Aiden stared at the path options floating before his vision, his finger hovering over Path of Revenge like a blade poised to strike. The choice felt inevitable—seven names burned in his memory, seven debts that demanded payment in blood and suffering.
But as the familiar rage began to build in his chest, cold calculation reasserted itself.
Path of Frost and Steel is only twenty-three percent complete, he realized, forcing himself to think beyond the immediate satisfaction of choosing vengeance. I'm still learning abilities from my current path. Better to master what I have before adding new complications.
The decision went against every instinct screaming for immediate retribution, but six years of slavery had taught him the value of patience. Rushing toward power without proper preparation was how people like Gareth ended up broken and drooling in corners.
He dismissed the path selection screen and rose from his position against the tree. The afternoon sun was already beginning to sink toward the western peaks, and he needed to establish himself in Millbrook before nightfall made everything more complicated.
The town proved more welcoming to a well-dressed young man with coin in his pocket than it had been to a group of suspicious travelers. Aiden's misdirection ensured that his entrance through the gates drew no particular attention, while his Merchant's Eye ability helped him navigate the local economy with surprising efficiency.
The Golden Griffin Inn sat in the town's merchant quarter, a three-story building that catered to traders wealthy enough to afford private rooms and hot meals. Exactly the kind of establishment where a mysterious young entrepreneur might stay while conducting business.
"Room for the night," Aiden told the innkeeper, a matronly woman whose sharp eyes missed nothing but whose smile suggested she cared more about payment than personal history.
"That'll be two silver crowns," she replied, looking him over with professional assessment. "Includes evening meal, breakfast, and use of the bathhouse. Extra for laundry service if you need it."
Aiden placed the coins on the counter without haggling—the amount was trivial compared to his stolen wealth, and overpaying slightly would mark him as someone with money to spend rather than someone scraping together enough for basic necessities.
The room was small but clean, with a real bed instead of a straw mattress and a window that actually opened to let in fresh air. After six years of dormitory life, such simple luxuries felt almost decadent.
But it was the bathhouse that truly reminded him of what he'd lost and reclaimed.
Hot water. Actual soap instead of the harsh lye solution they'd been given at the quarry. Privacy to wash without guards watching for signs of hidden weapons or escape attempts. Aiden soaked in the steaming tub until his skin wrinkled, letting six years of accumulated grime and psychological filth wash away down the drain.
When he finally emerged, clean and dressed in clothes that weren't stained with blood or marked with the rough weave of slave fabric, he caught sight of himself in the room's small mirror.
The boy who had watched his family die was gone. In his place stood a lean young man with pale skin, dark hair, and eyes that held depths no sixteen-year-old should possess. The face was still recognizably his own, but it carried new lines—marks left by pain, violence, and the kind of choices that aged souls faster than years.
I look like a killer, he thought with clinical detachment. Good. That's what I am now.
The evening meal in the inn's common room proved both nourishing and educational. Real food—roasted chicken, fresh bread, vegetables that hadn't been boiled into grey mush—provided sustenance his body had almost forgotten how to crave. But more valuable was the conversation he overheard from neighboring tables.
Merchants discussing trade routes. Adventurers comparing the merits of various hunting grounds. Local officials complaining about tax collection difficulties in the mountain regions. All of it painted a picture of how the world worked beyond the grey walls of the quarry.
"You're new here," observed the merchant at the next table, a middle-aged man with the soft hands and calculating eyes of someone who made his living from other people's labor. "Haven't seen you in Millbrook before."
"Just arrived," Aiden replied, keeping his voice neutral and forgettable. "Considering establishing some trade connections in the region."
"Smart choice. The mountain passes are dangerous, but the profit margins make it worthwhile for those with the stomach for risk." The merchant leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Word of advice, though—if you're planning to stay more than a week, you'll need proper documentation. Town council's gotten strict about residency requirements since the troubles started."
"Troubles?"
"Escaped slaves from the Drakmoor operation. Apparently killed several overseers and set fire to half the compound before disappearing into the wilderness. Has everyone jumpy about unregistered individuals hanging around."
Aiden managed to keep his expression appropriately concerned rather than satisfied. "What kind of documentation would someone need?"
"Citizenship papers, trade licenses, that sort of thing. Or..." The merchant's eyes took on the calculating gleam of someone sensing a business opportunity. "There's always the Adventurer's Guild. They're recognized by the Empire as a legitimate organization, and guild membership carries certain privileges. Complete enough missions, prove you're contributing to local security, and they'll sponsor you for provisional citizenship."
Adventurer's Guild. Aiden had heard of such organizations during his noble childhood—mercenary companies that operated under imperial charter, handling dangerous jobs that regular military forces couldn't or wouldn't take on. Monster hunting, bandit suppression, exploration of dangerous ruins.
