On the Eve of Tillerday, 26th of Verdantcrest, Year 1064 V.E. (Vaeltharian Era)

  Guiding his horse toward the fortified walls of Erstonia, Asherean took in the sight of the large open gate, where uniformed guards stood watch, inspecting those who sought entry.

  Their scrutiny was more thorough than usual—no doubt a reaction to the recent incident in the capital.

  Merchants lined the main road, their carts laden with wares, while soldiers checked each load with careful efficiency. On the side, a separate line had formed for travelers and citizens without carts, moving at a steadier pace. Asherean steered his horse toward it, falling into place near the end.

  Dismounting, Asherean took the reins in hand and moved toward the queue, falling in at the rear.

  Ahead of him stood a man of slender build, his frame lacking the hard-worn resilience of laborers or warriors. A wide-brimmed straw hat shielded his face from the sun, and he carried a basket filled with books and various herbs.

  Sensing an opportunity to pass the time, Asherean leaned slightly forward and initiated conversation.

  “Greetings. You seem like a scholar, sir. May I ask which domain you are proficient in?”

  The man turned, momentarily startled, as if he hadn’t expected to be addressed. It took him a moment to process the words before he hurriedly responded.

  “Ah—no need to call me ‘sir.’ My name is Brandon. I’m just a novice alchemist doing what I can to get by. Certainly not a scholar, though my brother is.” He paused briefly before tilting his head in curiosity. “And yourself, mister?”

  “Asherean,” he replied casually. “Just an adventurer.” His gaze flickered to the basket. “So, an alchemist? What kind of products do you sell?”

  Brandon’s expression shifted to something more confident, as though this was a topic he was far more comfortable discussing. “Nothing grand… but I do stock alchemical potions, herbal remedies, ointments, and the like. If you’re interested, my humble shop, Brandon’s Curios & Concoctions, is near the town center.”

  Asherean raised an eyebrow. Now that sounded like a fantasy shop if he’d ever heard one. Curios? He hadn’t even heard of such a store in Erstonia before.

  “Quite the name for a ‘novice’ alchemist,” he remarked, his tone lightly teasing.

  Brandon gave a sheepish smile. “Actually, I rather like the name. It feels… sophisticated. My younger brother came up with it—he’s studying at the Imperial Academy of Lore.”

  That piqued Asherean’s interest. The man had mentioned a scholarly brother, but he hadn’t expected him to be a student of one of the three Imperial Academies of the Crown. That was no small feat.

  Still, something felt off. An alchemist who wasn’t arrogant? That was rare these days.

  For centuries, the Sanctaris—the dominant faith across most of the twin continents—had held an unshakable grip on the kingdom. It preached the supremacy of the Seven Gods and, for generations, provided holy water, a miraculous substance that could mend wounds in minutes, leaving no scars. But when Queen Catherine took the throne, she shattered much of the church’s influence, reducing it to little more than a crown-funded humanitarian institution.

  With the Grand Cathedral no longer distributing holy water, people had been forced to turn to alchemical potions as the next best alternative. They weren’t as potent, but they were effective enough. Demand soared, and within a decade, a once-overlooked profession became one of the most lucrative in the kingdom.

  Alchemists, once humble profession, now wielded considerable influence. Two years ago, they had even formed their own guild, tightening control over prices and ensuring their collective power.

  Yet here was Brandon, a self-proclaimed novice, speaking humbly and struggling to establish a foothold.

  Is he just not that skilled?

  Asherean realized he had fallen silent in thought. Seeing Brandon waiting expectantly for a response, he quickly composed himself.

  “Sounds impressive,” he said with an easy smile. “And how’s business treating you?”

  Brandon gave a small shake of his head. “Not as well as you’d expect for an alchemist. Since I’m new, I need to build a reputation and a reliable customer base. That takes time.”

  Asherean nodded in understanding. “Well, best of luck with that.”

  Their conversation came to a halt as they neared the guards. Brandon stepped forward first, presenting his identification and allowing them to inspect his leather satchel. They waved him through with respectful nods—an acknowledgment of his trade’s status.

  Then, they turned toward Asherean, ready to do the same.

  One of the guards, a young man with tousled blond hair and an easy-going grin, brightened the moment he caught sight of Asherean. “Oi, Ash! Still can’t believe you’re out there hunting monsters solo. You could join any party you wanted. It’s been, what, almost a month since you started taking on quests alone?”

