Morell Demon Hunting Academy

The last ray of orange light from the setting sun slanted through the stained window of the Lone Bird Tavern. Aria sat in the corner of the tavern, her back pressed against the scarred wooden wall, with her only proper meal of the day spread before her. A chunk of black bread hard enough to kill someone with, and a small bowl of bean soup that looked more like dishwater. Her fingers traced over the small cloth pouch hidden at her waist, producing the faint sound of metal clinking against metal. Three copper coins, and a few small silver pieces worn so smooth their designs were no longer visible. This was all her worldly possessions. If she couldn't find work tomorrow, she might actually have to start eating tree bark. Aria carefully broke the bread into fingernail-sized crumbs, dipping each piece in the thin soup and chewing slowly. This way she could make the meal last longer and trick her stomach into thinking it was full. The tavern's clamor rose and fell around her. At a table near the bar, a red-faced merchant was loudly boasting: "That batch of leather today—I made thirty silver coins on the turnover! Those noble lords in the city, they're generous when it comes to quality goods!" His voice was so loud it seemed he feared others couldn't hear him, his thick palm slapping the table and splashing wine. Aria glanced at him and shook her head silently. A truly wealthy merchant wouldn't flaunt his income in a place like this, much less in such an ostentatious manner. Either he was lying, or he'd be marked by someone tomorrow. Either way, it had nothing to do with her. Her gaze shifted to another corner, where a figure in a dark cloak sat with his hood pulled low, face nearly invisible. A glass of spirits sat before him, but he'd barely touched it since sitting down. Aria noticed his posture was different from the other patrons. This person sat straight-backed, hands placed on the table, ready to rise at any moment—the stance of someone on guard. More importantly, he occasionally lifted his head to scan the other customers in the tavern. When his gaze was about to sweep over her, Aria quickly lowered her head, pretending to focus on her meal. But she could feel those eyes lingering on her for several seconds. Best not to make contact unless necessary. Dangerous. She mentally marked this person as a threat. The tavern keeper lazily wiped the wooden cup in his hands with a rag that looked like it hadn't been washed in months. His movements were mechanical and repetitive, his empty gaze fixed ahead, completely indifferent to his customers' conversations. She broke off another small piece of bread and dipped it in the soup. The soup had cooled considerably, and the beans had a bitter taste in her mouth, but this was still much better than having nothing to eat yesterday. She chewed while contemplating tomorrow's plans. The town's commission board had been devoid of suitable tasks for three consecutive days, and her abilities weren't great enough to handle those high-paying dangerous commissions. Maybe it was time to leave this small town. Though it was relatively safe here, no work opportunities meant no way to survive. She could take the northern trade route, where merchant caravans often needed temporary workers to help with cargo. Just as she was considering her options, the tavern door was pushed open with a harsh creaking sound from the hinges. A middle-aged man entered, dressed in decent brown cloth that, while not made of precious materials, was at least clean and tidy. His hair was somewhat graying, his face bearing the weariness of travel, and he carried a small leather bag in his hand. Aria's gaze swept over him. Medium height, neither fat nor thin. She noticed the calluses on his hands from conducting business and the road dust on his boots—details that matched the identity of a merchant who frequently traveled. But what truly caught her attention was his behavior. After entering, this man didn't immediately find a seat like other customers, but stood by the door surveying the surroundings, as if searching for something. His eyes swept from left to right across each table of patrons. When he saw the drunk merchant, he frowned slightly. When he spotted the cloaked figure, his expression became more cautious. Finally, his gaze settled on Aria. Aria lowered her head and continued eating her dinner, but she could feel that gaze lingering on her longer than it had on the others. Her fingers unconsciously tightened around the ceramic soup bowl, alarm bells ringing in her mind. "Young lady, you look like someone who takes on commissions." The middle-aged man approached her table, his voice calm but carrying a hint of careful probing. Aria looked up, those purple eyes gazing at him calmly. She didn't answer immediately, but quickly sized him up. At this close distance, she could make out more details. Though this man's clothes weren't expensive, they were decent quality. The edges of his leather bag showed signs of wear, indicating frequent use. His expression seemed somewhat anxious, but he was making an effort to maintain a polite smile. "What commission?" "May I sit down to discuss it?" The man pointed to the chair across from her. "I'm Martin Griffith, a merchant. I have a simple message delivery task that I think might suit you." Aria didn't immediately agree, but continued observing him. The name sounded ordinary, nothing special about it. His posture showed no obvious threat, but the most dangerous were often those who appeared harmless. "Why choose me?" As Aria asked this, she used her peripheral vision to monitor the reactions of others in the tavern. The drunk merchant was still talking loudly, and the cloaked figure showed no particular interest. Martin's face showed an understanding expression. "Because this task is rather special. I need to find a young woman to complete it." He paused, organizing his words. "It's like this—I have a sister who lives in a cottage by the forest edge. She's lived alone for many years and has a rather... reclusive personality. She's not comfortable meeting strange men." "Where does your sister live?" "Just at the forest edge outside town, about an hour's walk." Martin took a folded paper from his leather bag. "I have a route map here. Her name is Susie, and she looks... well, somewhat like you. Black hair, not very tall." He showed her the paper, and Aria saw it indeed contained a detailed route map, even marking various landmarks. This level of thoroughness made her relax her guard somewhat. If this were a scam, few people would invest so much effort in preparing such details. "What kind of message needs delivering?" She continued her inquiries. "A family letter." Martin's answer came quickly. "Something has happened in our family that she needs to know about. And..." he lowered his voice, sounding somewhat urgent, "she's leaving on a long journey early tomorrow morning and won't be back for several days, so it must be delivered today." "What's the payment?" She asked the crucial question. Martin reached into his jacket and pulled out a small cloth pouch, producing the crisp sound of metal clinking. He opened the pouch, revealing the glinting coins inside. "Ten silver coins," he said. "Payment upon completion of the task." Aria's heartbeat quickened. Ten silver coins would buy her bread for a month and several nights in a decent inn. "Just delivering a message?" She confirmed once more. "Just delivering a message." Martin nodded. "Give this letter to my sister Susie and tell her I sent you. It's that simple." Aria frowned. A simple message delivery task, yet the payment was so generous. A reclusive sister, yet living at the relatively isolated forest edge. And there was that subtle time pressure. But her money pouch, containing only three copper coins, reminded her that she didn't have many choices left. "May I see the letter?" She made one final request. Martin's expression changed slightly, but quickly returned to normal. "The letter is sealed," he said. "You know, family privacy. But I can assure you there's nothing dangerous in its contents." Aria looked into Martin's eyes, trying to read something from them. Those eyes appeared weary and sincere, carrying a pleading quality. Maybe she really was overthinking this. "Alright." She finally nodded in agreement. "I'll take this commission."