The quiet that followed sleep in Ashwake was a strange thing—restless, as if the city itself did not sleep. But somehow, Hikari had managed to fall into the depths of unconsciousness after a long, torturous cosmic therapy session with glitter, towels, and very pointed muffin-based insults.
And then—
CRASH.
A window shattered downstairs.
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
Boots. Heavy. Panicked. Loud.
Voices—shouting.
The building creaked a little.
Hikari groaned, face buried in the pillow.
From the darkest corner of his brain, a too-cheerful, much-too-familiar voice rang out:
"Wakey waaaaakey, my soggy cinnamon roll. Your new city thought fit to roll out the red carpet for you—along with robbery."
He opened one eye. "...Lyra?"
"Who else? You think some other shining deity's gonna stick around your void-head after the oat bar trick you pulled last time?"
He sat up, his hair messy, white hairs in his face. He did not even take the trouble to comb it.
A second crash downstairs. The crashing of something that costs a lot to fall over.
Then an anguished "Oi! We said no witnesses!"
Hikari rubbed his face and stood up.
"Ughhh..."
Lyra cooed, teasing in his head. "Oh come on, you love a little morning chaos. Gets the blood moving. Or mana. Or whatever it is you emo ex-immortals burn fuel with these days."
He stomped to the door, muttering. "I hate everything."
"That's the spirit!"
The stairs creaked as he went down barefoot, still securing the collar of his tunic. When he reached the common room—
Yep.
Complete pandemonium.
Two masked men in frayed leather and mismatched arms were exploding out with a bag of coins and what was perhaps a stolen enchanted lamp in the guise of a goose.
The window up front was shattered. The old rug was on fire. One table lay on its side.
And there behind the counter stood the blonde innkeeper—sleepy-eyed, unruffled, holding half a mug full of what was perhaps her fourth coffee since the gods crashed.
She didn't even bat an eye as she saw him.
"You," she said, voice deadpan. "The one with the weird face and i have an emotional backstory aura. Go chase them."
Hikari blinked. "Excuse me?"
She waved lazily with the mug. "You look unordinary. Like you're either gonna save the city or destroy it later. Either way, you look qualified."
He stared at the shattered window. The street outside. Then at her.
"Do I look like a person who wears a weapon?"
She glared at him.
Then shrugged. "Do I look like someone who cares?"
He narrowed his eyes at her.
Lyra chuckled in the back of his head. "Oh I love her. Can we keep her? You two can be emotionally stunted BFFs!"
"I'm going to sleep," Hikari muttered, already making a path past the commotion towards the door.
"HEY!" the woman yelled after him. "You're gonna just walk off after robbery?!"
He raised a hand halfheartedly, not turning back. "Yeah."
"Seriously?!"
"I'll pay for the window later," he yawned.
Out on the street, morning had arrived in Ashwake.
Loud. Crowded. Grimy.
Exactly like yesterday, except now someone had committed petty theft and probably ran off with half a breakfast menu.
Hikari squinted against the sharp sunlight breaking through smog and rising smoke stacks.
"Lyra," he grumbled. "Where's the adventurer guild?"
"Now that's the tone I was hoping for," she said happily. "Oh sweetheart, we're going to have so much fun. Right next to the scroll vendor who sells love spells to rats, left at the shady meat-on-a-stick cart, and boom—giant tower with sword flame sigil. Very subtle. Ten out of ten anime energy."
"Stop saying that word. I still have no clue what it is.".
"You will. And when you do, you'll cry."
He sighed, pulled his hood over his head, and departed.
To find answers.
To find people.
To not get robbed at breakfast time, perhaps.
Hikari hadn't even made it halfway along the soot-grimed street before trouble again found him. Not of the figurative variety. Of the stab-you-for-your-socks variety.
Three stepped out of the side alley together, like they practiced it before a mirror. All three of them wore broken masks—one of a fox, one of a bird, and the third. whatever it looks like when you try to gouge a face while your eyes are closed.
"Hey there, little girl," one of them said, voice nasal over the fox mask. "Where you running off to in such a hurry, huh?"
Hikari let out a loud grunt, palm flying up to his face in the international gesture of I don't have the patience for this today.
"Seriously?" he growled. "Already? It's not even midmorning and I'm getting bothered by aggressive budget cosplay rejects?"
The bird mask dude tilted his head. "What?"
