The morning light seeped through the curtains of Sebas’s room at the inn, golden and soft. It was a sharp contrast to the tumultuous dream he’d experienced hours before. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he flexed his fingers, staring at the faintly glowing sigil on his palm. The heat was gone now, replaced by a dull hum that reminded him of its presence.
He couldn’t afford to linger. Today, he would visit the Adventurers’ Guild—a place where rumors, information, and opportunities flowed as freely as the ale. And, most importantly, it was where he could begin to piece together his path forward.
---
The guild hall was a sprawling structure of weathered stone and timber, standing proudly in the heart of the bustling town. A wide banner above the entrance bore the guild’s crest: a sword entwined with a serpent, symbolizing both might and cunning. The smell of roasted meat, ink, and sweat hit Sebas as he stepped inside.
Rows of long tables filled the main hall, where adventurers of all shapes and sizes mingled. Some boasted gleaming armor and polished weapons, while others were clad in simple robes, their eyes alight with arcane knowledge. A massive quest board dominated one wall, its surface bristling with parchment requests ranging from mundane errands to perilous monster hunts.
Sebas’s gaze drifted to the adventurers. They were categorized in a loose hierarchy, one that spoke volumes about the nature of this world. At the lowest levels were rookies—adventurers below level 5, still cutting their teeth on minor quests. Level 5 to 9 adventurers, known simply as “adventurers,” represented the backbone of the guild, experienced and reliable. Beyond that, those who reached level 10 were considered elites, and levels 11 to 16 bore the title of heroes, individuals capable of shaping the course of nations. At level 17 and above, adventurers began to radiate a divine presence, their very beings gathering fragments of divinity. Few ever reached level 20—the realm of demigods who walked among mortals, their power unmatched.
Sebas knew where he stood. He was level 0, a fledgling with barely a spark of magic to his name. That needed to change.
---
The process of leveling was straightforward in theory but grueling in practice. Adventurers gained power by absorbing magicules—the fundamental building blocks of magic that permeated the world. These particles were released when monsters were slain, their forms dissolving back into the magical ether. Alternatively, one could survive in high-magicule environments, such as ancient ruins or areas touched by elemental chaos, where the ambient energy could seep into their being over time.
For Sebas, the idea of hunting monsters seemed daunting. His pact with Tiameth had granted him power, but he’d yet to test its limits. And surviving a high-magicule zone without sufficient preparation? That was a death sentence for someone like him.
He approached the quest board, scanning the options. His eyes landed on a request that seemed manageable: **“Investigate Missing Livestock Near Hemlock Farms. Reward: 10 silver.”** A simple task, likely involving wild animals or a low-level beast. It was a start.
“First time picking a quest?”
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Sebas turned to see a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and a patch over one eye. His armor was battered but well-maintained, and a greatsword rested across his back.
“Yeah,” Sebas admitted. “Figured I’d start small.”
The man chuckled. “Smart. Too many rookies bite off more than they can chew and end up as monster fodder. Name’s Garrick. Been with the guild twenty years. You?”
“Sebas,” he said, offering a nod.
Garrick gestured to the quest Sebas had been eyeing. “That one’s not bad. Likely a wolf pack or a stray kobold. Either way, it’ll get your feet wet. Got a party to back you up?”
Sebas hesitated. He hadn’t thought about that. “Not yet.”
“Hmm.” Garrick scratched his chin. “Well, if you’re set on going solo, at least gear up properly. And don’t forget to report back to the guild. Too many greenhorns forget, and we have to send search parties.”
Sebas nodded. “Thanks for the advice.”
“No problem. Stay alive, kid.” Garrick clapped him on the shoulder before heading off.
---
Before embarking on the quest, Sebas stopped by the guild’s archives. It was a quieter corner of the hall, lined with shelves of leather-bound tomes and scrolls. An elderly clerk with half-moon glasses sat behind a desk, scribbling notes.
“Excuse me,” Sebas said. “I’m looking for information on leveling and magicules.”
The clerk glanced up, his gaze sharp despite his age. “Ah, a student of the craft. Good. Too many adventurers charge into the fray without understanding the basics. What do you wish to know?”
“Everything, if possible,” Sebas said. “How magicules work, how they’re absorbed, and how they relate to levels.”
The clerk adjusted his glasses. “Magicules are, in essence, the atomic structure of magic. They permeate the world, binding to living beings and objects alike. When a monster is slain, its magicules are released, allowing the victor to absorb a portion of its essence. The more powerful the creature, the denser the magicules.”
Sebas nodded, following along. “And the leveling process?”
“Levels are a measure of how attuned one is to the magicules within them. A rookie—level 0 to 4—is still building their foundation, their body adapting to handle the flow of magicules. By level 5, one’s core stabilizes, and they become capable of wielding greater power. Beyond level 10, the magicules begin to alter the very nature of the individual, granting them traits that set them apart from ordinary mortals. And by level 17...”
The clerk’s voice grew reverent. “At level 17, one begins to gather fragments of divinity. It is not simply strength but the essence of gods themselves, seeping into their soul. Few ever reach such heights. To ascend to level 20 is to become something more than human—a demigod walking the mortal plane.”
Sebas’s thoughts raced. The concept of divinity felt distant, almost alien, but the idea of growth—of becoming something more—resonated deeply.
“How does surviving high-magicule environments work?” he asked.
“Ah, that is a more nuanced path,” the clerk said. “High-magicule zones are places where magicules gather in great density. Simply existing in such an environment forces the body to adapt, absorbing the ambient energy. However, it is a perilous process. Those unprepared may succumb to magicule poisoning, their bodies overwhelmed by the influx.”
“Is there a safe way to do it?” Sebas asked.
The clerk smiled faintly. “Preparation is key. Protective charms, attunement potions, and careful monitoring can mitigate the risks. But remember: the greater the reward, the greater the danger.”
Sebas thanked the clerk and left the archives, his mind buzzing with new knowledge. The path ahead was clearer now, but no less daunting.
---
As he stepped back into the bustling guild hall, Sebas’s eyes fell on a group of adventurers preparing to depart. They laughed and exchanged banter, their camaraderie evident. For a moment, Sebas felt a pang of envy. He was alone, a fledgling soul binder with a patron he barely understood and a past he couldn’t escape.
But the sigil on his palm pulsed faintly, a reminder of the power that now flowed through him. He wasn’t the same aimless orphan who had scraped by on the church’s charity. He was something more, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.
He approached the quest board once more and tore the Hemlock Farms request from its place. His journey was just beginning, and there was much to learn—about the world, about himself, and about the power that burned within him.
With a deep breath, Sebas stepped into the sunlight, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.