  Asherean allowed himself a small, genuine smile. “Surely you jest, Anthony. While I’m confident in my skills, I hardly compare to veteran adventurers. And joining a rookie party would just slow me down.”

  He adjusted the strap of his rucksack. “I need to rank up to Silver if I want a shot at the entrance examination.”

  Anthony gave an understanding nod. As a guard stationed at Erstonia’s gate, he must have heard similar ambitions from others before—but coming from Asherean, it was different.

  The Adventurer’s Guild in this kingdom was directly under the Crown’s authority. Unlike in other nations where it functioned as an independent organization, here, it served as a vital talent pipeline for noble and royal households. Shardkins—those born with innate magical or supernatural abilities—emerged randomly across the populace, with the only hereditary ones belonging to noble bloodlines.

  Because of this, the Guild acted as a bridge, identifying and nurturing talented individuals before nobles or the Crown recruited them.

  However, not all Shardkins were powerful. Many possessed abilities too weak to be of any real use in combat. That was why neither nobles nor other organizations aggressively recruited them en masse.

  Instead, the Guild trained these individuals under the Crown’s authority, either for future scouting or specialized roles. The truly exceptional ones, however, were handpicked and sent to the Imperial Academies of Mages or Knights, where they received elite training and, upon graduation, served the Crown exclusively—reaping numerous benefits in return.

  For someone like Asherean, there was another path: proving himself in the Adventurer’s Guild and earning a chance to participate in the Imperial entrance examination. Becoming a Silver-ranked adventurer at his age would be impressive enough to warrant that opportunity.

  And that was exactly what he was aiming for.

  Anthony’s expression softened into something more nostalgic. “I always knew you were different, even when we were kids. You had that whole ‘mature beyond your years’ thing going on, even though you were the youngest in our group.” He leaned on his spear slightly, tilting his head. “Speaking of which, have you heard from any of the others lately?”

  Asherean hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering.

  His childhood had been a lonely one. Unlike other children, he had never quite fit in. His mannerisms, his way of thinking—it was as if he were an adult trapped in a child’s body. And at the time, when fragmented memories of a past life surfaced in ways he couldn’t comprehend, he had wondered if something was wrong with him.

  It wasn’t until he stumbled upon an unusual group of friends that things changed. They had been the first people he could truly connect with. But as the years passed, life pulled them in different directions. Their aspirations had led them down separate paths, and meetings became fewer and farther between.

  Snapping back to the present, Asherean replied, “Aaron was personally recommended by a noble and joined the Imperial Knight Academy. Bryan went back to his homeland in the Eastern Continent. As for Ashley… I don’t know where she is now, but I ran into her during a quest at the Bastion of the Three Crowns about a year ago.”

  Anthony’s face flickered with something unreadable—perhaps disappointment, perhaps nostalgia. His gaze briefly turned distant before he exhaled through his nose, composing himself. “Is that so? Well, I didn’t expect much, but…” He hesitated, then gave a wry chuckle. “I was thinking of arranging a reunion—our old group, back together again. But it looks like we’re the only two still somewhat in contact.”

  He shook his head, then forced a grin. “Anyway, we can talk about that later, Ash.”

  At that moment, one of Anthony’s fellow guards gave him a nudge with an elbow, clearly impatient. Asherean glanced back and noted there was no one else behind him in line. It was obvious that Anthony had taken longer than necessary with their conversation.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Sighing in mock exasperation, Anthony got back to his duty. He patted down Asherean’s pockets, checked his rucksack with professional efficiency, and then jotted something down in an old parchment notebook.

  Finally, he stepped back and waved him through. “Go on, then. Try not to get yourself killed before you make it to Silver, yeah?”

  Asherean smirked as he took the reins of his horse. “No promises.”

  And with that, he stepped through the gates, the town of Erstonia sprawling before him.

  As Asherean made his way into town, his thoughts drifted toward the simple pleasure awaiting him—a soft feather bed at the inn. After three nights of sleeping on tree branches, with stiff limbs and the constant need to stay half-aware of predators, the idea of sinking into a real mattress felt almost indulgent.

  But before he could enjoy that luxury, there was business to attend to. He needed to submit proof of his hunt at the local Adventurer’s Guild branch.

  From there, a post-verification report would be sent to the main guild office in the capital, compiling his success alongside the records of countless other adventurers who operated in the region.

  Tyrgar Forest was vast, stretching across the western borderlands, its dense canopy sheltering both prey and predator. Hundreds of adventurers worked its depths, each pursuing their own quests—some for coin, others for experience, and a few for the sheer thrill of the hunt.

