CHAPTER 105: CHAPTER 105: BUREAUCRATIC WARFARE.

Her final, terrifying words echoed in my mind: ’...in a giant, custom-built vault... filled with all our money!’

I was still reeling from the psychic whiplash of her ambition, my core humming with a low-grade, existential dread. I had just been shown a horrifying vision of my future as a corporate mascot for a chain of nap-themed resorts, and I needed a moment to process.

FaeLina, however, did not need a moment. Her mind, having already blueprinted a five-year plan for global comfort domination, had already moved on to the next, more immediate problem.

"Alright, team!" she declared, her voice snapping with a new, business-like authority that cut through the team’s stunned silence. "First things first. This masterpiece," she said, gesturing to the glowing, five-page invoice, "needs to be delivered to the Mages’ Guild immediately!"

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "We can’t just send it through a standard magical courier," she mused. "That lacks... impact. It needs to be official. Pip! You will take this to the Iron Gryphons Guild Hall, get Guildmaster Peppin’s official seal, and then you will march right up to the Mages’ Guild tower and deliver it to them personally!"

A heavy silence fell over the room. All eyes, as one, slowly turned to Pip.

The rogue, who had been hiding under a table, slowly peeked out. His face was a shade of white that was usually reserved for ghosts. "Me?" he squeaked, his voice trembling so hard the floor seemed to vibrate. "You want me... to go to the Mages’ Guild? The giant, scary tower full of wizards? The ones who were just here turning us into a laboratory?" He looked like he was about to have a full-blown panic attack.

FaeLina, seeing the look of pure, unadulterated terror on her official messenger’s face, immediately realized her plan might have a small, fear-based logistical flaw.

"Alright, fine!" she conceded, her voice a huff of frustrated energy. "New, slightly less heroic plan! Pip, your mission is just to get the seal from Guildmaster Peppin. The Guild can handle the final delivery. Happy now?"

Pip let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, though he still looked terrified.

The rest of the team, seeing the revised, much safer plan, immediately rallied around their comrade, each offering their own unique brand of support.

Zazu calmly poured a fresh cup of chamomile tea. "For the road," he said softly, offering it to the still-trembling rogue. "It will calm your nerves for the... less scary part of the journey."

Clank rolled over and gently nudged Pip’s hand, his blue crystal eye blinking in a pattern that clearly meant, "You can do this, my friend."

Gilda walked over and placed a heavy, reassuring hand on Pip’s shoulder. "You’ll be fine, lad," she grunted. "Just don’t make eye contact with anyone who looks like they might turn you into a frog."

Sir Crumplebuns puffed out his chest and held his Spoonblade high. "GO FORTH, BRAVE EMISSARY!" he boomed, in a surprisingly quiet whisper. "COMPLETE THE FIRST, MOST CRUCIAL LEG OF THIS DANGEROUS QUEST!"

Even Kaelen, who had been silently observing the chaos, gave a single, almost imperceptible nod of what might have been... encouragement. Or possibly pity. It was hard to tell.

With that... strange... but heartfelt encouragement, a trembling Pip took the glowing, magical scroll, a warm cup of tea in his other hand, and shuffled nervously out of the dungeon on his very important, and now only moderately terrifying, mission.

(The Adventurers’ Guild Hall)

Pip scurried through the bustling hall of the Iron Gryphons guild, trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. But it was too late. A low murmur of whispers and pointed fingers followed him through the room.

"Is that...?"

"It is! It’s Pip!"

"What’s he doing back here? Didn’t he just win that crazy napping competition on the ScryNet?"

"Look at that scroll! What in the world is the Core of the Comfy Corner planning now?"

He wasn’t just a rogue anymore; he was the source of the most exciting gossip in the kingdom.

He finally reached the massive, circular counter that dominated the center of the hall. Behind it, a bored-looking guild clerk named Harold was stamping a mountain of quest-completion forms with a rhythmic, monotonous THUD... THUD... THUD.

Pip waited for a full minute, completely ignored, before he finally worked up the courage to speak. "Um... excuse me," he squeaked, his voice barely audible over the sound of the stamping.

