Thalia and I crossed the guildhall floor without rushing.
There was no reason to.
This was not a battlefield.
Not yet.
The floorboards beneath our boots were dark and polished from years of traffic, the noise of the hall rising and falling around us in waves of voices, steel, laughter, arguments, contracts, and people trying very hard to look more competent than their rank actually allowed. Lanternlight pooled across long tables and iron pillars, catching on armor, glass, hair, polished weapon guards, and the edges of quest sheets pinned to the boards like promises waiting to ruin someone's week.
The registration counters lined the far side of the hall beneath a row of brass lamps and hanging placards.
Three desks were staffed.
The left one was handling renewals.
The middle was buried under contract disputes.
The right one was doing registrations.
That was the one we walked toward.
The woman behind the right counter noticed us before we reached her.
Of course she did.
Anyone working registration in a guildhall this large had to be good at reading people quickly. Who was worth speaking to politely. Who looked dangerous. Who looked poor. Who looked like they were about to cause paperwork. Who looked like they would fail their first monster extermination job and come back blaming the guild for their own bad decisions.
She looked at Thalia first.
Then at me.
Then back at Thalia.
Interesting.
Not fear.
Assessment.
That was fine.
By the time we stopped in front of the desk, she had already arranged her face into the sort of pleasant professionalism that guild workers use when they want to appear welcoming without promising anything emotionally expensive.
"Good evening," she said. "Registration?"
"Yes," I said.
She nodded once and reached beneath the desk, pulling out a thin packet, a blank guild form, and a small square crystal set into a brass frame.
Standard.
Good.
She pushed the packet toward me first.
"New adventurer registration requires an identity review, combat classification, emergency contact, residence information, and either an existing legal record, a sponsor, or provisional documentation eligibility." She paused. "If you qualify."
There it was.
Good.
The first complication had arrived exactly where it belonged:
paperwork.
Thalia glanced sideways at me.
I looked down at the form.
Name.
Place of origin.
Current residence.
Known affiliations.
Trade or background.
Emergency contact.
Kingdom registration if applicable.
Annoying.
Not difficult.
Just annoying.
The woman behind the desk watched me for a second longer, then said, "You may fill it out here or take a side table. Once that's done, I'll verify your identity through the crystal and continue your file."
I looked at the crystal.
Then at the paper.
Then back at her.
"What if I have no prior legal identity in this kingdom?"
That got a slightly different reaction.
Not shock.
Just focus.
The kind staff get when a problem has finally become specific enough to be irritating.
"I see," she said.
Of course she did.
Thalia folded her arms beside me.
I could already feel her waiting for the complication to become a disaster.
That was unfair.
It would only become a disaster if the guildhall exploded, someone tried to kidnap me again, or a bureaucrat discovered a previously unknown passion for violence.
This one was still manageable.
The woman tapped one neatly trimmed fingernail against the counter.
"If you have no prior legal record," she said, "then the cleanest routes are sponsorship, foreign provisional registration, or a restricted local issue."
She looked at Thalia's armor and posture again.
"If she is your sponsor—"
"No," I said.
Thalia turned to me immediately.
"No?"
"No."
The receptionist's eyes moved between us with much greater interest now.
That was irritating.
Thalia lowered her voice.
"Why not?"
"Because it complicates things."
"That is not an explanation."
"It is the correct conclusion."
Before she could argue, Kaediel chose to become helpful.
Which meant, naturally, he became annoying first.
"You could just forge a noble trail," he said inside my head. "Very stylish. Very illegal. Very funny."
I kept my face still.
"No."
"Or," he continued, "you could attach yourself to Thalia's knight record through a false dependency claim."
"No."
"Or," Kaediel said, sounding far too pleased with himself, "you could do the thing you were already thinking of and let me pretend I'm clever."
That one almost counted as self-awareness.
I answered him inwardly.
"I was already going to."
"I know."
"Then stop recommending it."
"No."
The receptionist, who of course could not hear any of that, was still waiting.
Thalia was watching me more carefully now.
She had started recognizing the difference between my normal silences and my "I'm currently dealing with the invisible nuisance in my head" silences.
Unfortunate for me.
I placed one hand lightly on the form.
"Foreign provisional registration," I said. "If the guild permits it."
The receptionist visibly relaxed.
Good.
That meant it was the route that gave her the least paperwork-induced despair.
"Yes," she said. "That is possible."
Then she added the complication inside the complication.
"Provided you can pass the preliminary review."
There it was.
Thalia looked at me.
I looked at the woman.
"And the review includes?"
"Name consistency. Aura or mana classification. Fraud check. Basic competence screening. Entry deposit. Temporary lodging declaration. Non-criminal conflict check if no kingdom record is available."
That was a lot of words for convince us you're real and useful enough not to become a corpse with paperwork.
Understandable.
Then the system opened quietly at the edge of my vision.
Only I could see it.
Black-ink frame. Clean lettering. Mildly smug timing.
⟦ QUEST ALERT ⟧
Quest Title: Become Legible
Difficulty: Low Annoyance / Bureaucratic Hazard
Objective: Obtain a provisional adventurer registration in Drakenshade without exposing true anomalous status.
