Zayne and the red-eyed man waded through the dense crowd. He took leisurely time studying the decor and colors with glee; wood slashed with dark brown, white-gray plaster with green slicing the colors in half—the top being white, and the bottom half, verdant—with a dozen or so clerks busy handling the raucous adventurers. A large sweeping noticeboard stood, freckled with pins clamping a piece of white form, orbited by more than a dozen adventurers with a frown, reading, studying the contents written inside each paper. A few even quarreled; it seemed that they were planning on taking the same request at the same time.

The red-eyed man intervened, and with a simple stare, they suddenly became best buds.

Once the commotion was over, he led him to a clerk—the oldest man Zayne had ever seen—and left him with a single word. “Here.” Zayne watched his massive cape snarling as he turned around and liberated himself from the noisy crowd.

“What is it?” The croaky voice of the old man snapped his attention away from the guard, “You? What the hell do you want?” From a glance, he mirrored all the senile people he’d known; slouched stance, almost bald head, more wrinkles than his body knew where to put them, bandy legs from age, with the crabby attitude to match. Zayne handed him the letter with a genuine smile.

“Hmm… Someone from Burg? That’s rare… I thought only the rich were saved from the invasion...” He eyed Zayne up and down, then clapped his wrinkled hands. “Fine. Come with me. You’re free to stay in the common rooms for three days—that’s as much as I can allow you—once that happens, you are expected to fend for yourself.” His gaze hardened with a questioning frown, “Hopefully. But you look like you’ve gone through a lot, so I’ll save my skepticism for myself.”

Isn’t he already showing it by saying that? Zayne smiled; he’d grown used to difficult people from his experience in the inn—drunkards were way more annoying than grouchy, irritable old folk like this man. “Speaking of that… When’s the test supposed to happen?” he asked, losing the track of time from the recent events and the days he spent traveling. Days had blurred together.

“Five more days.” The old man replied, “You’ll know it when it happens. Follow me.”

Five more days… That’s way too soon.

He led him to a corridor near the right side from the entrance, “I trust you’ll find these facilities to your liking. If you have complaints, speak to the Vassal yourself, I heard he’s a reasonable fella.” The old man continued speaking as he slid a wooden door aside, revealing a stuffy room filled with four tidy beds, smelling nice and clean. A bulb dangled from the center of the room, “There,” he pointed to a vacant bed near the corner of the room, “You’ll sleep there. About your amulet; you can use it to exit and enter the city any time you wished. Use it to hunt outside, you can cash in your gems to any of our clerks.” He tapped Zayne’s back, “Just point your arm at the lightbulb, it’ll do the rest on its own. Good luck, Kid.” The old man waddled his way outside of Zayne’s eyes, waving his hand.

Light flooded the room when Zayne pointed his arm toward the bulb, just like how the old man had instructed, but he still hadn’t told Zayne his name. I’ll just refer to him as an old man for now. Zayne mused as he neared the well-made bed, its height reaching just below his kneecaps, with a tiny nightstand beside it. Most of the room was painted white, with a tiny window streaking light from outside, only to be shrouded by its curtains. The common rooms appeared to be well maintained, almost spotless at all places with a trace amount of dusting visible to the naked eye. Zayne suspected that this room wasn’t prepared for adventurers, but saved and used for special occasions.

“What to do…” It was high noon when Zayne settled himself on the bed, thinking, wandering, processing. Five days to find his place in the world, five days to power up and strengthen himself enough to pass the license test. From the rumors, the average core level of participants hovered around 10 to 15, and since each level granted numbered traits; Agil had pooled 7 brawn upon reaching level 5—he wasn’t the best of their bunch, to tell the truth—meaning Zayne’s path was long and potentially arduous.

A long breath hazed his lips, Nothing will change if I sit down and do nothing. Getting up, he exited the room and returned to the busy hall. The old man mentioned hunting, but how exactly should one go about it? He scanned around the counters, searching for the old fella, but his eyes spotted no one of his stature and age. Although, he noted an idling clerk stifling a yawn and asked her in his stead.

The clerk’s eyes jogged awake. She rubbed her cheeks and pushed her lips upwards, forming a smile so close to being natural it felt uncanny. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m new here,” Zayne asked, expecting some kind of rules and procedures warned by the academy—Every city and every continent had different sets of regulations adventurers must follow, so ask first before proceeding with your plans. “How do I go about hunting?”

