The dire wolves died easier than expected.
Aiden found their den in a limestone cave system three miles north of Millbrook, exactly where the mission briefing had indicated. Six beasts the size of small horses, their eyes glowing with predatory intelligence as they circled him in the narrow confines of their lair.
His Icicle Spear proved devastatingly effective in the enclosed space—the crystalline projectiles ricocheted off cave walls to strike from unexpected angles, while his Armaments of Frost turned his simple dagger into something that could slice through thick hide and muscle with supernatural ease. When the last wolf fell, its blood already beginning to freeze around his enchanted blade, Aiden felt the familiar satisfaction of abilities functioning exactly as intended.
The moonbell flowers were more challenging. The luminescent blooms only grew in the deepest chambers of the cave system, where deposits of raw mana had created an environment toxic to most life forms. He had to use his misdirection to confuse the territorial spirits that guarded the flower beds—incorporeal beings that attacked intruders with waves of disorienting psychic energy.
But he completed both objectives within a single day, returning to Millbrook with six wolf pelts and a full sack of valuable alchemical components. The guild clerk who processed his mission report seemed genuinely impressed by the efficiency of his work.
"Clean kills, proper harvesting techniques, no unnecessary property damage," the man noted as he tallied Aiden's payment. "Most G-rank adventurers would have taken three days for a mission like this, assuming they survived at all."
The monetary reward was modest—barely enough to cover a week's expenses at a decent inn. But Aiden didn't care about the coin. What mattered was the completion record, the demonstration of competence, the slow accumulation of reputation that would eventually translate into the documentation he needed.
One mission down, he thought as he pocketed the silver coins. However many more it takes to reach citizenship.
That optimism lasted exactly one week.
The problem, Aiden quickly discovered, wasn't his ability to complete assignments. The Adventurer's Guild had plenty of work available—monster sightings, bandit activity, missing person cases, all the kinds of dangerous jobs that civilized society needed handled by expendable mercenaries.
The problem was access.
"Sorry, but that contract's already been claimed," the desk clerk said for the third time that morning, barely looking up from his paperwork as Aiden approached the mission board.
"By whom?" Aiden asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"Silver Hawks party. They've got priority reservation on all bandit suppression missions in their operational territory."
Aiden's eyes swept the job board, noting the small colored pins that marked various assignments as reserved, claimed, or restricted. Nearly every worthwhile mission bore the markings of established adventuring parties—groups that had been operating out of Millbrook for years and had negotiated exclusive access to the most profitable contracts.
The Silver Hawks. The Iron Wolves. The Mountain Rangers. Organized parties with official recognition, guild sponsorship, and first refusal rights on anything that paid more than pocket change. They formed an unofficial aristocracy within the local adventurer community, controlling access to advancement opportunities with the same jealous efficiency that merchant guilds protected their trade routes.
"What about the herb gathering mission near Thornwick?" Aiden tried.
"Thornwick Botanical Consortium has exclusive harvesting rights in that region. They contract their security work out to the Mountain Rangers."
"The missing trader investigation?"
"Silver Hawks again. They've got a standing contract for all commerce-related incidents."
Aiden spent another hour examining the board, but the pattern was clear. Every mission worth completing was either claimed by established parties or locked behind bureaucratic requirements that would take months to navigate. What remained were the desperate scraps—jobs so dangerous or unprofitable that even the established groups wouldn't touch them.
Gatekeeping, he realized with growing frustration. They're protecting their territory by making sure newcomers can't build reputations fast enough to compete.
It was a familiar dynamic. The same kind of institutional control that had allowed overseers to terrorize slaves with impunity, that had permitted merchants like Aldric to treat human beings as commodities. Power protecting power, while those without connections were left to fight over scraps.
Days passed with similar results. Aiden managed to claim a few minor assignments—escorting a nervous merchant through a "haunted" forest (actually just normal wolves), investigating reports of strange lights near an abandoned mine (swamp gas), clearing rats from a tavern basement (exactly as tedious as it sounded). Each mission was completed flawlessly, but the cumulative impact on his standing was minimal.