"I said—" Hikari took half a step back, "—is this now a thing? Masked weirdos everywhere? Do you people all belong to some secret cult or something?"
In his mind, Lyra piped up brightly.
"No darling. They're just burglars, or maybe cultist."
"I wasn't talking to you," Hikari blurted loudly, already backing away, his eyes darting between the three.
The third one—the badly sculpted masked one—whipped out a knife.
"Aww, don't be nasty," he said. "We just want to chat. Maybe see if you've got something shiny in that adorable little bag of yours."
The other two giggled, moving forward.
Hikari gritted his teeth.
"I swear," he growled, instinctively slipping into a pose he remembered from training at the shrine, "if I had a sword or something in my hands right no—"
"You'd probably flail it around theatrically and trip over your own feet," Lyra filled in.
"Oh shut up."
"You shut up. You're the one starting fights before breakfast, muffin."
"I didn't start this one!"
The thieves paused for a moment as if re-evaluating the situation. Maybe it was the way Hikari had suddenly shifted his weight. Maybe it was the icy edge in his narrowed eyes. Or maybe it was because he was now very audibly arguing with no one.
"You'll completely regret this," Hikari said, voice steady, low, and way more confident than he felt.
The air tensed.
Silence.
Then.
He turned around.
And ran.
"HEY!" one shouted, startled.
"GET HER!"
Hikari bolted into the nearest alleyway, weaving through crates and old rune-tagged trash bins like he'd been born in a backstreet. The city closed around him in a blur of rusted walls and steaming gutters.
The heavy boots of the masked trio thundered behind.
But then—
He was nowhere to be seen.
Gone around a corner.
He ducked beneath a rotting wooden arch, leapt over a fallen barrel, and flung himself behind a pile of used spell crates that said "Caution: Exploding Teacups."
Quiet.
Then footfalls, in the distance. Fuddled.
And disappearing.
He breathed hard.
"Sweetheart?"
Lyra's voice once more.
"What?" he whispered.
"Why are you so scared~?" she jeered, feigned concern dripping from each of her words. "They were just low-grade street thieves. Probably couldn't ignite a spark if they sipped a lightning sigil."
"I don't even carry a weapon, okay?" he snarled in a whisper. "One of them had a knife. The other dude had tree-trunk forearms. And I'm outnumbered!"
"You have me~" Lyra trilled-trilled.
"You're in my head!" he whisper-screamed.
"Yes! Where all great power resides!"
He groaned, leaning against the wall to sit between the crates.
"I need a weapon. Or something sharp and pointy at least. A fork. Anything.
"You know what you need?"
"What."
"A makeover and a battle playlist."
"I'm going to pass out."
"From exhaustion?"
"No."
Ashwake, Day Two. stabbed in the soul by his own cosmic aunt.
Again.
The alley was quiet when Hikari stood, brushing dirt and pieces of broken rune stickers from his legs. In the distance, a bell rang—either a someone's potion warning or another Ashwake panic call. Either, he didn't mind.
What he did concern himself with was that he'd just been run down a city block by giant burglars and had exactly zero resources to defend himself beyond sass, improvised running, and divine trauma.
He inhaled slowly and whispered, "Lyra."
"Yes, my darling?" Her voice dripped back into his mind like warm honey with a splash of sarcasm.
"Where can I buy a sword?"
"Ohoho, so now we're practical," she laughed. "Not Lyra, I'm going to be a wandering ghost of despair. Not 'Lyra, life is suffering.' Now it's 'Sword me up, Auntie.' I love this path for you."
"Can you just… tell me where to go?"
"Well its not nearby darling~" She paused, contemplative. "A good smith is a least ten blocks west. More than that, I suspect. Brought up behind the rune-ink shop and that tavern with the screaming stew. You can't miss by the giant anvil sign or smell of burnt iron pride."
He took a deep breath. "Couldn't you just teleport me?"
"Tch. Darling. Sweetheart. Love of my chaotic. I could. But…"
"...but?"
"But that would require a bit more than the terms we're working with now, don't you think?" she said, the smirk in her voice promising trouble. "You're looking for warping space? That's level two soul-sharing, and we're still on tier one. You still haven't signed my imaginary roommate contract."
"Ugh... Fine." He rubbed his eyes. "Just tell me the way."
"Go two blocks, turn left down the alley with that smell of pickled mana fruit, leap over the broken guardian statue that's missing a head, and voilà—there you are."
"...Why do all your instructions sound like side quests?"
