《The Cursed Realms》 Prologue
Sunhold, 3rd of Reaper¡¯s Moon, Year 1047 V.E. (Vaeltharian Era) The moon¡¯s pale light draped the world in a cold, silver sheen. Shadows stretched long and thin, but true darkness did not reign¡ªnot tonight. The events unfolding beneath its quiet gaze would not pass unseen. A newborn¡¯s first cry pierced the night from a shoddy hut on the outskirts of the kingdom, yet no joy followed. No cheers from the parents, no murmurs of welcome from the neighbors¡ªonly silence. Far from that hut, a man¡¯s scream rang through the throne room of the royal palace, tearing through the opulent halls. But unlike the child¡¯s wail, his agony was met with curses and fury from his killer. An obsidian blade cut through the air, its edge glinting with eerie light before burying itself deep into a one-handed man¡¯s chest. He collapsed onto the blood-drenched marble, his breath ragged, his cries of anguish swallowed by the silence of the dead surrounding him. Life drained from his body, his voice fading to a whimper. But his killer was not yet satisfied. The blade rose and fell in a merciless rhythm, carving flesh from bone until what remained was nothing more than mangled ruin. Only when the fury had burned itself out did the attacker release the weapon, letting it clatter to the floor. The moonlight revealed the killer at last. It was a woman who stood over the carnage, her short black hair matted with sweat and blood. Her face, marred with scars, was devoid of expression. She was the youngest princess of the Agensal Kingdom¡ªknown to the people as the Benevolent Princess. But there was no benevolence in her at this moment. Tears mingled with the blood streaking her face, but Catherine dut Agensal felt nothing. No grief, no regret¡ªonly a hollow ache where those emotions should have been. She gazed at the lifeless body of her brother, his form twisted and broken, the warmth fading from his once-commanding presence as a powerful shardkin. Was it always meant to end this way? Slowly, she turned her gaze toward the throne. It loomed before her, bathed in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through shattered stained glass near the ceiling. Gold, encrusted with rubies, emeralds, sapphires¡ªand Solarite, the rarest of all¡ªwhich pulsed faintly with a pinkish-white glow even in the dim surrounding. A symbol of power, of divine right. But to her, it was nothing more than a gilded curse. A seat of ruin built atop the corpses of those who once swore loyalty to it. A throne of broken oaths and sundered alliances. And she had become its final sacrifice. She moved forward, her steps steady, heedless of her brother¡¯s royal guards¡¯ corpses sprawled across the chamber. Her soldiers¡ªthe Black Oath¡ªhad already withdrawn like the shadows they were, their duty fulfilled. The throne room belonged only to her now¡ªher and the last remnant of the House of Agensal. Her brother had been the King¡¯s Regent, a ruler in all but name. Bound by the laws of their bloodline, no soldier could deliver the killing blow to royalty without the will of the royal court. That burden had fallen upon her. The last of her house. Her fingers twitched, still slick with his blood. So this is what it means to rule. As she neared the throne, Catherine Dut Agensal¡¯s vision blurred, not from tears, but from the weight of memories. Every step forward seemed to pull her back, forcing her to relive the road that had led her here. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The Horde came first. A tide of fur, claws, and steel crashing against the southern border. She still remembered the messengers, ragged and breathless, begging for reinforcements. Villages burned. Women and children slaughtered. Yet the capital stood still. Her father, ever cautious, chose to strengthen the capital¡¯s ancient walls rather than march to war. He had thought to delay them as much as possible until reinforcements came from the neighboring two kingdoms of the northern region. We could have saved them, she thought grimly, the bitter taste of failure lingering in her mouth. But no aid came. The allied kingdoms, bound by treaties and sworn oaths, sent nothing but hollow words. She had read those letters herself, filled with empty reassurances. Then the siege¡ªan endless nightmare of hunger and disease. The ancient walls held, but the city withered. The beastmen suffered, too. Their camps, sprawled over the marshy outskirts, became breeding grounds for plague. The stench of rotting bodies, human and beast alike, lingered in the air. And then, betrayal. Duke Maximilian, the Coastal Duke, the man who controlled the kingdom¡¯s fleets, turned his banners. His defection cut off their last hope of retreat by sea. But it was her brother, Osoric, who struck the deepest wound. Father should have seen it coming, she thought, but perhaps she should have as well. Blinded by jealousy, the second prince allied with Maximilian, taking the Duke¡¯s daughter as his wife. He saw his elder brother, the crown prince, as an obstacle. His father as a relic. The king, her father, was the first to die. Then Maric Dut Agensal, her elder brother, the rightful heir. The king¡¯s body was barely cold before Osoric declared himself Regent. What followed was suffering. Wars bled the treasury dry. His reckless taxes crushed the people. Even basic grains became luxuries. Then the riots began. And he answered with executions. She still remembered the sight¡ªwhole families hanging from the city gates, their bodies left to rot as a warning. Catherine had watched. She had waited. She had been