Chapter 7

  Sadie was bored.

  After finally leaving the dungeon—three exhausting days later—she made her way back to the city of Gauntlet. First thing she did was pay off the massive 600-gold debt her former adventuring crew had dumped on her. Originally, she thought she owed around 300 gold—still a painful amount—but what she didn’t know was that her old team had deliberately doubled it behind her back.

  They’d stocked up on a ridiculous amount of potions, enchanted consumables, and dungeon supplies, then vanished—skipping town without a trace and leaving her to deal with the fallout.

  Before entering the dungeon, she owed that 300 gold to a disgusting, lecherous moneylender most people mockingly called “The Goblin.” Not to his face, of course. She’d gone into the dungeon expecting to need at least a dozen delves just to make a dent in that debt—if she got lucky.

  She didn’t.

  Her first fight in the dungeon dragged on way too long. A single goblin that should have gone down in under a minute ended up draining half her resources. She had to burn through potions just to stay standing and then used even more to recover enough to move forward. The second and third fights were no better—each encounter drained more than it gave. And the worst part? She couldn't leave.

  The dungeon required ten successful battles to unlock the exit—unless you had an escape token. Those tokens cost more than most adventurers earned in a week, and she didn’t have one. She’d gone in planning to endure it, but that plan started looking more like a death wish with every passing battle.

  Then came the fourth fight—and with it, a stroke of real luck.

  One of the goblins dropped a pouch of rare magical mushrooms. Not the kind that glowed for light or gave minor buffs—the kind. The ones that alchemists and enchanters would practically bid wars over. That single pouch would cover nearly half of her original debt. It was a miracle drop.

  And then she met Jake.

  She hadn't expected to see anyone else in the dungeon. Encounters between delvers were rare, and dangerous—most people avoided each other or assumed the worst. But Jake was calm. Grounded. He didn’t act like a terrified rookie, and he didn’t leer at her like most men did. He didn’t even really flirt—just acknowledged her presence with a quiet confidence that stuck in her mind.

  She found herself doing the flirting. Her. The “Ice Heiress.”

  People had called her that before. Not just because of her beauty and cool demeanor, but because of her family—wealthy, powerful, and absolutely ruthless. They had a near-monopoly on the creation of magical cards, one of the most tightly regulated industries in the kingdom. But none of that helped Sadie—yet. She wouldn’t receive her inheritance until her twenty-first birthday, and only if she was married. And that made things… complicated. Everyone who knew her background saw a walking vault.

  Jake hadn’t even asked her name.

  After they parted ways, her luck changed—again. It took a while, but when she found her next goblin, it was guarding something absurd: a pair of enchanted greaves with an agility enchantment. +10 Agility. The moment she put them on, she felt like she was floating—light, fast, precise. They were worth more than her entire debt.

  That single drop let her walk out of the dungeon not just debt-free, but with extra gold to spare.

  And the luck didn’t stop there. The next three fights? Item drops. Each one. Uncommon quality, nothing mind-blowing—but for that dungeon, that was like meeting a dragon in the woods and having it offer you a wish instead of roasting you alive. (Though, to be fair, dragons could be reasonable. They just didn’t deal well with idiots.)

  Sadie left the dungeon without a scratch.

  Three days in hell, and she walked out with a small fortune.

  After paying off her full 600-gold debt, she re-supplied: potions, combat tokens, runes, even splurged on a pair of old, worn fingerless gloves with a weak Dexterity enchantment. Most people would’ve passed them over. Not Sadie.

  She had a secret.

  [Talent: Repair (Rare)]

  Once per day, you may improve or repair an item by 10% if the item is intact.

  If the item is in poor or heavily damaged condition, you may perform a one-time 80% restoration (5% chance of upgrading the item to a higher tier).

  It wasn’t the kind of skill you talked about. Not ever. People got kidnapped over talents like that—locked in cells, chained to walls, used like tools. There were horror stories about rare and legendary talents. Most ended with the victim working under someone else's thumb for life.

  She didn’t plan to be one of those stories.

