Cold was the first thing he felt.
Thiriel opened his eyes and found himself staring at a sky that was beginning to tinge with orange. The sun had moved considerably since he had lost consciousness, but not enough to indicate that hours had passed.
I'm still alive, he thought.
He tried to move, and the pain nearly paralyzed him. His broken ribs protested with every breath. His left arm throbbed with a dull burn where the fangs had torn him. His entire body felt as if it had been thrown off a cliff.
But he could move. That was what mattered.
He slowly propped himself up until he was sitting, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming. The Alpha's carcass lay a few meters away, its black fur already losing that unnatural sheen it had possessed in life. The blood had dried, forming dark pools on the flattened grass.
Its aura still persists, he noted.
Even in death, the Shadow Alpha emanated a residual presence that permeated the air. It was weak, barely perceptible, but enough to keep lesser beasts away. That was why no animals had approached while he was unconscious. That was why he was still alive.
Thiriel closed his eyes and began to regulate his breathing. Deep inhalation through the nose, a brief hold, slow exhalation through the mouth. The martial recovery technique he had perfected over decades flowed naturally, guiding what little energy he had left toward the most damaged areas.
It wasn't healing magic. It couldn't repair broken bones or close open wounds. But it could stabilize his condition, reduce internal bleeding, and give him the strength necessary to move.
Ten minutes later, the pain was still there, but it was manageable.
He opened his eyes.
And he felt them. Presences. Dozens of them. Moving among the trees on the other side of the river, approaching from the meadow, emerging from hidden burrows. The scent of blood had traveled with the wind, and the forest's predators were closing in.
They're coming for the carcass, he realized. I need to get out of here.
He didn't have the strength for another fight. He didn't have the magic to defend himself against a pack of hungry scavengers. His only option was to retreat before they arrived.
He crawled to the Alpha's body and began to collect the most valuable remains. He had already extracted the shadow magic crystal, the greatest prize. Now he needed the rest: the fangs, longer and sharper than any he had ever seen; the claws, imbued with residual energy; the pelt, which even in death retained light-absorbing properties.
When he finished with the Alpha, he moved toward the carcasses of the elite wolves. He couldn't process them all, not in his current state, but he extracted the fangs and hearts of three of them before time ran out.
A howl resonated from the forest. Close. Too close.
Thiriel stowed everything in his spatial bag and stood up.
The world spun momentarily. He had to lean on his sword to keep from falling. His ribs sent a wave of pain that almost made him vomit.
Move, he ordered himself. Now.
He began to walk west, toward Oakhaven. Every step was torture. Every breath a reminder of how close he had been to dying. But he kept moving, one foot in front of the other, refusing to stop.
Behind him, the first scavengers emerged from the forest. Wolves, twilight foxes, even a pair of cave bears attracted by the feast. They lunged at the carcasses, paying no mind to the human limping away.
Thiriel didn't look back.
The way back was pure pain. The forest gave way to farmlands. The fields gave way to the city walls. The gate guards looked at him with alarm when he appeared covered in blood, limping, with his left arm hanging uselessly.
"What the hell happened to you, lad?" one of them asked.
"Wolves," Thiriel replied without stopping. "A lot of wolves."
The guards exchanged glances but didn't stop him. Wounded adventurers were not an unusual sight in a frontier city like Oakhaven.
Shortly after, the Adventurer's Guild appeared before him. The double doors were open, and the murmur of conversation and the clinking of mugs escaped into the street.
Thiriel entered.
The noise stopped.
Dozens of eyes turned toward him. Adventurers of all ranks watched him with expressions ranging from curiosity to alarm. A young man covered in blood, limping, with visible wounds all over his body, was not something seen every day. Not even in an adventurer's guild.
Thiriel ignored them all.
He headed directly to the counter where the same clerk with glasses and a bored expression was working. When she saw him approach, her eyes widened behind her lenses.
"What...?" she began.
Thiriel pulled the mission parchments from his spatial bag and placed them on the counter.
"Missions completed," he said in a raspy voice. "Medicinal herb gathering. Magic boar hunt." He paused. "And Shadow Wolves."
The clerk blinked.
"The boars fled before I could hunt them," Thiriel continued. "But I have proof of the wolves."
He reached into his spatial bag and began pulling out the materials. First, the fangs of the lesser wolves he had killed at the beginning. Then the pelts. Then the hearts.
The clerk examined them one by one, her expression becoming increasingly bewildered.
Then Thiriel pulled out the Alpha's fangs.
They were the size of daggers, black as obsidian, with veins of dark energy that still pulsed faintly beneath the surface.
