, posture straight without trying.

  He looked like he’d been carved out of a training yard. The kind of guy who probably won sparring matches just by showing up.

  That jaw alone had . Or at least

  “Ken,” the healer said, waving. “Support class. Staff-based magic.”

  James almost laughed, not at Ken but at himself.

  he was the healer.

  The spectacles. The wave. The whole gentle-and-competent thing. It was obvious now.

  “Trish,” said the next, spinning her cup lazily. “Sorcerer. Elemental focus.”

  She moved like someone permanently amused, sleek, sharp-eyed, and just waiting for someone to say something stupid.

  That grin wasn’t smug, exactly. Just the kind that said she’d always catch the joke before you did… and might make a better one after.

  James didn’t know if that made her charming or terrifying. Probably both.

  “Ja’ra de Porchan,” the dwarf grunted. “Warrior. Earth-tuned.”

  Ja’ra had shoulders like a stone wall and a beard thick enough to count as armor.

  The glare did most of the work, promising broken bones long before the hammer ever had to speak.

  James didn’t doubt he could tank a building if it came to it.

  “Lae’ni Feirin,” the elf said with a nod. “Druid. Plant-aligned.”

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Lae’ni’s features were all clean lines and calm poise, pale hair falling like she’d stepped straight out of a forest shrine. Even her nod carried more grace than most people’s speeches.

  James grinned.

  “This could actually work. Honestly? I might be the weakest link.”

  Edward pointed to the score board, but James ignored him.

  “Alright,” he said. “Team name?”

  Edward perked up like he was about to say something dumb.

  “If you say , I’m walking.”

  The grin that followed was all James.

  He tapped the table twice, then nodded at Ja’ra.

  “Rock.”

  Ja’ra snorted, but placed a hand flat on the wood. A smooth stone rose through the surface, perfectly square and solid.

  James flicked a card onto it.

  “Paper.”

  Then he looked down at the pouch on his belt.

  “Squire?”

  The tiny squirrel launched upward, scrambled onto the card, and did a perfect 360-degree spin before sitting primly in place.

  “Squirrel.”

  The table went still. Just for a moment.

  Then Ken laughed. Edward clapped. Trish grinned like she wanted to steal it and brand it on a shirt.

  Lae’ni arched her brow.

  “Won’t people think on the team?”

  James opened his mouth to respond.

  Trait Activated – Wait—NO!

  Effect: Team Name Assigned – Rock, Paper, Squirrel

  The name will remain active until official disbanding or restructuring is filed with the Guild.

  His mouth stayed open.

  “No, no no no. Dammit.”

  Trish sipped her drink like it was the best part of her day.

  “You did that on purpose.”

  “I absolutely did not. It’s a trait. It betrays me.”

  Squire chirped from the table, smug. The little traitor.

  “What trait?” Ja’ra asked. His voice wasn’t amused anymore. It was sharp, low, like a blade being tested on a whetstone.

  “You’ve got some weird system quirk that’s going to blow up a quest one day?”

  James met his gaze.

  “It’s called It disables confirmation prompts. Mostly for naming things.”

  The dwarf studied him for a long moment. No twitch. No blink. Just that slow, stone-faced scan.

  “Hrm. That’s not too bad. Just try to keep it under control.”

  James gave a mock salute.

  “Doing my best.”

  The mood eased, the tension melting, the name already shifting from joke to banner.

  It didn’t just land. It stuck.

  James took a breath, let the room settle, then stood.

  “Alright. Today we prepare. Gear up, bond hunt, gather supplies.”

  He looked around the table, one face at a time: warrior, healer, wild card, druid, wall.

  “Tomorrow… we quest.”

  Laughter followed, warm and real. Mugs clinked. Someone tossed a crumb Squire’s way, and the little squirrel caught it mid-air like it was already part of the routine.

  James hadn’t planned on a party. He’d just wanted to survive.

  But here they were, partying.

  Ja’ra slapped a heavy hand on James’s shoulder, nearly knocking the drink clean out of his grip.

  “Dwarven chainmail, eh? I’ve got a set you can have.”

  James perked up. “Actually, yeah, I’d be interested.”

  “When you level up enough to carry it.”

  The dwarf laughed, loud and unrepentant. James did too, then winced.

  That had been a serious offer.

  “Commons,” Ja’ra said, pointing around the circle like he was assigning drills. “Tomorrow. Morning. Sober.”

  Everyone booed him.

  James tried to stand and had to steady himself with a hand on the table. He was… not as vertical as he should be. Edward caught his elbow.

  “Easy there, Commander.”

  Which was funny, considering Edward was only marginally more upright himself.

  James scooped up Squire and immediately squished her paw. She squeaked in protest.

  “Okay, yeah, fair,” he muttered. “My bad.”

  He focused, reaching for the bond in his head.

  The squirrel blinked at him, then vanished. A shimmer of light spiraled upward, fading like sparks into the ether.

  No one at the table looked shocked.

  Which… surprised James.

  He shrugged, drained the rest of his ale (gluten be damned), and swaggered off with Edward toward another wing of the guild.