  Still… her thoughts kept drifting back to Jake. He was cute, kind of rugged in a calm way, but what stuck with her wasn’t his looks—it was his demeanor. Unshakable. Sharp. Focused. And, somehow, he listened. Even when her hints had been practically gibberish—coded words and incomplete warnings—he had pieced it together.

  She hoped he made it out. More than that, she hoped he’d taken her warning seriously about the rogue adventurers who preyed on first-time delvers just outside the dungeon.

  Sadie glanced around the Dull Blade Tavern as she leaned against the bar. Still no sign of Fred or his crew. It had been over a week.

  She wasn’t the only one who found them suspicious. They always came back from the dungeon with way more loot than made sense. People whispered things. And every time Sadie saw Fred or their so-called healer, her skin crawled. Both men had the kind of eyes that made you wish you carried a dagger in each hand—and so did Mary, one of the barmaids. Mary had told the barkeep flat-out: if those guys came in, she was taking the rest of the day off.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Normally, a warning like that would’ve been enough to keep someone out, but Fred’s crew spent a lot of gold and silver at the tavern. Too much for the owner to care.

  Still, it was strange not to see them after so long.

  Maybe they’d skipped town. If so, Sadie would celebrate. Maybe even drag Mary along for drinks. There was a slim chance they’d died in the dungeon… but she doubted it. They were loaded with enchanted gear and protective tokens. Dying would’ve taken serious effort.

  For now, she decided to stay in Gauntlet a while longer—maybe two more months. If she didn’t see Jake by then, she’d make the trip back home. Her family was overdue for a visit.

  *************************************************************************************

  Jessica.

  Jessica wanted to scream. Ursula was at it again—another obsession, another spiral. This time it was the silk dresses from the East Empire. Imported silks, delicate as mist in appearance, yet durable as armor and twice as expensive, had just arrived in the city, and Ursula had latched onto them like a tick. Shipments from the East continent were rare—twice a year at best. Sometimes a third would come through, but no one with any self-respect looked forward to it. That one always carried either crates of opium or cages meant for beastskin slaves. Filthy trade. Vile, no matter how it was dressed up.

  Jessica was frustrated—not in the throw-something-at-a-wall way, more in the slow-burning, eat-an-entire-loaf-of-bread-or-a cake-alone kind of way. It was the kind of frustration that curled up in your chest and just sat there, gnawing. There wasn’t anyone she could talk to, not really. No one she trusted, and definitely no one she could call a friend. Well, maybe Tessa. And don’t even get her started on the noble boys. Those stupid, arrogant, oily little peacocks.

  They just wouldn’t leave her alone. At first, it had almost been flattering—an invitation to tea, politely worded and handed over by a red-faced messenger too nervous to make eye contact. Fine, she thought. That’s harmless enough. She accepted—duty and politeness and all that. The conversation even started normally enough. Questions about her favorite books, her hobbies, her preferred tea blends. That lasted maybe ten minutes. Then came the shift.

  Suddenly, the conversation was full of probing, smug questions about “when she might be ready to settle down” and what she thought of joining “a respectable house with longstanding traditions.” As if she hadn’t caught the glint in their eyes when they said it. As if she didn’t know she was being auctioned like a prize cow at a nobleman’s fair.

  When she stopped humoring their idiotic attempts to woo her (she actually dry-heaved once from a particularly greasy line), things got worse. They became entitled, then pushy, then downright aggressive. One even had the audacity to try pressuring her family’s business with financial leverage—as if that had ever worked against her bloodthirsty kin. Her family was “wealthy and well-connected,” they were also a monopoly backed by subtle threats and heavy bags of coin. Even her psychotic older sister could make gold sprout from stone.

  Their motto might as well have been: "Own it, or destroy it and steal what’s left."

  Jessica hated it. All of it. And yet, she was stuck. Second daughter. Forgotten spare. Her father was too busy brokering trade deals with morally bankrupt warlords and merchants that don’t know what a concience is, her mother was halfway to permanent sedation, and her sister… well, the less said about Ursula, the better.

