He could feel their unease—not fear, but something close to it. Wariness, caution. They had no idea what he was, and that alone put them on edge.
The old warrior, a grizzled veteran who had likely survived more battles than he cared to count, leaned forward slightly. “You’re looking for answers.”
Revan smirked. “That’s what I said.”
The noble let out a quiet breath, clearly unimpressed. “You walked into our camp uninvited. We deserve to know what you want.”
Revan shrugged. “I woke up in the middle of the woods with no memory of how I got there. Then some overgrown cat tried to eat me.”
The younger hunter raised a brow. “You fought something?”
Revan tilted his head, his golden eyes flickering with amusement. “Some kind of shadowy panther or something. Didn’t put up much of a fight.”
The hunters stiffened. The noble’s gaze sharpened slightly.
The older warrior was the one to ask, “You’re saying you killed a Shadowbeast?”
Revan gave them a lazy grin. “I guess. Why?”
Silence.
The younger hunter let out a long, suffering groan, dragging a hand down his face. The noble muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Fuck.”
The old warrior, to his credit, just exhaled. “What became of the loot?”
Revan blinked. “What loot? The corpse is a few hundred paces back the way I came.”
That got a visible reaction.
The younger hunter looked like he wanted to hit something. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The noble shook his head. “Monsters don’t leave corpses. They disappear a few minutes after death. When they do, they drop loot—Essence Cores, materials, sometimes even enchanted gear.”
Revan frowned. He had taken off toward this group as soon as he heard them, never considering that the beast would drop loot like something out of a game. “A system like this means loot. Should have thought of that.”
“What? What game?” the noble asked, exasperated with the apparent fool in front of him.
“Never mind that. You were saying something about cores?” Revan quickly said, realizing his mistake.
The older warrior sighed. “Shadowbeast Cores are valuable. Even a low-rank one could fetch a solid price.”
The younger hunter groaned again. “That’s free money! Just… rotting in the dirt!”
Revan exhaled through his nose. “Guess I missed out.”
The noble crossed his arms. “That isn’t normal. Even idiots know how loot works. Where exactly did you come from?”
Revan didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t sure if the truth was worth sharing.
After a moment, he settled on, “Nowhere I can remember.”
The noble didn’t look satisfied with that answer, but before he could push further, the old warrior changed the subject. “What do you plan to do?”
Revan raised a brow. “Not a clue. Got any ideas?”
The old warrior nodded. “You need food, gear, direction. We could use an extra sword. You want work?”
Revan considered it. He had no interest in being a mercenary, but he needed information. These men were heading to a city—his best chance to learn how this world worked.
And if they tried anything?
Well. That’d be their mistake.
Revan smirked. “Alright. I’ll play along.”
The noble didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue.
The tension in the air didn’t disappear, but it shifted.
“That went better than expected.” Revan thought to himself
The morning sun barely crested the horizon when the group broke camp. Earlier that morning, Revan had focused on his weapon, testing his connection to it. With a thought, the greatsword had shimmered and vanished, dissipating like mist. He had stared at his empty hands for a moment before smirking. A useful trick.
The embers of last night’s fire had cooled to ash, and the lingering scent of burnt wood mixed with the crisp morning air. Revan fell into step with the others as they began the short journey to the city, his ears twitching at the subtle sounds of the forest waking around them.
The night before had been… interesting. After their tense first meeting, Doran had eventually invited him to sit by the fire, and the group had begrudgingly accepted his presence. It hadn’t taken long for the introductions to begin.
“I’m Doran,” the old warrior had said, gesturing toward himself. “Been fighting in one way or another for longer than I’d care to admit. Used to serve in the army, now I work as a mercenary.” His single eye was sharp, observant, but there was a level of calm in him that set him apart from the others.
The noble scoffed before giving a small nod. “Eldric Valorian. House Valorian of Vellnoth, though I doubt you’d know it. I handle the contracts, the negotiations, and ensuring we don’t end up like the corpses you so casually left behind.” His tone was dry, unimpressed, but there was something calculated in his gaze. Revan noted that Eldric wasn’t just some pompous noble—he was shrewd, careful.
The younger hunter, a wiry man with sharp eyes, grinned. “Brenner. I handle ranged combat, scouting, and making sure we don’t eat something poisonous. You know, the important things.”
His companion, a more reserved figure with a well-maintained bow, gave a curt nod. “Garrick. I do the same, except with less talking.”