Conditions:
— Provide a stable name
— Pass guild identity review
— Secure a legal provisional route
— Avoid unnecessary suspicion
Reward:
— Adventurer ID (Provisional)
— Guild access
— Contract eligibility
— Easier movement between towers
Failure Penalty:
— Paperwork delays
— Extra questions
— Thalia's disappointment
Optional Bonus:
— Impress the receptionist enough that future visits are easier
I stared at the window for one full second.
Then at the last line.
Kaediel sounded delighted.
"I added the bonus objective."
"I noticed."
"It's fun."
"It's obnoxious."
"It can be both."
I dismissed the alert.
Thalia narrowed her eyes slightly.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That was not a nothing face."
"I don't make faces."
She looked at me like she had just been handed proof that I could, in fact, be wrong.
The receptionist, to her credit, did not interrupt us. She simply waited with the enduring patience of a woman who had probably watched stronger people than us lose arguments to desks.
I picked up the form.
The first few lines were easy enough.
Name: Kaeru
Declared Origin: Foreign
Residence: Temporary / Unsettled
Trade Background: Independent combat scholar
That last one was close enough to true to be useful.
Emergency contact gave me pause.
I could have left it blank.
That would have been clean.
Practical.
And suspicious.
I wrote: Thalia Kestrel
Thalia noticed immediately.
Her eyes moved from the paper to me.
She said nothing.
Interesting.
When I slid the form back across the counter, the receptionist took it and scanned it once, then twice.
Her gaze paused at Temporary / Unsettled.
Then at combat scholar.
Then at Thalia's name.
And finally at the lack of family name attached to mine.
There.
That was the real hook.
"Just Kaeru?" she asked.
"Yes."
She looked up at me.
"No house name. No surname. No regional identifier."
"No."
That got me a second look.
Thalia shifted beside me.
Not enough to interrupt.
Enough to remind the room that if this became unpleasant, she was standing there and probably had opinions.
The receptionist exhaled softly through her nose.
"That is allowed," she said, "but only under provisional foreign designation. Which means your file will remain thin until you establish contract history, place of stay, or guild reliability."
"That's fine."
She looked almost disappointed by how easy that answer was.
Good.
Then she pushed the crystal forward.
"Place your hand here."
I did.
The brass-framed crystal lit at once.
A pale silver first.
Then blue.
Then a sharp violet pulse that made the receptionist sit up a little straighter.
Interesting.
Thalia noticed too.
The crystal was not supposed to react that strongly to ordinary people.
Fortunately, I was not giving it the truth.
Just enough of one.
The woman looked from the crystal to me with far more attention than before.
"Dual-channel?"
I tilted my head slightly.
"Is that a problem?"
"No," she said carefully. "Just uncommon."
That was one word for it.
She adjusted the frame and looked again as the light settled.
"Mage-viable. Aura-capable. Control stable." Her brow furrowed the slightest bit. "Output… unusually clean."
I said nothing.
Again.
She gave the crystal another second, perhaps expecting it to produce some hidden scandal if she stared long enough.
It didn't.
Good.
The Avatar and the limits were doing their job.
Eventually, she nodded once.
"Very well. That clears the first part."
Thalia's shoulders eased slightly.
Too early.
The receptionist set the crystal aside and reached for a smaller form stamped with a bronze guild seal.
"Now for the preliminary competence declaration."
I almost respected the phrase.
Almost.
She slid the page across.
"You can choose one of three provisional classifications for a new file. General combat, support operations, or specialist."
Thalia glanced at me.
I looked at the page.
General combat was broad and useful. Support was too restrictive. Specialist invited attention I did not need yet.
"General combat."
The receptionist nodded and marked it.
"Then I need your preferred weapon set, secondary abilities if any, and your intended contract scope."
I answered cleanly.
"Blade-based close combat. Supplemental mana use. Exploration, combat, and tower-compatible assignments."
That got a reaction too.
Not dramatic.
Just a slight sharpening in her eyes when I said tower-compatible.
Of course it did.
Towers were where people became money, corpses, or stories.
Sometimes all three.
Behind us, the guildhall continued moving.
A mid-tier B-rank guild was arguing over route shares near the contract board. A tank in dark plate was trying to convince two rangers that a ruin-clearing job was "easy money," which meant it absolutely wasn't. At one side table, three knights in travel armor were reviewing a suppression contract with a robed mana-user who looked personally offended by terrain. Somewhere behind us, someone laughed too loudly after losing money at a card table.
Normal guildhall life.
Good.
I liked it more the longer I stood in it.
The receptionist finished marking the second sheet and finally looked up again.
"There is one remaining issue."
Of course there was.
"What issue?" Thalia asked before I had to.
The receptionist tapped the lower section of the form.
"Entry fee for provisional filing, crystal review, and first issue tag." She paused. "Three silver."
I blinked once.
That was not bad.
Thalia, however, looked offended on principle.
"You charged us three silver just to enter the city."
"Yes," the receptionist said.
"And now three more for the guild?"
"Yes."
Thalia stared.
The receptionist stared back.
Guild worker against former knight.
A beautiful and petty kind of stillness.
I reached for the pouch.
Thalia looked at me.
"More Tower money?"
"Some of it."
