Rachel Turner

The guildhall was alive with noise—booming laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional bark of a dog. Adventurers crowded around long wooden tables, their voices echoing off the stone walls as they shared stories and tall tales of their exploits.

I stood near the entrance, trying not to look like I didn’t belong. My leather jerkin and sturdy boots were practical enough, but compared to the heavily armored warriors and robed mages in the room, I looked like someone’s apprentice who had wandered in by mistake.

“Alright, Rachel,” I whispered to myself, forcing my feet to move. “Just act normal. You’ve got this.”

I made my way to the counter where a bored-looking clerk sat flipping through a ledger. His clothes were plain, his face lined with the kind of exhaustion that only dealing with adventurers all day could bring.

“Hi,” I said, offering what I hoped was a confident smile. “I’d like to join the guild.”

The clerk glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked me over. “You want to join the guild?”

“Yes,” I said, straightening my posture. “I’m a Duelist. Blade Dancer subclass.”

The words hung in the air like a bad joke.

The clerk’s brow furrowed. “You’re a what now?”

“A Duelist,” I repeated. “Subclass: Blade Dancer.”

He stared at me, his confusion slowly morphing into something closer to pity. “Never heard of it. What’s a subclass supposed to be?”

“It’s part of the System,” I said, gesturing vaguely as if that would explain everything. “You know, stats, quests, perks…”

The room around me seemed to quiet. Adventurers at nearby tables turned to look, their conversations dying down as my words sank in.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“What the hell is she talking about?” someone muttered.

“She’s cracked, that’s what,” another said, chuckling.

The clerk leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying you’ve got some… invisible system? Telling you what to do?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice faltering slightly.

He snorted. “Lady, if you’re trying to get attention, there are better ways to do it. No one’s got time for whatever nonsense you’re peddling.”

“I’m not making it up,” I said defensively. “It’s real. I can see it.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Tell you what, newbie. I’ll humor you. You want to join the guild? Fine. We’ll start you at Bronze Rank. You can prove your… ‘system’ works by not dying on your first job.”

He scribbled something in his ledger and slid a small bronze badge across the counter.

“Congratulations,” he said dryly. “You’re officially the lowest of the low. Don’t let it go to your head.”

I pinned the badge to my jerkin, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. The clerk motioned toward the noticeboard on the far wall, a massive wooden slab covered in papers, each one scrawled with a quest.

I approached it cautiously, aware of the stares following me as I moved. The quests were marked with symbols to indicate their rank—bronze, silver, gold.

The bronze quests were less than inspiring.

Quest: Gather Five Medicinal Herbs

Reward: 10 Silver

Quest: Deal with Local Vermin Problem

Reward: 8 Silver

Quest: Escort Farmer’s Cart to Nearby Village

Reward: 5 Silver

I reached for the herb-gathering quest, but hesitated. The thought of wandering aimlessly in the forest, trying to tell one plant from another, didn’t exactly scream “heroic adventurer.”

Instead, I grabbed the cart escort quest. It seemed straightforward enough, and maybe it would give me a chance to see more of the area.

As I turned to leave, I caught snippets of conversation from the adventurers at the nearby tables.

“Poor thing,” one of them said, loud enough for me to hear. “Probably thinks she’s in a fairy tale.”

“Bronze Rank won’t last a week,” another muttered.

I clenched my jaw, ignoring them as I headed for the door.

Outside, the sun was dipping low, casting the village in warm orange light. I unfolded the quest paper, scanning the details.

The farmer’s cart was set to leave from the eastern gate at sunrise, bound for a village a few miles away. The instructions were clear: keep the cart safe, help unload at the destination, and return with confirmation of delivery.

Simple enough.

I adjusted the rapier at my side and squared my shoulders.

“They think I’m crazy,” I muttered, “but I’ll show them.”

And with that, I headed off to prepare for the job.