  But the noble suitors? Those three persistent buffoons? They were the cherry on the cake of her increasingly miserable social life.

  What had they done recently?:

  First, Lord Pelrin of Thatchmere sent her a “custom perfume blend” made from crushed night-blooming orchids—only for her to discover it included powdered aphrodisiac beetle shells. Subtle. “Thankfully, Ursula borrowed it, “she muttered with enough sarcasm to pickle a lemon. More disturbing, though, was the fact that she never brought it back.

  Second, Sir Dalen Vorth, whose mustache had its own zip code, commissioned a bard to write a love ballad that included her full name, her weight, and a highly imaginative stanza about her “milk-white feet.” It was sung at brunch. Loudly.

  Third, Count Verren Alsbright tried to impress her by “rescuing” a stray kitten and presenting it to her—covered in gold leaf. The kitten was fine, though unfortunate. Jessica kept it, out of guilt more than affection. She named in nugget and ended up spending quite a bit of time with it. The poor thing had the IQ of a loaf of bread and an alarming habit of running headfirst into furniture, and more often -walls.

  Then, Dalen (again) sent a painted portrait of himself shirtless, wielding a sword, with the words “Your Champion Awaits” scrawled in what might’ve been red paint. Or strawberry jam. She didn’t check.

  After that, Verren sent a veiled letter offering to buy out her family’s lesser glassworks branch as a “gift” if she agreed to a “private tour of his family estate.” It came with a diamond necklace and a legally binding contract written in charming euphemism that strongly resembled a “shut up and marry me” clause.

  And finally, Pelrin? Oh, he tried to take the high road—which in his case meant hosting a private luncheon where he delivered a longwinded toast about “the wasted potential of noblewomen who refuse to embrace legacy.” It ended with him asking if she’d “finally come to her senses and stop playing hard to get.” The desperation in his eyes was only matched by the sound of her wine glass cracking in her grip.

  Jessica’s one bright spot lately was the new bakery that had opened near the Adventurers’ Guild. The smell alone—sweetbread, buttered rolls, and something faintly spiced with Icing —was enough to lift her mood, even on the most irritating of days. She tried to play it casual, walking like she just happened to be passing by, but the truth was, she looked forward to this small ritual immensely. There was something comforting about fresh bread and - a warm space that didn’t belong to her family.

  She always paid generously—more a LOT more than the listed price—but not out of pure charity. She’d quietly worked out arrangements with several shopkeepers: in exchange for local gossip, noble insights, and subtle nudges that helped them expand their customer base, they overcharged her, setting aside the excess in her name. She got more than baked goods in return—discounts on other services, early access to rare goods, even the occasional crafted item passed along “by mistake.” It was part petty rebellion, part survival plan. If she ever escaped her family’s grasp, she wouldn’t be starting over with empty pockets.

  In fact, she already had a modest fortune tucked away—not that anyone in her house knew. The closest thing she had to a friend, a talented but socially oblivious enchantress named Tessa, had agreed to invest her stash/small MOUNTAIN of gold into her growing business. With her support and connections, She was poised to turn a serious profit in the coming seasons. Once she was free, she wouldn’t just have money—she’d have a foundation. A chance. And maybe, just maybe, a life of her own.

  Deep down, she'd always wanted to be an adventurer. Not the sword-swinging, dragon-slaying kind—but maybe a healer. A quiet support in the back of a crew. But her healing magic had always been modest, average at best. Not that healers were common, but even among the rare ones, she felt… unsure of her talents. Still, she loved being around adventurers, watching their camaraderie, their freedom. It felt like a different world—one she was always just on the edge of.

  If only there were someone she could actually count on—someone who didn’t want her name, her status, or her family’s influence—just a real, honest friend who saw her and not the politics wrapped around her surname… well, that would be something. And if that someone just so happened to be handsome, sharp-witted, unreasonably brave, and smart enough to make his own money? Then yes, she would absolutely keep him. No returns. No refunds. He would be hers —whether he knew it yet or not.