"And the rest?"
"Yours."
"I hate that answer."
"I know."
I set the three silver on the counter.
The receptionist took them, stamped the provisional sheet, then slid a final small brass token toward me—blank-faced for now, waiting for the actual inscription process.
"There," she said. "Registration accepted pending issue."
That was when the first truly small complication finally arrived.
A voice from just two desks down called over without even trying to be subtle.
"Hey."
We all turned.
A broad-shouldered clerk from the adjacent counter was looking our way, one brow raised, clearly having caught enough of the exchange to become interested for free.
He jerked his chin toward me.
"That one's foreign provisional, dual-channel, tower-compatible, and signing in without a surname?"
The receptionist beside me sighed softly.
"Yes."
The other clerk looked at me more directly now.
Then at Thalia.
Then back at me.
And grinned.
"That's trouble."
Thalia's hand moved a little too close to her weapon.
I didn't move at all.
The receptionist pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Daren, please do your own work."
"I am," he said. "I'm assessing incoming paperwork disasters."
He pointed at me.
"That one's definitely going to cause at least three reports."
I looked at him.
"Only three?"
That got a startled laugh out of someone at the nearest table.
Daren grinned wider.
"Oh, I like him already."
The receptionist looked like she regretted being born into a world where coworkers existed.
Thalia glanced at me.
I glanced at the brass provisional token.
Then at the desk.
Then at the contract board beyond it.
Good.
The first step was taken.
Not cleanly.
Not elegantly.
But legally enough.
Which, for me, counted as progress.
And somewhere behind my calm expression, Kaediel sounded unbearably pleased.
"Quest progress updated."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Fair.
Not yet.
The receptionist reached beneath the desk one last time and pulled out the actual issue slate.
"Name for print?"
I looked at her.
Then at the token.
Then at the hall beyond her—adventurers gathering, knights negotiating contracts, mages and swordsmen and wanderers and future problems all moving under one roof exactly the way they were supposed to.
Finally.
The road had a desk now.
Good enough.
"Kaeru," I said.
And the guild began writing me into the world.
✦ The Name for Print
The brass token became my adventurer ID in front of me.
That was more satisfying than it should have been.
The receptionist took the blank token, placed it onto a flat slate inlaid with silver channels, then rested two fingers lightly against the edge of the device. Mana ran through the slate in clean geometric lines. The brass token lit from within, faint at first, then brighter, as if it were remembering it had always meant to become something official.
Letters etched themselves into the surface.
Not by carving.
By decision.
The guild crest settled first. Then my name. Then the provisional seal.
When she slid it back across the counter, it was no longer just a blank piece of metal.
It was mine.
Adventurer ID — Provisional
Name: Kaeru
Rank: D
Class: General Combat / Hybrid
Good.
I picked it up and turned it over once between my fingers.
Solid. Simple. Useful.
Thalia leaned in slightly.
"You got D-Rank."
"Yes."
"That's… higher than I expected."
"That sounds like doubt."
"That sounds like realism."
The receptionist, still seated behind the desk with the exhausted dignity of a woman who had already dealt with too many adventurers that evening, answered before I did.
"His crystal response was clean," she said. "Dual-channel stability, no obvious fraud behavior, no combat volatility during intake, and an unusually balanced mana-to-aura read." She paused. "That is enough for provisional D-Rank."
Then she looked directly at me.
"Not because the guild assumes you are exceptional," she added. "Because the guild assumes it would be inefficient to pretend you are E-Rank."
That was fair.
Thalia's mouth twitched.
I almost liked the receptionist.
Almost.
She tapped the edge of the counter lightly.
"Since you're new, I'll explain the rank structure properly."
I already knew it.
I had designed it.
That did not stop me from listening.
There are things you already know because you created them. And then there are things worth hearing spoken aloud by someone who lives inside them. The second kind tends to reveal more.
The receptionist folded her hands.
"Guild ranks are ordered from lowest to highest as E, D, C, B, A, and S."
Her tone was practiced, but not lifeless.
"E-Rank is entry-level. Pest control, herb gathering, basic courier work, light escorts, and low-threat exterminations." She lifted one finger. "D-Rank is for adventurers trusted with moderate danger. Pack beasts, minor monster nests, local patrol contracts, hazardous escorts, ruin-edge scouting, active suppression jobs."
She continued without pause.
"C-Rank is where the guild starts expecting consistency. Larger-scale extermination, coordinated field work, dangerous routes, multi-day subjugation contracts, mid-threat monster zones." Another slight tap of her finger against the desk. "B-Rank is the highest regularly visible tier in most guild branches. Team-based operations, regionally relevant threats, advanced escorts, active danger zones, formal suppression requests from nobles, military support contracts."
Thalia crossed her arms.
"And A and S?"
"Less commonly handled directly through branch traffic," the receptionist said. "A-Rank adventurers get filtered toward major guild oversight, noble review, or kingdom-level dispatch. S-Rank requests exist, but not in the way beginners should spend time imagining."
A man from the next counter—Daren, unfortunately still alive and interested—called over without looking up from his own work.
"That means if you see an S-Rank posting on a public board, run."
The receptionist did not even turn toward him.
"Thank you, Daren."