nothing to them¡ªa princess with no claim, no power, no army. But she still had something they had lost. Loyalty. The Black Oath, the Crown¡¯s silent protectors¡ªunknown even to the king himself¡ªhad stood with her when no one else would. In the shadows, they guided her first moves. She reclaimed what was stolen, not with ink and whispers alone, but with blood and steel. Storehouses were seized. Noble strongholds fell in the dead of night. Merchants who hoarded grain, whether out of greed or fear, met the same fate. It no longer mattered. What mattered was that the people followed her. What mattered was that, in the end, she stood here¡ªat the throne, with her brother¡¯s lifeless body cooling at her feet. And that the Coastal Duke fled with half his fleet¡ªhis kin left behind to face execution by hanging for his betrayal. At least, that was the belief of the masses. She let out a slow breath and lowered herself onto the gilded seat. The ancient carvings of the throne dug into her back, still warm with the blood that had splattered across it. The golden seat, once imposing, now felt hollow beneath her, yet it still held the power above all in the kingdom. She would wield that power, not as a ruler basking in its glow, but as a blade carving a future from the ruin left behind. If blood was the price, she would pay it. If fire was needed, she would set the world alight. Mercy had no place in what was to come¡ªonly resolve. Whatever it took, whatever it cost, Agensal would rise anew. Outside, the moon faded behind the clouds, darkness swallowing the room, but the bloody princess¡¯s eyes still glinted sharply. Far away, in that shoddy house, the baby¡¯s eyes glinted as well. The night had given birth to two who would later shape the mortal realms¡ªone from blood and treachery, the other from the womb¡ªalmost at the same time, as if fate itself had decreed it.
Chapter 1 : A Crippled Hunt
Shieldday, 23th of Verdantcrest, Year 1064 V.E. (Vaeltharian Era) Asherean stared ahead as the monsters moved one after another, their long arms with sharp claws at the end scraping against the soil¡ªinto a cave that was slightly protruded. He was covered in mud that was mostly dried while hiding behind a wide tree, diagonal to the cave. The last monster halted at the threshold, turning its head from side to side before stepping to the edge of the cave mouth and dropping onto the ground. I certainly didn''t expect a monster to stand watch. These creatures were unlike anything he had encountered before. It seems they migrated recently from the inner regions of the Trygar forest. According to the guild information log that he has acquired, these monsters are called Beraels. Some adventurer who ventured deep into the forest once logged the information into the guild information log. It says; Two-legged¡ªThick brown furred¡ªHave knife-like black claws with long, thick arms. Like a gorilla, he mused. But brown¡ªand far more monstrous. He counted five of them entering the cave, but there could be more inside. Their sheer muscle mass and razor-sharp claws made them formidable. Outnumbered and alone, he had only one option that is to do it in the hunter''s path. Setting a trap and killing them all, but he needed time to gather more information about their movements and their exact numbers. The quest time limit was exactly two weeks (10 days). It''s already been two days since he reached this place and found their hideout by following them from a distance caked in mud to mask his scent. So, he has eight more days. A bit excessive but more than enough, Asherean thought in a confident manner befitting of a high iron-rank adventurer. He waited three more hours, watching as the sentry remained at its post¡ªuntil another Berael barked from within the cave, calling it inside. Silence followed, settling over the forest. The rustling leaves and distant chirps of unseen birds were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the early evening. Two more hours passed before another berael emerged. This one was shorter but stockier, with a longer mane of thick brown fur. Like the first, it similarly stood watch. It''s still unnerving to watch man-eating monsters behave like humans, Asherean thought, unease prickling at the back of his mind. Asherean lingered for another hour before silently retreating the way he came. It took a quarter-hour to reach his impromptu camp, which is just a big tree called Ironwood Tree¡ªa dense, dark-barked tree with a faint metallic scent. It''s leaves produce natural oils that repel most beasts and monsters, similar to how certain plants detered insects. It''s slightly uncomfortable to sleep with the scent, but it''s quite a bargain for protection against monsters. After settling onto a wide branch, Asherean retrieved a mattress from his rucksack he had left there earlier before leaving to scout the beraels¡ªand secured it tightly to keep it from slipping while he slept. Seated on the mattress, he rummaged through his sack for a papyrus scroll. Finding it inside a small wooden box, along with a thin charcoal stick, he began recording the Beraels¡¯ features and behaviors¡ªtheir clever hunting tactics, their use of sentries, and other notable observations. One of the guidelines of the Adventurer''s Guild dictates that when encountering new species of monsters, it is imperative that the Adventurers collect and provide valuable information to the guild and there''s also additional reward for doing so. After completing the description, he neatly folded and secured it into the wooden box, which went into the rucksack. After doing