"Because, sweetie, life is a side quest."
And so, reluctantly, Hikari set off following the cosmic breadcrumb trail.
Ducking fifteen minutes of Ashwake's frantic heartbeat, he found himself standing face-to-face with a large, smoke-blackened building nestled between a rune printer and a spindly tavern named The Screaming Kettle (nominally so).
A giant sign leaned drunkenly overhead above the doorway, an anvil form with burning runes carved into the side in a faint light. Smoke trailed out from behind the rear chimney. The bitter smell of metal, sweat, and smoldering aspiration clung to the building like a bad habit.
He pushed the giant door open. The inside rang with the clang of steel on steel.
In unison, a young woman behind the counter swung around with a practiced grin. She had on a soot-covered smithing apron and rolled-up sleeves to her elbows.
"Hello, little girl! You're a bit lost—just browsing? We don't trade in magic runes here, sorry!"
Hikari's left eye flickered.
But before he could respond, a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the back.
"He's a boy. I'm sure."
The worker blinked. "W-what?"
Out came a broad-shouldered man of late middle age, dark skin speckled with heat spots, silver-streaked beard, arms like they'd been cut out of iron itself. His eyes, however, were bright—astute.
He nodded at Hikari. "Not the first time folks made the mistake eh, kid?"
Hikari swallowed. "No. Certainly not."
"Sorry," the woman said quickly, inclining her head slightly. "Didn't mean to make an assumption."
"It's fine," Hikari complained. "I just… I want a sword. Just a regular one."
The smith snarled, gesturing him to follow him as he moved into the main room—rows of weapon racks along the walls, sizes, types, and levels of enchantment organized by each. Swords, spears, axes, even chain-blades stood in rows with precise care.
"Basic stock, we do," the man declared. "From steel to arcsteel. No nonsense magic runes. Soul-binders or cursed blades, we don't deal in those, so if you want to name your sword something like 'Death's Whisper', you'd best go uptown."
"I just want a sword that I can fight with," Hikari said.
"Okay then, you'll be wanting to pay attention to material grades." The smith nodded over towards one of the walls upon which swords glittered in rune-light. "Tier one: iron and carbon—uncomplicated stuff. Cheap, reliable. Won't break unless you hit a troll in the face. Tier two: focus-core steel, bit more balanced, bit more mana-friendly. Tier three's where we see our rarities—mithril, celestial alloy, dreamforged silver. You won't need that unless you're fighting gods."
"I can only afford something tier one level or lower," Hikari complained.
"In that case, pick a style," instructed the smith. "What was it that you used previously?"
Hikari hesitated.
Images flashed before his eyes—memories of watching his father and brother train in the courtyard of Yamaoka. Katana in their hands. Practicing. Precision. Bloodstains on their knuckles, sometimes. Sweat. Pride.The Screaming Kettle (The Screaming Kettle (
"I watched my father practice with a katana," he spoke slowly. "And my brother too. But I never…"
His eyes caught a simpler blade. Modest. Narrow hilt. Slightly curved. Not quite a katana—but an arming sword. Sturdy. Well-forged. Balanced.
He stepped closer.
That one.
He lifted it from the rack—felt the weight.
Not too heavy. But not delicate either.
"I'll take this."
The smith raised a brow. "You sure?"
He nodded. "I'll learn."
"Ooooh, look at my brave little sweetheart," Lyra cooed inside his head. "Picking up sharp things and making declarations. You're this close to being an adventurer anime boy."
"Not now, Lyra."
"No no, you're doing great, darling. Strike a posee! Say something moody and haunted. Oh, maybe whisper, 'I will carry this burden,' with wind in your hair."
He rolled his eyes and handed over the coin pouch.
The smith counted. Nodded. "It'll do."
Hikari tucked the sword in at his side, its weight familiar in a way he'd not expected. Like remembering a memory. Like a missing part of himself that he had never known was there.
He came out again onto the dusty street.
One sword. No armor. No plans.
But now he had purpose.
And, alas—
"Onward, my little muffin! To the Adventurer's Guild, where destiny beckons and hopefully fewer people try to stab you!"
—he still had Lyra. He must be used to it.
Because
Ashwake also never kept quiet.