"You're welcome."
I kept my expression neutral.
The receptionist continued as if coworkers were weather.
"Monster ranking roughly correlates with adventurer ranking, but not perfectly." She pulled a thin chart from beneath the counter and set it down between us. "E-Rank monsters are manageable threats to ordinary settlements if left alone. D-Rank monsters are dangerous to poorly prepared groups and often require actual combat competence. C-Rank and above begin to produce localized disasters if ignored."
She slid the chart back before Thalia could pick it up.
"Which means," she said, looking at me again, "a D-Rank adventurer may accept E- and D-Rank quests without special approval. Nothing above that."
"Understood."
"Good."
She wasn't finished.
"Class designation is separate from rank."
That part interested Thalia more than it did me.
She leaned in slightly.
The receptionist pointed lightly at my new ID.
"Your class is listed as General Combat / Hybrid. That means the guild recognizes you as a direct-action fighter with blended capability. Blade, aura, mana, and field flexibility." Her eyes flicked toward me. "It does not mean you are licensed to be reckless."
"That depends on the day," I said.
"It depends on whether you enjoy surviving."
Fair.
Thalia asked, "And the other classes?"
The receptionist nodded once, apparently pleased to be dealing with people who at least looked like they intended to use the information.
"Vanguard for heavy-frontline fighters. Striker for offensive melee specialists. Ranger for mobile ranged users, scouts, trackers. Mage for dedicated mana-combatants. Healer for restoration and support medicine. Support for buffers, debuffers, utility casters, formation aides. Hybrid for anyone the guild doesn't feel like lying about."
That last line was almost elegant.
I respected it.
Thalia looked at my ID again.
"Hybrid."
"Yes."
"You sound offended."
"I'm deciding if I am."
The receptionist ignored that.
Again.
Good instincts.
Then she moved on to the rules.
That part mattered less to me and more to the people around me, but since rules are often just the visible skeleton of a system, I listened anyway.
"The first guild rule," she said, "is simple: do not falsify contract results."
Reasonable.
"If you say a target is dead, it needs to be dead. If you say a caravan made it through, it needs to have actually made it through. If you say civilians were rescued, the guild expects civilians to exist afterward."
A little specific.
Interesting.
"The second: do not take contracts above your rank without approval."
Daren muttered from the next counter, "That one keeps getting treated like a suggestion."
The receptionist continued speaking over him with the force of long practice.
"The third: do not interfere with other active claims. If a quest is already signed out, it is not yours unless the guild says otherwise."
"The fourth," she said, "is that bounty proof belongs to the board that issued it. No forged heads. No falsified cores. No magical illusions over carcasses to increase payout."
That sounded like someone had learned from experience.
"The fifth: contracted civilians are not expendable."
That one she said a little more sharply.
Good.
"The sixth: the guild is not responsible for your ego, your gambling debts, your drinking habits, or whatever excuse you come back with if you ignore the first five."
Daren laughed.
I almost did too.
Almost.
Thalia nodded once.
"That all sounds reasonable."
The receptionist looked at her.
"That is because you have not watched new adventurers try to interpret rules as challenges."
Now that sounded personal.
I respected her more.
She leaned back slightly after that and pointed toward the quest boards stretching along the far wall of the hall.
"You can take any open E- or D-Rank quest once you've reviewed it and brought the posting number back to the desk. Tower-related work is not currently open on the general board."
There it was.
That bothered me instantly.
I did not show it.
Mostly.
"None?" I asked.
"None for your access level," she corrected. "Tower postings are usually handled through special dispatch, direct sponsorship, branch review, or higher-rank filtering." A slight pause. "If one appears publicly, it will not be for long."
Annoying.
But logical.
Fine.
I moved away from the counter with my new ID in hand, Thalia following close enough to look like she was with me and far enough to pretend she wasn't hovering.
The quest boards were better from a distance.
More alive.
E-Rank postings covered the left side in dense clusters of paper, thin strips, pinned notes, and color-coded tags. Courier requests. Herb collection. Farm-beast extermination. Sewer pests. Ingredient gathering. Supply escorts. Watch rotations for merchants too cheap to hire actual guards. Common work for common beginnings.
The D-Rank section had more teeth.
Road suppression. Beast packs. Monster nest discovery. Missing travelers. Ruin-edge scouting. Escort reinforcement. Regional patrol assistance. Bounties with names rough enough to suggest the target had started acquiring confidence.
The hall around the board reflected the ranks posted on it.
Low-rank adventurers hovered in twos and threes, trying to look like groups even when they were obviously strangers. Mid-tier teams—D and C mostly, with a few B-Rank guild tags—read faster, argued quieter, and chose with the confidence of people who had already bled for money often enough to become efficient about it.
I saw a three-person ranger-heavy team taking a D-Rank route survey and pretending it wasn't because they were too underfunded to compete for better work.
A knight pair in travel coats claimed a roadside suppression contract like they were doing the guild a favor by existing near it.
A mage-led B-Rank guild stood near the upper middle of the board in matching dark-gray shoulder mantles, debating whether a marsh-wraith subjugation was worth the split pay if one of their frontliners was still injured. They were the highest-rank guild in the room.
Good.