all of those, he sat down on his back on the tied-up mattress and looked longingly at the night sky, which he couldn''t describe in words and was so much more different from where he was from. The sky stretched vast, and the unfamiliar stars burned bright, untouched by pollution or haze. Some shone in eerie blues and silvers, while others flickered red like embers. A full moon hung in the sky¡ªits light was cool and steady, casting a faint silver sheen over the land. Its surface, marked with deep scars and ridges, hinted at ancient impacts, yet it glowed softly against the endless dark. Ah, I''m getting poetic. He exhaled, shaking off the thought before it could settle. It wasn''t that he couldn''t accept the fact he was somehow reborn in this new world, but the sheer incredulity of it still sent shivers through him. The memories of his previous life that he recollected bit by bit during his early age confused him many times, but it all crashed down when he was about ten years old. At that time, For two weeks, he remained holed up inside his family¡¯s newly built home (through the government scheme of the Agensal Queen). His parents, worried and superstitious, assumed someone jealous of his looks had cursed him. In response, they gave him a so-called remedy, a tonic that left him with nothing but a dreadful stomachache. Thinking about that memory still made him chukle. Anyway, he genuinely liked this new life, though many aspects of the world remained bizarre. One of the strangest was the Fogwall¡ªa colossal fog barrier stretching across the entire northern reaches of the continents of Vaeltharia and Nrela, even extending into the surrounding seas. He knew this because the Agensal Kingdom lay in the northeastern part of Vaeltharia, with the Fogwalls looming just beyond its northern border. Though the area was under military control by Agensal¡¯s reserve forces, he had glimpsed the barrier from a distance. A towering mass of black fog made up of swirling darkness, stretching endlessly like a wall. Something about it felt deeply, fundamentally wrong. He pushed the thought aside, forcing his mind onto more mundane things. The monsters in this world were also vastly different from those in his past life. Many had humanoid shapes, which was strange. In his two years of adventuring, he had hunted all kinds of creatures, both two-legged and four-legged¡ªbut mostly the former. Maybe if I could find a bestiary on them somewhere, I could figure it out. Life here had become fairly simple for him. Wake up, take on quests¡ªmostly hunting monsters¡ªcollect proof of his kills, and get paid. He was also somewhat well-off for a middling adventurer, having avoided wasting money on booze or other indulgences¡ªmostly. He also needed to visit his parents after this quest. It had been over a month. They¡¯d be crying all over me if I didn¡¯t return. Better go before that happens. Sleep overcame him gradually, and before he realized it, he was sound asleep.
Asherean woke to the sounds of birds calling in the distance, their chirps and cries signaling the start of another day. Blinking away sleep, he sat up, stretched his limbs, and instinctively scanned his surroundings. The forest remained still, save for the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. Satisfied that nothing had crept too close during the night, he checked his rucksack, ensuring everything was in place.
After taking a few measured sips from his leather water container, he made his way to a nearby stream. The cool morning air carried the faint scent of damp earth as he approached the water¡¯s edge. Crouching down, he washed his face, letting the crisp water refresh him before tending to his morning needs. Once finished, he scooped up a handful of moist mud and applied it over the dried, cracked mud layer on his skin. This practice had become second nature to him¡ªmasking his scent and blending in with the terrain were crucial for staying undetected. The mud clung coldly at first but soon dried, forming an uneven coat over his exposed skin. With preparations complete, he set off toward the Beraels¡¯ cave, his movements careful and calculated. The day ahead would be long. From dawn to dusk, Asherean observed the creatures, hidden beneath thick foliage or crouched behind sturdy tree trunks as he followed their movements. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. He noted how they emerged from their cave, their heavy footsteps pressing deep into the earth. Unlike the more mindless monsters he had hunted before, these creatures displayed caution, moving in coordinated pairs and using guttural sounds to communicate. The sentries rotated frequently, ensuring there was always at least one standing guard. Despite their intimidating size, they rarely strayed far from the cave. he had also witnessed them tearing into the remains of a long-dead animal¡ªone far past fresh, something most predators would avoid. Unlike the aggressive, roaming beasts of the wild, these creatures seemed to be lazier or perhaps more territorial. That didn¡¯t align with what the guild¡¯s information log stated¡ªreports claimed they preyed on travelers along the dirt road connecting town of Erstonia with several villages and towns. Had something changed recently? By the time he returned to his camp, the sky was streaked with fading hues of orange and purple. Exhausted but satisfied, he noted down his findings on the papyrus, carefully storing it in the wooden box. With that done, he lay back on his mattress, gazing at the familiar stars, allowing his thoughts to drift like they always did.