Harold didn’t look up. "Quest report?" he grumbled. "Leave it on the pile."

"No, it’s... it’s a delivery," Pip stammered, pushing the glowing, five-page document onto the counter. "For the Mages’ Guild. From... The Comfy Corner."

The clerk finally stopped stamping. He looked at the slightly vibrating document. He looked at the nervous little rogue in front of him. With a long, weary sigh, he picked it up. He read the title. He read the first line item. His bored expression slowly melted away, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief.

He leaned over the counter, his eyes wide with a strange, new excitement. "You stay right there," he whispered, a conspiratorial grin spreading across his face. "Don’t move a muscle."

The clerk scurried away from the counter, across the noisy hall, and knocked on a heavy, iron-banded door marked "GUILDMASTER PEPPIN - DO NOT DISTURB UNLESS IT’S FUNNY." A moment later, the door creaked open, and Guildmaster Peppin, the grumpy but fair leader of the Iron Gryphons, stomped out, a scowl on his face.

"What is it now, Harold?" Peppin grumbled. "Another complaint from the Baker’s Guild about a rogue stealing a pie?"

"No, sir," the clerk said, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across his face as he held up the document. "It’s... an invoice. From the pillow dungeon. For the Mages’ Guild."

Peppin took the document. His scowl deepened as he read the absurd list of charges. He just stood there for a full minute, completely silent. Then, his bushy, grey eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead, and a low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"The sheer, unmitigated audacity," he muttered to himself, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across his face. "To send an invoice... to the Mages’ Guild." He shook his head, a look of profound, baffled respect on his face. He took the large, heavy Guild stamp, dipped it in official-looking purple ink, and slammed it down on the bottom of the scroll with a satisfying THUD.

"Send it," he commanded. "With my personal seal. This," he added, a twinkle in his eye, "is going to be fun."

(The Mages’ Guild - High Magus Elara’s Office)

High Magus Elara was enjoying a rare moment of peace. The paperwork from her "field trip" to the strange pillow-dungeon was finally done. Now, she could get back to her important research on the migratory patterns of sentient teacups.

But, her peace was interrupted by a flash of purple light as the official magical courier of the ’Iron Gryphons Guild’ appeared in a swirl of runes. It was a shimmering, vaguely humanoid construct of pure magical energy. A single, outstretched hand of purple light held a scroll, sealed not just with wax, but with the heavy, official stamp of Guildmaster Peppin himself—a roaring griffin clutching an iron mug.

With a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand such inter-guild squabbles, Elara took the scroll from the silent, magical construct. The moment she touched it, the courier dissolved into a shower of harmless purple sparks.

Her apprentice, Albus, who had been excitedly cataloging the moss sample he’d taken, rushed over to look.

His eyes went wide as he saw the seal. "The Iron Gryphons!" he squeaked, his voice full of pure, academic glee. "Master, that’s their guild! The adventurers from the pillow-dungeon! It has to be from the Anomaly! It has to be! What does it say?"

Elara just stared at the document, her tired eyes scanning the ridiculously long list of charges. She read the line about the ’Post-Wizard Cleaning Fee’. She read the footnote about the ’ambient levels of fluffiness’. Her expression did not change. She then let out a long, slow sigh. It was not a sigh of anger or frustration. It was the deep, soul-weary sigh of a woman who had seen far too many magical anomalies in her long life and was profoundly tired of the paperwork they always generated.

’Of course they sent an invoice,’ she thought, her mind a calm sea of seen-it-all-before. ’The last time a dungeon tried to bill us, it was a mimic disguised as a tax form. This,’ she admitted to herself with a flicker of something almost like professional respect, ’is at least more creative.’

Albus, however, was practically vibrating with academic glee. "Master, look!" he squeaked, pointing a trembling finger at the bottom of the page. "Footnotes! They’ve included footnotes! And a full, five-page appendix detailing their proprietary... wait..." He leaned in closer, his eyes wide with wonder as he read the title of the appendix aloud, a note of pure, professional shock in his voice.