Even in its more subdued times, it pulsed with energy—runes blazing along copper pipes, hawkers shouting over one another about fish that were or weren't maybe enchanted, and steam wagons blowing dirty smoke as they clattered along twisting stone roads. The city appeared to have been built inside a forge that never cooled. Magic and ambition buzzed from every direction—and Hikari now stood at the center of it, sword at his hip, boots scuffed from too much dodging, and pride already halfway out the window.
But at least, he reminded himself, he had purpose.
He was walking to the Adventurer Guild.
He was going to amount to something.
And then—
"Ohhh~ my lovely Hikari is finally going to be one of those great anime boys!"
Hikari winced at the sound of Lyra's voice echoing in his mind, her voice shrieking like a lunatic. He pulled up his cloak and sped away.
"You've got the sad backstory, the mysterious vibe, the emotional baggag—ughh, it's amazing!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he muttered low in his throat.
"Of course not! You're living it! The next step is obvious, sweetheart."
He narrowed his eyes. "Don't sa—"
"Time to build your harem!"
He halted halfway across the room.
Dead silence.
"What," he said brusquely.
"Well! You're cute, temperamental, sort-of magical. You brood with a sword and monologue about honor. That's like. peak heartthrob fuel. Next thing you know, you'll have a healer girl who calls you 'senpai,' a rival who wants to stab and kiss you, a shy mage who always stay by your side, and a blushing alchemist who blushes whenever you sneeze~"
"That's Sound... sinful."
"Spicy, right?"
"No, sinful. And beside..." he rubbed the bridge of his nose, already regretting that he'd said it, "I was once a girl. I don't really feel like I'm quite ready to all of a sudden be fawned over by girls. Or boys... Or. whatever."
"But you like me, huh?" Lyra teased, sing-song in his mind.
"Shut up."
"You adore me."
"Shut. Up."
She laughed like a stardust storm.
He took a deep breath and kept walking down the hallway.
The streets widened as he walked to the middle level of Ashwake, where metal substituted for stone, and buildings towered like shattered teeth. Huge pipes stretched overhead, pulsating faintly with glowing mana. Mechanical birds perched on lampposts, their periodic chirps of rune-inscribed warnings to remain on the walkways.
Adventurers strayed past him in ill-fitting armor and flashy cloaks. Some had swords that made them taller than they were wide. Others drifted a foot above the ground, surrounded by magical energy swirling about their feet. It was boisterous, noisy, and. oddly exciting.
Hikari couldn't help but stare, although he knew better than to. He was clearly the new boy around here.
"See you, staring at all the hipsters," Lyra said, pretend sniffy. "I remember when you were just a lost immortal girl tossing chains at curses, trying to pull your cursed brothee, and muttering about traditions."
"Don't start."
You're going to lecture them too?" she continued, in her best hammy Hikari impression. "Excuse me, everyone, but judgment has to be answered with stoic silence and good shrine posture!"
He sighed and dragged a hand down his face.
"I swear on the Hollow Queen, if you do—"
"NO NO NO!" she gasped. "Don't swear on her name! She's got copyright issues! The last person to use her name three times had to sport legally enforceable fireflies for a week."
"What is copyright even supposed to mean?!"
"It means you'll have to pay her royalties every time you speak in dramatic monologue! Well swear on my name instead! You will granted hour of eating cosmic muffin and~ if your mentally unstable again an cosmic duck will help ease your mentality~"
He groaned louder than before.
But he kept going.
Outside the market square, where vendors sold fireproof gloves and suspect meats swaddled in spellpaper. Outside a blacksmith's furnace that produced rune-blades which buzzed like wrathful bees. Outside a street magician doing miserably with a rune-light rabbit to make it dance.
And finally—
He came upon it.
The Adventurer Guild.
The building loomed like a citadel of ambition. Broader walls of blackstone carved with magical glyph. Drifting signs fluttered around the outside, between commercials and contract notices. Over the arched doorway, a massive sword sigil pulsed with spinning flame and frost—a very nice we-do-both-kinds-of-violence statement.
Individuals flowed in and out of the front door—rookies in tattered armor, veterans in magical cloaks, mercs with too many blades and too little clothing. A bard played off to one side, on a stringless harp that vibrated with resonance.
Hikari lingered there for a moment, uncertain.
"Well," Lyra breathed in a moment of silence, "this is it. Step one of your new path. Not some reflection of Rinne or maybe your papa~ Takahsi!"
She sniffled. "Im so proud of my sweetie pie... Finnaly choose his own path."
He narrowed his eyes, but nodded once.
And then moved forward.
