Chapter 23
THE NEXT DAY!
Zen had been discharged from the clinic the previous evening, finally given time to settle in again. Today, he was to officially join the clan as an F-ranked Reaver.
The clinic was situated in the same building where Zen had once been camped with the other recruits.
Now, as an official member of the Silverfall Clan, he was to move into the enormous structure at the heart of the compound which was the main building that loomed like the center of all clan activity.
With a sigh and a nervous smile, he stood before the towering double doors, staring at them with a mix of anxiousness and skepticism.
"I wonder what the clan members are like. Cold? Always angry? Or maybe the quiet, keep-to-themselves type. I guess I won't know unless I go in, huh," Zen muttered, chuckling slightly as he pushed the door open with all his strength. The hinges groaned, and the wood gave a long creak.
He had just taken a single step forward when...
"Look out!"
WOOOSH!
BAM!
Something slammed into Zen with brutal force, sending him hurtling backward and knocking the air from his lungs.
{-1HP}
"Ow! What was that?!" he muttered through clenched teeth as he slowly got to his feet, wincing. The doors now stood wide open, revealing a large hall bustling with people.
Some chatted in small groups, others darted about chasing one another as if in a playful hunt, while a few stood still, watching him with brief flickers of curiosity or concern.
Zen's eyes darted around until he spotted the culprit. Lying in pieces on the floor was a broken chair.
"Who the hell threw this?" he muttered, frowning in confusion.
The few who had paused to check on him saw he was fine and turned away without another word, drifting back to their own conversations. Zen sighed and stepped forward again.
The moment he crossed into the Silverfall Clan Hall, a wave of activity and atmosphere washed over him. The space had the lively hum of a tavern mixed with the disciplined undertone of a soldier's rest hall.
Long wooden tables and sturdy chairs were scattered across the stone floor, their surfaces worn smooth from years of boots, mugs, and elbows.
Some tables were empty, while others hosted small gatherings of Reavers—men and women clad in light armor or casual tunics sipping from steaming mugs, clinking glasses, or swapping stories from recent hunts.
A soft golden glow spilled from rune-lit lanterns suspended above, casting warm shadows against the stone-carved walls.
The air was thick with a blend of faint alcohol, the tang of polished steel, and the earthy scent of leather and fresh herbs.
On the right side of the hall, a massive quest board dominated the space, tall and wide like a wall of opportunities. Sheets of parchment fluttered gently under iron pins, each one detailing missions for F to C-ranked Reavers.
Some were straightforward herb collection, beast tracking while others hinted at more dangerous work, such as clearing out dens or escorting caravans through beast-infested routes.
A few Reavers gathered before it, either silently assessing the listings or arguing over who would claim a quest first.
At the far end of the hall stood two grand staircases carved with intricate clan emblems.
The first staircase, broad and inviting, spiraled upward toward the residential wing for F to C-ranked Reavers, where simple yet comfortable rooms awaited them.
Higher still, a second, more fortified staircase led to the upper halls reserved for B-ranked and above a place which housed their own personal quest boards. Quests that only them are able to handle.
Above that, another staircase, slimmer and more ornate, guided the elite to their private quarters—rooms belonging to B-ranked and higher Reavers, secluded away from the others.
And finally, yet another staircase, veiled in faint enchantments, rose toward the topmost floor where the clan master and his inner circle resided which was far removed from the chatter and chaos of the common hall below.
Despite its layered structure, the Silverfall Clan Hall didn't feel stiff or unwelcoming. It felt alive, pulsing like a living heart at the center of the clan. Reavers came and went. Bonds were made. Arguments flared. Banter echoed against the stone walls.
The first thing Zen saw was chaos in motion people chasing each other with actual weapons.
"Come back here, you fool! How dare you call me old?!" roared a middle-aged man as he drew his sword, hot on the heels of what looked like a cocky teenager.
"You can't catch me, grandpa!" the young lad jeered, laughing as he darted through tables.
"Will you all just shut your damn mouths? I'm trying to get some sleep here!" someone shouted from across the hall. A man lay sprawled on a long couch against the wall, a folded newspaper covering his face.
"You lazy arse! Instead of going to hunt, you're here snoring away? What a waste!" another voice scoffed from somewhere in the crowd.
Nearby, an argument was in full swing at the quest board.
"I want to do this quest!"
"No! I want to!"
"Come on, I already have the squad ready."
"So? I spotted it first."
"Just get something else, damn it!"
"Nope. I want that one."
"For crying out loud, we've been arguing for hours. Just take the damned quest and leave already."
"You too. Tch!" the girl scoffed, snatching the pamphlet and turning on her heel.
"Hey!"
The call came from a man in his early thirties, striding toward Zen with an easy grin. Before Zen could react, the stranger wrapped an arm around his shoulder as if they'd been friends for years.
"You must be the newbie. The one who could barely slay a D-ranked beast before passing out, right?" he said with a chuckle.
Zen gave an awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… I…"
"No need to answer. It's obvious," the man said with a short laugh. Without warning, he pulled Zen toward the center of the room, then seized a large glass from a nearby table and smashed it against the floor.
The hall fell into sudden silence. All eyes turned toward them.
"I said keep it down! I wanted to sleep, damn it!" The figure on the couch sat upright, tossing the newspaper aside. His yellow eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion, glared at them from beneath tousled brown hair.
Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, and his voice carried the weight of someone who hadn't had proper rest in weeks.
"You can sleep another time, Ryker. I'm introducing the newbie," the man barked, prompting Ryker to scoff.
"One can't even get a decent nap in here. Tch."
Turning back to the crowd, the man raised his voice. "Listen up, everybody! We've got a newcomer among us, and I want you all to welcome him properly. So help me give a warm welcome to… uh, what's your name, kid?"
"Zenixx."
"Zen. I'm Thorne," he said, before facing the crowd again. "Alright, everyone! Let's give Zen the proper Silverfall welcome!"
A chorus of cheers erupted. Without hesitation, the Reavers reached for anything within arm's length: daggers, chairs, a barrel, even a few drinking glasses and without hesitation, hurled them all toward Zen in a chaotic storm.
"Alright, that's my cue to leave," Thorne grinned, leaping back out of range.
"Uhm… I guess not only does the game hate me," Zen muttered, his throat tightening as he watched the wave of objects hurtling toward him.