Just then, a woman from the kitchen arrived with another round of drinks and placed them on the table. Both adventurers looked relaxed and unbothered, but they reached for their mugs right away.
The warrior took a long drink, then let out a satisfied sigh before glancing back at us again. “That’s exactly why you form a party, yeah?” he said, gesturing with his mug. “You team up with people who can cover what you can’t handle.”
“A party exists,” Sheya added softly, with a small smile, “to support one another where we’re lacking.”
My throat tightened, and I couldn’t get any words out. My thoughts were a tangled mess. At that point, I didn’t even know what I was trying to argue against anymore. If you had a mage and a healer, then ideally, you’d want a warrior too. Having a scout would be even better, as would having more than one person who could hold the front line. That was how parties were supposed to be formed, right?
But forming a party only for the sake of getting through danger is wrong. It has to be wrong. Because if we’re supposed to follow that logic—if ideal formations were all that mattered—then Kiri... I...
“Exactly,” Sheya said. The beautiful mage nodded easily, as if my thought process were completely expected—obvious, even—and easy to swallow, just like another sip of her drink. “A party that makes up for each other’s weaknesses, avoids critical danger, and completes every quest smoothly is an ideal that’s difficult to achieve.” She said it plainly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Most adventuring parties max out at about six people.”
I’d heard that before. Adventurers didn’t like working in large groups. Unlike knights or mercenaries, adventurers valued mobility and worked in small, agile teams. That was supposed to be their strength, but that strength was also a glaring weakness.
“Any more than that and it’s a pain to manage,” the warrior chimed in. “You’d be squabbling over how to split the reward every single time.”
“Huh? So it’s just a matter of having no organizational skills?” Yune said with a disappointed frown. She sounded crestfallen.
My head throbbed a little, but maybe he had a point. The two adventurers sitting right here in front of us didn’t look particularly suited for teamwork. That halfling who wasn’t with them today had a strong personality too, as I recalled. Sure, it probably varied from person to person, but if these types of people were the ones gravitating toward the adventurer’s guild, then forming a large, cohesive group sounded like a stretch.
“Too many people is a burden. It kills your freedom.” Sheya’s words sounded like they touched on the essence of what it meant to be an adventurer.
Freedom. Without that, how could you even call yourself an adventurer? If you were just going to take on burdens by choice, then there would be no need to be an adventurer. It felt like a heavy lump of lead deep in my chest had suddenly shifted and made itself known. My throat was dry, and I felt tears threatening to spill, but I held them back with all my strength. Now wasn’t the time to cry. I had to focus on what was being said.
“Responding to sudden requests, traveling quickly, maneuvering in tight spaces... There are many advantages to working in a small group,” Sheya explained. “Above all else, it’s less stressful. But—”
“That also means you’re operating with the bare minimum number of people.” I finished her sentence without even thinking. It was too obvious not to. There was a reason knights and mercenary bands prioritized numbers, and that reason was strength. Increasing personnel let them handle a wide range of scenarios and helped ensure the success of a mission. Of course, large organizations moved slowly and got bogged down with politics and rules. Its members were constrained by regulations, and there were logistic challenges like an ever-growing number of mouths to feed.
Adventurers were agile and straightforward precisely because they worked in small groups. In exchange, they carried the inherent risk of being far more vulnerable when things went wrong. And that was just something we had to accept when we chose to live as adventurers.
“You have to choose your companions carefully.” Sheya tilted her mug as she said this.
It was the same advice we’d gotten from Chikka, the halfling scout. But hearing it again struck a completely different chord in my chest. I had been worried about those who tried to take advantage of my upbringing, but that didn’t matter anymore. The very fact that I had let such petty concerns get to me was my mistake from the beginning.
What these adventurers had really been saying was this: Choose someone who won’t bring danger upon you carelessly. Choose someone you can trust, someone who will stand with you when a crisis comes. And choose someone you won’t regret being with, even if you end up dying together. If you want to be someone’s companion, then become the kind of adventurer who’s worthy of that choice.
“What should I do?” The words slipped out in a whisper so faint I could barely recognize them as my own. I hadn’t understood anything. The adventurers had given me a direct warning, plain and clear, but I’d taken it as superficial advice and never stopped to think deeper. And I hadn’t met a single one of the conditions required to be a chosen companion.
My thoughts were a tangled mess. The smell of alcohol drifting from the table was nauseating, but this was the only place I could cling to. I just wanted someone, anyone, to tell me what to do.
“Just laugh it off, maybe?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
I slammed the table with both hands. No sound came from my mouth, but the stinging pain in my clenched fists screamed loud enough. My head was a storm of confusion and emotion.
“M-My lady...” murmured Yune, worriedly.
I heard Yune’s voice. She was trying to stop me, but I ignored her.