That kept the atmosphere honest.
No monsters pretending to be people.
Just competent workers with swords, aura, mana, and unpaid complaints.
I skimmed the board longer than I needed to.
No tower markings.
No hidden tower access routes disguised as field work.
No relic recovery that secretly mattered.
Nothing.
That irritated me more than it should have.
Fine.
I moved on.
Thalia watched me look through the postings, then finally asked, "Are we taking a quest today?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I looked at the system window that slid quietly into view at the edge of my vision.
Kaediel, predictably, had already prepared something.
⟦ QUEST UPDATE ⟧
Quest Title: Become Legible
Current Objective: Complete your first adventurer preparation cycle
Before accepting a field quest, acquire the following:
— A weapon
— Health potions
— Mana potions
— Basic armor
Notes:
A properly dressed adventurer is less suspicious.
A properly equipped adventurer is less embarrassing.
Optional Bonus:
Have fun.
I stared at the last line.
Of course he had added that.
Then I checked the Narrative Avatar timer.
Still plenty.
A lot, actually.
Good.
That meant I could afford to be inefficient on purpose, which in turn meant I could afford to enjoy things slightly.
I looked back at the board and let my gaze settle on the D-Rank section.
There.
A posted request marked with a darker border and three red active-stamps.
D-Rank Active Subjugation
Quest No. D-47
Region: Gloamwood Outer Route
Objective: Hunt and eliminate the active Shadowfang pack disrupting night traffic between Drakenshade and the western crossings.
Threat Level: D-Rank
Notes: Multiple recent sightings. Pack behavior growing more aggressive. Good payout. Priority recognized.
Good.
A real combat quest.
Active.
Higher than the rest I could legally take.
And likely to rank me faster if completed cleanly.
Interesting enough.
Thalia followed my gaze and read it too.
"The wolf pack."
"Yes."
"That's the one?"
"Yes."
She glanced at me.
"You decided fast."
"It's the highest one I can take. It's active. It ranks quickly. And it's not boring."
She accepted that faster than I expected.
Interesting.
Then I looked again at the quest update.
Weapon. Potions. Armor.
I sighed.
Thalia caught it.
"What?"
"Preparation."
That made her suspicious immediately.
"What kind of preparation?"
"The annoying kind."
Kaediel chose that moment to become useful out loud in my head.
"You need a weapon."
"I know."
"And potions."
"I know."
"And armor."
"That one is unnecessary."
"It would be fun."
I paused.
There it was.
That little slip again.
Not mine.
His.
Kaediel's emotions always had a way of bleeding through the system language when he stopped pretending not to care.
Fun.
That was not a tactical requirement.
That was him wanting to watch me play along with the ritual of becoming an adventurer properly.
Interesting.
Annoying.
A little charming.
I looked at Thalia.
"We need to shop."
She blinked.
"For what?"
"A weapon first."
"You don't have one?"
"Not one I plan to introduce to the guild formally."
That answer, while true, was not the whole truth.
I knew it.
Kaediel knew it too.
Any ordinary weapon I bought would not last long once I actually used it seriously. The steel would fail. The shape would fail. The world would remind itself that my hands were not designed for respecting standard craftsmanship.
But for now?
I needed something the guild would recognize.
Something normal enough to carry through the city without the room trying to decide I was a problem.
Thalia was still looking at me.
"Then potions," I said.
"For you?"
"No."
That got her attention immediately.
I went on.
"Health potions. Mana potions. Basic field stock."
"You don't need either."
"I know."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Then why buy them?"
"Because you might use them."
That quieted her for a second.
Good.
Then she asked, carefully, "And armor?"
That one I actually paused on.
Because I really did not need armor.
Not in any meaningful sense.
No mundane piece of metal, leather, or layered cloth was going to save me from anything that mattered. If something could breach me seriously, guild-bought armor was not going to be the deciding factor.
Kaediel's answer came before I had to make one myself.
"It would be fun."
I closed my eyes for one second.
Then opened them again.
"It would be fun," I said aloud.
Thalia stared.
"You are buying armor," she said slowly, "because it would be fun."
"Yes."
"That is the worst reason I have ever heard."
"No," I said. "It's the most honest one."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but couldn't find a proper angle against that without sounding less honest than I was being.
Excellent.
Also, and more annoyingly—
I could feel it.
Deep down.
The quest itself was kind of fun.
The checklist. The preparation. The ridiculous normality of it. Buying a first weapon. Potions. Armor. Standing in a guildhall deciding which early quest to take like I wasn't an anomaly pretending not to be one.
It was stupid.
And I liked it.
Maybe Kaediel's emotions really were slipping through the system prompts again.
Or maybe some part of me had wanted this from the beginning.
Adventure was rarely clean.
But it did have rituals.
And this—
this was one of them.
I reached toward the board, tore down the D-47 posting, and folded it once.
"Come on," I said.
Thalia looked at the paper in my hand.
"We're buying everything first?"
"Yes."
"Then claiming the quest?"
"Yes."
She exhaled through her nose.
"This is the most normal thing you've done since I met you."
"That sounds insulting."
"It should."
Fair.
I tucked the quest slip into my coat and turned away from the board.