The next day unfolded much the same. However, this time, Asherean confirmed their total numbers¡ªsix fully grown Beraels and two smaller ones. He also learned that they rarely hunted in the morning and preferred to remain close to their cave for most of the day. That meant their attacks on villagers and merchants happened in the evenings or due to some reason, they avoid to move far away from their cave. Either way, with all these knowledge, a plan began to take shape in his mind. Simple and effective. A slow, confident smile tugged at his lips as he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep with the certainty that by tomorrow, these monsters would be dead.
The third day began for Asherean in much the same way as the previous ones. After checking his surroundings, ensuring no unwanted visitors had disturbed his camp, he methodically applied a fresh layer of damp mud over his skin. The dried, cracked remnants from the day before flaked away as he worked, refreshing his camouflage. Satisfied that his scent was masked, he made his way back to camp, retrieving two crudely made vials filled with a thick yellow-white liquid from his rucksack. He tucked them securely into his pocket, ensuring they wouldn''t break, then fastened the rucksack tightly against the tree branch with a rope. Another length of rope was secured around his waist before he set off, this time in a slightly different direction from the cave. Moving through the undergrowth with practiced ease, Asherean scanned the ground for signs of movement, searching for tracks left by Eryndor Stags. These creatures were abundant in the region, favoring the lush pastures that stretched between the dense forests. It wasn¡¯t long before he found what he was looking for¡ªa series of hoofprints pressed into the damp earth. Still fresh. Following the tracks with silent precision, he soon heard the distant bleating of deer. Slowing his pace, he crept forward until the herd came into view. They were grazing, their heads dipping and rising as they remained ever watchful for danger. Their sleek bodies, built for bursts of speed, were well-adapted to avoiding predators. But endurance was not their strength¡ªsomething he would use sometimes to his advantage depending on the situation. Drawing a small pouch from his belt, he extracted a handful of ripe, fragrant fruits. Slipping a few ripe fruits from his pouch, he scattered them along a narrow pathway leading deeper into the underbrush. Then, crouching low, he waited. Minutes passed. Then, one stag, larger than the others, lifted its head, nostrils flaring at the scent of the fruit. Cautiously, it stepped forward, then another followed. Soon, two of them were completely isolated from the rest of the herd. Now. The moment they lowered their heads to feed, Asherean struck. He moved swiftly, his blade flashing in the dappled morning light. The first stag barely had time to react before his sword pierced its throat, cutting off its cry before it could alert the others. The second bolted in alarm, but he was prepared¡ªlunging forward, he slashed at its hind legs, severing the tendons and bringing it crashing to the ground. A swift thrust to the heart ended its struggle. The kingdom had strict guidelines regarding hunting¡ªkilling juveniles was prohibited to maintain the population. As such, he made sure to select only mature stags. His work wasn¡¯t done yet. He needed a third one and using the same method, he patiently set up another lure. Within minutes, he had his third kill, and with it, the final piece of his plan. Tying three carcasses together with the rope he¡¯d brought, he hoisted them onto his shoulders and carried them to a thick bush, ensuring they were hidden from scavengers before proceeding with the next step. Drawing his sword once more, Asherean methodically hacked at the carcasses, ensuring blood pooled around them. Then, retrieving the vials from his pocket, he carefully uncorked them and poured the yellow-white liquid over the wounds, making sure it seeped deep into the exposed flesh. This was Repeia venom¡ªa potent paralytic extracted from highly venomous snakes. Normally, it was diluted and used to incapacitate monsters captured alive. In its pure form, it was far deadlier. To further mask the venom, he mixed the extract thoroughly with the blood using the edge of his sword, ensuring the stench of fresh meat would overpower any faint traces of poison. As a final measure, he struck the carcasses a few more times, spreading the blood further. The scent would carry, drawing the Beraels to the feast he had prepared. That should do it. He mused, satisfied After cleaning his blade against the soil, he swiftly lifted the bait and took off toward the cave. Time was short¡ªif another predator caught wind of the scent first, it could ruin everything. Near the cave¡¯s entrance, he carefully laid the carcasses on the ground, ensuring they were in clear view. Without wasting a second, he retreated to his previous hiding place¡ªbehind the wide tree. Breathing heavily from the exertion, he opened his waterskin, pouring some onto the soil and creating fresh mud. He smeared it over his body again, reinforcing his scent cover. Now, all that was left was to wait. Time stretched painfully slow. The forest remained still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. Then, after more than twenty minutes, a distant roar shattered the silence, followed by the heavy pounding of footsteps. Peering from behind the thick foliage, Asherean watched as a tall Berael emerged, flanked by two others. Their yellow eyes gleamed with hunger as they skidded to a halt near the carcasses. The lead Berael, let out a deep, guttural roar, gesturing towards the remains with a clawed hand. The other two responded in kind, grunting their understanding before hoisting the bodies onto their shoulders. Without hesitation, they turned and carried the poisoned meat back into the cave, the tall leading the way. Asherean