The great iron gates creaked wide.
And he entered.
The doors creaked shut behind him, and the Adventurer's Guild stretched out before him like the mouth of some beast—humming, clanging, laughing, drinking, arguing. A cavernous room stretched out before him, illuminated by warm lanterns and the spasmodic bursts of amateur magic gone wild.
It reeked of sweat, oil, and hubris.
And maybe a hint of roasted rat. Hopefully from the kitchen.
There were people everywhere.
To his left, three swordsmen argued over contract rankings. One of them—broad-chested, lightly radiating, and far too handsome for Hikari's sanity—had three girls in identical armor clustered around him, each with an arm around his, like branches on a very highly paid tree.
To the right of Hikari, one orc crouched over a table with one tusk and two black eyes. He was counting copper coins with the intensity one would use to disarm a magical bomb. Every third coin, he'd mutter under his breath.
"One… two… tree… no, wait. One… two… Three"
In the background, a red-robed mage argued with a cloaked man about whether or not fire spells were legal in covered spaces.
There was a bard in the corner requesting a rune-harp to play, which never wanted to remain in tune. It punished his impatience by jolting him suddenly every time he swore.
And above, banners drifted on the beams of the ceiling, enchanted to support guild rankings, emergency notices, and motivational phrases like:
"You miss 100% of the shots you never cast—unless you're dead."
Hikari gazed upward, and he saw it—just as Lyra breathed in his mind.
"Second floor, sweetheart. That's where they're concealing the paperwork."
He took a deep breath and started to move.
The moment he did, however—
A shift.
A leg extended from the side. Lazy. On purpose. Blocking the way just in front of the stairs.
Subtle, but not subtle enough.
Hikari slowed a little.
Trying to trip me? Seriously?
He could tell—the trained timing of a bully craving attention. The foot did not move. Its owner leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, a too-sharp smile on his face.
Tall, lanky, wrapped in frayed leathers, a scar running across the bridge of his nose. The kind of man who looked like he'd been kicked out of a back-alley assassin's guild for being too flashy.
Hikari stopped.
Turned his eyes on him.
The man raised an eyebrow.
Hikari did not blink. Did not look away.
Just stared, as calm as snow.
Then said flatly, "Your bait is terrible. You must be starving."
The man blinked. His smirk faltered.
A few of them stopped around him. Someone snorted.
Hikari stepped sideward. Smooth. Clean. Never letting his gaze waver from the man's face.
He did not trip.
He did not even hesitate.
The man's leg stayed out for another awkward moment. Then, with visible reluctance, he withdrew it, standing upright.
"Hmph... Not bad, kid."
Hikari did not say anything.
But within—
"OOOOOH!!" Lyra squealed in his mind, clapping with invisible pom-poms. "My darling muffin just slayed that grown man with a single sentence! The sass! The power! The inherited shrine master shade!"
"Please don't make this a thing," Hikari murmured under his breath.
"It's already a thing. I'm making a mental sticker chart. That was worth at least three glitter stars and a sparkle crown."
He took the bottom step, the din of the room slowly falling behind him.
He hadn't reached the second level yet.
But the guild already knew he had arrived.
The second level was a different universe.
Gone was the chaos of sword-waving showoffs, misplaced fireballs, and coin-counting orcs. Instead, the air here held a hum of quiet paperwork and magical ink. It even smelled different—less like unwashed armor and burnt ale, and more like dusty tomes, quill oil, and the faintest whiff of overworked regret.
Hikari's boots clicked softly against the wooden floor as he reached the landing.
There were only two people in the whole space.
Behind a big desk stacked high with papers, seals, magical pens, and what looked like half a sandwich resting on top of a contract that read URGENT: Demonic Possession Clean-Up, sat a woman. Mid-thirties at a guess, sharp cheekbones, one rolled-up sleeve, Blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun that had clearly lost the fight of being symmetrical. Her eyes—hollow with the kind of tiredness only government forms or having triplets could induce—rose to meet his.
She looked him over once. From boots to sword to slightly anxious shoulders.
Then exhaled like she'd just been told to run a marathon in socks.
"Well. Welcome to the registration office, kid," she said dryly. "Looks like we've found another brave participant for this city's version of Hunger Games."
Hikari blinked. "What's a—?"
"Don't ask," she waved him off. "You wouldn't like it."