It sounded perfect for someone who needed legitimate cover while building combat experience.
The next morning, after a breakfast of eggs and bacon that tasted like heaven after years of gruel, Aiden set out to establish his new identity. The merchant quarter provided everything he needed—clothing stores, equipment vendors, and mapmakers who could outfit a aspiring adventurer with basic gear.
His Merchant's Eye ability proved invaluable during the shopping process, instantly revealing the quality and fair value of everything he examined. The shopkeepers quickly learned to offer their best prices rather than risk insulting someone who could spot inferior goods at a glance.
A sturdy leather backpack. Several changes of clothes in practical fabrics that wouldn't show dirt or blood. A set of reinforced leather armor that provided protection without restricting movement. Boots designed for long-distance travel over rough terrain. And most importantly, detailed maps of the local region that would help him navigate both geography and political boundaries.
"Planning to join the guild, are you?" asked the armorer as he fitted Aiden's new gear for proper sizing. "Good choice for someone your age. Dangerous work, but it pays well and teaches skills you can't learn anywhere else."
"What kind of missions do they typically offer?" Aiden inquired, genuinely curious about what would be expected of him.
"Depends on your rank and abilities. New members usually start with simple jobs—clearing wolves from trade routes, harvesting rare herbs from monster territories, delivering messages to isolated settlements. Nothing too dangerous until you prove you can handle yourself."
The Adventurer's Guild occupied a large building near the town's administrative center, its wooden sign bearing the crossed sword and staff that marked it as an official imperial organization. Inside, the atmosphere was businesslike but relaxed—adventurers of various ages and equipment levels consulting job boards, discussing missions, or simply enjoying drinks while comparing war stories.
The registration process proved surprisingly straightforward. A bored clerk asked basic questions about abilities and experience, noted Aiden's responses on an official form, and charged a modest fee for guild membership.
"Name?" the clerk asked without looking up from his paperwork.
"Aiden," he replied.
"Family name?"
This was the moment he'd been preparing for. "None yet. I'm... between names, you might say. My family disowned me when I awakened with abilities they considered unsuitable."
It was a story that explained his lack of surname while suggesting he came from noble or merchant stock—exactly the kind of background that would justify his education, manners, and access to quality equipment. The clerk nodded with the understanding of someone who had heard similar tales before.
"Not uncommon," the man said, making notations on the form. "Plenty of adventurers are running from family disapproval. You'll have the option to register a chosen surname once you reach D-rank, if you're interested."
The rest of the process was routine—demonstration of his awakened abilities (carefully limited to basic applications of misdirection and ice magic), assignment of his guild identification badge, and explanation of the ranking system that governed advancement.
G-rank. The lowest possible tier, reserved for complete novices who might not survive their first real mission. But everyone started somewhere, and Aiden was nothing if not patient.
The job board offered exactly what the armorer had promised—low-risk assignments designed to test new members without getting them killed. Wolf pack harassment near a farming village. Herb gathering in areas where dangerous but manageable creatures might be encountered. Courier runs to settlements that were isolated but not actively hostile.
Aiden selected a combination mission that would take him into the foothills north of town: eliminate a pack of dire wolves that had been attacking livestock, then harvest moonbell flowers from the caves they were using as dens. Simple enough to complete with his current abilities, but challenging enough to demonstrate competence.
"First mission?" asked the clerk as he processed Aiden's selection.
"Yes."
"Word of advice—don't try to be a hero. Complete the objectives, collect your payment, and come back alive. The guild values reliable members more than dead heroes."
Sound advice. Aiden accepted the mission documents and headed back to the Golden Griffin to plan his approach. Tomorrow he would begin establishing the reputation that would give him freedom to operate within imperial territory.
But tonight, he would rest in a real bed, in a real room, as a free man planning his own future.
It was more than he'd dared hope for just a week ago.
As he settled into the inn's comfortable chair to study his mission briefing and local maps, Aiden allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. The first phase of his transformation was complete—from slave to free man, from victim to someone with agency and power.
Phase two would be more challenging. Learning to operate as an adventurer, building the skills and reputation he would need for larger goals, preparing for the day when he would be strong enough to hunt down the remaining names on his list.
But he had time now. Resources. Options.
And somewhere in the Empire, seven men who had thought themselves safe from the consequences of their actions were about to discover that some debts could never be forgotten.
The Path of Frost and Steel pulsed gently in the back of his mind, ready to teach him new lessons about combining magic and violence in pursuit of justice.
Tomorrow would bring his first steps into a larger world.
Tonight, he would plan how to make that world remember why crossing House Valdris had been a mistake.