The guildhall was as loud and lively as she remembered—wooden tables filled with adventurers boasting of hunts, mugs of ale clashing, dice rolling, and laughter echoing beneath the rafters. Yet when Selvara pushed open the door and stepped inside, she could not shake the weight of the strange voice that still lingered at the back of her mind.
Her armor gleamed faintly, newly regenerated, but she still hugged the bundle of goblin ears tightly to her chest, as though afraid they might slip away. Her branch, still clutched like a sword, made more than one adventurer glance her way with barely concealed amusement. She ignored them, chin lifted with the kind of exaggerated pride that was her shield against shame.
The receptionist, a young woman with short brown hair and a warm, professional smile, noticed her at once and beckoned her forward. "Welcome back, miss Draymore. Did you succeed in your quest?"
"I have returned victorious!" Selvara declared, slamming the vine-strung goblin ears upon the counter. "Though the path of battle was… unorthodox. Yet still, by grit, will, and… ah… other methods, I prevailed!"
The receptionist blinked, hesitating before counting the grisly trophies. "Yes… I see. That will be marked as completed." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "But, my lady… forgive my boldness, you seem a bit… flustered?"
Selvara froze. Her pride demanded denial, but the confusion still clouding her mind begged otherwise. She bent forward, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.
"Tell me… is there a… guide? A scroll? Some kind of manual on…" She swallowed hard, her cheeks pinking as the memory of the goblins' "wrestling" resurfaced. "…on the… sensual wrestling of this land?"
The receptionist's pen stopped in mid-stroke. Her eyes flickered up, wide, then softened with a mix of recognition and pity.
"…So. It's already begun for you."
Selvara stiffened. "Y-you mean… you know of it? Then it wasn't some fever dream, nor a perverse trick of my mind?"
The woman's smile faltered into something weary. "What you faced wasn't unusual. This world has… rules. The monsters here don't only fight with steel and claws. They fight with flesh, with hunger, with desire. And for us—adventurers, mercenaries, even knights—there is no ignoring it."
Her fingers dipped below the counter, drawing out a slim leather-bound book. It looked worn, the edges curled from many hands thumbing through its pages. She slid it across the polished wood.
"Here. We call it The Wrestler's Codex. Read it well. It explains… how to survive these encounters. How to turn humiliation into strength. How to endure… and win."
Selvara reached out, her gauntlet trembling slightly as it touched the cover. She swallowed, her pride a fragile thing against the pounding of her heart.
"To fight… with one's body, in such ways… How deeply, how exquisitely cruel…" A shiver ran through her frame, one she tried to mask with an overdramatic laugh. "And yet—! If it is the will of the gods, if it is my fate to master this trial, then I shall! Even if my very body betrays me, even if shame burns hotter than fire… I, Selvara Draymore, shall not falter!"
The receptionist just gave her a small, sympathetic smile, as though she had heard this same proud vow a dozen times before.
But for Selvara, the weight of the Codex in her hands was like destiny itself—an answer, a path forward, and perhaps, the beginning of a new kind of battle she never dreamed she would fight.