"This..." The clerk took them with trembling hands. "This is from an Alpha wolf. A Shadow Alpha."
The murmur in the guild intensified.
"The same one that has been hunting adventurers this month," Thiriel confirmed.
The clerk looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
"You... you killed it? Alone?"
"Yes."
"But you're... you just registered today. You're Bronze Rank."
"I know."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I need... I need to call the supervisor."
She disappeared through a back door, taking the Alpha's fangs with her.
Thiriel waited, leaning heavily on the counter. Pain throbbed with every beat of his heart. His vision blurred at the edges. He needed urgent medical treatment, but first, he had to finish this.
The murmurs around him had turned into open conversations.
"Did you hear that? He killed the Alpha..." "Impossible. He must be lying." "Did you see those fangs? They're authentic." "A Bronze newbie killing a mid-rank beast. Ridiculous."
Thiriel did not respond to any of the comments. He just waited.
The clerk returned accompanied by a burly man with a thick beard and piercing eyes. The supervisor examined the fangs for several minutes, consulted a thick book, and finally nodded.
"They are authentic," he confirmed. "Shadow Alpha, likely three or four years old. These beasts are classified as Silver Rank threats." He looked at Thiriel with a mixture of disbelief and respect. "How the hell did you kill it?"
"With difficulty," Thiriel replied.
The supervisor let out a loud laugh.
"I imagine so." He gestured to the clerk. "Pay him. The full reward for the shadow wolves, plus a bonus for eliminating the Alpha. And record this in his file."
The clerk nodded and began counting coins.
"Ten silver coins for the lesser wolves. Thirty for the Alpha. Plus five for the medicinal herbs." She pushed a small stack of coins toward him. "Total: forty-five silver coins."
It was more money than the previous owner of this body had seen in his entire life. Thiriel stowed the coins in his spatial bag.
"Thanks."
He turned to leave.
"Wait!"
A voice stopped him. A man in his thirties, wearing leather armor with a sword at his belt, rose from a nearby table and approached with a friendly smile.
"I'm Garrett, leader of the Steel Fangs group. We're Silver Rank." He extended his hand. "We're looking for a new member. With skills like yours, you could rise through the ranks quickly if you join us."
Thiriel looked at him expressionlessly.
"I'm not interested."
Garrett's smile wavered. "Excuse me?"
"I said I'm not interested. I work alone."
Before Garrett could respond, another adventurer approached. Then another. Within seconds, Thiriel was surrounded by group leaders offering positions, benefits, promises of training, and rapid promotion.
"The Dawn Hunters always need good fighters..." "Join us, lad. We'll teach you everything you need to know..." "With your talent, you could reach Gold in a year if you work with the right group..."
Thiriel raised his hand.
"No."
Silence fell over the group.
"I'm not interested in joining any group," he said firmly. "I work alone. That is my decision."
Most of the adventurers backed off, some disappointed, others annoyed. But one of them—a large man with scars on his face and a terrifying gaze—stepped forward.
"Listen, newbie," he grunted. "You don't know how things work here. When a Silver Rank group offers you an opportunity, you take it. It's that simple."
He reached out and grabbed Thiriel's shoulder.
The pain from his injuries exploded at the contact. But it was another kind of pain that triggered his reaction.
Instinct.
Decades of combat, of survival, of responding to threats before his conscious mind could even process the information.
Thiriel's hand moved by reflex.
The blow wasn't elegant. It wasn't technical. It was pure force channeled through a broken body.
His fist impacted the adventurer's chest with a dull thud.
The man was sent flying backward as if he had been hit by a battering ram. He flew several meters through the air before slamming into the back wall with a crack that made the ceiling beams vibrate. He slid to the floor and lay motionless, stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened.
The silence in the guild was absolute.
No one moved. No one spoke. They all stared at the blood-covered youth who had just thrown a Silver Rank adventurer against a wall like a ragdoll.
Thiriel slowly lowered his fist.
The pain from his wounds roared. The effort of the blow had worsened his broken ribs. He could feel fresh blood welling from the wound in his arm.
But his voice was steady when he spoke.
"I said no."
No one tried to stop him when he turned around and walked toward the door.
No one said a word when he disappeared into the night.
And as he limped through the dark streets of Oakhaven, seeking the inn where Caethiriel and Arielle were likely waiting for him with worry, Thiriel couldn't help a bitter smile.
First day as an adventurer, he thought. And I've already earned a reputation.
The pain throbbed with every step.
But at least, for now, no one else would try to touch him without permission.