  The Guild’s supply hall was quieter than the commons, the air cooler, touched with the faint tang of oil and iron. Enchanted lanterns glowed steady over racks stacked with everything from cheap potions to full-scale siege gear.

  At the far end stood a desk, cluttered with tools, bundles of tokens and talismans dangling above it like charms in a market stall.

  Behind it, a lean man with silver-streaked hair was lining up crossbow bolts by length and weight, precise as a jeweler with gems.

  James swept into a bow so low he nearly toppled.

  “” he declared. “We seek gear!”

  The man didn’t even blink.

  “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

  James grinned, already sure this guy was going to be a pal.

  “I need gear,” he said, with drunken conviction.

  Joe nodded once. “What kind?”

  James rubbed his chin, summoning what he decided was Earth-born cleverness.

  “I think, sir… that you know better than me what I need.”

  Joe turned to Edward. “Translation?”

  “He’s a Commander,” Edward said. “Unenchanted dagger. That’s it. He needs everything.”

  James waved a hand. “Not true. I have wolf-leather armor. And… oh! Pelts. Good ones. Can you craft something?”

  Joe sighed, the long, tired sigh of a man who had clearly lived this exact conversation a hundred times before.

  “Let me see the armor.”

  James straightened, tried for a flex, and summoned it from his inventory. The battered wolf-leather landed on the counter with a soft , the smell of musk and dried blood sneaking into the clean, lantern-lit air.

  Joe’s eyebrows twitched.

  “Inventory skill, huh? If adventuring doesn’t work out, we could use you for delivery runs.”

  He lifted the armor, turning it over in practiced hands. “Good quality. Stitched by hand. Loot?”

  “You bet.”

  Joe nodded once. “Solid. I’d recommend embedding an enchantment card. Do you have one?”

  “Only basic Bronze-rank stuff,” James said, shrugging. “Just crossed five hundred rep. Thought that’d unlock some cool shit.”

  Joe reached beneath the counter and fanned out three cards across the wood, neat as a dealer laying hands.

  “Slippery – 80 gold.

  Self-Cleaning – 30 gold.

  Spikes – 70 gold.”

  James leaned closer, squinting at the text like it might magically say something better if he stared hard enough.

  “Anything that lets me move faster, see in the dark, or… I don’t know, shoot fireballs?”

  Joe gave him a look. Flat. Patient. Dangerous.

  “Sure. When you hit level ten.”

  “Worth asking,” James muttered.

  James leaned in, the grin fading just a little.

  “What about something to help with cards? Tactics? Or… basic weapon skills?”

  Joe’s eyes slid to Edward.

  Edward shrugged. “He’s new. Like, very new.”

  Joe tapped his fingers on the counter, slow and deliberate.

  “We could start you with a crossbow.”

  James followed his gaze to the rack behind him. Plain wood stocks, steel limbs, bundled quivers hanging neat beneath.

  James pointed. “That… how much?”

  Joe plucked it from the rack, checked the string tension out of habit.

  “Hundred gold. Comes with a quiver and twenty standard bolts.”

  James brightened. He knew his old tabletop rules. Crossbows were ideal for someone with no training and no time to gain any.

  “Deal.”

  Then a spark of inspiration hit.

  “You got any enchanted bolts?”

  Joe raised a brow. The answer was yes, though the look said not for you, rookie.

  Before James could argue, Edward jumped in.

  “Soo… eighty gold?”

  “Hundred,” Joe replied.

  “Ninety?”

  “Hundred ten.”

  Edward blinked. “That’s—wait—”

  “Hundred,” Joe finished, hand out flat.

  James grinned and clasped it.

  “Win.”

  He dropped the coins and slid the crossbow, quiver, and bolts into his inventory with practiced ease. It wasn’t flashy, but it meant he had a backup when the summons weren’t there.

  “Hey, Joe, one more thing. Where are the kennels?”

  Joe paused. Then set a hand on each of their shoulders, weary as an exasperated uncle.

  “Please, for the love of all the gods, don’t go there until you’re sober.”

  James gave him a deeply offended look. Joe didn’t blink.

  “…Fair,” James muttered.

  They wandered off. James ducked into a side stall and came out with a suspiciously familiar pack of cards, glossy, cheap, and absolutely Earth-style. The kind of deck you’d find by the register at a gas station.

  Back in the commons, he flopped into a chair beside Edward and cracked the seal. The faint smell of ink and plastic drifted up, absurdly nostalgic.

  “Hey. You know how to play Blackjack?”

  Edward tilted his head.

  “That’s like Goblin Poker?”

  “Better.”

  When James finally staggered back to his room, it hit him. He hadn’t bought a single potion: no healing, no stamina, not even the cheap burn salve.

  He decided to blame bourbon. Tomorrow, sober, he’d fix it.

  .

  God, he loved the Silver Room. And bourbon.

  ??? System Note: Squire voted for “Carded and Dangerous.”

  She is not pleased with the final team name. Prepare for passive-aggressive squeaks.