To the right, a second figure, an girl hung about a stacked bookcase which was only barely five feet tall, glasses sliding down over her nose, arms filled with grimoires and ledgers. Her face was that of one who wasn't quite brave enough to breathe too loudly in proximity to scrolls of spells. She squeaked when one of the books slipped and almost sent all the books tumbling.
"Lita, please," the older woman yelled without even looking, "if you lay another accidental truth curse, I'm going to start biting people."
"Y-Yes, Ms. Orlen!" Lita squeaked.
Hikari cleared his throat. "Uh... I'm here to register."
"Oh, sure you are," Ms. Orlen sighed, pulling out a fat binder from the stack and whacking it down on the desk with a whump. "You've got that look. Half-lost, half-proud, a dash of teenage angst, and flat-out zero clue what the difference between a mimic and a magical chest of drawers is."
Hikari opened his mouth.
"Dont answer. Just sit."
He sat.
She opened the binder. Pages rustled like the distant voice of judgment.
"Okay, muffin," she said.
He tensed.
"What?"
She blinked. "Sorry. I mean 'kid.'"
Lyra, cackling in his mind: "OOooooooh! Someone else knows your nickname! I love this place already!"
Hikari nearly groaned aloud.
Ms. Orlen pressed a heavy quill into his hand and pushed the form in front of him. "Now, standard procedure. Fill this out. Don't leave questions blank unless you want a fire elemental shoved down your shirt. Again."
"...Again?"
"Long story."
He looked down at the form.
It was four pages.
And filled out by someone who clearly didn't like people.
Name:
Hikari Tsukimura
Species:
Human. Maybe. (Was he technically still immortal? Not likely. Better don't confuse them.)
Former Gender:
Wait, what?!
He blinked. "Why is this on here?!"
Ms. Orlen didn't even glance up. "We've had applications from shapeshifters, cursed nobles, and smart birds. Just mark a box and leave."
Current Gender:
He marked Male. Uncomfortably.
Weapon Proficiency:
He wrote: Kusarigama. Kind of. Also maybe swords. Watching counts, right?
Do you possess any innate magical talent or are you just making it up until something explodes?
He hesitated. Then wrote: Yes?
Are you vissionary?
"L-Lyra?" He asked.
"Not yet."
He gulp as he write not yet.
Are you, or have you ever been, cursed? Be honest. We can tell.
He checked: No, but marked it with concern.
Have you ever died? If so, how many times?
He hesitated. Thought about the ocean. The nothing. Lyra reviving him like a respawn counter.
Does it count if it was just emotionally?
He wrote: Complicated.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how likely are you to scream if infested with spiders?
"Who are these people?" he muttered.
Ms. Orlen said, "A lich named Barry. He does HR."
Do you consider yourself a team player, lone wolf, or 'whatever keeps me alive' supporter?
Lone wolf, he checked.
Then scratched out.
Wrote: Whatever gets the job done.
Would you please describe your moral compass in terms of any three vegetables?
He stared blank.
Lyra whispered, "Asparagus, boiled potato, and. cherry tomato that keeps rolling off the plate."
He wrote it down. It felt disturbingly right.
He grunted and pushed the pages forward.
Ms. Orlen didn't even look at them. She just handed him a small glowing rock and a sealed paper.
"There. Your one-week provisional adventurer's license. Don't die. If you do, your corpse goes to the necromancer guild for spares. It's in the terms."
"...Excuse me?"
She indicated the last page he'd definitely read.
"You'll gain a guild seal when you finish your first mission. Until then, you're just another hopeful stack of bones-in-waiting."
Hikari gathered up the items gently, rising to his feet.
Lita watched him from behind a shelf and whispered softly, "G-Good luck."
Ms. Orlen did not look up. "He'll need it."
"Now this," Lyra murmured softly enthusiastically, "this is the start of a classic underdog tale. I give it five pages before you get stabbed again."
He looked over at the stairs, sighing.
The creaking wooden stairs welcomed Hikari again as he descended from the second floor, clutching his new adventurer's license as though it would disappear if he held it too tightly. The ground-floor guild hall hadn't quieted down; if anything, it had become louder. Three dwarves were passionately arguing whether fireproof pants were worth the expense. Two bards had apparently had a musical duel by the fireplace. Someone was trying—and failing—to roast a big lizard tail over an open spell.
He sighed.
It was chaos. Vibrant. Noisy. And apparently his new life.