"’An Introduction to the Foundational Principles of the Comfy Corner Method of Tranquility Acquisition’?! They’ve given their unique brand of hospitality a formal, academic name! The sheer, bureaucratic elegance of it all! It’s a work of genius!"

Elara finished reading. She rolled the scroll back up. She looked at her excited apprentice. She looked at her own, half-finished cup of tea. She had seen exploding potions, sentient teacups, and at least three minor apocalypses. This... was not even in the top ten of the weirdest things she had dealt with this month.

With another weary sigh, she summoned a piece of parchment and a quill. She wrote a single, simple line, signed her name with a flourish, and placed the new scroll on a small, empty pedestal beside her desk.

"A reply," she said, her voice a dry, weary command to the empty air. "For Guildmaster Peppin of the Iron Gryphons."

A new swirl of deep, academic blue light appeared over the pedestal. A single, shimmering, blue hand materialized from the light, gently took the scroll, and then vanished, the portal closing with a soft sound like the turning of a page.

(The Adventurers’ Guild Hall)

Pip was still standing nervously by the main counter, exactly where the clerk, Harold, had told him to wait. He had been there for a full hour, trying his best to look invisible.

Suddenly, a swirl of academic blue light appeared in the middle of Guildmaster Peppin’s private office. A moment later, the heavy, iron-banded door flew open with a bang.

Guildmaster Peppin stomped out, a new scroll in his hand and a look of pure, baffled respect on his face. He scanned the crowded hall, his eyes landing on the small, trembling rogue.

"Pip!" he barked, his voice a booming command that made the little rogue jump a foot in the air. "New mission! Top priority! Deliver this reply to your Core. Immediately."

He strode over, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. He handed the new scroll to Pip. "This," he added, a dangerous twinkle in his eye, "is getting interesting."

Pip looked from the new scroll, to his guildmaster’s terrifyingly cheerful grin, and back to the scroll. He let out a small, defeated whimper. His very important, and very terrifying, day was not over yet.

(The Comfy Corner)

A few hours later, a completely exhausted and emotionally drained Pip shuffled back into the lobby, holding the new scroll. The team, who had been anxiously waiting, immediately gathered around.

FaeLina snatched the scroll out of his hand before he could even say a word. Her hands trembled as she unrolled it.

The magical document was a single, elegant sentence.

The terms, while... unorthodox... are acceptable. An initial advance payment has been dispatched from the Royal Treasury to cover your listed ’Administrative and Setup Fees’. The remainder of the stipend will be rendered weekly upon commencement of the observation period.- High Magus Elara

FaeLina stared at the words, her mind struggling to process them. "They... they agreed?" she whispered, her voice a squeak of pure disbelief. Her aura flickered, then exploded into a supernova of brilliant, incandescent pink.

"WE’RE GETTING PAID!" she shrieked, doing a series of triumphant loop-the-loops around the lobby. "MOCHI, WE’RE ACTUALLY GETTING PAID!"

But I wasn’t listening. A new, and much more profound, horror was dawning on me. They had agreed. The invoice was signed. The project was greenlit. There was no escape.

I wasn’t just a lab rat anymore. I was a well-funded lab rat. Which meant, in the soul-crushing language of my past life, that my strange, cozy little hobby had just become a full-time job.

_____________

Author’s Note:

And FaeLina’s ridiculous, passive-aggressive invoice is a massive success! She has successfully turned a magical audit into a new, long-term revenue stream. She is, without a doubt, the greatest and most terrifying manager in the history of the world.

I had so much fun writing the journey of that invoice. Pip’s terrified delivery, Guildmaster Peppin’s slow, dawning, and ultimately gleeful respect, and the hilarious contrast between the weary High Magus Elara and her nerdy, footnote-loving apprentice, Albus. Every character in this Chapter was a joy to write.

But the final horror for Mochi! His cozy little hobby, his escape from the corporate world, has just become a well-funded, full-time job with a board of directors and a five-page service agreement. This is a whole new level of psychological torment for our sleepy hero. Thanks for reading!