let out a slow breath, only now realizing he had been holding it. Even with experience, moments like this still sent a chill down his spine. One misstep, and I¡¯d be the one being carried into that cave. An hour passed. At first, Asherean considered entering the cave to confirm whether the poison took effect¡ªbut it proved unnecessary. A strangled roar shattered the silence, followed by the unsteady shuffle of four Beraels as they staggered into view. Their movements were sluggish, their limbs faltering under the venom now coursing through their veins. It worked. Not all of them, but enough. Asherean readied his sword, adjusted his breathing manually, and waited for an opening. It happened when three of them turned towards the opposite direction, and the last one crouched down, vomiting down the soil. He shot forward like an arrow. Before the first one could react, his blade drove straight through its throat. A sharp gurgle, then silence. Asherean withdrew his sword with a slick schlick and immediately pivoted, driving the tip into the eye socket of the second Berael. The third one managed to lash out, claws swiping toward his chest. He barely dodged, the wind of the strike brushing against his cheek. He tried to strike again¡ªaiming for the eyes or neck¡ªbut this one was smarter, raising its arms defensively and refusing to give him an opening. It¡¯s buying time for reinforcements. He could already hear shouts from within the cave. Changing tactics, he feinted toward his opponent before abruptly shifting his aim. Instead of attacking the defensive Berael, he lunged at the crouched one still retching on the ground. The standing Berael made a critical mistake¡ªit reacted, swinging its claws in a diagonal arc toward Asherean¡¯s chest. He ducked just in time, using the opening to thrust his sword into its abdomen. Twisting the blade, he drove it deeper, ensuring a fatal wound. The Berael fell to its knees, clutching at its spilling entrails, and he finished it with a clean stab to the neck. The last Berael, the one still writhing on the ground, locked eyes with him. There was something in its gaze¡ªsomething almost human. Two years ago, it might have made him hesitate. But that Asherean was long gone. His blade ended it swiftly. Without wasting a second, Asherean bolted toward the cave entrance but skidded to a sudden halt. Inside, four remained. Three lay unconscious¡ªtwo smaller ones and a larger one, likely from the poison. The last one was still awake, crying out weakly in pain, dragging itself toward the others. It was not the scenario he had expected. For a brief moment, hesitation gripped him. Then, with a steeled resolve, he did what had to be done. He ended the suffering of the limping one first¡ªa swift, merciful kill. The unconscious ones followed. His hands trembled slightly as he wiped his blade. Despite his experience, despite knowing these creatures had killed innocents, something about this felt too human. The last one¡ªclearly a female¡ªhad been crying over the smaller ones before he ended her. He tightened his grip on his sword. They wouldn¡¯t have shown me mercy. They would have torn me apart without a second thought. Pushing down the gnawing thoughts, he methodically collected the claws and ears as proof of the hunt. At last, the quest was done.
Chapter 2 : A Well Earned Rest
Tillerday, 26th of Verdantcrest, Year 1064 V.E. (Vaeltharian Era) Asherean¡¯s mind was a storm of thoughts as he raced through the underbrush, his boots pressing into the damp earth with each hurried step. The evening air carried the crisp bite of approaching night, tinged with the scent of pine and wet soil, but his senses remained fixated on the weight of his actions. He had always considered himself pragmatic¡ªneither a saint nor a villain¡ªbut there were certain moments, certain choices, that unsettled even him. Those choices left a mark, no matter how steady the hand that made them. The image of the Berael mother and her young flashed in his mind, their yellow eyes wide with primal understanding just before his blade struck true. There had been no hesitation in his actions. Hesitation got people killed. Still, a flicker of something¡ªguilt, perhaps¡ªlingered in the corners of his thoughts. At least I gave them a fast death. He exhaled sharply, dismissing the thought. Within twenty minutes, he arrived at his impromptu camp. His first instinct was always caution. Slowing his pace, he crouched and scanned the area for any disturbances¡ªbroken twigs, misplaced foliage, anything that suggested an unwelcome presence. Finding nothing amiss, he made his way to the Ironwood tree and climbed with practiced ease. The sturdy branch that had served as his resting place for the past three nights creaked faintly beneath his weight. His rucksack remained where he had left it, tightly secured against the rough bark. He loosened the knot and retrieved the pack, carefully placing the emptied vials inside before adding the rope from his waist. Those vials, once filled with venomous concoctions, had been essential in tilting the odds in his favor. A quiet victory, but a necessary one. Asherean ran a gloved hand along the tree¡¯s bark, its faint metallic scent oddly familiar now. The Ironwood Tree had been his silent guardian, keeping away prowling beasts and allowing him the peace to observe and plan. He had no gods to pray to, so he muttered a quiet thanks to the tree before descending. With everything secured, he turned east, setting out on the long journey home. Valhendar, capital of the Agensal Kingdom, lay a day¡¯s journey away, and he had no intention of pushing through exhaustion. He would rest in Erstonia, the waypoint town along the route. As the evening stretched on, the dense forest gradually thinned, giving way to faintly worn paths carved by travelers before him. Asherean moved swiftly, his thoughts settling into the rhythm of the journey. The hunt was over, the mission complete. Now, it was time to return.
