Chapter 92
We left in the evening like real adventurers, setting out to do something valiant. Except we were D-Ranks, which meant we weren't so much brave warriors as legally permitted liabilities.
Finn had insisted on polishing his swords before we left. He claimed it was for "morale," though I suspected he just liked seeing his reflection while flexing. "You never know when you'll need a dramatic gleam," he said, holding one up to the fading light.
I didn't pack anything fancy. Just water, a piece of bread, and the mental fortitude to endure whatever nonsense the next few hours threw my way.
Bran, for his part, didn't get ready. No need to put on any armour when you're already wearing that rusting and dented armour 24/7. He stood at the edge of the doorway, looking like a deceased knight attending his own funeral.
The only thing he bothered to prepare was a massive coil of rope, which he strapped to his back.
