An old man in iron armor sat at the edge of a glistening river, resting upon a large stone, basking in the warm glow of the sun with a blade of grass sticking out of his mouth. A soft breeze tickled his curly white hair and beard, the sun’s rays gentle on his nearly blind eyes. Serenity radiated from the scene, bestowing peace upon anyone who beheld it.

“Old Bart,” Banst greeted, smiling as he approached through the tall reeds, “It’s been a while, old man.” Old Bart was the one who had taught Banst’s father the basics of swordsmanship and had attempted to do the same for Banst. However, Banst proved untalented and stiff, unable to grasp the proper forms.

“Well, if it isn’t the Lesser Faust,” Old Bart responded with a smile, revealing a single gray tooth among two rows of yellowed ones. The old man referred to Banst as "Lesser Faust" because Banst strongly resembled his late father but lacked the same level of capability.

“I haven’t seen you in a very long time.” Banst smirked, thinking back to how the old man would never leave him alone about being useless and being lesser than his late parents. Yet, strangely, he was glad to see him. Once the guild discovered Banst's lack of talent and skill, Old Bart had been the only Adventurer who bothered to spend time with him.

“Water’s changin’, youngin’,” Old Bart pointed at the shiny river, a disturbance beginning to grow at the very center, seemingly like a whirlpool forming. Old Bart’s faded eyes stared back at Banst. “It’ll take a mighty force to withstand what’s comin’, Lesser Faust, my boy. If that force cannot withstand the change, there will be only destruction in the end.”

“Old man, I don’t understand.” Banst had never heard Old Bart speak in such cryptic ways.

“Change is brewin’, youngin’. There is no escape from the chaos. All will be swept in it like a storm. There is no hidin’, there is no dealin’. All that awaits is the end.” Old Bart’s eyes turned stark white, causing Banst to take a wary step back. “Only strength, my boy — strength will see you through this. Fight until you can’t no more. Fight until your muscles fail and your bones break, and still, fight some more. Do you hear me, Banst Vale?!”

Old Bart’s voice grew into a rumbling roar like thunder striking out from storm clouds. Above, the sky had gone gray. The water of the river, which had begun to swirl, suddenly surged and grew taller than a mountain, threatening to crash down upon the riverbank where Banst stood.

“Watch out, Old Bart!” Banst shouted, reaching for the old man to take his hand.

Old Bart merely shook his head, his eyes still white as he spoke, “Change is comin’! You need to be strong, my boy. Friends fall or betray, but strength — never let that go.”

With that, the towering pillar of water suddenly fell down upon them, tearing through the riverbank and flooding the area with nine thousand hectares of water. Nothing was left untouched, as everything as far as the eye could see was submerged.

***

Banst awoke with a gasp.

The darkness of the night covered the window of Banst’s room, with the moon shining through. The city was still asleep, yet day would soon break, and society would again unleash itself, with everyone returning to the world of endless work.

Banst didn’t rise, choosing to remain seated upon the straw mattress on the floor of his room. The dream had been vivid for him. All of Banst’s senses had experienced being by a river, with its smells and constant insects buzzing around. What had struck Banst as lacking truth was Old Bart’s presence, as the old Adventurer had long since passed away. However, the message of the dream was clear to Banst.

“I need to get stronger,” Banst mumbled, his eyes alight with newfound passion. Without bothering with breakfast, Banst ran out of the Habberbatch House, covered in iron armor, heading for the training grounds of the Adventurers Guild.

The sun became high, its light uncomfortable like being too close to a fire. Noon had arrived, and Hildew City remained busy.

Sweat rained down from Banst’s face as he held his knees, his breath ragged, and his body trembling. The entire day, Banst had been relentlessly attacking the training dummy under the immersive tutelage of his soul-bound armor.

“Weakness plagues me,” Banst hissed at his own shortcomings. All Banst’s life, he had been useless and weak; even Old Bart couldn’t squeeze anything decent out of him. A blessing had come to him in the form of armor that could train him, yet his body still couldn’t keep up.

Banst was unaware of eyes from afar, peering from the shadow underneath the guild’s roof, were fixed on him. Herek’s friends had come, lurking, watching, and keeping track of the Weakest Adventurer.

“Help me move,” Banst commanded his armor and he received much needed assistance to pick up his sword to return to swinging against the dummy. There would be no quitting today, come what may.