He made his way to the quest board—a great structure of thick wood and old iron bolts, hammered with hundreds of fluttering bits of parchment, each one a request from a desperate townsperson, city merchant, or noble who lost their pet eldritch beast again.
The quests were divided into levels, a gleaming gold partition separating the "Please Save Us From The Apocalypse" level work from the "My Potato Farm Is Slightly Haunted" tier.
He wasn't top-tier ready.
His fingers brushed against the copper section, eyebrows knitting.
It took some minutes to sift through the junk, but he pulled out three that appeared—at least—doable.
Quest One: Pest Removal.
Location: Western Ashwake Farms
Quest One: Slimes of the Fields.
Location: Fields north of town
Objective: Eliminate 3 Slimes destroying crop fields.
Reward: 18 silver, a pie (apple or meat, no specification).
Quest Two: Goblin Sightings.
Location: Forest edge near Mornbrush Trail
Objective: Deal with goblin scouts harassing caravans.
Reward: 25 silver, possible tip from grateful merchant.
Quest Three: Big-Ass Frog.
Location: Eastern marsh near the wheat district
Objective: Kill or remove the large frog disrupting local farming.
Reward: 22 silver and a loaf of enchanted wheat bread.
He looked at the third one for a second.
"...Big-Ass Frog."
"Language," Lyra chimed in his head, her voice just full of delight. "Oh darling, I just love these starter quests. Bite-sized trauma nuggets!"
Hikari didn't say anything. Just folded up the papers, shoved them into his belt, and walked out the door.
He was going to grind.
A few hours later.
The countryside outside Ashwake wasn't exactly picturesque, as such. The wheat was thin. The ground was coarse. And there was a pervading smell of sulfur in the air from a nearby alchemy runoff.
But the sun was out.
The frogs were singing.
And the goblins were definitely watching him.
The first slime he encountered was… underwhelming.
It rolled into view like a living blob of questionable jelly. Green, half-translucent, and making soft glorp sounds with every bounce.
He sighed.
Raised his sword.
One quick slash.
The slime exploded like an overripe fruit.
"One down!" Lyra cheered. "Only, what? Two more and a frog to go! This is so fun, isn't it, sweetheart?"
"Fun," Hikari grunted, already heading for the next.
The second slime tried to dodge. Failed. Died with a soft gloop.
By the third, he was more annoyed than tired.
His sword dripped slightly with green gunk.
"Is this what adventurers do?" he complained. "Is this what joining and signing papers is like? Murdering living puddles for silver and stale bread?"
"You're still Copper Class, sweetie muffin," Lyra mocked. "You're already expecting drama and heroic quests? Pshhh... You haven't received your 'I'm the Chosen One' sash yet!
"I'm not here to be chosen. I just…" He avoided a wild goblin club, parried, and slid his sword into the creature's shoulder effortlessly. "I thought this would be... otherwise."
The goblin screamed. Dropped. Dissolved into smoke—a magical precaution of the contract. Non-lethal unless otherwise specified.
Two more goblins came at him from the undergrowth, short spears and confidence in the lead.
Hikari exhaled. Spun.
Slashed across the belly of one. Dodged a wild blow from the other. Pushed the sword under its chin.
It fell screaming.
He stood over the bodies, breathing.
"Different how, darling?" Lyra said brightly, her voice ringing softly behind his irritation.
"Different like grand speeches? Traumatic pasts? Secret noble upbringing? Please tell me it's not cursed eyes. I swear if you get cursed eyes I'm deleting myself." Lyra declared dramatically. "Or worse—I'll upgrade your inner monologue to full musical numbers."
Hikari kicked a goblin club aside and muttered, "I already have cursed company. Isn't that enough?"
"Aww, you wound me!" she gasped. "And here I thought we were trauma-bound soulmates."
"I just… " he cleaned his blade on the grass, face serious. "I figured its..."
"Muffin, you haven't leveled up even once yet."
He grunted. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. But didn't it sounded right, didnt i?"
A frustrated sigh escaped him at length.
He stomped deeper into the marshes.
And then—
RIIIBBIT.
A loud, thunderous croak resounded through the swamp.
Hikari turned around just in time to see a big shape propel itself into the air, legs akimbo like the world's grouchiest trampoline. It landed ten feet away with a splat that got his boots wet.
It was the frog.
Big.
Round.
Eyes bulging like it had seen things.
And very annoyed about wheat.
"Oh come on," Hikari complained. "I eat your cousin in soup. Don't start with me."