Revan had simply smirked. “Revan. Apparently a lion man with wings.”
From there, the conversation had shifted to the journey ahead.
As they set off that morning, Doran led the way, his single eye scanning the road ahead with the caution of a man who had seen too many ambushes in his lifetime. Eldric, as always, carried an air of irritation, while Brenner and Garrick fell in behind. Revan, now officially part of the group, walked alongside the old warrior.
“Since you’re with us now, you might as well know where we’re headed,” Doran said, glancing at him. “Vellnoth is the biggest city in this region, the beating heart of trade and power. You’ll find everything there—work, danger, wealth, and death.”
Revan smirked. “Sounds welcoming.”
Doran chuckled. “Not if you don’t know how to move through it. The city’s run by an intricate balance of power. The noble houses control the politics, the Adventurers’ Collective oversees mercenary work, and then there's the Magic Tower.”
Revan’s ears twitched. “Magic Tower?”
Eldric scoffed. “They place mages in noble courts, act as advisors, and regulate magical knowledge. But don’t let their pleasant front fool you. The Tower has eyes everywhere.”
“That’s an understatement,” Doran muttered. “They don’t take kindly to anyone stepping outside their rules.”
Revan absorbed the information carefully. A city with multiple factions vying for control. Plenty of opportunity, plenty of risk.
“You never did say what you plan to do in Vellnoth,” Doran added after a moment.
Revan smirked. “That’s because I haven’t decided yet.”
Eldric scoffed. “Wonderful. Another aimless sellsword looking to make trouble.”
Revan arched a brow. “I’m more of a problem solver, actually. Just haven’t found the right problem yet.”
Doran chuckled. “You’ll find plenty of those in Vellnoth.”
The group fell into silence again as they continued down the dirt road. The forest gradually gave way to rolling fields, and the signs of civilization became more apparent—wagon tracks in the dirt, distant farmhouses dotting the hills, and the occasional traveler passing by with a wary glance in their direction.
It wasn’t long before they reached a small trading post at a crossroads. A weathered signpost indicated the path to Vellnoth, another toward distant farmlands, and one leading deeper into the wilderness.
“We rest here,” Doran announced. “Get some supplies, maybe hear if anything’s been happening in the city.”
They approached the main building—a sturdy wooden structure with an open-air market set up beside it. Merchants peddled their wares, and a few armored guards stood watch. Revan’s gaze flickered over the crowd, noting a mix of farmers, traders, and mercenaries.
Brenner and Garrick immediately veered toward a food stall, while Eldric disappeared into the trading post without a word. Doran stayed near the entrance, talking in low tones with an older merchant.
Revan, on the other hand, was content to observe.
It didn’t take long for trouble to find him.
A burly man with a thick beard and a too-large axe slung across his back sauntered over, flanked by two others who clearly thought they were more intimidating than they actually were.
“New face,” the bearded man rumbled. “And a big one at that.”
Revan sighed. “Let me guess—you’re about to give me some ridiculous demand that ends in violence.”
The man blinked, as if thrown off by the immediate response. Then he grinned. “Smart. But no, just curious about what a beastkin like you is doing out here.”
“Walking,” Revan said flatly. “Anything else?”
One of the lackeys sneered. “Walking with Doran’s crew? That means you’re either strong or stupid.”
Revan smiled. “Why not both?”
The bearded man’s grin widened. “I like you. But you should know—Vellnoth’s not a place for wandering swords looking to play hero. If you’re heading there, keep your head down.”
Revan tilted his head. “And why’s that?”
The man glanced around before leaning in slightly. “Tensions are rising. The Adventurers’ Collective is cracking down on unregistered mercenaries, and the Magic Tower’s been meddling with the noble houses more than usual.”
Revan absorbed that information carefully. “Sounds like a city with opportunity.”
The man chuckled. “Depends on how much risk you like with your coin.”
Before Revan could respond, Doran’s voice cut through the air. “We’re moving out.”
The bearded man gave Revan a knowing nod before stepping away. “Watch yourself, beastkin.”
Revan smirked as he rejoined the group. “Friendly locals.”
Eldric rolled his eyes. “You attract trouble like a damn magnet.”
Revan shrugged. “Just making friends.”
Doran ignored their bickering and led them back onto the road. As they resumed their journey, Revan mulled over what he had learned.
