Spring arrived with melting snow and budding trees.
Leon stood in the doorway of his cottage, looking at the space that had been his home for seventeen years. The hearth where Garan had taught him to cook. The workbench where they'd maintained tools together. The bed where the old man had died.
He'd packed light—one bag with clothes, basic supplies, and his grandfather's hunting knife. His bow and quiver were strapped to his back. Everything else he'd sold or traded to the village for coin.
It wasn't much. But it was enough.
Leon closed the door and didn't look back. The path forward was clear. Orario lay to the south, a journey of several weeks on foot. He could make it alone, but it would be easier with a caravan.
The village square was busier than usual. Market day brought traders from neighboring settlements, and Leon moved through the crowd with quiet purpose. He sold his remaining pelts to a regular buyer, accepted the coins without haggling, and turned to leave.
"Damn shame about the northern route," a merchant said nearby.
Leon paused.
"Bandits?" another merchant asked.
"Worse. Monsters. Three travelers killed last week. The Guild's sending adventurers, but until then, the roads are dangerous." The first merchant shook his head. "Bad for business."
"What about the southern route?"
"Ragan's caravan is heading that way tomorrow. To Orario. But he's not taking passengers after what happened."
Leon approached the two merchants. "Where can I find this Ragan?"
They looked at him—the quiet hunter boy, barely eighteen, with old eyes and a calm that didn't match his age.
"East end of the village. Big caravan, red canvas on the lead wagon. But I told you, he's not—"
"Thank you." Leon walked away before they could finish.
---
The caravan was exactly as described. Six wagons in total, loaded with goods and supplies. Men moved between them, checking wheels, securing cargo, tending to horses. At the center of the activity stood a large man with a graying beard, barking orders with the confidence of someone used to being obeyed.
Leon watched for a moment, studying the operation. Disciplined. Efficient. The guards were experienced—he could tell by how they carried themselves, how they positioned their weapons. This was a professional outfit.
He approached the bearded man. "Are you Ragan?"
The man turned, looked Leon up and down. "I am. You need something, boy?"
"I want to travel with your caravan to Orario. I can pay."
Ragan snorted. "I'm not taking passengers. Too dangerous right now."
"I heard. Monsters on the northern route."
"And bandits on the western. The southern route is safest, but that doesn't mean safe. I've got enough to worry about without protecting soft travelers." Ragan turned back to his work. "Find another way."
Leon didn't move. "I'm not asking for protection. I can contribute."
"Contribute how? You're just a kid."
"I'm a hunter. I can provide fresh game for the journey. I know herbs and plants—I can improve your food, maybe help with minor injuries. And if there's trouble, I can fight."
Ragan stopped and looked at Leon again, more carefully this time. The boy stood calm and straight, no bravado, no desperation. Just quiet confidence.
"You can really hunt?"
"Yes."
"And fight?"
"Yes."
The caravan master stroked his beard. "I've got hunters. I've got guards. Why should I take you?"
Leon met his gaze steadily. "Because you're short on supplies after what happened. Because fresh meat is better than dried. Because an extra pair of eyes costs you nothing. And because I won't slow you down."
Ragan studied him for a long moment. There was something about this boy. Something old in those young eyes. The kind of look you saw in veteran soldiers, not village hunters.
"What's your name?"
"Leon Fury."
"Fury, huh? Doesn't match your attitude." Ragan crossed his arms. "Alright, Leon Fury. You can come. But you pull your weight. Hunt, cook, help with camp. If you can't keep up or cause problems, I'll leave you behind. Understood?"
"Understood."
"We leave at dawn. Don't be late." Ragan turned back to his workers. "Tomas! Check the axle on wagon three!"
Leon nodded and walked away. He'd gotten what he came for.
---
Dawn came cold and clear.
The caravan assembled quickly, everyone knowing their role. Leon stood at the edge of the gathering, his pack ready, bow strung. A few guards glanced at him with curiosity or skepticism, but no one spoke.
