The town of Whitefall was no grand metropolis, but after two years of near solitude, the noise was an assault. The clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the shouts of merchants, the smell of roasting meat and unwashed bodies—it was a symphony of life that made the quiet of the old cottage feel like a dream.
My destination was unmistakable: a stout, three-story building of dark timber and iron fittings, with a sign depicting a crossed sword and staff over a shield. The Adventurer's Guild. The heart of the town's economy and its danger.
Pushing through the heavy oak door, I was hit by a thicker wave of sound and smell—ale, sweat, leather, and a faint, metallic tang I guessed was blood. The common room was crowded with men and women in practical gear, their conversations a loud rumble. My entrance drew a few glances. A scrawny kid in a simple, clean tunic, with a cheap iron sword at his hip, didn't exactly blend in.
I ignored the looks and made for the counter at the far end, where a harried-looking woman with sharp eyes and her hair in a tight bun was stamping papers.
The line moved slowly. I listened, activating my Fivefold Senses (F) passively to filter the noise. Snippets of conversation washed over me.
"—lizardman scouts sighted in the eastern woods, D-rank threat, avoid—"
"—buying glow-moss, top price if fresh!"
"—party of four, need a healer for the Grotto, split core rights sixty-forty—"
"—bounty on a corrupted treant, roots are poison-tipped, C-rank advisory—"
Finally, it was my turn. The woman—her guild plaque read 'Mara'—looked down at me, her expression not unkind, but profoundly skeptical.
"Lost, kid? The market's three streets over."
"I'm here to register as an adventurer," I said, keeping my voice level.
Her eyebrows climbed. "Are you now? And how old are you?"
"Twelve."
A snort came from a burly man leaning against the counter nearby. "Twelve and what, a week? Go home, boy. Your mother's probably worried."
I didn't turn. My focus stayed on Mara. "The guild charter of the Holy Empire, Section Four, Article Two: 'Any individual who has reached the Age of Awakening (five) and can demonstrate a viable combat or support capability may apply for provisional F-rank licensure.' I'm here to apply."
Mara's eyes narrowed, the skepticism replaced by a flicker of surprise. She hadn't expected a kid to quote guild law. The burly man laughed. "He can read! Doesn't mean he can fight."
"The demonstration is my concern," I said, still to Mara. "What is the process?"
She sighed, pulling a form from under the counter. "Fine. Fill this. Name, age, known Class, Element, confirmed Rank. You'll need a guild-approved assessor to verify your Rank and basic competency. That's a five silver fee. If you pass, there's a ten silver registration fee. Do you have fifteen silver?"
I did. It was almost the last of my coppers converted, but I had it. I placed the coins on the counter. They vanished into her drawer with practiced speed.
"Boris!" she called.
The burly man who'd been mocking me straightened up. "Yeah?"
"You're free. You're an F-rank certified assessor. Take the kid to Yard Three. Basic competency. Try not to break him."
Boris grinned, a gap-toothed smile. "With pleasure. C'mon, reader-boy. Let's see what you're made of."
I followed him through a side door and into a large, walled courtyard—one of several behind the guild. The ground was hard-packed dirt, scarred from countless sparring matches. Weapons racks lined one wall.
"Right," Boris said, cracking his knuckles. He was easily twice my width, with a C-rank's solid aura of physical power. An Aura user, likely a Warrior. "Guild rules for provisional assessment. You survive three minutes in the ring with me. You don't have to win. You just have to show you won't freeze and die the moment something growls at you. You can use your weapon, your magic, whatever you've got. I'll be going… let's say, as hard as I would on a particularly annoying goblin."
It was a test designed to weed out the utterly hopeless. He expected me to be fast food.
"Understood," I said, drawing my iron sword. I took a middle stance from Roy's Swordsmanship, feet planted, blade held at an angle between Kendo's elegance and the Imperial style's readiness.
Boris didn't bother with a weapon. He charged. It wasn't a fancy technique; it was a bulldozer rush meant to knock me over and end the test in three seconds.
I didn't try to block. My Enhanced Speed Enhancement (E) flared. I sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past. As he blundered by, I tapped his ribcage with the flat of my blade. Tap.
He skidded to a halt, turning, his grin wider. "Okay, not completely stiff. Let's try again."
He came slower this time, throwing a wide, telegraphed punch. I ducked under it, flowed into a movement from the Kane principles—a low, slicing step—and tapped the back of his knee. Tap.
Annoyance flashed on his face. He wasn't being hit, but he was being toyed with by a child. His next attack was a genuine, low kick aimed at my legs, fast enough that my G-rank agility would have failed me.
But I had more than agility. Physical and Body Enhancement (E) activated. My legs solidified. Instead of dodging, I took the kick on my shin, bracing with reinforced muscle and bone.
THUD.
It hurt. A lot. But my leg held. I didn't go down. Using the moment his foot was planted, I thrust my sword forward—not to pierce, but to threaten. He leaned back to avoid it.
I'd survived over a minute. He was no longer smiling.
"Enough playing," he grunted. His body shimmered faintly—Body Enhancement (C-rank). The pressure in the yard doubled. He became a blur.
I couldn't match his speed now. I backpedaled, parrying a swipe of his hand that hit my blade with the force of a hammer, numbing my arm. Another blow came for my head. I brought my free hand up.
"Mana Shield (F)!"
A disk of shimmering green energy, the size of a dinner plate, materialized in the air before my palm. His enhanced fist slammed into it.
CRACK.
The shield shattered like glass, dissipating into motes of light. But it had absorbed the blow. The force still knocked me back several feet, but I kept my footing.
Boris stared at his fist, then at me. "A mage? That was a Plant-tinged shield. You're a mage?"
"Support Magician," I corrected, breathing heavily. My mana had taken a hit from that shield break.
He shook his head, a new, grudging respect in his eyes. "Time's up. You pass."
Back inside, Mara looked genuinely astonished when Boris gave a curt nod. "Kid's got some tricks. E-rank reflexes, decent mana output for his age. He's not total dead weight."
She processed my form with newfound efficiency. "Very well. Roy White. Age twelve. Provisional F-rank adventurer. Your guild identification number is WF-0097. This grants you access to F and E-rank request boards, the right to form or join parties up to your rank, and use of basic guild facilities. You get a ten percent commission cut. Don't die in your first week; it looks bad on my records."
She handed me a thin, copper medallion stamped with the guild crest and my number. It felt heavy with possibility.
"One more thing," I said, turning to the main request board, a vast slate covered in posted notices. My eyes, enhanced by Mana Eyes (E), scanned not just the text, but the faint mana residues on the papers, the age of the ink, the urgency. I was looking for a specific pattern.
There. A recurring, low-priority notice posted by the guild itself: "Cartography Update: E-rank 'Whitefall Grotto.' Reward: 5 silver per verified new tunnel or chamber mapping."
It was menial, boring work that most adventurers ignored for monster-hunting bounties. Perfect.
It was my ticket inside. My first step toward finding the hidden chamber.
I took the notice down and walked back to Mara. "I'll take this one."
She looked at the dull cartography quest and almost pitied me. "Suit yourself, Zero-Nine-Seven. Good luck."
I left the guild, the copper medallion warm in my hand. I was no longer just Roy of the old house. I was Adventurer WF-0097.
The hunt for the crystal had begun.