  It was a dangerous livelihood, but for those who survived, the rewards could be substantial.

  His latest quest completion would net him two gold coins. By most standards, that was a fortune—more than what an average peasant earned through three months of backbreaking labor. It raised the obvious question: why didn't everyone just join the Adventurer’s Guild, take a few quests, and retire comfortably?

  The answer was simple—many reasons made that path far less appealing than it seemed.

  First and foremost, only Shardkins—those blessed with inherent abilities—could become adventurers or join any similar institution. The guild was not an open profession for just anyone with a sword and ambition. Those without gifts, no matter how skilled, were turned away at the door.

  Second, membership was for life. Once someone entered the guild, they were bound to it unless recruited by the Crown or a noble house. And that wasn’t necessarily an escape—switching allegiances simply meant trading one master for another.

  Both paths came with obligations, rules, and expectations that had to be upheld.

  There was no such thing as an adventurer who worked a few years and walked away with wealth and freedom. The job demanded constant risk, and the higher one climbed, the more entangled they became in the power struggles of the kingdom.

  Asherean had known this from the start. He had chosen this path with full awareness of what it entailed. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the rewards when they came—starting with a well-earned night of rest.

  As Asherean ventured deeper into the town, the Adventurer’s Guild came into view—a large, sturdy building supported by several thick pillars, its open double doors welcoming a constant stream of people. Though it was more imposing than the surrounding structures, it was still dwarfed by the grand headquarters in the capital.

  Stepping inside, he was immediately met with the familiar cacophony of voices—adventurers talking, arguing, and laughing over drinks and boasts of their latest exploits. The wide hall was crowded with people, some clustered in groups strategizing their next quests, while others lounged on benches, waiting for assignments. The scent of parchment, sweat, and worn leather filled the air.

  Most of the adventurers here were locals, born and raised in Erstonia, though a few from the capital could also be spotted among the crowd. It made sense—border towns like this, with their proximity to dangerous regions like the Trygar Forest or the sea monster-infested coastline, were prime locations for adventurers seeking work.

  Monster hunting was the lifeblood of the profession, and the guild maintained strongholds in every major town and city to keep the kingdom’s outskirts defended.

  Navigating through the throng with practiced ease, Asherean soon reached the front desk, where a familiar face awaited him.

  “Beautiful as always, Ana,” he greeted with an easy smile.

  Ana glanced up from the parchment she had been reading, her refined features softening into a warm smile. She was in her twenties but carried herself with the composed grace of someone older.

  They had known each other for years now—she had been working here when he first joined the guild as a novice, and it was through her recommendation that he had entered his first adventuring party. She had helped him numerous times since, making their relationship one of mutual respect and trust.

  “Oh my, still as much of a flatterer as ever, Ash?” she teased, before her expression shifted into a slight frown. “Let me guess—you completed the quest alone... again?”

  “Of course,” he replied with a casual shrug. He placed a folded parchment on the counter. “Here’s the request form. And here’s the proof.” He lifted his rucksack slightly, showing the collected monster teeth and claws as required for verification.

  Ana sighed but didn’t press further. Instead, she turned her head and called down the corridor. A moment later, a broad-shouldered man emerged, carrying a dark wooden slate in one hand and wearing thick leather gloves.

  Asherean recognized him immediately. He was one of the guild’s handlers, responsible for processing valuable monster materials brought in by adventurers. Most people in the guild took every usable part of their kills, but since Asherean often hunted alone in these times, carrying excess loot wasn’t always an option.

  The handler took the parchment, briefly inspected the contents of Asherean’s bag, then gave a sharp nod before turning to leave without a word.

  Asherean felt a brief pang of sympathy. The man was mute, and while he carried a wooden slate and chalk to communicate, he rarely used them unless necessary. Early on, Asherean had once tried teaching him a bit of sign language he vaguely remembered, but the attempt had backfired—the handler had misinterpreted it as mockery, and the matter had been left at that.

  Before he could dwell on the thought, Ana slid two gold coins across the counter. “All verified,” she said.

  Asherean pocketed the coins, tucking them securely into a leather purse hidden within his inner coat pocket. “Thanks, Ana. I’ll be back when I need another quest,” he said, offering a parting wave before turning toward the exit.

  As Asherean stepped out of the guild, his stomach let out a low, impatient growl. He had survived the entire day on nothing but dried jerky, and while it was enough to keep him going, it was hardly satisfying. A proper meal was long overdue.

  But first, there was the matter of returning his rented horse.

