Kieran sat up, blinking against the early morning light. Rows of mismatched tents stretched across the rocky field, patched with blankets, stolen fabric, and whatever else people had managed to find. Smoke curled from small campfires. A few players were already moving—stretching, eating, checking equipment, or watching the horizon like they expected monsters to charge at any second.
He rubbed his eyes. The HUD was still there, faintly hovering whenever he focused. No class. No skills. Just his name and those pitiful base stats.
His stomach growled.
From a worn cloth satchel slung over his shoulder, he pulled out the dry bread the system had granted him. It was hard and tasted like ash, but it was food.
Around him, others were already talking—some comparing spells, others showing off basic gear.
“Check this out—my starting trait gave me fire affinity.”“Yeah? Mine’s healing light. Got it from the goddess trial, I think.”“Weird, mine just gave me a dagger and said I was a ‘Shadow Initiate.’”
Kieran listened quietly. The words stung more than he wanted to admit. No affinity. No trial. No weapon. Just the bread in his bag and a handful of coins.
Still, he wasn’t panicking. Yet.
“Maybe I just didn’t trigger whatever event starts my power arc,” he reasoned.“I’ll quest. Grind. Build up slowly. That’s how these things usually go.”
He took a breath and stood, brushing dust off his tunic. First thing’s first—he needed equipment. But equipment for what, exactly? He didn’t even know what tasks lay ahead. Before buying anything, he needed to know what kind of dangers he'd be facing—and that meant finding work. Finding a quest board.
Kieran wandered between rows of tents, scanning the area. The camp was bigger than he first thought, filled with newcomers like him. Some were already clustered around a makeshift bulletin nailed to a tree. A few players pointed at the notices and murmured about rewards and party roles.
He slowed as he approached, overhearing snippets:
“Let’s go for the river goblins. Good payout.”“I’ll tank if someone else can heal.”“Think we need torches for the swamp one?”
He lingered nearby, silently watching. Their voices carried both excitement and uncertainty. Just like him, they were piecing things together.
One girl glanced his way. "You looking to group?"
"Not yet," he said. "Need to get some gear first."
"We’ll be around," she shrugged, then turned back to her friends.
The quest board stood near the southern edge of the camp, nailed to the trunk of a twisted old tree. It was covered in parchment scraps, leather tags, and wooden tokens carved with crude symbols.
Kieran read through them carefully.
“Scout the Northern Hills – 15 Copper – Danger: Low”
“Goblin Raiding Party Near Riverbend – 1 Silver – Danger: Medium”
“Merchant Escort to [Unknown Town] – 10 Copper + Supplies – Danger: Low”
“Herb Gathering – Swamplands – 5 Copper – Danger: Low”
The goblin quest caught his eye. It promised one silver, which sounded like a lot—but he had no idea how far that would actually go in this world. Others seemed to be preparing for it—he overheard a few players planning routes and party roles nearby.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
He hesitated, then cautiously reached out and touched the tag. A prompt appeared in his HUD.
[Quest Added: Goblin Raiding Party – Slay 3 Goblins]
But he wasn’t ready to leave yet. Not without gear.
He took another glance at the quest board, the goblin quest still highlighted faintly in his HUD. The idea of walking into a fight without a weapon felt incredibly stupid.
Kieran looked around. A small dirt path led out from the edge of the tent city, trampled and well-traveled. Dozens of players were following it, some chatting as they walked, others already equipped and eager.
He followed the stream of people toward the nearby town, figuring that wherever they were going, gear would be sold there.
The town looked like something out of a low-budget medieval sim—stone walls, narrow streets, thatched roofs. The guards at the gate didn’t stop him. They barely acknowledged him.
Inside, the Marketplace District was already buzzing. Most stalls were manned by stoic NPCs, but the items were real enough—leather armor, cheap weapons, basic potions, and miscellaneous junk priced far above what any player could reasonably afford.
Kieran approached a weapon stand. The vendor, a broad-shouldered man with a chipped smile, gave the usual NPC greeting.
“You break it, you buy it. What’re you looking for, stranger?”
Kieran pointed to a rusted club and a pair of worn leather wraps.
“How much?”“Eight copper for the club, five for the wraps. Special deal if you throw in a drink for the blacksmith.”
Kieran handed over a silver coin. He received the gear, a few coppers back, and no tutorial. No stat boost. Just tools.
He equipped the items, noting how the wraps tightened themselves to his fingers with a faint click.
Next, he stopped by an apothecary and bought a minor healing salve. That left him with only a few coppers to his name.
Outside, Kieran leaned against a low wall and watched the flow of players and NPCs. Some chatted excitedly. Others moved like they knew exactly what they were doing.
“I got a quest chain from the herbalist—apparently it opens a hidden class if you finish it.”“Weird. I thought you had to trigger something to unlock that kind of stuff.”
Kieran tried to ask a few questions, but most responses were vague or distracted. One girl told him the system gave her a “blessing prompt” after her first dungeon. Another mentioned a “Goddess Selection” event that never appeared for him.
“So I really was skipped,” he realized.“Everyone else started with something—anything. But not me.”
He swallowed the feeling. Right now, there were things to do.
As he made his way toward the gate, he passed a weathered sign beside an old inn: Welcome to Gravehollow. The name meant nothing to him, but something about it felt ominous.
He paused, glancing toward the inn. Then he checked the few coppers left in his pouch and grimaced. If gear had drained nearly all his funds, there was no chance he'd be affording a room anytime soon. He'd need money—fast. The goblin quest wasn’t just a step toward progress; it was survival.
Back at the tent camp, groups were forming around the fire circles. A few players held up signs scratched into wood or carved stone.
“LF3 Goblins – Need Tank + Support”“Starter Dungeon – Looking for All Roles”“First Runs – Beginners Welcome”
Kieran approached one that just read: “Goblin Run – No Elitists”
Three players sat nearby: a girl with a shortbow, a burly guy with a round shield, and a lanky boy wearing plain robes and clutching a wooden staff.
The girl looked up. “You joining?”
Kieran hesitated. “I don’t have a class or skills. Just a club.”
The burly guy shrugged. “Neither do I. You’re breathing and not screaming, that’s good enough.”
The boy smiled faintly. “We’re all figuring things out.”
Kieran nodded. “Alright. I’m in.”
The boy offered a hand. “Ren. I can use a minor healing spell… sometimes.”
As the group stood and began checking gear, Kieran felt a strange flicker of hope. Weak, but present.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe this was just the slow start before the rise.