Ragan emerged from his wagon. "Listen up! It's three weeks to Orario if we don't hit trouble. Stay alert, stay together, and do your jobs. We move in an hour." He looked at Leon. "You. You're with Mira's wagon, third in line. Stay close and don't wander off."
"Yes, sir."
The journey began with the sun rising behind them, casting long shadows across the road. The wagons moved in a steady line, wheels creaking, horses plodding. Guards walked alongside, scanning the trees. Leon walked near the third wagon, silent and observant.
By midday, he'd slipped away into the forest.
The guards noticed. "Hey! Where's that kid going?"
"Probably running away already," one laughed.
But an hour later, Leon returned with two rabbits and a pheasant, already cleaned and ready to cook. He handed them to Mira, the cook who managed the third wagon's supplies.
She was a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and capable hands. She took the game, examined it, and nodded. "Clean kills. Good knife work. You actually know what you're doing."
"I grew up hunting."
"Most boys your age can barely hold a bow steady." She gestured to her workspace. "Can you cook, or just kill?"
"I can cook."
"Good. Help me with dinner tonight. If you're useful, Ragan might actually keep you around."
---
That evening, the caravan made camp in a clearing beside the road. Fires were built, watches assigned, wagons circled for defense. Leon worked with Mira, preparing the game he'd caught.
He moved with quiet efficiency—skinning, portioning, seasoning with wild herbs he'd gathered. The meat went into a stew pot with vegetables from the wagon's stores. Within an hour, the smell of cooking filled the camp.
The guards and drivers gathered to eat, and the complaints Leon had heard earlier disappeared after the first taste.
"This is actually good," one guard said, surprised.
"Better than good," another agreed. "Mira, where'd you find this kid?"
"I didn't. Ragan did." She looked at Leon, who was already cleaning the cooking tools. "He knows his work."
Ragan approached, took a bowl, and ate in silence. After a moment, he nodded. "You earned your spot today. Keep this up, and we'll have no problems."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We've got two more weeks on the road."
---
The days settled into routine.
Leon hunted each morning before the caravan moved, bringing back fresh game. He helped with cooking, with setting up camp, with breaking it down. He never complained, never asked for special treatment, never caused problems.
The guards slowly warmed to him. They saw how he moved through the forest—silent, efficient, aware. They saw how he handled his bow—steady hands, smooth draw, arrows that rarely missed. They started asking questions.
"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" a guard named Torven asked one evening.
"My grandfather taught me."
"He must've been something. You're better than half the hunters I've seen."
Leon said nothing, just continued sharpening his knife with smooth, practiced strokes.
Another guard, Kael, leaned forward. "You're heading to Orario to become an adventurer?"
"Yes."
"You joining a Familia?"
"That's the plan."
"Which one?"
"I don't know yet. I'll decide when I get there."
Kael laughed. "You know it doesn't work like that, right? Familias choose you, not the other way around. Most gods are picky. Unless you've got some special talent, you'll be lucky to join anyone decent."
Leon looked up from his knife. "Then I'll show them I'm worth choosing."
Something in his tone made Kael pause. The boy wasn't boasting. Just stating a fact.
"You're a weird kid," Kael said finally. "But I like your confidence."
---
On the tenth day, trouble found them.
It started with an arrow.
The caravan was moving through a narrow section of road, forest pressing close on both sides. Leon was walking near the rear, his senses alert. Something felt wrong—the birds had gone quiet, and the air held a tension he recognized from his past life.
Combat was coming.
"Ambush!" a guard shouted.
Bandits poured from the trees, a dozen men with crude weapons and desperate eyes. The guards reacted quickly, forming a defensive line around the wagons. Steel rang against steel as the fighting began.
Leon moved without thinking.
His bow was in his hands, arrow nocked, string drawn. The first bandit charging Mira's wagon took an arrow through the shoulder and went down screaming. The second took one through the thigh. Both shots precise, disabling rather than killing.