Asherean jogged toward the direction of the distant town, his boots kicking up dust as he left the outer reaches of the Tyrgar Forest behind. he dense canopy receded into memory, replaced by the open expanse of rolling fields and scattered shrubbery. The dirt road to Erstonia stretched ahead, winding through the lowlands like a well-worn scar. His gaze swept the horizon, quickly noting the border outpost up ahead¡ªone of several along the kingdom¡¯s frontiers. A dozen soldiers patrolled its perimeter, clad in the newly-issued khaki uniforms of the border control corps, a recent initiative born from the kingdom¡¯s ongoing military restructuring. The outpost is a utilitarian building built of weathered stones, enclosed by wooden palisades and a watchtower looming above, giving a sweeping view of the surroundings. Built as a safeguard for the nearby towns and villages, it stood as a first line of defense against the creatures that prowled the forest¡¯s edge. Such fortifications were not mere precautions¡ªthey were necessities. Tyrgar had never been tamed. Nor would it ever be, as the saying went. As Asherean approached, his eyes picked out two men conversing near the entrance. One was a rugged-looking figure with a well-kept beard, clutching a few sheets of parchment. His stance was firm, his expression calm yet attentive. This was Ol¡¯ John, as the locals of Erstonia called him¡ªthe veteran captain of the outpost, a man well-versed in the perils of the Eastern Frontier. The other man, by contrast, was of an entirely different mold. His attire was fine, a brilliant blue cloak draped over his shoulders, its fabric shimmering faintly in the fading sunlight. A polished medallion sat upon his chest, the emblem of his station clear to those who knew its meaning. A pursuivant¡ªone of the low-ranking heralds in service to some noble house, a messenger of the aristocracy. Unlike Ol¡¯ John¡¯s composed demeanor, The herald''s voice was taut with urgency, his sharp gestures slicing through the air. Even from a short distance away, Asherean caught snatches of his hurried words¡ªmention of the capital, of something that had happened there. His curiosity piqued, Asherean slowed his pace, angling closer to the two men. If news from the capital had reached even this remote corner of the kingdom, it had to be something of significance. And he intended to find out what. Ol¡¯ John was the first to spot Asherean approaching the outpost. His sharp eyes tracked the young man¡¯s steady jog along the dirt road, and after a brief exchange with the pursuivant, he lifted a hand and gestured for Asherean to come over. Asherean returned the wave before quickening his pace. By the time he reached them, his breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. Ol¡¯ John chuckled, his face creasing with amusement. ¡°Good hunt today, I hope?¡± he asked, his voice carrying the easy confidence of a man long accustomed to dangers of the Tyrgar wilds. Without waiting for an answer, he unhooked a leather waterskin from his belt and held it out. Asherean accepted it with a grateful nod, uncorking the flask and drinking deeply. Cool water rushed down his parched throat, soothing the raw burn left by exertion. He wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, exhaling as the lingering fatigue eased. As he drank, the pursuivant studied him intently, his gaze narrowing. He turned sharply to Ol¡¯ John, his tone laced with intrigue. ¡°So, he''s that kid¡ªAsh, was it? The one who ranked up to Iron so fast?¡± Ol¡¯ John nodded, his expression one of quiet pride. ¡°Aye. Not just that¡ªhe¡¯s the youngest to ever reach High Iron rank in the guild.¡± He cast Asherean an approving glance. ¡°Pretty impressive, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± At that, the pursuivant¡¯s demeanor shifted, his interest sharpening as he turned fully towards Asherean. ¡°Well now,¡± he said, his voice taking on a refined tone. ¡°A rare honor to meet someone of such promise. He placed a hand over the medallion on his chest, a subtle yet deliberate display of his station. ¡°I am Maxim Dut Hollenbar, in service to Viscount Marthal Dut Vistoris. One does not often hear of a man so young rising through the ranks with such speed and distinction.¡± He gave Asherean a measured look, his words oozing with an unmistakable weight of someone accustomed to looking down on commoners ¡°Young men like you¡ªdriven, capable¡ªare the sort my lord values.¡± Asherean inclined his head slightly, bowing ¡°Greetings to you as well, Sir Maxim.¡± His voice was polite but reserved, he made sure to keep his expression unreadable. Maxim studied him for a moment before letting out a quiet chuckle. ¡°Quite the measured one, aren¡¯t you? That¡¯s good. Caution and discipline are virtues, especially for those who wish to rise above the common rabble.¡± Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. He straightened, his tone turning more deliberate. ¡°Should you ever wish to align yourself with House Vistoris, do not hesitate. My lord is seeking skilled adventurers¡ªindividuals of real ability, not mere sellswords. And you, Asherean, would be welcomed as an asset, not just another blade-for-hire.¡± He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. ¡°Consider it a rare privilege. Not many are granted such an offer.¡± With that, Maxim turned back to Ol¡¯ John, his formal demeanor returning like a mask slipping into place.¡°Now, as I mentioned earlier¡ªensure that all identities are properly checked before anyone departs for the forest. We cannot afford any oversights.