“Change is comin’! You need to be strong, my boy.” — The words from Banst’s dream that kept surfacing in his memory compelled him onward to train without rest.

“Hail, Adventurer Banst!”

Banst spun around and lifted his sword to the throat of Fenwick, eyes gleaming through the visor of his cheap iron helmet. “Not today, Fenwick. I must train without distraction.”

“There is something I must speak to you about,” Fenwick insisted, the usual smirk upon his face missing, the sword at his throat all but ignored.

“Was I not clear about distractions?”

“Please, Banst, I need to speak to you!”

Never had Banst witnessed Fenwick as anything but playful. Seriousness contrasted too sharply with the usually wily Adventurer. But there had been a warning in Banst’s dream of friends that could betray — this might be the very moment, though they weren’t close enough to be deemed friends, he would still be wary.

However, before Banst could deny the Freeloading Adventurer, a badge was held up in Fenwick’s hand. There on the metallic surface was depicted a Deer and a star — a Deer-Ranked Adventurer badge, designed in an old way no longer used by the guild. The star was for anyone who had been a part of the Adventurers Guild for over fifty years.

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Banst knew this badge.

“Old Bart’s badge…” Banst murmured. The badge was forever etched in Banst's memory of Old Bart's taunting him with it during training, thinking the emblem would inspire Banst, but it only served as a persistent reminder of unmet expectations. The coincidence of Fenwick showing up with the badge after Banst's peculiar dream felt like more than chance—it seemed like fate.

“Fine,” Banst relented and sheathed his blade. “You have my attention and my time, Adventurer Fenwick. I will hear you out.”

“I need you to go somewhere…” Fenwick started to say.

An hour later, Fenwick approached a young noble reclining on a chaise longue in a lavish chamber, accompanied by an attractive young lady delicately offering him chocolates. Magic circles in the manor kept the entire building cool, shielding those within from the blazing sun outside and causing the interior to feel almost like the fall season.

“Hail, my lord,” Fenwick greeted Herek with a bow. “I’ve done as you asked.”

A wide smile grew on Herek’s face that made Fenwick’s stomach churn. Wiping his mouth, Herek rose from his chair. “My armor,” he called out to which servants like machines began to lock into place, each with a piece of armor, ready to equip their master.

“We shall see how Banst escapes me this time,” Herek declared, his eyes darkening. He threw a glance toward Fenwick. “If all goes well, you might be able to join the ranks of my followers, Adventurer Fenwick. Consider yourself lucky.”

Fenwick wanted to spit in his face at the offer of joining a noble’s retinue, considering how he would need to fawn over every little thing a noble did — a sickening proposition to the Freeloading Adventurer. However, none of his true emotions manifested on his face.

“But of course, my lord,” Fenwick groveled, feigning excitement as he flourished into another bow. Thinking of Banst and Herek, Fenwick could only hope he had done the right thing.

In exchange for joining his scheme, Herek had promised Fenwick freedom from oppression by Herek’s forces within the guild, along with the opportunity to be part of his inner circle. With a Wolf Rank and noble status, Herek boasted numerous connections in the kingdom. He could assist a follower in attaining affluence, allowing them to own land or gain favor with other nobility, who, in turn, offered additional perks. Success was practically guaranteed.

All Fenwick had to do was lure Banst into a trap. If Fenwick could goad Banst into being positioned at the western gate’s stables, Herek’s men would then ambush and kidnap him. Subsequently, they would cart Banst off to the Solo Trial that was previously arranged, and he would be thrown to monsters and killed. No longer would Herek and Gerad worry about being found out for murdering Durehn. Additionally, their family—Terek Vondle and Hana Winser—would have their souls rest easier, knowing that Banst, the coward who abandoned them, was put to death.

Herek and his men lay in wait behind the stables, where wagons were drawn to attach horses, some hidden inside horse stalls. Banst would need to grow an extra pair of legs and a set of wings to escape this trap.

Whispering to one of his followers, a person similarly dressed as him, Herek inquired, “Where’s Fenwick?” This follower was a clear sycophant, mirroring Herek in every aspect, even in the way he dressed.

The loyal follower answered, “The Freeloader went off back to the guild, making sure that receptionist doesn’t get second thoughts and betrays us to the guild administration table.”

“Fessi’s resolve against the Weakest Adventurer is assured. It's more likely the Freeloader is avoiding work, as always. Clever he may be, but vigorous, he is not.”

