Chapter 1 – Welcome to Eryndor, No Tourists Allowed
In the vast world of Veldrosia stood a massive city, glittering like a gem set among mountains of glass and steel: Eryndor. A mythical city where legends were born, and where every child bore a Divimark, a magical symbol branded at birth. Each Divimark granted the bearer a fragment of power from a forgotten god. And the higher the level of the Divimark—from Level 1 to mythical figures few dared to speak—the more revered its bearer became. Some were feared, others worshipped. Most had fan clubs.
But our story doesn't start with a royal hero or a chosen one. No, our story begins with a certain Eron Parker, a teenager freshly out of his small village of Zarion, a forgotten place buried between dusty hills and illiterate goats. Eron had one ambition: to conquer Eryndor, become a legend, and maybe—just maybe—have his own mug sold in souvenir shops.
After a long trip in a mana-powered communal cart (with a baby dragon screaming non-stop), Eron stepped triumphantly onto the main station of Eryndor, with pride in his eyes, dust on his feet, and only one thing on his mind: comfort.
> "I'm going to live like a king," he declared aloud, just as a divine pigeon dropped a heavenly gift on his shoulder.
Five Stars and a Shooting Star
His first instinct? Find a five-star hotel. He quickly spotted one: The Palace of Zephyrs, a tower of crystal where your sneeze echoed from 42 different angles.
The receptionist scanned him from head to toe—mostly toe—but, seeing his wide, hopeful grin, she accepted his request for "one night, 5000 veldras."
Eron didn't listen to the end of the sentence. He nodded like a noble, handed over all his money and proudly declared:
> "I'll take the whole month, madam!"
The receptionist gave him a smile so polite it should've been illegal.
That evening, Eron lived the dream: moon-sap bathtubs, phoenix-feather pillows, and a dinner... priced at 800 veldras for just the starter. He savored every bite like it was a kiss from the gods. Between smoked griffon pâté and crystallized mana jelly, he nearly wept.
> "This is it. This is Eryndor. I'm never going back."
But that magical night soon turned into a surreal nightmare.
In his dream, a dark figure—blurry but towering—approached him, placed a hand on his Divimark, and whispered with a voice like thunder:
> "Fulgura…"
Lightning struck, burning into his dream, and he shot awake, sweating and panting.
> "Three a.m… Why did I have the rainbow mana dessert?"
A Harsh Wake-Up… and a Harsher Reality
The next morning, Eron blinked and smelled fresh linen.
> "Oh, someone folded my clothes! This really is five-star service."
A sharp voice cut through the air:
> "Because you're being kicked out, young man. You were supposed to check out by 8:30 AM. It's 9:02."
Eron turned his head. A woman in a military-grade maid outfit stood there with a broom of justice in one hand. Her name tag read: Lyra – Chief of Dimensional Maintenance.
> "But I paid for a month!"
> "No. You paid 5000 veldras for a single night. It's written right here, clearly, size 12, Paladinium font."
> "That's... robbery!"
> "Welcome to Eryndor, Mr. Parker. Good luck."
Lyra slammed the door shut as he stumbled out, suitcase in hand, shirt inside-out, and spirit already cracked.
> "Stupid five-star hotel… For 5000 veldras back in Zarion, I could've bought a house, two goats, a solar scooter, and a small plot of land!"
He wandered down the street, mumbling curses.
> "They're all insane here… I need to find a normal inn, with a normal price, and no enchanted crystal lobby."
He walked past an inn with a suspicious name: "The Night Movement."
> "Nope. Sounds... weird."
Further down, a hand-carved wooden sign greeted him:
"The Dawn Merchant's Inn."
> "Yes. That's it. That's a real inn."
Back to Earth… Well, Almost
Inside, a cheerful red-haired lady welcomed him.
> "Welcome! Simple room, two meals a day, warm-ish water guaranteed. 2500 veldras for the whole month."
Eron nearly cried in relief. He paid instantly, went to his modest room, dropped his bags, and collapsed onto a bed that was firm and honest.
> "I've got my base. Time to build my career."
The Hunter's Guild
After a healing nap (he called it "soul restoration meditation"), Eron walked to the Guild District. There, in a massive stone building with monster skulls and magical trophies everywhere, he entered the Guild of Independent Hunters.
An elf-woman with rectangular glasses handed him a form.
> "Name?"
> "Eron Parker."
> "Origin?"
> "Zarion. Small village between two hills and three lies."
> "Skills?"
> "Uh… I run fast. And I make a mean manioc bread."
She gave him an ID card. An old card with a blank square in the middle. He hadn't officially registered his Divimark yet.
> "Here's your temporary hunter card. Limited access until magical certification. You can take Rank F missions."
> "Rank F? What's that?"
> "Catching pigeons, finding lost cats, picking slightly-biting carnivorous flowers."
> "... Fantastic."
He returned to the inn, tossed the card on the table, and sighed.
> "Tomorrow… new mission: find a school. And decent clothes. Can't become a legend in ripped pants."
And as he fell asleep on a mattress that leaned slightly to the left, he whispered:
> "Tomorrow… the legend begins. But on a tight budget."
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