Vellnoth wasn’t just a city.
It was a battleground.
And Revan had every intention of making his mark on it.
The closer they got to Vellnoth, the more the road swelled with travelers. Merchants, mercenaries, and farmers—each with their own burdens to carry and business to conduct. The city loomed in the distance, its high stone walls cutting into the morning sky like a jagged crown. Revan kept his pace steady, scanning the shifting crowds with a measured gaze.
Eldric walked ahead, looking as if he belonged anywhere but among them. The noble moved with an air of authority that naturally demanded space, and for the most part, the other travelers obliged.
Doran, as ever, was calm, but Revan noticed how his one eye was never still, taking in everything from the shifting glances of nearby men to the positions of the road guards stationed along the entry path.
Brenner and Garrick walked a short distance behind, engaged in a quiet but animated discussion about the price of decent arrows in the city. Revan had little to add, so he let them be.
Instead, he focused on the city.
Vellnoth’s walls weren’t just high—they were massive. The stonework was dark, reinforced with metal bands in some areas, and bristled with spikes near the top. Even without stepping inside, it was clear that this city had seen war, or at least expected it.
As they neared the towering gates, the group fell into step with a caravan waiting to enter. The guards stationed at the entrance wore polished armor bearing the emblem of the ruling house—House Valorian.
Revan’s eyes flicked to Eldric. “Your people?”
The noble barely spared him a glance. “Extended family. But don’t expect any favors.”
Revan smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The guards moved with practiced efficiency, checking cargo, inspecting travelers, and stopping the occasional suspicious figure. The process was slow, and Revan could sense the tension in the air.
“Security seems tight,” Brenner muttered. “More than usual.”
Doran nodded. “Something’s stirred the pot.”
As if on cue, a sharp cry broke the monotony of the line. A hooded man made a desperate dash past the waiting caravans, shoving people aside as he sprinted toward the gates. Guards reacted instantly, spears coming down to bar his path.
“Halt!” one of them barked.
The man didn’t stop. A dagger flashed in his hand as he lunged at the closest guard, but he never made it. A second spear found its mark, driving through his side. He crumpled to the ground, gasping.
The crowd murmured but quickly quieted as more guards stepped in, dragging the body away as if it were a routine matter. A few travelers looked away, others barely reacted at all.
Revan tilted his head. “Charming place.”
Eldric sighed. “Welcome to Vellnoth. As you can see the city has plenty of rabble, you'll fit in nicely”
The line resumed its slow crawl, and soon it was their turn. A guard with a sharp gaze stepped forward. “State your business.”
Doran took the lead. “Mercenary work, trade, and lodging.”
The guard’s eyes flicked over Revan, lingering for a moment before moving on. “You’re clear. Don’t cause trouble.”
Revan grinned. “No promises.”
The moment they stepped through the gates, the city swallowed them whole. The noise, the scent of metal and spice, the sheer weight of so many lives moving at once—it was all-consuming. Buildings stretched high, packed tightly together, forming a labyrinth of streets and alleys. The roads bustled with vendors shouting over each other, laborers hauling goods, and nobles riding past in carriages, their insignias flashing in the sunlight.
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Doran turned to the group. “We head to the Adventurers’ Collective first. Need to get our papers in order before we take any jobs.”
Eldric nodded. “And I have business with a few contacts. You’ll find me at the Iron Crest Inn later.”
Brenner grinned. “I’ll check the market, see if there’s any good work.”
Garrick remained silent but gave a small nod of agreement.
Revan took it all in, his smirk widening. He could already feel the city’s pulse, the energy of countless ambitions clashing, rising, and falling.
This was where things got interesting.
The streets of Vellnoth pulsed with life. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone mixed with the shouts of merchants peddling their wares. The scent of freshly baked bread warred with the less pleasant odors of unwashed bodies and livestock. Revan took it all in, his tail flicking absentmindedly as his golden eyes darted from one alley to the next.
He had never seen a city like this before—at least, not that he could remember. Yet something about this place felt both alien and familiar. The layered chaos, the unseen hierarchy, the tension in the air—it was a battlefield of a different kind, and Revan was always ready for a fight.
“Try not to look so fascinated,” Eldric muttered as he walked beside him. “You look like a fresh farmhand seeing the world for the first time.”
Revan smirked. “And you look like a man who wants to be anywhere else. Guess we’re both miserable.”