¡± Satisfied, he gave a curt nod. ¡°Farewell.¡± Then, with the poise of a man whose business was always pressing, he strode off, his blue cloak billowing behind him. Watching the pursuivant stride away, Asherean exhaled and handed the leather waterskin back to Ol¡¯ John. He hesitated for a moment, then quietly asked, ¡°So, Captain¡­what exactly brought that fellow all the way out here?¡± Ol¡¯ John let out a gruff sigh, his expression darkening. ¡°Some kind of kidnapping in the capital,¡± he said, rubbing his chin. ¡°¡°Word is, the culprit slipped past the city¡¯s defenses and vanished. We¡¯ve been ordered to keep an eye out¡ªjust in case the bastard tries to disappear into the forest.¡± He pulled out a few parchments, unfolding them with one hand. ¡°There¡¯s not much to go on¡ªust these rough sketches of the suspect.¡± Asherean barely glanced at the parchments before his brows shot up in disbelief. ¡°You mean to say someone kidnapped a person¡­ inside the capital¡ªof all places¡ª and escaped?!¡± Ol¡¯ John sighed and nodded his head. ¡°Indeed. As absurd as it sounds, that¡¯s exactly what¡¯s written in the missive. And the pursuivant swears by it.¡± His voice carried skepticism, but there was no denying the official nature of the orders. It was absurd. The capital¡¯s security was no joke¡ªhigh walls guarded by trained sentries, watchmen stationed at every major thoroughfare, and checkpoints enforcing strict inspections. No one came or went without scrutiny, and yet, somehow, a criminal had defied all of it. Asherean¡¯s mind whirled. Either the culprit was someone with connections, someone powerful enough to bypass security¡­ or they were extraordinarily skilled. Either way, this wasn¡¯t the kind of trouble that usually spilled into the western frontier. And yet, here it was. Ol¡¯ John shrugged and turned toward the outpost entrance. ¡°Anything else besides the horse, Ash?¡± ¡°None, Mr. John.¡± With a grunt, the captain strode over to the weathered notice board near the gate, pulling a nail from his belt and pinning one of the parchments onto the splintered wood. The inked likeness of the wanted man stared back at them¡ªa crude rendering, more suggestion than detail, offering little beyond the most basic feature. His sharp, angular features were accentuated by hollow cheeks and a gaunt frame with his hair, cropped short. Without turning around, Ol¡¯ John called over his shoulder, ¡°Franklin! Fetch a steed.¡± A lanky soldier with a pronounced forehead and a hooked nose¡ªFranklin¡ªgave a sharp nod and disappeared toward the stables. Meanwhile, Asherean lingered, his conversation with the captain circling back to the abduction. Apparently, the victim was a noble¡¯s daughter, and the situation was all the more scandalous because her fianc¨¦ was the son of Viscount Vistoris. Beyond that, details were scarce, but the entire kingdom was abuzz with the news. Whispers had spread like wildfire in mere days. Not long after, Franklin returned, leading a sturdy brown horse by its reins. The beast snorted and flicked its ears, muscles rippling beneath its coat as it came to a halt. Franklin gave the reins a firm pat before holding them out. "Here you go, Young Ash," he said, his lips curling into a smile. Asherean took the reins but then, as if struck by a sudden thought, turned to Franklin with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ¡°So¡­ I hear you¡¯re getting married, brother.¡± Franklin¡¯s breath hitched. "Auhh¡ª" The poor man visibly froze, his brain short-circuiting as his face turned the color of a boiled lobster. Franklin had long been known around town as the shy, soft-spoken type¡ªhardly the sort anyone expected to be making grand romantic gestures. The fact that he was only two years older than Asherean made his embarrassment all the more entertaining. Asherean, of course, had no intention of letting such a golden opportunity go to waste. ¡°Blushing already?¡± Asherean grinned wickedly. ¡°Save some for the wedding night, eh?¡± A strangled noise escaped Franklin¡¯s throat, halfway between a sputter and an outraged gasp. ¡°You¡ª!¡± The outpost erupted into laughter. Soldiers clapped Franklin on the back, their booming guffaws only deepening his embarrassment. His face, already red, somehow grew even brighter as he spluttered, trying and failing to come up with a proper retort. "Damn, Franklin, I never thought you had it in you!" one of soldiers hooted. "Who''s the poor girl? Or did she propose to you?" "Must''ve trapped her in a barn and begged!" Before he could muster a comeback, Asherean swung onto the saddle with practiced ease and dug his heels into the horse¡¯s flank. As he galloped off, he heard Franklin¡¯s indignant shouting behind him, mixed with the raucous laughter of his comrades. "That¡¯s not¡ªI wasn¡¯t¡ª! Bloody hell, I wasn¡¯t blushing, damn it!" Shaking his head in amusement, Asherean let the cool wind wash over him, the crisp scent of the forest filling his lungs. If there was one thing he preferred about this world compared to the one he had left behind, it was the air¡ªpure, untouched, and untainted by the choking filth of pollution. With a quiet chuckle, he urged the horse onward, pressing on toward the waypoint town of Erstonia. One might expect medieval towns and cities to be filthy, reeking of unwashed bodies and streets littered with refuse. Yet, surprisingly, the settlements of this kingdom were mostly clean, with no waste strewn haphazardly along the roads. Whether