Behind us, the guildhall continued moving—knights claiming work, adventurers forming groups, mages arguing over terrain, rangers checking routes, B-Rank guilds pretending they were too experienced to care about low-tier chaos while still listening to all of it.
Ahead of us, the outer market waited.
A first weapon.
Potions I didn't need.
Armor I had no right finding entertaining.
And somewhere underneath all of that, the faint, quiet satisfaction of finally doing this properly.
Annoying.
But real.
I started walking.
Thalia followed.
And the beginning of my first real adventurer quest finally stopped feeling theoretical.
Because now I had to go buy the costume for it.
✦The Costume Before the Hunt
We left the guildhall with my provisional adventurer ID, a folded D-Rank quest slip, and the quiet understanding that becoming an adventurer involved far more shopping than anyone made sound cool in stories.
That was unfortunate.
But not enough to stop me.
Drakenshade's market district had deepened into evening by then. Violet lanterns hung above the streets in long elegant rows, their glow spilling over dark stone and black timber fronts in soft bands of silver-purple light. Merchants called to passersby from beneath lacquered signs and hanging charms. Weapon shops and armorers sat beside bookstores, apothecaries, tea houses, and silk dealers like the city had never decided whether it wanted to become a fortress or a poem and settled for both.
I checked the quest window again.
⟦ QUEST UPDATE ⟧
Quest Title: Become Legible
Progress: 0 / 4
Remaining Objectives:
— Acquire a weapon
— Acquire health potions
— Acquire mana potions
— Acquire basic armor
Below it, in smaller lettering:
System Note: Looking the part is half the battle.
Additional Note: The other half is violence.
Kaediel sounded very pleased with himself.
"You're getting funnier."
"I was always funny."
"That's not what history says."
"History is biased."
Thalia glanced at me.
"You're doing the invisible conversation again."
"Yes."
"That can't be healthy."
"It depends who's winning."
She let out a breath through her nose that was dangerously close to laughter, then folded her arms again and looked ahead.
"Weapon first."
"Yes."
"At least we agree."
That was rare enough to be suspicious.
We stopped in front of the weaponsmith.
The sign hanging above the dark-glass storefront was forged black iron with silver lettering cut through it like a blade-strike:
Graveshade Arms
Good name.
Inside, the shop was clean, dark, and serious in the way only good weapon shops manage. Not cluttered. Not overly dramatic. Just rows of steel, racks of spears, practice blades along one wall, real ones along another, and a long polished counter with oilcloth, whetstones, and the smell of worked metal settled so deep into the air it felt permanent.
The owner looked up from behind the counter as we entered.
Older. Lean. One eye slightly clouded. Arms like he had spent half his life reminding metal it was not allowed to disagree with him.
Good.
I respected him instantly.
He looked at Thalia first.
Then at me.
Then at my face.
Then at my clothes.
Then at the provisional guild tag at my side.
"New adventurer," he said.
"Yes."
He gave the slightest nod, as if that explained why I looked expensive and under-armed at the same time.
"What kind?"
"Practical."
That earned the smallest change in his expression.
Good.
He gestured toward the side racks.
"One-handed blades to the right. Knight swords, mercenary longswords, city steel, patrol-grade, and field-use stock." His good eye narrowed slightly. "If you want decorative nonsense, leave now."
"I don't."
"Good."
I liked him more.
Thalia stepped closer to the rack with me, gaze scanning the weapons in quick, informed passes.
She said quietly, "You're really doing this."
"Yes."
"You could still just use Mana Edge."
"That conversation already ended."
"It can begin again."
"It won't improve."
She gave me a sidelong look.
"Convince me."
I reached for one of the blades and tested the weight.
Knight sword.
Standard length. Balanced enough. Dark-steel finish. No excessive ornamentation. A fuller down the center, leather-wrapped grip, practical guard.
Fine.
I set it back and answered her anyway.
"Mana Edge is useful," I said. "That doesn't mean I want to use it every time I need a blade."
"Because of appearances."
"Partly."
"Still."
I glanced at her.
"If I summon a weapon every time I draw, I become memorable in the wrong way." I ran my fingers lightly over the grip of another sword. "Also, Mana Edge is still active shaping. Sustained output. Controlled form. That's fine in a fight." I looked at the rack. "Less fine when I want the public to believe I function like a person."
Thalia's mouth twitched faintly.
"That sounds almost reasonable."
"It is reasonable."
"You say that like it surprises you."
"It disappoints me."
That actually earned a quiet laugh from the weaponsmith.
He did not interrupt.
Good man.
I drew the third sword.
That one felt better.
Less polished. More honest. A little heavier through the first third of the blade, but with enough discipline in the forging that it still moved cleanly in the hand. It was not noble steel. It was not special. It was not pretending to be anything it wasn't.
A knight sword.
A real one.
Good.
I tested two short motions. One diagonal line. One recovery. One change in grip.
Acceptable.
Thalia watched.
"Well?"
I looked at the blade.
Then, quietly enough that only she could hear:
"Maybe eleven serious strikes."
She blinked.
"What?"
"Against something that actually matters," I said. "Maybe eleven before the edge alignment starts regretting me."
She stared at the sword.
Then at me.
Then at the sword again.