Eldric rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
Doran led them through the winding streets with the ease of someone who had done this countless times. Their destination was clear—the Adventurers’ Collective, a towering stone building nestled near the heart of the city. Unlike the surrounding structures, which were packed tightly together, the Collective commanded space. The entrance was wide, guarded by two armored figures bearing an insignia Revan didn’t recognize—a crossed sword and quill.
Revan’s ears flicked. “This the part where I sign my life away?”
Doran grunted. “This is the part where you get the right to work. Without a rank, no one will hire you. And if you work without one, the Collective has… solutions for that.”
That caught Revan’s attention. “What kind of solutions?”
Eldric didn’t even glance at him. “The kind that end with you in chains or buried in a ditch.”
“Efficient.”
Brenner chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”
As they stepped inside, Revan’s first thought was that the place felt more like a war camp than a guild hall. The large common area was filled with mercenaries of all types—grizzled veterans leaning against the walls, fresh-faced recruits poring over job postings, and a few mages in the corner engaged in quiet discussion. The scent of sweat, parchment, and burning oil filled the space, giving it an oddly comforting edge.
A woman sat behind the reception desk, her sharp eyes flicking over the group as they approached. She was older, her auburn hair streaked with gray, but there was no mistaking the way she carried herself. This was someone who had seen her fair share of battles.
“Doran.” She leaned forward, tapping her fingers on the wooden desk. “Back already?”
Doran nodded. “New recruit.” He jerked a thumb toward Revan. “Needs a rank.”
The woman’s gaze settled on him, scrutinizing. “What’s your experience?”
Revan grinned. “Killed a Shadowbeast. Didn’t know it dropped loot.”
She stared at him for a long moment before letting out a dry laugh. “Gods help you.”
Doran sighed. “Just tell him what he needs to do.”
The woman reached for a ledger, flipping through the pages before settling on an entry. “Name?”
“Revan Blackthorn.”
She wrote it down. “You’ll need to take an assessment. Combat trial. Basic evaluation of your skills. Fail, and you don’t get a rank. Succeed, and we’ll assign you based on performance.”
Revan’s tail flicked. “And if I break your assessment?”
The woman smirked. “Then you’ll get ranked higher.”
Brenner whistled. “Now this, I want to see.”
Doran shook his head. “Revan, don’t cause too much of a scene.”
Revan smirked. “No promises.”
The woman motioned toward a side door. “Arena’s that way. Good luck, beastkin.”
As Revan turned, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. He had tested his strength against a beast, but this… this would be different. His steps were light, his pulse steady.
This was a test. And he had no intention of failing.
The hallway leading to the assessment area was lined with various mercenaries, some stretching, others adjusting their weapons. A few glanced his way, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright amusement. He ignored them, stepping through a final set of heavy wooden doors that led into a dimly lit arena.
A single figure stood in the center of the sand-covered floor—a tall, armored man with a heavy two-handed axe resting against his shoulder. His stance was relaxed, but Revan could tell he was a veteran. This wasn’t going to be a simple spar.
The woman’s voice echoed from above, where a viewing platform overlooked the arena. “Revan Blackthorn, your trial opponent is Captain Orlen. Your task—last five minutes without surrendering or going down. If you can land a solid hit, even better.”
Orlen’s eyes met Revan’s, and the man grinned. “Hope you last longer than the last one.”
Revan rolled his shoulders, tail flicking behind him. “I was about to say the same to you.”
The air grew heavy with anticipation.
Revan exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. The arena’s coarse sand shifted beneath his feet as he took a step forward, his muscles coiling in anticipation. Across from him, Captain Orlen adjusted his grip on the haft of his two-handed axe, the iron edge gleaming under the dim torchlight.
From the observation platform above, the woman from the reception desk called out, her voice firm. “Begin!”
Orlen wasted no time. The moment the word left her lips, he surged forward, covering the distance between them in a few powerful strides. His axe arced downward in a devastating overhead swing, the sheer force of the strike sending a gust of air rushing past Revan’s mane.
Instinct kicked in. Revan sidestepped, his body moving faster than his thoughts. The axe struck the ground where he had stood a fraction of a second before, sending a plume of dust into the air. He barely had time to register Orlen twisting the weapon, bringing it around in a sweeping arc aimed at his ribs.
This time, Revan leaped back, landing in a crouch. He needed to go on the offensive.
