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Every hero needs a beginning.
Every legend starts somewhere.
And for me?
It started with standing shirtless in front of a panel of grumpy guild staff while a bird tried to steal my pants.
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The Guild of Velduin
The Velduin Guildhall wasn’t big. A medium-sized building carved into the cliffs north of our village, built around a waterfall and humming with runic wards etched into its stone.
Inside, the guild was divided by rank:
Bronze: Beginners, couriers, glorified monster janitors
Silver: Trained adventurers, usually in parties
Gold: Elite, sponsored by noble houses or war guilds
Onyx: Rare. Deadly. Wanted by the Demon King or hired by the Church.
To join? You had to complete the Guild Trial — a practical and magical assessment.
And today was my turn.
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Trial Day
> “You sure you’re ready for this?” Ravian asked, arms folded.
> “Not at all.”
> “Good. That makes two of us.”
Aelira skipped into view, tossing her staff in the air. “Did I mention I exploded my first trial instructor?”
> “Yes. Repeatedly,” I said.
> “Then we’re gonna do great!”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
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The Instructors
Three evaluators waited inside:
- A minotaur woman with a clipboard.
- A blindfolded monk sipping soup through a straw.
- A man with three floating swords and no patience.
> “State your name,” the minotaur barked.
> “Sakamoto,” I said.
> “Class?”
> “Uh… not assigned?”
> “Weapon?”
> “Cursed talking sword.”
> “Any allergies?”
> “Emotional vulnerability.”
A pause.
The monk choked on his soup.
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Trial One: Weapon Control
They gave me a training dummy.
I summoned Niris.
The blade pulsed in my hand, dark and smooth. I exhaled.
> “Try not to disembowel yourself,” she purred.
I struck.
Once.
The dummy split into four clean pieces.
The monk’s soup cup dropped.
> “Cursed wombcraft,” one of them muttered. “He’s not Bronze…”
> “No,” the minotaur said. “He’s not.”
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Trial Two: Magical Signature
They asked me to place my hand on a glowing stone called a mana sigil.
It lit up.
Blue. Then red. Then black.
A swirl of colors that crackled the room.
> “That’s not supposed to happen,” the monk whispered.
> “He’s a mixed-type,” said the sword mage. “Unstable. Or divine.”
They didn’t say anything more, just scribbled notes.
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Trial Three: The Dream
During the break, I rested in a stone alcove.
I must’ve dozed off — because for the first time in Lucala…
I dreamt of Earth.
I was standing in my old apartment.
Beer cans on the floor.
Monitor screen glowing.
Chair turned toward me — and someone was sitting in it.
> “Took you long enough,” the man said.
He had my face.
But older. Calmer. Empty eyes.
> “You ran from me. But I’m still in here. Every drink. Every memory. Every shame.”
> “Who are you?” I whispered.
> “I’m who you could’ve been… if you hadn’t died.”
I woke up gasping.
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The Priestess
After the exam, I sat outside the guildhall, shaken.
A woman approached. Clad in dark silks, face veiled, with glowing sapphire rings on each finger.
> “Sakamoto,” she said. “I’ve been waiting.”
> “Who are you?”
> “Someone who knows the language your sword speaks.”
Niris tensed in my hand.
> *“Careful,” she hissed. “She’s not what she appears.”
> “What do you want?” I asked.
> “To offer a warning.”
“There are eyes on you. Eyes that see through time.”
“And the first seal is about to break.”
> “Seal?”
She handed me a coin. Etched with the sigil of three broken moons.
> “When you hear the song of the glass crow... run.”
And then she was gone.
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My Rank
The results came in.
Not Bronze.
Not Silver.
They gave me a blank badge. Unranked.
> “You don’t fit in a box,” the minotaur said. “So we won’t put you in one.”
> “Is that good or bad?”
> “Depends on how long you want to live.”