"That is deeply unfair to the sword."
"Yes."
She folded her arms again.
"Then why buy it?"
I looked down at the steel in my hand.
Then, annoyingly, another thought occurred to me.
I had a Tower.
A real one.
A treasury too.
And buried somewhere in that treasury there was likely a weapon of much higher grade than this. Mythic perhaps. Possibly Divine-tier. Perhaps even something I myself had once decided should exist and then forgotten because younger versions of me had terrible boundaries when designing loot.
Interesting.
Tempting.
Still—
I slid the sword back into its sheath.
Because that was not the point.
Not here.
Not yet.
I turned back to the weaponsmith.
"I'll take this one."
He nodded once.
"Good choice. Patrol-grade knight steel. Holds a line better than it looks."
Thalia muttered under her breath, "For eleven strikes."
The weaponsmith glanced at her.
I did not explain.
He wrapped the sword, but I stopped him.
"No need."
That earned me another measuring look.
"You want to wear it out?"
"Yes."
He handed it over. I paid.
And the system updated immediately.
⟦ QUEST UPDATE ⟧
Acquire a weapon — Complete
Progress: 1 / 4
Remaining Objectives:
— Acquire health potions
— Acquire mana potions
— Acquire basic armor
System Note: Excellent. You are now legally sharper.
Kaediel sounded delighted.
"That's one."
"I can count."
"I'm encouraging you."
"That's worse."
With the sword now at my hip, we stepped back into the street.
Thalia looked at it once as we walked.
"You really bought a normal one."
"Yes."
"That almost feels more suspicious than if you had bought something dramatic."
"Then it's working."
"I hate that I understand what you mean."
The armor shop was three streets over, positioned between a leatherworker and a tailor whose window display was trying very hard to look richer than the neighborhood deserved.
The sign above the armorer's door read:
Noctveil Harness & Plate
Good.
Inside, the shop was warmer than the weaponsmith's, lit by lower golden lamps that caught on polished buckles, dark leather, fitted breastplates, layered travel coats with hidden reinforcement, and racks of armor clearly made for actual use rather than parade-ground vanity.
This place understood movement.
That mattered.
A younger woman ran the front, though "young" only in the sense that she was not old. Her eyes were too sharp for her to be merely a shopkeeper. She looked like someone who had once worn her own work into a real fight and decided surviving was better for business.
"Looking for full plate?" she asked.
"No."
"Good." She looked me over once. "You'd hate it."
Correct.
"Light armor," I said. "Something practical."
She looked at my clothes more carefully now.
That took longer.
Because my original clothing was not made for ordinary categories. Black draping cloth, asymmetry, jewelry, exposed torso line, flowing silhouette—beautiful, yes, but not exactly what most armorers wanted walking in if they valued simple measurements.
Her expression shifted.
"You want armor that works with that."
"Yes."
She pointed at me like I had finally said something intelligent enough to be worth helping.
"Good. I can work with that."
Thalia looked increasingly interested now.
Of course she did.
The armorer circled once, not touching, just assessing lines, posture, shoulder width, movement range, and the existing drape of my clothing.
Then she pulled down three different pieces, discarded two on sight, and laid the last one across the counter.
Good instincts.
It was almost exactly what I wanted.
A single-piece asymmetrical light harness-cuirass in matte black metal layered over reinforced dark underbinding. One shoulder protected by a feather-edged guard, the chest crossed diagonally by fitted plating that guarded the sternum, heart-line, and upper ribs without burying the body under dead weight. Smaller scale-like plates wrapped one side of the torso and narrowed naturally into the sash line, where it could settle into the existing drape of my clothes instead of fighting them.
Black.
Charcoal.
A faint violet undertone in the edges.
Subtle aged-gold trim.
Elegant.
Practical.
Restrained enough to pass.
Beautiful enough not to offend me.
I looked at it.
Then at her.
"This one."
She gave a small, satisfied nod.
"I thought so."
Thalia stepped closer as I put it on.
The fit was excellent.
Of course it was.
The shoulder settled properly. The chest-line held. The side scales did not restrict motion. The waist integration preserved the draped silhouette of my original outfit instead of ruining it. It looked less like armor had been added to me and more like my clothing had always intended to evolve into something battle-worthy if given permission.
Interesting.
Useful.
Annoyingly good.
I adjusted the shoulder once and rolled the arm beneath it.
Clean.
The armorer watched.
"Good mobility?"
"Yes."
"Breathing?"
"Fine."
"Weight?"
"Acceptable."
She nodded once.
"You move like someone who'd notice immediately if it wasn't."
Fair.
Then Thalia spoke.
And immediately ruined the mood in the best possible way.
She stared at me for one long second, then said:
"You look like a dark god who lost an argument and agreed to become an adventurer for tax reasons."
The armorer actually choked on a laugh.
I turned slowly to look at Thalia.
She did not back down.
Interesting.
"Tax reasons," I repeated.
"Yes."
"That is the image you settled on."
"It was that or 'a final boss pretending to be responsible.'"
The armorer covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking.
I looked at my reflection again.
Unfortunately, that was also accurate.
The asymmetrical light armor preserved my silhouette too well. It did not humanize me. It civilized me.