With a flicker of energy, Revan's greatsword materialized in his hands, its weight grounding him. He dashed forward, using a single flap of his wings to propel him faster then just using his legs ever could, closing the gap in an instant. Orlen’s eyes widened slightly, but he was already shifting his stance, raising his axe to intercept the strike.
The clash of steel rang through the arena as Revan’s blade met Orlen’s axe. Sparks flew as the force of the impact vibrated up Revan’s arms. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, pressing his strength against the older warrior’s guard.
Orlen grinned. “Good. Let’s see if you can keep up.”
The veteran twisted his axe, sliding Revan’s blade aside with practiced ease before stepping into his guard. A gauntleted fist shot forward, aiming for Revan’s jaw.
Revan barely managed to tilt his head, the punch grazing his cheek instead of shattering his teeth. He staggered back, blinking away the stars in his vision. His instincts screamed at him to move, and he obeyed, ducking under Orlen’s next swing and retaliating with a quick slash aimed at his thigh.
The tip of his greatsword met steel instead of flesh—Orlen had read his move and shifted his axe to block. The man was good, far better than the Shadowbeast Revan had fought the day before.
And that made this exhilarating.
Revan’s lips curled into a grin as he pressed the attack, his sword becoming a blur of controlled strikes. Orlen met each one with expert precision, parrying and countering in a seamless dance of violence. The two warriors moved in a blur of motion, the clang of metal echoing through the chamber.
Above them, the spectators murmured, some leaning forward in interest.
Doran crossed his arms, watching with an appraising look. “He’s better than I expected.”
Eldric sighed. “He’s reckless.”
Brenner grinned. “He’s having fun.”
Orlen suddenly shifted tactics. Instead of blocking, he let Revan’s next attack glance off his axe and stepped into his space, slamming his shoulder into Revan’s chest. The impact sent the celestial beastkin stumbling back, momentarily winded. Before he could recover, Orlen spun his axe, the blunt end of the haft slamming into Revan’s gut.
Revan grunted, his breath forced from his lungs. He barely managed to roll aside as Orlen’s axe came crashing down, splitting the sand where he had just been.
He pushed himself up, chest rising and falling. Orlen straightened, resting the axe over one shoulder. “You’re quick,” he admitted. “But you fight like a beast—instinctive, wild. That’ll get you killed against the wrong opponent.”
Revan wiped a bit of blood from his lip. “Then I guess I’ll have to learn.”
Orlen grinned. “Good answer.”
The woman’s voice rang out again. “Time’s up.”
The two warriors lowered their weapons, the tension still crackling in the air as Revan dematerialized his blade. Orlen nodded in approval. “You’ll do well here.”
Revan smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Hope so. I plan to.”
As Revan turned to step away, he caught murmurs from the onlookers above. Some of them had expected him to fall. Others now watched him with a new curiosity. He could feel it—the shift in perception. He had walked into this place as an unknown, but now? Now, he was someone to keep an eye on.
Doran met him at the exit, arms still crossed. “You held your own. That’s good.”
Eldric gave a short nod. “You didn’t embarrass us. I’ll take that as a win.”
Brenner grinned. “I was hoping for more of a spectacle. Maybe next time.”
Revan smirked. “Maybe.”
The weight of the assessment still clung to Revan’s body as he walked alongside his new companions through the bustling halls of the Adventurers’ Collective. His fingers flexed absently as if still feeling the last vibrations of clashing steel. The fact that his greatsword could be summoned and dismissed at will made him feel untethered, as if some part of him existed in both reality and something beyond. He would need to test the limits of this ability later.
The halls of the Collective were alive with movement—adventurers haggling over contracts, armored figures boasting about their latest hunts, and merchants dealing in enchanted gear. Every few feet, Revan caught snippets of conversation.
“Another patrol went missing near the old ruins.”
“Three more caravans hit outside the city. Bandits or worse.”
“Some fool tried to fight a wraith without a blessed weapon. They had to scrape him off the walls.”
The energy of the place was raw, filled with ambition, desperation, and danger. It suited him.
Doran matched his stride, his one good eye assessing him with quiet approval. “Not bad.”
Revan smirked. “Not great either, if that’s all I get.”
Brenner and Garrick caught up, still grinning. “I was betting on you landing a solid hit,” Brenner said, shaking his head. “Almost cost me a silver.”
