Fractured God

Several months ago, Mr. Bentley had been approached by one of his friends with an intriguing offer. And by intriguing, it meant there was a chance of relatively easy cash.

Before this, Mr. Bentley had been living in the forest, with Ezekiel giving him a bit of cash every now and again when he returned from his work.

In his home parish of Eater’s Mound, there was a free position open for a manager of the branch building.

Mr. Bentley had been retired from adventuring for some time now, but he couldn't help but jump at the proposition. It seemed like the perfect retirement gig. He knew there weren't many interested as those qualified for it would likely see it as some sort of demotion but in his old age, he didn't mind the extra change.

What he wasn't prepared for was how greedy the organisation was. Being a former adventurer himself, he assumed being a manager was some cushy position, those good-for-nothings that weren't decent adventurers themselves shot for. How mistaken he was.

The Adventurer's Guild had always seemed pretty friendly with the government, so he believed it no different than a government job with guaranteed pay as long as he showed up every day. This was not the case.

New to him was the fact there were a certain amount of quotas and objectives he was to hit by certain parts of the year.

I.e. A specified amount of gold made in commissions, adventurers recruited and a vague one called “Impact on the parish and its people.”

And another thing was the fact, that based on how well these objectives were managed it would affect the budget of the branch guild.

He didn't have any idea that was going to happen until his second month after accepting the position and a particularly nasty letter, from his perspective, was sent to him, informing him that due to certain quotas not being met, ten per cent of his budget would be reallocated to other branches more needing of the funds.

“I swear that bastard screwed me over! I thought in my old age he'd grow out of making people's lives more hard than it ought to be but I was a fool to think he'd change.” The old man complained as he kicked a nearby chair.

“Are you talking about Uncle Cyril?”

“Who else could it have been?” Mr. Bentley asked with a nasty look in his eyes.

“Why don't you just quit then?”

Mr. Bentley sighed before pulling out a chair next to the boy and sitting on it backwards, with his arms and head rested on its back.

“You want to know how much this place lost in revenue before I came here? I was bitching to one of the few workers we have left and he told me the bastard somehow managed to half the budget on a monthly basis.”

Ezekiel gave a small chuckle before covering his mouth.

“Damn, you serious? Was he building himself a mansion or something?”

“Boy, never underestimate some people's incompetence.”

Mr. Bentley hung his head down and looked around the empty building. It was closed for the night, so it wasn't too indicative of their current scenario.

“Yet, I can't bring myself to let it be someone else's problem, you know boyo? I can't say I have pride for this parish, but I used to be one of the hottest prospects in the adventuring world when I was younger. But I never panned out.”

“Stop saying it like it's your fault, old man,” Ezekiel answered.

“Whether it's my fault or not, I had a middling career and won't even be remembered by anyone other than you and that bastard in the capital after I die. But here…” he gently sighed before continuing. “Here maybe I can find a talent or two that can surpass the potential I had. This old man feels almost embarrassed to say it but, I don't think I'll be satisfied retiring until I find someone as good or even better than a younger version of me. At least then, I feel like this place would have a fair shake before those bastards in the capital try to get rid of it. Not many people work here but the few that do, deserve to have a proper job without having to leave the parish and possibly their family.”

“Were you always this sappy, old man?”

“Shut it, boy. Sigh I don't even know why I even expect a proper response from you sometimes.”

A month passed and the two men sat in the same lobby, though the decor was a bit different.

The tables were covered in black cloth and there were a few empty plates on some of the tables. There was a large drawing of a man on a wall with a lectern in front of it.

“I think this is the first time I've seen a funeral in one of these.” Mr. Bentley lamented as he looked around.

“Is it uncommon?” Ezekiel asked.

“Is it? In my times as adventurers, only the biggest and most well-known could have funerals directly in a branch building. Yet because of our numbers, the first death we have in months is automatically done here.” Mr. Bentley answered.

“You saying the guy didn't deserve one here?” Ezekiel asked.

“Of course not. He was a good kid, if not a bit too eager to work. I should've known a “small” kobold gathering was too good to be true. We had to spend half of the commission money to even fund his funeral.”

“So people can just lie about commissions?”

“Well, with the information they relayed, we'd be shit out of luck trying to get those bastards in the capital to do something. They might make exceptions for their money makers, but they likely wouldn't see the point in such a small branch.”

“...”

Ezekiel could only listen to the old man's laments.