  The livery stable wasn’t far from the guild—just a short walk down the bustling street. A few lanterns had already been lit outside the nearby shops, casting a warm glow over the cobbled road as evening set in.

  The stable itself was a sturdy wooden structure with an open courtyard where several horses stood tethered, some being brushed down by stable hands, others lazily flicking their tails as they rested.

  As he entered, a familiar voice greeted him.

  “Well, if it ain’t Asherean,” called a middle-aged man with a thick beard, his sleeves rolled up as he worked on securing a saddle. “Back from the forest already?”

  “Still alive, aren’t I?” Asherean replied with a smirk, leading his horse toward the man. “Got your horse in one piece, too.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The stable master, Hugh, gave the horse a once-over, checking its legs and general condition. “No injuries, no signs of overwork. You treat ’em better than most, I’ll give you that.”

  Asherean patted the horse’s neck before reaching into his coat and fishing out five copper coins. He placed them in Hugh’s outstretched palm. “For the rental.”

  Hugh weighed the coins in his hand before pocketing them with a nod. “Much appreciated. You’re a regular, so I don’t worry much when you take one out, but you’d be surprised how many idiots push their mounts too hard.”

  He jerked his thumb toward a stable hand struggling to calm a skittish horse nearby. “Just got that one back from a fool who thought riding full speed through the forest was a good idea.”

  Asherean shook his head. “Some people forget that a dead horse is worse than no horse at all.”

  “Aye, and those are the ones who come back on foot, if they come back at all.” Hugh gave the reins a final tug, then motioned for one of his stable hands to lead the horse into its stall.

  “Same arrangement at noon?” Hugh asked, brushing some dust off his sleeves.

  “Yeah,” Asherean replied. “Unless something unforeseen happens, I’ll be here to rent out, heading for the capital.”

  “Well, you know where to find me.” Hugh waved him off before turning to his other duties.

  With that done, Asherean stepped back onto the street, the scent of hay and horses lingering in the air.

  Now, there was nothing standing between him and a well-earned meal.

  The familiar wooden sign of The Wandering Stag creaked slightly in the evening breeze as Asherean approached. The inn was nothing extravagant—just a solid, well-kept establishment that welcomed all kinds of travelers, from merchants and adventurers to the occasional wandering scholar. It had served as his resting place more times than he could count, and tonight would be no different.

  Pushing open the heavy oak door, he stepped inside, immediately greeted by the warm scent of roasted meat, spiced ale, and the faint lingering scent of old timber. The common room was lively but not overly rowdy, with a few patrons chatting over their drinks and meals. Without pausing, he made his way straight to the counter, where the innkeeper, a weathered old man named Oswin, was polishing a tankard with the same methodical care he applied to everything in life.

  Asherean placed four silver coins on the counter and said simply, “The usual, Mr. Oswin.”

  The old innkeeper barely glanced up as he took the coins, his movements unhurried as always. He reached to his hip, where a bundle of keys hung from a worn leather strap, plucked one out, and slid it across the counter.

  “Second room on the left,” he droned, his voice as gruff as ever.

  Asherean gave a small nod, pocketed the key, and made his way upstairs. His boots thudded softly against the wooden steps as he climbed to the second floor. The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and old parchment, probably from the recent cleaning. He unlocked the door to his room—a modest but comfortable space with a sturdy bed, a simple desk, and a wooden chest in the corner.

  He set his rucksack down, unlaced his boots, and retrieved a set of fresh clothes along with a towel. Then, without delay, he headed towards the backyard, where the inn’s private bathing area was located.

  A large wooden tub stood there, already filled with cool water from the well. A faint mist rose from its surface, evidence that someone had heated it earlier. He wasted no time lowering himself in, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding as he let out a satisfied sigh. Three days of traveling, fighting, and sleeping in trees had worn him down more than he liked to admit. The weight of exhaustion melted away as he scrubbed off the grime and sweat of the road.

  Once he was thoroughly cleaned, he changed into his spare clothes and returned to the common room, where he ordered a simple meal—freshly baked bread and a bowl of steaming vegetable soup. It wasn’t the grandest of feasts, but after days of dried jerky and water, it tasted divine. He savored every bite, eating slowly despite his hunger.

  By the time he finished, fatigue was settling in hard. He trudged back upstairs, locked his door behind him, and barely had time to pull the blanket over himself before sleep took him.

  Within minutes, the quiet rhythm of his breathing filled the room, soon giving way to a light snoring—marking the end of another long, tiring day.