Revan stretched his shoulders. “Give me a rematch, and I’ll make sure you lose your coin next time.”
Eldric, who had been silent until now, sighed. “Next time, fight with more strategy. You rely too much on instinct.”
Revan arched a brow. “Instinct kept me alive.”
Eldric met his gaze without flinching. “It won’t always.”
Before Revan could retort, the woman from the reception desk emerged from the entrance, holding a small piece of parchment. “Your rank has been finalized.”
She handed the slip to him. Revan scanned the contents, his tail flicking in mild irritation.
Rank: Iron-Tier Adventurer.
Revan frowned. “And what exactly does that mean?”
The woman smirked, crossing her arms. “The Collective ranks adventurers into nine primary tiers—Iron, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Adamantite, Mythril, Astral, and Divine. Each tier has sub-divisions for ranking within them, but you don’t need to worry about that yet.”
She tapped the parchment. “Iron-tier is for newcomers—people untested or lacking proven experience. Think of it as the foundation. You’ll be allowed to take low-risk contracts and simple missions. After earning enough merit and proving yourself in tougher jobs, you’ll be evaluated for a higher tier.”
Revan’s tail flicked. “And how long does it take to climb?”
“That depends entirely on you,” the woman said. “If you complete contracts efficiently and without failure, you’ll climb faster. But the ranking process isn’t just about strength. Strategy, leadership, and survival skills are just as important.”
Doran added, “Reaching Bronze is easy. Silver is where things start getting serious. Gold and Platinum show you’re rising. Adamantite and Mythril? That’s where you start to be known. And Astral and Divine? Those are reserved for legends.”
Revan exhaled through his nose. He had expected as much, but it didn’t make it any less annoying. He was here to rise—not scrape the bottom.
Doran clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to the world of adventurers.”
Revan tucked the parchment away and rolled his shoulders. “So what’s next?”
“Next,” Eldric said, adjusting his gloves, “we get you registered for real work.”
The group made their way through the adventurers’ hall, passing groups of seasoned fighters and fresh-faced rookies alike. Revan could feel eyes on him—some curious, some dismissive. He had made an impression in the arena, but in their world, one fight didn’t mean anything.
They approached a long wooden counter where several guild clerks sat behind rows of paperwork. A tall, balding man peered over a stack of forms. “New adventurer?”
Doran nodded. “Revan Blackthorn.”
The clerk sifted through documents before pulling one free. “Sign here.”
Revan took the offered quill and signed his name, the ink settling into the parchment like a seal. He felt something shift—not physically, but in the air around him. It was a formality, but one with weight.
The clerk took back the form, stamped it with an official seal, and handed Revan a small metal badge engraved with his name and rank.
“There,” the clerk said. “You’re now a registered adventurer of Vellnoth. That means you can take jobs, join expeditions, and—most importantly—get paid.”
Revan rolled the badge between his fingers. Step one complete.
Doran motioned toward a large board on the wall, covered in parchment slips. “Let’s find your first contract.”
The board was massive, layered with dozens of contracts ranging from simple escort missions to high-risk monster hunts. Some papers were faded, others freshly posted with the ink still drying. Revan scanned the listings, noting the variety:
- Escort a merchant caravan to the northern settlements – Moderate Risk
- Investigate missing farmers near the eastern outposts – High Risk
- Clear out a goblin infestation in the sewers – Low Risk
Brenner pointed to one of the listings. “That sewer job pays in advance.”
Revan wrinkled his nose. “Not desperate enough to crawl through filth.”
Garrick smirked. “Yet.”
Eldric’s finger tapped one of the higher-ranked missions. “If you want something worthwhile, you’ll need to prove yourself first. Low-rank work builds credibility.”
Revan exhaled, scanning the choices. This was the start of his path, and while the options seemed menial, he knew every step mattered. The thrill of his first contract buzzed at the back of his mind.
Now things were getting interesting.
Revan stood before the massive job board, eyes scanning the rows of parchment detailing available contracts. Some were scrawled hastily, while others bore official seals marking high-paying commissions. Despite the variety, most of the Iron-tier jobs looked menial—escort duties, scouting, and the occasional pest extermination. None of it was particularly exciting.
"Sewer job still pays in advance," Brenner reminded with a smirk.
Revan gave him a flat look. "Still not interested in wading through filth."
Garrick chuckled. "Everyone’s got their limits."