"Aww~ look at him, sassing amphibians now," Lyra cooed. "Getting bolder. I like this character development!"
The frog leapt again.
Hikari rolled to the side, sword at the ready, gritting his teeth as he swung low, slashing across one leg.
The creature shrieked in rage. Or possibly just confusion. Did frogs shriek?
The fight wasn't hard. Just annoying. Slippery, wet, full of jumping, and a final messy finish involving Hikari stabbing downward and rolling out of the way as the oversized toad exploded in a mix of sparkles and frog slime.
He lay in the mud for a moment afterward, panting.
Staring at the cloudy sky.
"…I'm covered in frog intestines."
"Correction: magical frog intestines. With enchantment residue. Slightly spicy."
He groaned.
"This is my life now."
"Yeah, it is. Copper-class missions and mood swings. Welcome to adventuring!"
He didn't say anything.
But he rolled over.
Stood up.
Wiped slime off his sword.
And walked back towards the city.
He had coins to collect.
And a loaf of enchanted bread to pick up.
As Hikari found himself back at Ashwake's gates yet again, this time besmirched by a compound of marsh mud, goblin-grass trodden flat, and something that very definitely had the texture of fermented frog mucus, he was walking in the stride of a man who had seen far too much in one afternoon.
Each squelching step from his boot was a betrayal. Each breeze that wafted the smell up towards his own nostrils was a punishment from the gods.
He stopped before the doors of the guild.
Looked down at himself.
His robe—his black one with the nice embroidery, the one his sister assisted in mending back in Yamaoka, the one he promised himself he'd keep reserved for special strolls into new lives—was currently streaked in algae, dotted in monster guts, and soaked through at the hem.
"I shouldn't have dressed this," he lamented in frustration. "I shouldn't have put on my good clothes. Only one. This fabric's going to stain. They don't even sell this kind of threadwork in this accursed, rune-scarred city, most likely."
"Awwww~" Lyra crooned, her voice practically shining with sadistic amusement, "your pretty little girly Yamaoka robes! Frog-slavered and goblin-slapped! Oh, my poor dainty shrine darling. just look what the big, bad world's done to you!
"Shut up," he snarled, banging the door open.
The lobby was as noisy as ever, but people looked around because Hikari smelled like a failed alchemy experiment.
One of the rookie tables near the fireplace began coughing loudly.
One of them gagged.
Even the previous mage cast a quick Cleanse Air spell around himself.
Hikari ignored it all.
He climbed the stairs again, leaving behind a trail of damp footprints and dead frog muck in his path, until he reached the second floor. Where peace, quiet, and the heavy atmosphere of paperwork reigned supreme.
At least, it did—until he walked into the office.
Ms. Orlen didn't look up right away.
But she stopped mid-quill stroke.
Sniffed.
And looked up.
Slowly.
Her eyes moved him from boots to shoulders.
Her face twitched.
"…Good gods, kid," she said, nose wrinkling as if someone had put a swamp in her tax returns. "Did you wrestle a sewage elemental on the way here?"
"I did three quests," Hikari muttered, stalking forward and slamming the papers on the counter. "Slimes. Goblins. And a frog the size of your front desk."
"Cleaely," Orlen said dryly, accepting the quest slips with a corner of her sleeve to barely handle the wet papers. "And from the looks of things, you chose to do them while rolling around the countryside in your best evening wear?"
"I wasn't rolling."
Lita darted out from behind a nearby stack of books, sniffed once, and just as quickly hid again with a squeak.
Ms. Orlen pulled a pair of gloves from her desk drawer—the thick leather type normally reserved for handling cursed artifacts—and pulled them on with deliberate, disdainful slowness.
"I hope you enjoy your payoff, because we're charging you hazard cleanup if your frog innards spill into our carpets." she said, flipping through the documents with surgical speed.
She finally grabbed a pouch of coin and a small sealed loaf wrapped in parchment. She held them out at arm's length.
Hikari took them, trying not to meet her gaze.
"Congratulations," she said half-heartedly. "You're now one rank above human mop."
"Thanks..." he muttered, already turning to leave.
"Wow," Lyra exclaimed, "I never thought I'd see the day you were being handed enchanted bread in the same tone of voice someone might serve a restraining order."
Hikari didn't say anything.
He just walked towards the stairs again.
The coin pouch jingled softly.
And the scent... Followed him like haunting guilt.