Pale, slender fingers fell onto the tabletop like powerless fallen leaves, followed by a crisp ringing sound that drifted leisurely, only making it a few meters before being swallowed by the noisy chatter in the air.
Moli lowered her head, her weak voice not much clearer than the sound of the bell.
Her right hand tucked under the counter, the fingertips rubbed against a clean handkerchief that had been prepared beforehand, leaving a few bright red stains on the surface of the white cloth.
——This was the bloodstain left by the half orc who couldn’t count and had to use his toes to calculate once he exceeded ten during the tallying of his loot.
Though she knew well that no matter how clean she wiped it now, in less than five minutes, the next blood-soaked loot bag tossed onto the counter would return her hands to their sticky, foul-smelling state.
Yet, Moli still tried her best to maintain some short-lived cleanliness; at least this way she could feel slightly better inside.
Thinking back on it was quite the feeling.
Nevermind now, when she could hold a Bear Goblins’ head as bloody and messy as a peeled watermelon, calmly ignoring the maggots wriggling in its skull and the rancid stink assaulting her nostrils.
Examining it from all sides, studying it closely.
And while her face remained calm, she methodically explained to the boisterous, spitting Dwarf in front of the counter why only half the bounty could be paid.
Who would’ve thought this slender woman, whose waist wasn’t even as thick as many adventurers’ thighs, had been a delicate young lady who felt faint and nauseous at the smell of blood a few years ago.
However, despite some reluctance, if Moli were really asked to quit her job and return to waiting tables or cleaning, she certainly wouldn’t agree.
No matter the hardship or exhaustion, the lucrative rewards she earned each week were truly substantial.
Without suffering the wind and sun, just sitting behind the counter and speaking to earn a salary enough to feed a family was already the dream job for countless people.
Of course, even though she thought and executed her tasks as per standards, it didn’t stop her from displaying an appearance of weary exhaustion.
"Task number 2136F, type [Collection]... Hmm, the quota has been met, the client withdrew the task themselves."
In front of the counter, holding a coarse sack with mud and grass stains on his leather armor, a young adventurer’s face was full of disbelief.
"But I remember when I left two days ago, the task was still on the wall. Did you get it wrong, I..."
"Withdrawal date: Arcane Calendar 1019, End of the Year, month 7th."
"It was yesterday afternoon; the task was personally withdrawn by the client at the association."
Moli’s voice remained as listless and low as ever, but her attitude was not perfunctory, carefully checking the client’s records to explain to the other party.
These limited-time and quantity collection tasks that adventurers struggle to complete often leave them finding out the task is off the board upon arrival at the association.
For River Valley Town’s adventurers, this was a common occurrence.
After all, most task clients here are town shops, their demand for materials is low, and quotas are easily fulfilled.
Moreover, due to the inherently safe nature of collection tasks and the relatively generous rewards, these commissions update quite rapidly.
Often, the tasks posted in the morning have adventurers returning with the required materials from the Mist Forest by the next day, making competition fierce.
Instances like running a futile errand are not uncommon.
For such occurrences, adventurers often find themselves out of luck and sell the collected materials at a low price.
Yet in this moment, the youthful man standing there, face fresh and unyielding, seemed unwilling to back down.
Even though Moli had already explained the situation and provided several options for dealing with it, he continued to stand angrily at the counter, slamming his palm forcefully against the table, demanding a solution.
Sighing slightly, she intuitively stopped explaining further.
With a tap of her toes, she moved her seat back a few steps.
She made no extraneous movements, merely waiting silently.
Seeing her reaction, this young man, who had recently become an adventurer and whose sword grip still bore the habits of tilling the field, felt belittled, cursing as his right hand reached toward his sword’s hilt.
His fingers had just touched the rope-wrapped sword hilt when he was promptly subdued under the scrutiny of countless spectators by two guards who had rushed over.
Disarmed, after a couple of punches, he lost consciousness and was hauled out of the association’s door like a dead pig.
Long accustomed to it.
Moli’s expression showed no change as she dragged her chair forward two steps, returning to her original position.
Her head lifted slightly, her left hand reflexively reaching for the bell on the table.
The voice abruptly halted, the hand about to press the bell lingering in mid-air.
Outside the crowd, near the task wall, a black-haired figure wearing a thin shirt and carrying dual swords suddenly caught her eye.
Eyes weary and partially shielded beneath golden bangs, a dazzling light suddenly flashed across them.
Performance... my performance!
Springing up like a coil, the extinguished passion amidst mundane work roared ablaze like fire.
"Lina, cover for me for half a day, I’ll make it up next week."
She called out to a familiar colleague beside her, and in a blink, she had left the counter, merging into the crowd.