Doran, standing beside him, tapped on one of the lower-tier contracts. "Start small, build reputation. Take something clean but useful. Patrol work is steady pay, and it lets you see the city."
Revan exhaled through his nose, glancing over the options again. Then, one caught his eye:
"Merchant Guard: Protection needed for transport to Westgate District. Low risk. Pay upon arrival."
He tapped the parchment. "This one."
Eldric nodded in approval. "Smart choice. Keeps you in the city, gives you a chance to get familiar with the streets."
Doran took the slip from the board and motioned for Revan to follow. "We’ll get it confirmed and then we'll accompany you. This is really a one-person job, but more hands never hurt. Don't worry, you'll get to keep the coin."
Revan crossed his arms, his wings shifting slightly. "I don't need a babysitter."
Doran smirked. "Then consider it a courtesy."
The merchant was a squat man with thinning hair and a wary disposition. His small caravan—just two carts loaded with fabrics and household goods—stood in the eastern trade quarter, a busy market district filled with the scent of spice, baked bread, and the occasional whiff of unwashed bodies.
"You're my guards?" the merchant asked, eyeing the group up and down.
Revan met his gaze. "Problem?"
The merchant hesitated before shaking his head. "No, no. Just expected someone… less noticeable. The Beastkin is very conspicuous."
"Yeah, the big guy sticks out like a sore thumb," Brenner joked.
Revan smirked. "You’ll be safer with us."
The merchant grunted. "I hope so. We leave now. The streets aren’t as safe as they used to be."
Revan walked beside the lead cart as they set off, keeping his senses sharp. The morning rush was still heavy, with wagons rolling by and city folk bartering in every direction. Though the mission was labeled low risk, Revan could feel the shift in the air—watchful eyes, figures moving just a little too deliberately in the crowd.
He pretended not to notice at first. Instead, he let his ears pick up the whispers from passing merchants and beggars.
"Another attack last night—south side."
"More patrols, but they can’t be everywhere."
"Bandits? No, something worse."
A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision made Revan tense. Three men stepped from an alley ahead, each trying to appear casual, but their hands rested too easily on their weapons. Another figure, a lanky man with a long coat, flanked them from the side.
Revan let out a breath. Here we go.
The lead thug, a bald man with a scarred nose, stepped forward, raising a hand. "Merchant. We’ve got business."
The merchant stiffened. "I already paid my dues this month."
"Well, the rates changed." The thug smirked. "Let’s talk."
Revan rolled his shoulders. "Or you could move."
The thug’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing. "And who the hell are—"
Revan didn’t let him finish. With a flicker of energy, his greatsword materialized in his grip, its edge gleaming in the morning sun. The sudden manifestation made the thugs hesitate.
"You really want to do this?" Revan asked, tilting his head slightly as his wings ruffled behind him.
The leader’s face twitched. He glanced at his men, then at the massive blade, and took a step back. "Tch. Not worth the trouble."
The group melted back into the alley, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.
Revan exhaled and let his greatsword dissipate into nothingness once more.
"Yeah, you better run," Brenner laughed.
"Like I said earlier, rabble," Eldric added while wrinkling his nose.
The merchant wiped his brow. "Gods… I thought we were finished."
Revan smirked. "Told you you’d be safer."
The rest of the trip was uneventful, and upon arriving in the Westgate District, the merchant paid them promptly. Revan rolled the small pouch of coins in his palm, satisfied. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Back at the Collective, Doran nodded in approval. "Handled it well. Didn’t escalate."
Brenner grinned. "I was hoping for some bloodshed."
Eldric crossed his arms. "Bandits are getting bolder. We should be careful."
Revan only smirked, flipping the pouch of coins before tucking it away. One step closer.
That night, Revan sat on the edge of his rented cot, running a thumb over the metal of his new adventurer’s badge. The day had been straightforward, but something gnawed at him. The way those thugs backed off so easily—it didn’t sit right.
He had expected a fight.
Instead, they had disappeared like ghosts, almost too quickly.
Something was happening in Vellnoth.
He could feel it in the air, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface. The merchant’s nervousness, the hushed whispers in the streets, even the guards moving in tighter patrols than he suspected was usual.
Revan exhaled, staring at the ceiling.
He had come here to rise in power, to carve his place into this world. But if the city itself was becoming a battlefield, then his ambitions might lead him straight into the heart of it.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.