At this rate, it would take years to reach the recognition level needed for citizenship sponsorship.
The real problem became clear during his second week in Millbrook, when he overheard a conversation between two Silver Hawks members at the Golden Griffin's common room.
"New guy's been making waves," one of them said, keeping his voice low but not quite low enough. "Finished that dire wolf contract in a single day. Marcus was planning to stretch it out over a week for the expense payments."
"Efficient," his companion replied. "Also problematic. Start letting solo operators complete jobs that fast, and clients will expect the same turnaround from everyone."
"Exactly. Bad for business across the board. Maybe it's time the kid learned about territorial etiquette."
Aiden didn't wait to hear the rest. He had enough experience with institutional bullying to recognize a threat when he heard one. The established parties weren't just protecting their access to lucrative contracts—they were actively working to prevent competition from disrupting their comfortable arrangements.
They're planning to drive me out, he realized. Either through direct intimidation or by ensuring I can't access enough work to maintain my guild standing.
The solution was obvious: eliminate the competition. His growing abilities would make short work of a few corrupt adventurers, and their deaths could easily be arranged to look like mission casualties. It wouldn't be the first time established parties had suffered mysterious accidents during dangerous assignments.
But killing members of the local adventuring community would bring exactly the kind of investigation he couldn't afford. The guild took the deaths of registered members seriously, and any pattern of violence around the new arrival would make his position untenable.
Time to cut losses and find a better hunting ground.
The decision came easier than expected. Millbrook had served its purpose—providing him with basic adventurer credentials, practical experience with guild operations, and a clearer understanding of how imperial bureaucracy functioned. But the town was too small, too insular, too controlled by established interests to offer the opportunities he needed.
Time to try his luck in a larger city, where anonymity was easier to maintain and competition was spread across a broader field.
"Passage to Drakmoor City," Aiden told the merchant caravan master three days later, handing over the substantial fee required for protected travel through the mountain passes. "When do you depart?"
"Tomorrow at dawn," the grizzled trader replied, examining the gold coins with professional interest. "Dangerous route, but we've got good guards and better luck. Should reach the capital in ten days if the weather holds."
Drakmoor City. The regional capital, seat of imperial administration for the entire mountain province, home to thousands of adventurers and hundreds of active parties. A place where individual competition mattered more than local politics, where skill could be rewarded regardless of connections.
A place where someone with growing power and flexible morals could build the kind of reputation that opened doors.
That evening, as he packed his belongings and settled his account at the Golden Griffin, Aiden reflected on the lessons Millbrook had taught him. Not about combat or magic—those skills continued developing through practice and necessity. But about the systems of control that governed civilized society, the invisible barriers that separated those with access from those without.
Every institution has its gatekeepers, he thought as he secured his storage rings and prepared for another journey into uncertainty. Every system has people who profit from maintaining the status quo.
But systems could be gamed by those patient enough to learn their rules. Gatekeepers could be bypassed by those clever enough to find alternate routes. And eventually, when he was strong enough, both could be eliminated by those ruthless enough to clear their own path.
The caravan departed Millbrook in the grey light of early dawn, a train of wagons and pack animals carrying goods and passengers toward the larger world beyond the mountains. Aiden rode near the rear, his adventurer's gear marking him as someone capable of contributing to the expedition's security.
Drakmoor City, he mused as the town disappeared behind them. Let's see what opportunities the capital has to offer.
Somewhere ahead lay the next phase of his transformation. More advanced training grounds, more complex challenges, more dangerous enemies to test his growing abilities against.
And eventually, when he was ready, the kind of information networks that could help him track down the remaining names on his list.
Seven debts still waited to be collected.
But first, he had a reputation to build and power to accumulate.
The Path of Frost and Steel pulsed gently in his consciousness, ready to teach him new lessons about combining patience with violence in pursuit of long-term goals.
The mountains stretched ahead like promises of possibility, and Aiden rode toward them with the cold smile of a predator who had learned to be patient.
His time in Millbrook was over.
His real education was just beginning.