She smiled. Zayne noted her fair skin, flushed red from the heat and the thick clothing wrapping her skin. On top of her verdant long-sleeved dress, an apron clung from her neck, reaching past her waist. She wore some kind of a strange headdress, white from both ends. Her dark eyes grinned as she answered with a short laugh, “Welcome to Basin’s adventurer’s hall! Do not be so tense—there are no specific rules about hunting, but if I may suggest, you should hunt outside near the western plains; we call it the Vienna plains—it’s perfect for new adventurers!” He noted her superficial enthusiasm—good service came with a hardened mindset—but appreciated her efforts nonetheless. “The gate to the west is just past the Guild district, you won’t miss it! But make sure you return when the sun begins to set, or you heard the sound of the horn—a new rule is in place to protect new adventurers. Unlicensed adventurers are not allowed to venture outside at night without a special permit.”

“Thanks.” West exit, past the guild district, and return before nighttime. Zayne kept her words in mind as he left, dipping his head when he saw the same guard from before.

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The buildings around the guild district were noticeably different than the rest; instead of the same buildings with the same shades and structure, the guild district shone vibrant with different colors and dancing flags. Zayne bathed under the scintillating variegated reflections of the wisps of cloth above. Some of the buildings—owned by the more prominent guilds—stretched wide with the width of several dozen houses, with its name proudly displayed on top of the entrance. Zayne noted the Blue Lions guild; Jaspian talked about Brenhart’s guild before, and a few others, The scarlet Phoenix, The red suns, and Gylia’s Ravens, all possessed a building of a similar size, but they paled compared to the singular biggest building twice the size of each.

The Emerald Council. Said to be the oldest and largest guild out there—oftentimes rumored to be more influential than a kingdom. The building rivaled the adventurer’s hall in size, and its decor and ornaments glinted teal-greenish under sunlight, with a slash of white and gray mixed in with every floor he studied. He shrugged, at this moment, he had no mind of joining any guilds. At least, not before he earned his license.

The imperious shadow of the walls loomed over him. On his way, he missed any signs mentioning the green badgers; perhaps the building was so small he had to squeeze his eyes to find it. The guards near the gate nodded after he showed his amulet and allowed passage.

A rush of air burst past him, tousling his disheveled hair backward while he made cautious steps toward the outside.

Fresh wilderness air; similar to those from the lake coated his skin, submerging his senses with the scent of grass and trees. A scene of verdant hills and pastel yellow wobbled under the intense sunlight. The windswept plains were marred by distant parties and caravans trotting past, and he heard the sounds of fighting, albeit rarely, ringing from a distance.

Following that noise, he stepped into the Vienna plains, as advertised by the clerk, and from the guards shouting its name when he asked.

And so it was, long after he went outside—about an hour of walking distance from Basin—he spotted figures clashing against monsters. The casual kobold packs and occasional Giant Rats roamed the landscape, and further ahead, the same wargs he’d met before were tackled by a group of new adventurers or those seeking the license. Grass in Basin felt different as he stepped onto them; a noticeable crunch cracked with each of his steps, rendering stealth a futile act when treading on this ground.

Monsters were more numerous near the vicinity of a monolith, but Basin itself protected its folks from inside and out. With its walls, it shielded its inhabitants from the influences outside, but at the same time, monsters wouldn’t be able to find their way outside the monolith since there would always be a line of adventurers roaming within it.

He found a quiet spot near the outskirts of the plains. A rivulet of raging water cruised as far as his eyes could see, lining the section where the plains ended. Beyond, rows and rows of trees denser than the lake loomed; a spot of darkness within blazing sunlight. Here, the grasses were a little taller than his waist, veiling smaller critters beneath their length. A tiny rustle shocked his senses awake. A giant rat peered its head at him, its mouth filled with blades of grass, chewing on the greeneries. It had the size of a full-grown warg, its deep black eyes frowned as it bolted into a mad dash.