this was a peculiarity of the Agensal Kingdom alone or a widespread practice across the known world, Asherean could not say¡ªhe had never traveled beyond its borders. The farthest he had ever ventured from his birthplace¡ªthe capital¡ªwas the Bastion of the Three Crowns, a formidable fortress where the three northern kingdoms met. It stood on the southernmost edge of their domain, overlooking the vast, unyielding desert plains where nomadic beastmen tribes roamed. A frontier of ceaseless skirmishes and nomad incursiona, it was a place where steel and survival often dictated law as the Bastion is a neutral city with disagreements happening frequently between the troops of the three kingdoms. He had also seen the eastern border, where the kingdom¡¯s massive coastline stretched endlessly into the horizon, teeming with marine monsters lurking beneath the waves. There, the Agensal Kingdom stationed two divisions of its army¡ªhardened veterans who waged a relentless struggle against the marine beasts that threatened their shores. Yet despite his travels, the western frontier remained the place where he had spent most of his two-year adventurer¡¯s life. And at the heart of this frontier was Erstonia, the largest waypoint town in the region. It served as a vital hub, linking smaller towns and villages to the wider kingdom, a crossroad of trade, governance, and military vigilance in the western frontier. The town is currently ruled by Baron Harlan Dut Erstonia, a man who had risen from a mere banneret knight to nobility by the decree of the Bloody Queen herself¡ªCatherine dut Agensal. His ascension was carved in blood, much like his legacy. They called him the One-Eyed Baron. Seventeen years ago, during the brutal war against the nomads, he had lost his right eye on the battlefield. His legend endured, immortalized in stone within the town library¡ªhis statue depicted him clutching his wounded eye with one hand while raising the other in a victorious fist. It was a striking image, a symbol of resilience and sacrifice. Asherean had come across the story while browsing the library¡¯s records, though his true reason for visiting had little to do with history. He sought knowledge¡ªthe kind that might unravel the mysteries of this strange, fantasy-like world and show him the path to greater power. And for that, the imperial library in the capital would be his next destination. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against packed earth brought his focus back to the present. Before long, the outskirts of Erstonia came into view, where vast farmlands stretched across the rolling landscape. Peasants moved about, finishing their work for the day¡ª some gathering tools, others tending to the last rows of vegetables. A few stragglers lingered, straightening their backs and brushing soil from their hands before making their way toward the town. The sight was a familiar one¡ª a quiet contrast to the chaos of battle and the uncertainty of his own path. And yet, in that moment, as the scent of freshly tilled earth mixed with the crisp countryside air and the occasional bark of a farm dog filling the air, Asherean felt something rare settle within him. A fleeting sense of peace. He exhaled slowly, letting the moment linger before nudging his horse onward, the dirt path leading him toward Erstonia¡¯s waiting gates.
Chapter 3 : The Town Of Erstonia
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¡ªno 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¡ªno 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¡ªhe¡¯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¡ªthe dominant faith across most of the twin continents¡ªhad 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¡ªan 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¡ªbut 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¡ªthose born with innate magical or supernatural abilities¡ªemerged 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¡ªreaping 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¡ªit 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¡ªperhaps 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¡ªour 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. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. 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¡ªa 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¡ªsome 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¡ªmore 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¡ªmany reasons made that path far less appealing than it seemed. First and foremost, only Shardkins¡ªthose blessed with inherent abilities¡ªcould 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¡ªswitching 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¡ªstarting with a well-earned night of rest.
As Asherean ventured deeper into the town, the Adventurer¡¯s Guild came into view¡ªa 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¡ªadventurers 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¡ªborder 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¡ªshe 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¡ªyou 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¡ªthe 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¡ªjust 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¡ªjust 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¡ªa 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¡ªfreshly 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¡ªmarking the end of another long, tiring day.