When two hours slipped by, Herek grew agitated. “Someone get me Fenwick!” he shouted. Yet, every report that came in afterward told him the same thing — Fenwick had gone into hiding. “That Freeloading whore son! I’ll see him skinned for betraying me!”

Herek nearly keeled over when additional reports came in, stating that Banst couldn’t be found inside the city. Those who were meant to keep track of his movements had been distracted by Fenwick offering them free food and ended up losing Banst while eating.

“Freeloader!” Herek screamed to the sky.

What most people in the guild did not know about the one called the “Freeloader Adventurer” was that he was a moral man. Yes, he tricked free things from whoever he could, and yes, he would rather have others do hard labor than himself. But he was by no means a murderer. When he held his Adventurer badge in his hand, he felt pride and honor. There wasn’t a world where Fenwick would be party to a plot that aimed to kill a fellow guild mate.

That wasn’t what true Adventurers did; Adventurers were supposed to be heroes — no more, no less.

On a lonely, dusty road, a wagon ambled along, a donkey pulling it with ease as its burdensome load had been sold at the market. An old man with barely any hair remaining and a thick mustache held the reins, talking amiably with the passenger who rode in the back.

“It’s always an honor to help you Adventurers,” said the wizened driver with a smile. He and his wagon smelled strongly of radishes.

“My thanks for the ride, old man,” Banst responded with a slight bow of his head. Staring ahead, the sun was setting on the horizon as darkness crept in to consume the world and bring about nighttime once again.

Nervousness clung to the Weakest Adventurer since he was on his way to a Solo Trial — a quest undertaken by a single Adventurer.

Fenwick had informed him of Herek’s murderous plot and advised Banst to take on the Solo Trial that he’d been signed up for without consent. The Solo Trial’s quest location was the last place anyone would think he had gone. Only the truly skilled and foolish would attempt a Solo Trial, certainly not the “Weakest Adventurer.” The plan was foolproof. However, the solidity of the plan did little to ease the tension in Banst’s body, given the danger that lurked ahead.

Banst stared at the badge in Old Bart’s hand, a possession Fenwick had swiped from an unlocked drawer in the receptionist's office. In his efforts to win Banst's trust, the Freeloader had researched Banst’s background and discovered that Old Bart had been Banst’s only true friend in the guild. To gain Banst’s trust, Fenwick stole Old Bart’s badge and presented it to him.

“Maybe that freeloader isn’t such a bad guy,” Banst said, smirking, and stowed the badge away. “I’ll get stronger, Old Bart.” He gazed up at the heavens. “Just you watch.”

***

Herek, red from embarrassment, found himself in the custody of the city guard, seated in the stone-walled City Guard Hall. As a noble Adventurer, he enjoyed privileges, spared from sharing a cell with common criminals. No one gave him information behind his arrest, which left Herek grappling with the heavy burden of worry of the possibility that someone, perhaps Banst, might have reported him for the murder he committed.

A man in his mid forties walked in, causing Herek to straighten up in his seat: the guard captain had arrived. The captain wore a crisp aqua-colored uniform, the official color of Hildew City that adorned most garments of its officials.

“My apologies, my lord,” the guard captain apologized with a bow, “There had been too many complaints sent to our hall about your men running rampant around the city. Please, withdraw them and this whole affair will be put behind us.”

Herek sighed, “Fine. But I do not appreciate being hauled off here without explanation.” In truth, Herek felt only relief to not be found as a suspect of murder yet, which meant that he still had to do something about Banst.

As Herek was escorted out, the guard captain accompanying him spoke amiably, “Your armor is quite radiant, my lord, but you should take a look at the fascinating works at ‘Durehn’s Artistic Armors’. They say he works even faster now and takes more orders.”

Herek hiccuped, “He’s alive?!” Color drained from the noble’s face as the guard captain looked at him strangely. “Erm, I meant, it’s good to hear that Durehn is much more lively now. He’s rather talented.”

“Quite,” the guard captain agreed cheerily.

They walked out to face the city aglow with the coming of twilight. Though far from the most impressive city in human lands, Hildew City was still rather ravishing at times.

Herek and the guard captain stilled at the sound of woodwind instruments that played so loud that the whole city took notice. The music was enchanting and serene, yet haunting and clearly foreign in style to what was typically heard in human territory.

“They’re here already?” sputtered the guard captain.

“Who has come?” Herek asked, his expression tense and wholly lost.

“The elves, my lord. The elves have arrived!”