The air inside the Adventurer's Guild was thick with the scent of ale, sweat, and burning oil from the lanterns. Arin stood nervously before the wooden board where parchment quests were pinned in rows. His hand twitched as he scanned them, while Lyra leaned casually against a pillar, arms folded, looking as though she'd done this a thousand times.
"Pick one already," she muttered, her silver-gray eyes narrowing. "If you keep staring, the good quests will be gone."
Arin swallowed hard. This is it. My first real quest. No turning back.
Most of the requests were trivial: finding lost pets, carrying cargo, helping farmers mend fences. His pride burned at the thought of being nothing more than a delivery boy. Then his gaze landed on one that seemed simple enough:
Quest: Gather 20 bundles of Redthorn Grass.Reward: 8 Silver Marks.Warning: The fields near Duskhollow are infested with Horned Rabbits.
Arin plucked the parchment off the board. "This one. It's… doable."
Lyra's eyebrow rose. "Redthorn? That's herb-gathering, not adventuring."
"It's still a quest, right?" Arin argued. "And it pays better than carrying someone's laundry basket."
Lyra sighed but smirked faintly. "Fine. Just don't cry when the rabbits chase you."
The fields outside Duskhollow were bathed in golden sunlight, swaying with knee-high grass and the faint shimmer of crimson blades—the Redthorn Grass they were searching for. Arin crouched down, knife in hand, carefully cutting the first bundle.
"This isn't so bad," he said, glancing at Lyra.
She shrugged, scanning the horizon with her hand on the hilt of her sword. "Don't get too comfortable. Horned Rabbits aren't pets. They're fast, territorial, and meaner than they look."
Arin chuckled. "Rabbits? How bad could—"
A blur of fur shot through the grass. Arin barely saw it before it rammed into his side. He gasped as pain shot through his ribs and he tumbled to the ground, the world spinning.
"Arin!" Lyra's voice rang out, sharp and urgent.
He forced himself up, coughing. His eyes locked on the beast before him: a rabbit the size of a hound, with crimson fur and a jagged black horn protruding from its forehead. Its eyes glowed with a wild, feral hunger.
Two more leapt from the grass.
This isn't a rabbit—it's a monster.
Arin gripped his short sword, his hands shaking. One of the beasts lunged. He swung clumsily, missing as the creature darted aside and lunged again. The horn sliced across his arm, drawing blood.
"Damn it!"
Lyra dashed past him, blade flashing in a clean arc. She met the beast mid-leap, cutting across its neck. Blood sprayed as it collapsed, twitching.
"Focus, Arin!" she barked. "This isn't training. This is survival."
Another rabbit bounded toward Arin. His breath came ragged, but this time he planted his feet. If I hesitate, I die.
When it lunged, he thrust forward. His blade scraped across its shoulder—not deep, but enough to stagger it. Snarling, the beast spun back. Arin swallowed his fear, tightened his grip, and when it leapt again, he drove the sword into its chest. The weight of the beast slammed into him, knocking him flat, but this time it didn't get up.
Panting, Arin shoved the corpse off. His heart thundered in his ears, every beat screaming I'm alive.
The last beast snarled, crouching to spring—until Lyra's blade pinned it through the skull. She flicked the blood off her sword, her expression unreadable.
Arin sat up slowly, staring at the corpses. His hands trembled, blood dripping from his cut. His stomach churned.
"That…" He exhaled shakily. "That was nothing like sparring."
Lyra knelt beside him, tearing a strip of cloth to bind his wound. "Of course not. Wooden swords don't kill you. Monsters do."
Arin forced a weak smile. "Guess I learned that the hard way."
She tied the knot tight, meeting his gaze. "You did well. First kill is always the hardest. Don't forget how it feels—fear, pain, relief. That's what keeps you alive."
Arin's chest tightened at her words. He looked at the lifeless beasts, then at the faint crimson glow of the grass swaying nearby. Suddenly, the world felt sharper, heavier.
He wasn't in his old world anymore. This was the Great Wilderness. A world where blood was spilled as easily as water.
He clenched his fist. If I'm going to survive here… if I'm going to reach the top… I can't falter again.
By sunset, they had gathered enough Redthorn Grass. Arin's body ached, his arm throbbed, but when they returned to the guild and placed the bloody rabbit horns on the counter along with the herbs, the guild clerk raised an eyebrow.
"You're still alive?" the man said dryly, counting out coins. "Not bad for your first quest. Eight Silver Marks. Don't spend it all in one tavern."
Arin accepted the pouch, the weight of the coins both exciting and pitifully light. Lyra smirked as they walked out.
"You didn't run. That's more than I can say for most rookies."
Arin grinned faintly, exhaustion in his eyes. "Running isn't going to get me to Rank Ten."
Lyra chuckled softly. "Good answer. Let's see if you can keep saying that after the next quest."
Together, they stepped into the fading twilight, the road ahead uncertain, but alive with possibility.