I stepped through the massive, wide-open doors of the Adventurer's Guild, leaving the bright morning sun behind for the rowdy expanse of the main hall.
The air inside was thick, smelling heavily of stale ale, sweat, and oiled leather.
I took a quick look around, mapping the layout as I walked. To my right sat a sprawling tavern area packed with adventurers slamming tankards onto wooden tables.
To my left was a designated waiting area filled with battered couches.
And straight ahead, at the far end of the massive hall, stretched a long row of official counters for Reception, Quest Advisory, and Registration, flanked by massive wooden pinboards completely plastered in overlapping bounty posters.
The crowd was a mix, but the hierarchy was blatantly obvious. While heavily armoured men made up a good chunk of the room, they generally kept their heads down or stuck to the edges of the tables, letting their female counterparts take up the space, while the women operated with unapologetic absolute confidence, knowing they were the absolute apex predators.
And the moment I stepped fully into the hall, their heads snapped in my direction.
Conversations trailed off, tankards stopped halfway to mouths, and dozens of scarred, heavily armed women turned to stare.
A massive orc woman at the nearest table let out a low, filthy whistle, leaning back in her chair and blatantly tracking my legs as I walked. A few human women at the bar shamelessly nudged each other, pointing at my chest and grinning like wolves looking at a prime piece of meat.
[If I were a hot woman back on Earth walking into a biker bar, this is exactly what it would look like…] I thought, finding the absolute lack of subtlety highly amusing.
I ignored the stares stripping me naked and kept my expression entirely neutral as I walked toward the registration counter.
And as I did, my mind shifted away from the audience and toward the actual logistics of taking on quests.
[I probably shouldn't be throwing Demon Fire around in front of a room full of adventurers.]
It was just basic common sense. Announcing I was a literal demon to the world right out of the gate was a terrible idea, at least not until I sat down with Hana and actually learned how the demonic side of this society operated.
I needed a cover before I started working, something completely normal.
Normal fire made the most sense. It would serve as a perfect public disguise, and whatever elemental mastery I learned with it should naturally transfer over to my Demon Fire anyway.
Still walking toward the far end of the hall, I mentally pulled up the System's Shop interface and typed 'Fire Affinity' directly into the search bar. The screen flickered, dropping a clean prompt right in my line of sight.
-Ding!
{
Affinity: Fire (Common)
Description: Grants the host a fundamental connection to the element of Fire. Allows for the generation, manipulation, and shaping of standard flames.
Price: 10,000 Lusty Nibbles
}
I checked my current balance of 12,572 nibbles, feeling a slight twinge of annoyance at how fast the currency was about to drain, before mentally confirming the purchase without breaking my stride.
A sudden, intense warmth bloomed in the center of my chest, settling deep into my very soul as a new, fundamental understanding of magic anchored itself in my mind.
I dismissed the blue screen just as I came to a stop in front of the registration counter.
The woman behind the counter of the Registration counter was a feline beastkin, sporting a pair of sleek, black panther ears that twitched atop her dark hair and a long tail that flicked lazily behind her chair.
She looked thoroughly bored, mindlessly stamping a stack of papers, right up until I stepped into her airspace.
Her golden eyes snapped up, widening slightly as she took in my face, her gaze dropping to my chest before lingering on the hilt of my new long-knife, and well…
Her nose twitched, catching the pleasantly intoxicating scent that hung around me, while the bored, professional mask instantly melted away, replaced by a highly attentive, welcoming smile.
"Hey there, I want to register…" I said, with an innocent smile, even adding a little side-ways tilt to my head.
She blinked, shaking her head slightly as if to clear a pleasant fog before sliding a blank sheet of parchment and a charcoal pencil across the wood.
"R-right! Registration. Just fill in your basic details here." She giggled, tapping a clear crystal set into a brass pedestal on the counter. "And once you're done, you'll need to squeeze a drop of blood onto the surveyor stone and push a tiny bit of your mana into it."
I picked up the pencil, arching an eyebrow. "Blood and mana?"
"It records your unique mana frequency," she explained, her voice taking on a rehearsed, bureaucratic tone, though her eyes kept dropping to my lips. "… The stone compares your frequency against all existing government records across the continent. If you match a previous record, you have to provide your old identification. If the stone doesn't recognize you, we assume you're a fresh face, and whatever details you write on that paper become your new, official, and legal identity."
[Huh… interesting. If I can spoof that frequency…] I thought, suppressing a smirk as I bent over the paper.
I quickly scribbled down my name and firmly wrote 'Human' in the race category. Under affinities, I just jotted down 'Fire.'
Setting the pencil down, I drew my new abyssal steel knife, pricking the tip of my index finger before dropping a drop of blood on the surveyor stone. Pressing the same finger against it, I focused on the warmth in my chest, pushing a tiny fraction of my newly acquired MP into the crystal.
The stone flared with a brief, bright white light before fading back to a dull, transparent glass. No alarms blared, and no red flags popped up. To this world's database, I was a complete ghost.
A soft click echoed from the brass pedestal before a rectangular metal card slid smoothly out of a narrow slot at the base. A complex rune flared brightly on the surface of the metal for a split second, rapidly cooling until it looked like a permanently etched symbol.
The panther woman picked up the metal card and gestured at the rune. "Your mana fingerprint is now tied to this specific card. To prove your identity to guards, merchants, or quest givers, you just flow a tiny bit of mana into the metal. If you are the true owner, the etched rune will glow green."
She set the card into a small wooden tray alongside my filled-out form. "I need to send this to the scribes in the back so they can officially imprint your written details onto your Adventurer's Card. It usually takes about fifteen to twenty minutes."
She offered a highly predatory smile, leaning slightly over the counter to give me a better view of her cleavage. "Please wait a bit… I'll call you shortly."
"Will do," I nodded, pushing off the counter.
Instead of heading for the battered couches in the waiting area, I turned right, walking straight into the thick of the attached tavern. I ignored the lingering stares, navigating past a few tables filled with rowdy adventurers before pulling out a wobbly wooden stool at the main bar.
I settled into the seat, resting my forearms on a long table. A burly dwarven woman polishing a mug behind the counter caught my eye, offering a completely shameless wink.
And just as I was opening my mouth to ask if they brewed actual coffee in this world, a heavy, scarred hand slammed onto the bar top right next to my arm.
I didn't even flinch, slowly turning my head to the side.
Three women had swaggered up and effectively boxed me in against the counter. They looked exactly like the classic, ragged veteran adventurers who hung around to prey on newbies. Their armor was chipped, their gear looked unwashed, and their fragile egos were practically bleeding into the air.
The one who slammed the counter was a towering Amazonian, her leather chest piece riding low to show off a scar. To her left stood a wiry human ranger casually picking her nails with a throwing knife, while a scaly lizardkin woman leaned in on her right, her slit eyes trailing over my neck as she licked her lips.
"Well, well, well…" the Amazonian purred, her eyes blatantly raking up and down my torso with a filthy, predatory grin. "You look a little lost, handsome. A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be wandering the dungeon alone, you know… Need some experienced veterans to show you the ropes?"
It was the most painfully cliché setup in fantasy history. The sleazy, overconfident veterans are trying to coerce the pretty new adventurer into their party with intentions so obvious that even a child would figure them out. The only difference was the flipped script.
Looking between the three grinning women, I couldn't help but let out a long sigh.
[Here we go.]