The wagon creaked as it rolled past the outer gate, iron-shod wheels clattering against the cobblestone road. Grayson shifted in his seat, his butt half-numb from the hours of jolting travel, but his eyes were alive, darting left and right, drinking in the sights as though it was his first time in an amusement park.
The city rose around him like something ripped straight from a storybook. Medieval style Timber-framed houses leaned at odd angles, stacked in impossible tiers with slate roofs that glistened in the waning light. Carved wooden signs swung above doorways, painted with symbols of swords, hammers, bread loaves, and boots.
Lanterns, actual iron-wrought lanterns, not neon or LED, were being lit one by one as apprentices hurried through the streets with poles tipped in burning cloth. The faint smell of roasting meat drifted through the air, mixing with the sharper scents of horses, smoke, and humanity.
Grayson let out a low whistle. "This is… insane. No sound stages, no CGI, no green screens… this is.....so real."
Beside him on the wagon bench, the merchant gave a chuckle, his broad shoulders jiggling. "Close your mouth, stranger, or someone'll make off with your tongue."
Grayson snapped his jaw shut, sheepish. "Sorry. Just...it's a beautiful place."
"First time in a city?" The merchant's accent was thick but not unpleasant. He wore the look of a man who'd seen this scene play out a dozen times before.
"Something like that," Grayson muttered.
"Well then, welcome to CopperHaven". Cheered the merchant
Earlier, The wagon had slowed as they reached the city gate. Two guards stepped forward, clad in chainmail with tabards bearing a red lion insignia. Spears crossed, blocking their way.
"Halt. Identification," the taller guard barked.
The merchant slid a hand into his vest, producing a small bronze plaque stamped with sigils. "Marrek of Drowenholt, spice and cloth. Four crates bound for market."
The guard took the plaque, examined it, and gave a curt nod. His gaze shifted to Grayson. "And him?"
Grayson froze. He hadn't even thought about papers, passports, or whatever counted for ID in this place.
"Uh. I…"
"He's with me," Marrek interjected smoothly. "New to the trade. Fresh from the countryside. Still learning his way." He gave Grayson a side-eye that screamed play along, idiot.
Grayson managed a stiff nod. "Right. With him. I am."
The guards exchanged looks. One spat to the side. "Countryside bumpkins. Make sure he gets himself registered. City don't take kindly to ghosts." But they stepped aside, letting the wagon roll on.
Grayson exhaled. "Thanks. Thought they were about to drag me off."
Marrek grunted. "Would've, if not for me. You walk around here without an identity, you're begging to be marked as a thief, runaway, or worse."
"Identity?" Grayson asked. "Like… papers?"
"Guild card," Marrek corrected. "Cheapest way to be somebody in these lands. Go to the Adventurers' Guild, pay your fee, take their silly test. They give you a bronze card that says you're real adventurer. Even the guards won't question you after that."
Grayson nodded, filing it away in his mind. Adventurers' Guild, seemed like the fantasy equivalent of getting a driver's license. "Where is it?"
"North quarter, near the fountain square. You can't miss it." Marrek flicked the reins and urged the wagon toward a side street. "I have business at market. We part ways here."
He offered his hand, calloused and firm. "Marrek, merchant of Drowenholt. Remember the name. You'll find me near the spice stalls if you need honest trade."
Grayson clasped it, grateful. "Grayson Stratham, Actor....of....hollywood? And I owe you one."
Marrek smirked. "funny lad, Owe me by staying alive. Now off with you. And try not to look so lost."
With that, the merchant's wagon rattled away, leaving Grayson standing in the bustle of the street. For a moment he simply turned in place, gawking. Everywhere he looked was alive: peddlers shouting wares, children weaving through legs, guardsmen patrolling with clanking armour. He felt like a kid dropped inside Disneyland.
He straightened his back. If he was going to survive here, he couldn't afford to wander like a tourist. First step: that guild.
The Adventurers' Guild stood like the fortress that it was, in the heart of the north quarter. Its stone walls rose three stories, banners bearing the lion crest draped down the front. Wide doors swung open to admit a steady stream of rugged figures.
Grayson hesitated at the threshold. Then he stepped inside.
The noise hit him first. The guild hall was half tavern, half marketplace, filled with long tables where armoured men and women laughed, argued, and slammed tankards. Quest boards lined the walls, plastered with notices promising coin for everything from pest control to wyvern slaying. A staircase led upward, and a broad counter stretched across the far wall where clerks and receptionists sat.
Grayson felt eyes on him the moment he crossed the threshold. Conversations faltered, then resumed at lowered tones.
"Look at that toy suit."
"Shiny, a stage costume?."
"Did the guild hire some performers?"
"Bet it dents if you breathe on it."
Grayson kept walking, head high, even as heat crawled up his neck. He'd been booed off stage before, laughed at during auditions. Hecklers were part of the craft. All he had to do was channel that same stubborn confidence. It's just another audience, he told himself. Wait till they see what I can do.
He made for the counter. The receptionist nearest him was a young woman with chestnut hair tied neatly back, spectacles perched on her nose. She glanced up from her ledger, expression cool and practiced.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes," Grayson said, forcing a smile. "I'd like to get… an identification card? I was told the Adventurers' Guild could provide one."
Her gaze flicked over him, lingering on the armour. One eyebrow rose a fraction. "You're new, then."
"Very," Grayson admitted.
"The process is simple," she said briskly. "There is a registration fee of two silver. Which can be paid later, Following that, you'll be required to undergo an aptitude assessment. It measures physical capability and basic combat awareness. Pass, and you'll be issued a Bronze-rank Adventurer Card. It serves as your official identification throughout the kingdom."
"And if I fail?" Grayson asked, though he already guessed.
"Then you'll be barred from re-applying for one year." Her tone was flat, but the faintest trace of amusement tugged at the corner of her mouth. She had seen many would-be adventurers crumble at that answer.
Grayson swallowed. A year? He couldn't afford that. Not with whatever twisted contract this System had bound him to. But he wasn't about to back down either.
He leaned forward slightly, grinning as if he'd just been handed a casting call. "All right. Where do I audition?"
The receptionist blinked. "Audition?"
"I mean, where's the....uhh... test? Yeah! The test."
She studied him a moment longer, then pushed back her chair. "Follow me."
The buzz of the hall followed him as he trailed her to a side corridor. He could still feel the stares on his back, hear the snickers.
"Hope they've got a healer ready."
"Going to be a short show."
He ignored them. If they wanted a show, he'd give them one. That much, at least, was something he'd spent a lifetime preparing for.
The receptionist opened a heavy wooden door. Beyond lay a chamber with sand-packed floors, weapon racks, and a marked sparring circle. Several adventurers leaned against the walls, clearly waiting to watch the fresh meat stumble.
"Your assessment will be conducted here," the receptionist said crisply. "Wait by the circle. Someone will be along shortly."
Grayson stepped inside, the door closing behind him. His heart hammered, not with fear but with anticipation. The scent of sweat and steel filled his nose, familiar in a way he couldn't quite explain.
A sudden but now familiar sound Rang in his ears.
DING!
[Notification: A New Role Has Been Activated!]
He clenched his fists, and with a wide grin, whispering under his breath. "Time for my next performance."