"Leon!" Torven shouted. "Get behind the wagons!"
But Leon was already moving forward. A bandit swung a club at his head. Leon ducked under it, stepped inside the man's guard, and drove his knife into the bandit's wrist. The club fell. Leon swept the man's legs and dropped him face-first into the dirt.
Another bandit charged. Leon sidestepped, redirected the momentum with a palm to the shoulder, and sent him stumbling into a wagon wheel. A quick strike to the back of the head, and the man collapsed.
Two more came at him together. Leon moved between them like water, deflecting one blade with his bow, trapping the other's weapon arm, and using leverage to throw both men into each other. They tangled and fell.
The entire exchange took less than thirty seconds.
When Leon looked up, the ambush was over. The bandits were fleeing into the forest, leaving five of their number wounded or unconscious on the ground. The guards stood in shock, staring at the young hunter who had just disabled four men with casual efficiency.
Ragan approached slowly. "What in the gods' names was that?"
Leon lowered his bow. "Self-defense."
"Self-defense?" The caravan master gestured at the groaning bandits. "You moved like a Guild adventurer. Where did a village hunter learn to fight like that?"
"My grandfather taught me."
"Your grandfather was a monster."
Leon said nothing. He simply cleaned his knife and put it away.
Torven stepped forward, eyes wide. "That was incredible. The way you moved—I've seen adventurers fight slower than that."
"We should go," Leon said quietly. "More might come."
Ragan studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "He's right. Bind these bandits and leave them. We're moving now." He pointed at Leon. "You and I are talking tonight."
---
That evening, Ragan called Leon to his wagon.
The caravan master sat with a cup of wine, looking tired. "Sit."
Leon sat.
"I've been running caravans for twenty years," Ragan said. "I've seen hunters, soldiers, adventurers, mercenaries. I know what skill looks like." He leaned forward. "You're seventeen years old. No one fights like you did today after learning from a grandfather in a village. So tell me the truth—who are you?"
Leon met his gaze calmly. "I'm exactly who I said I was. A hunter from Torren Village. My grandfather raised me, taught me to survive. I'm going to Orario to join a Familia."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
Ragan sighed. "You're keeping secrets. Fine. Everyone does." He took a drink. "But I want you to know—you saved lives today. Mira's wagon was exposed, and those bandits would have killed her if you hadn't acted. So whatever secrets you're carrying, you've earned my respect."
"Thank you."
"When we get to Orario, if you need help finding a Familia, come find me. I know people. I can make introductions."
Leon nodded. "I appreciate that."
Ragan waved him away. "Go. Get some rest. We've got another week on the road."
---
The remaining journey passed without incident.
Leon continued hunting, cooking, and helping with camp. The guards treated him differently now—with respect bordering on awe. Even Mira seemed more comfortable around him, asking questions about herbs and cooking techniques.
Leon answered politely but never revealed more than necessary. His secrets were his own.
On the twenty-first day, they crested a hill, and there it was.
Orario.
The city sprawled across the valley, massive white walls encircling thousands of buildings. At the center, rising impossibly high, stood a white tower that pierced the clouds—Babel, built over the entrance to the Dungeon.
"There she is," Ragan said, pride in his voice. "The Labyrinth City. The Center of the World."
Leon stared at the sight. In his past life, he had traveled to many cities, seen many wonders. But this was different. This was a place where gods and mortals lived together. Where power beyond mortal limits was granted freely. Where the impossible became possible.
This was where his second journey would truly begin.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mira said beside him.
"Yes," Leon said quietly. "It is."
The caravan descended toward the gates, and Leon felt something stir in his chest. Not excitement, not fear. Just calm anticipation.
He had spent seventeen years preparing for this moment. Eighty years before that, he had reached the peak of mortal achievement and found it insufficient.
Now, he would see what lay beyond that peak.
The gates of Orario opened before them, and Leon Fury stepped forward into his new life.