(35) What Level Is The Cat?

“Wow, above one hundred. That is quite impressive for one so young,” the receptionist praised.

Tara felt her cheeks color as she retracted her hand from the orb, its bright green glow dimming. Tara was proud of her levels; she had endured much for them. Strangely, the smile the receptionist flashed her looked sad, despite the praise. Then again, Tara was not an expert in communication, so maybe she was imagining it.

Both Tara and the receptionist turned to stare at Nephthys, who was crouched with her face inches from the orb. She stared at it intently, as if it would sprout wings.

“Uh, ma’am?” the receptionist said, gesturing to the orb.

“It communicates with the Words to read one’s level? Fascinating. Who made these?” Nephthys asked, blatantly ignoring the receptionist’s obvious request.

“I am unsure. However, I do know that they survey a person’s body for changes at specific thresholds. They do not interface with the Words directly,” the receptionist answered. “Now, if you would please place your hand on it…”

Nephthys’s interest seemed to vanish like a snuffed flame. She stood straight and glanced between the receptionist and the orb.

“Very well. It is unlikely to work for me, though,” Nephthys warned, placing her hand on the orb.

It lit up a bright blue before turning green. This was what Tara expected. Apparently, the orb would change color based on the physiological markers it detected: blue for levels under 100, green for 100 to 200, and orange for 200 to 300. If, in the unlikely event, one were above 300, it would turn red.

The orb glowed orange, which did not surprise Tara. She had seen enough to know that Nephthys must be at least near the cap.

The orb turned red.

Tara’s eyebrows climbed her face. Truthfully, she should not be surprised. Carga was at least above 200, and he certainly could not have handled Mephelgor. Still, seeing someone at the cap in the flesh, confirming it, even, was as intimidating as it was awe-inspiring.

The orb suddenly flashed through a myriad colors, seemingly cycling across the whole spectrum, before settling on a deep red that pulsed like a heart. The receptionist looked back and forth between Nephthys and the orb, looking flustered.

“Did you—” she started.

“I did nothing,” Nephthys interrupted. “I even allowed the device’s magic to…probe me.”

Nephthys wore a grimace, which Tara was learning meant she was deeply displeased. Any emotions that managed to break through to her face were usually strong.

“I…see. Will you both come with me?” the receptionist asked.

Before either could respond, she scurried off through a door behind the desk. Nephthys and Tara looked at each other, exchanging a mutual shrug. Nephthys led the way, opening what Tara now realized was a door built into the side of the desk, allowing them to follow the receptionist behind the desk and through the door.

Inside was a long hall that ran parallel behind the reception desks. It seemed that each desk had a door behind it, opening onto this hall. Tara realized this must be how guild staff move around freely. Based on the line she just waited in, she could see staff, and receptionists in particular, being ambushed on their way to their desks by adventurers eager to get to the front of the line.

The receptionist was standing several doors down, beckoning the two impatiently. She stood before an open door along the wall opposite the reception doors.

“Please make yourselves comfortable. Someone will be with you momentarily,” she said, ushering the pair through the door and promptly closing it behind them without another word.

“Did you…do something?” Tara asked.

“I told you. I did nothing,” Nephthys replied.

Tara shook her head and sighed. Who even knew what was going on with her at any given moment?

“What happened to the orb, then?” Tara asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Without dismantling it, I could not say how it works, nor why it failed. I gave sufficient warning that such a situation was likely, did I not?” Nephthys replied, though she sounded genuinely confused, as if she did not understand why everyone was so concerned with the orb’s reaction.

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Tara opened her mouth to respond, but the door opened at the same time, a hulk of a man entering. He had gray hair down to his neck, parted in the middle, and a thick mustache of the same color. His face was rugged, with scars crisscrossing his visage and a nose that had clearly deviated from its birth position.

He wore a hat with a feather in it, and his bulky overcoat hid most of his body, sitting atop baggy pants. His gray eyes were serious, though he did not emit an intimidating aura, despite his size and demeanor.

Tara watched his solemn eyes shift to surprise as his gaze fell on Nephthys.

“Well, that’d explain quite a bit,” he mused, the timbre of his basso nearly vibrating the furniture.

“Grantwell,” Nephthys said.

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Adelaide,” the man, Grantwell, greeted.