Barely.
Thalia stepped a little closer and tilted her head.
"No, actually—wait." She narrowed her eyes in faux seriousness. "You look like the kind of man women in taverns would whisper about for three weeks and then all be wrong in different ways."
That got the armorer again.
And, annoyingly—
me too.
Almost.
I adjusted the shoulder strap once more.
"That sounds inefficient."
"That sounds correct," Thalia replied.
Kaediel cut in at exactly the wrong time.
"She's being nice."
"She's being ridiculous."
"Those are not mutually exclusive."
I ignored him.
Again.
And paid for the armor.
The system updated immediately.
⟦ QUEST UPDATE ⟧
Acquire basic armor — Complete
Progress: 2 / 4
Remaining Objectives:
— Acquire health potions
— Acquire mana potions
System Note: Excellent. Now you look legally difficult to kill.
Kaediel added, far too smugly:
"And stylish."
"That part was already true."
"Not with paperwork involved."
Fair.
We left the armor shop and moved deeper into the market again, this time toward the apothecary quarter where the lights shifted greener and blue glass hung in layered rows outside the windows.
The potion shop's sign was painted across dark lacquered wood in curling silver script:
Witchglass Remedies
Of course it was.
Inside, the air smelled of herbs, alcohol, dried roots, floral oils, glass, and mana residue. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with small corked bottles, tagged mixtures, salves, powders, and tightly organized chemical optimism.
The man behind the counter looked exactly like someone who trusted measurements more than people.
Good.
I trusted him already.
"Health and mana," I said.
He nodded.
"Standard, travel, or field-strength?"
"Standard."
Thalia looked at me.
"You really don't need these."
"I know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it remains true."
The apothecary, wisely, did not comment on our dynamic.
I bought health potions first.
Two.
Bright red, clean glass, practical size.
Thalia noticed the number.
"Only two?"
"For now."
"You think I'll need them?"
"I think buying twelve would insult the fiction."
She almost smiled at that.
Almost.
The system updated.
⟦ QUEST UPDATE ⟧
Acquire health potions — Complete
Progress: 3 / 4
Remaining Objective:
— Acquire mana potions
System Note: Very good. Now you can bleed more responsibly.
Kaediel sounded immensely proud of himself.
"This quest text is getting worse."
"It's getting memorable."
"No, it's getting you."
"Same thing."
Then I bought mana potions.
Two again.
Blue.
Clear.
Almost decorative, considering I had no real need for them at all.
Thalia watched me set the coins down.
"You truly do not need those."
"No."
"Then why buy them?"
I looked at the bottles.
Then at her.
"Because I'm an adventurer now."
That made her pause.
Which was fair.
It was not a practical answer.
It was, however, correct.
The system window opened again the moment the potions were handed over.
⟦ QUEST UPDATE ⟧
Acquire mana potions — Complete
Progress: 4 / 4
Preparation Cycle Complete
Bonus Conditions Met:
— Weapon acquired
— Armor acquired
— Health potions acquired
— Mana potions acquired
— Look achieved
Reward:
— Adventurer readiness validated
— Personal satisfaction: minor
— Kaediel's approval: annoying amount
Then a final line appeared below it:
Next Objective: Complete your first guild quest.
Kaediel sounded almost unbearably pleased.
"Well done."
"That sounded sincere."
"It was."
"That's suspicious."
"You had fun."
I said nothing.
Which was answer enough.
Because he was right.
The sword at my hip was ordinary.
The armor on my body was practical and beautiful.
The potions in my satchel were unnecessary in all the right ways.
And somewhere in the middle of all that irritating normality, I had enjoyed myself.
Maybe it was his emotions slipping through again.
Maybe it was mine.
Either way, it was tolerable.
We stepped back out into the market, evening fully settled over Drakenshade now. Violet lanternlight rippled over the stone streets. The city had become all sharp silhouettes, glowing windows, dark silk shadows, and moving steel.
Thalia glanced at the new sword at my side, then at the armor, then at the potion satchel.
"You really committed."
"Yes."
"To the role."
"Yes."
She studied me for another second.
Then said, with a tone far too neutral to be innocent:
"You still look like a final boss trying very hard to pass as a reasonable adventurer."
I looked at her.
"That was nearly the same joke."
"Yes," she said. "I refined it."
Interesting.
We turned back toward the guildhall district, the quest slip still folded inside my coat.
Shadowfang pack.
D-Rank active subjugation.
A simple first job.
Or simple enough.
Good.
That was what beginnings were supposed to look like.
I rested one hand lightly near the hilt of the knight sword as we walked.
Eleven serious strikes, maybe.
Twelve if I was generous to the steel.
After that, it would probably remember I was holding it and fail with dignity.
Fine.
If it broke, it broke.
And if I got tired of pretending later—
well.
I had a Tower.
And buried somewhere in its treasury there was very likely a blade worth unsheathing properly.
Maybe even a Divine-tier one.
Interesting thought.
Not for tonight.
Tonight, I had a normal sword.
Normal armor.
Normal potions.
A provisional guild ID.
And a first quest waiting.
That was enough.
More than enough, actually.
Because tomorrow, I would stop shopping.
And start hunting.