A maddening grin crept into his face—it felt liberating to be able to unwind after such a long time of indolence, sitting on the back of the cart doing mostly nothing. He dodged the rat’s two cambering, massive fangs with a shift of his body. His feet brushed the tall grasses as he felt the soft soil caving from his sudden movement. With a steady footing, he gyrated his waist, transferring the force from his feet, delivering a thrust stronger than he’d ever executed. Air seemed to curl around his clouded spear.

Splatters of blood erupted from the rat’s left hind—its speed shocked Zayne as he’d aimed for its head—and it lurched to the side, wobbled from its injuries, then suddenly snapped to life and sprang at him with a vicious cry. Its teeth snapped air as he ducked, narrowly avoiding losing his head. Sloppy, Zayne cussed, he’d grown overconfident from his achievements in the lake. With a thrust and its mid-air stance, his spear destroyed its stomach and its spine with a full-force jab. A rain of blood and guts later, the rat was no more.

[You acquired a monster gem [White - Plains giant rat].]

Do I consume it? Or save for money?

Zayne stored its white, murky gem in his satchel. He had more than just essences to consider now—coins grew in importance as his human needs took center stage. Saving up for better gear and equipment served good purposes too, but the cheapest armor fetched for at least 20 silvers. By comparison, Zayne had no copper in his hand.

“Okay…” The swaying grasses from the vista demanded half his vision as he perused the plains with gentle steps. His head cocked from every rustle he heard, his nose scrunched as he scanned his surroundings for any abnormalities. From a distance, he spotted a collage of kobolds packed with different weaponries; barbaric weapons of varying designs. Spears, bows, swords, daggers, and some wore a shoddily made wooden armor hanging below their shoulder with cords made of cured vines stitched into a hole carved at the corners. Zayne eyed their passage with a careful eye; a careless approach would prove his demise.

Sliding below the tall grasses, Zayne peeked his head along with his wobbling steps. He debated using his poison skill—but chose not to since its usage against Kobolds was suspect at best. Perhaps if he spotted a larger monster; say, something like the warg alpha, then he’d consider using it.

With his slick dark hair flowing suspiciously with the wind, Zayne recalled his limited knowledge of Kobolds; famed for their group thinking and teamwork; they acted more like a party of adventurers than pure monsters. Individually, their strength paled to a fledgling adventurer, but as a group…

Their lizardlike head twirled when they sensed something amiss where Zayne crouched. With their small height—only a head taller than the grasses—he observed their difficulties in searching for short—or in his case, hiding—prey. Their ears quivered with a sporadic frequency. Their bronze skin, reflective at certain angles, scintillated under harsh sunlight. But what Zayne found most interesting about the kobolds were their hazel, dragon-like eyes, and their lanky, almost emaciated bodies.

Once they resumed their patrol, Zayne scooted closer, careful not to induce too much noise. His crunchy steps parroted the kobolds, engulfed by the whiff of wind and the dancing plains. Zayne wore the grasses like a veil, pushing forward ever so closer. Kobolds wafted a distinct scent—almost metal-like in fragrance—such scent hit him square in the face as he approached a sufficient distance to begin a sneak attack.

His spear flew. Zayne had little confidence in hitting far targets, but the kobolds were close enough it’d be a miracle for him to miss. Within the same stroke, he burst forth in speed, closing their gap as his spear struck the shoulder blade of a kobold carrying a bow. It cried; almost sounding like a sharp trill, and Zayne resumed his carnage, his blade chewed the neck of one as it turned, leaving three alive and one severely wounded.

Their cries wailed within the flowing shroud of the breeze. Zayne nudged his way aside as a stone blade scraped nothing beside his waist, then drew his daggers and planted one on its head. Two healthy, on-

A spear zipped the air, almost snatching Zayne’s left ear away. He’d lose it if he wasn’t facing the kobold who threw it. A ripple of emotions boiled. Two blurs appeared in his sight following that throw; a pair of blades and a crude axe painted a gray line on their way to his head. He dashed right, watching their strokes cleaving his shadow. A slash drew blood from the right kobold, then a dagger throw punched the head of another clutching its shoulder, wailing in pain.

The axed Kobold’s eyes widened in shock. He pursued its escape, cutting off one flank, dodged its flailing retaliation, and struck with a swift horizontal slash. His lips curled upward, brandishing his victory; he had grown stronger.