Morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow across the modest room. Aaron groaned as the warmth tickled his face. He stirred, blinking lazily at the ceiling before sitting up.
"Why can't I feel my pillow… and where's my blanket?" he muttered.
He glanced to the side and sighed. There it was—Merlock, snugly wrapped in the blanket like a cocoon, hugging the pillow as if it were a long-lost lover. The little spirit lay perfectly still, an expression of bliss plastered across his face.
"I thought spirits didn't sleep like humans," Aaron said, rubbing the back of his head.
Merlock didn't move. Not even a twitch.
"I'm talking to you, damn it!" Aaron repeated, this time louder.
Merlock cracked open one eye, his voice muffled with grogginess. "Y-Yeah, I heard you... I was just taking a sweet little nap. Spirits need love and comfort too, you know."
Aaron scoffed. "Unbelievable."
Suddenly, Merlock sprang out of bed and landed with a light thud on the floor. "So, what spells did you manage to learn?"
A proud grin spread across Aaron's face. "A barrier spell. Uses concentrated mana."
Merlock blinked. He actually managed that? He kept his expression neutral. "Oh? That's a handy one. Good job."
The amount of mana he used was absurd, Merlock thought. I knew he had potential, but this is another level. If I tell him that, though, his ego might explode.
Aaron stretched and clapped his hands together. "Alright! What's the plan for today?"
"We're heading to the Adventurer's Guild," Merlock replied. "We need to recruit some party members. Can't save the world with just the two of us."
"I know just the place," Aaron said confidently. "Leave it to me!"
The guild turned out to be a cozy tavern-style café tucked just beyond the bustle of the bazaar. It stood tall with stone-brick walls and a wooden sign that creaked gently in the wind.
As they approached the entrance, Aaron paused dramatically at the doorway, chest puffed and arms akimbo. Sunlight haloed him like some divine revelation.
"I am Aaron La Irotina!" he declared in a booming voice. "Son of Rick La Irotina, Duke of this land! Therefore, all of you are technically my subordinates!"
Heads turned. Forks paused mid-air. Silence fell over the room.
Merlock silently screamed into the void. Why am I stuck with this clown?
Inside, Aaron marched straight to the counter and slapped his palm down. "I want to register a party!"
The woman behind the desk—a sharp-eyed lady with a permanent frown—raised an eyebrow. "Oh look, trouble's back. What happened, kid? Did they finally cut off your beer supply?"
Before Aaron could retort, a few rough-looking adventurers approached.
"You again?" one of them grunted. "Didn't you set that café on fire two nights ago?"
"That was an accident," Aaron said flatly.
"Yeah, and I suppose the fireworks in the soup pot were part of a cooking experiment."
"No one's going to join your party, so beat it."
Aaron smirked and threw an arm over Merlock's shoulder. "This guy's already in my party."
Merlock sighed but nodded. "He's harmless. I'll keep him under control."
The men grumbled and walked off. Merlock immediately dragged Aaron to a table in the far corner.
"Are you trying to get yourself banned from every building in the city?" he hissed, eyes sharp.
"Relax. They'll forget it by tomorrow," Aaron replied, waving it off.
Merlock leaned in. "From now on, you follow my lead. We need at least four people to form an official party. You knew that, right?"
Aaron blinked. "You said you've been asleep for ages. How do you know the party requirements?"
Merlock pointed to a banner hanging above the counter. "Because I can read signs, genius. Unlike someone who's too busy giving royal declarations to notice his surroundings."
"Tch. I didn't know you were so sensitive," Aaron teased.
"I'm as calm as a sleeping lake," Merlock growled. "Now shut up and let me think."
An hour passed.
Not a single soul approached them.
Aaron slouched in his chair. "So... how are people supposed to know we need members?"
Merlock sipped his drink. "I placed a small banner on the table's edge. Someone unfamiliar with your glorious reputation will eventually come by."
Aaron tilted his head. "Clever."
But time dragged on. The sun sank lower, painting the sky with hues of orange and red. The tavern's liveliness began to fade.
A young waiter approached with a polite smile and two glasses of beer.
"Would you like something to drink, sirs?"
Aaron stared blankly at the mug. His pupils shrank. A vivid image flashed in his mind—his own death, playing out in agonizing detail—again, and again, and again...
His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the floor with a thud.
The waiter panicked. "S-Sir?! Are you alright?!"
"He's fine," Merlock said calmly, dragging Aaron out of view. "He's... allergic to beer. Happens all the time. No drinks for us, thanks."
The waiter nodded hesitantly and scurried off.
Merlock looked down at the unconscious redhead, now propped against the wall like discarded luggage. "Well, at least you're not scaring people away anymore."
He sat back at the table, arms folded.
Night fell swiftly, the moon rising high in the cold sky. The breeze whispered through the trees outside, and one by one, patrons departed. Only Merlock and Aaron remained.
The little spirit sighed. "No luck today, huh?"
With a soft shimmer, Merlock dissolved into mist and returned to the grimoire.
Aaron remained unconscious.