The morning sun shone gently over the small town as Alaric stood outside his home, a light breeze carrying the familiar scents of iron and ash from his father’s forge. His parents, Darion and Eleanor, stood by the doorway, their faces a mix of pride and concern.
“You’re really going, aren’t you?” Eleanor asked softly, brushing a strand of her auburn hair back as she looked at her son.
Alaric nodded, a determined glint in his eye. “I have to, Mother. If I’m going to grow stronger, I need to leave. The city has better opportunities for a hunter like me. I’ll send word when I arrive.”
Darion clapped a firm hand on Alaric’s shoulder. “You’ve got your sword, your wits, and that steel resolve of yours. But remember, the world out there isn’t as forgiving as your old man. Keep your guard up, always.”
“I will,” Alaric promised, his voice steady despite the pang of nervousness in his chest.
Eleanor pulled him into a quick embrace, whispering, “Stay safe, my boy. And don’t forget to eat properly.”
With a final goodbye, Alaric turned and began his journey, the Steel Broodblade strapped securely to his back and his heart heavy with the weight of their parting. He had only just begun to forge his path, and the road ahead was fraught with challenges.
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At the Adventurer’s Guild, Alaric examined the mission board. He needed a job that would get him to Eryndor, the kingdom’s bustling capital, two days’ journey from the town. His gaze settled on a mission titled:
Merchant Escort to Eryndor.
Reward: 20 Silver
“Perfect,” he muttered, tearing the paper from the board.
As he turned to confirm the mission with the guild receptionist, a tall, lanky young man with an easygoing grin sidled up to him.
“You taking that escort job too?” the man asked, nodding toward the paper in Alaric’s hand.
“I am,” Alaric replied.
“Great, looks like we’ll be working together. Name’s Jack,” the man said, extending a hand.
Alaric shook it, noting the warmth in Jack’s expression. “Alaric. Good to meet you.”
Jack chuckled. “Well, don’t get too cozy. Heard the merchant’s a bit of a penny-pincher, and the route goes through Darkwood. Not exactly the safest place.”
Before Alaric could respond, a stern voice cut through their conversation.
“You two must be the E-rankers for this mission.”
Turning, Alaric and Jack found themselves face-to-face with a broad-shouldered man wearing a patched leather cuirass. His eyes were as cold and hard as steel, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone who had seen countless battles.
“I’m Rude, the D-rank hunter overseeing this little expedition,” he said bluntly. “Follow my lead, do your jobs, and try not to slow me down.”
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Jack gave Alaric a side glance, his brows raised in silent commentary, but he said nothing. Alaric simply nodded.
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A few hours later, the group gathered near the merchant’s wagon. The merchant, a pudgy man with thinning hair and a sour expression, paced nervously as his goods were loaded.
“Is this it?” the merchant barked, gesturing at the three hunters. “This is my protection? Two greenhorns and one halfway-decent fighter?”
Rude’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Jack, on the other hand, flashed a disarming grin. “Don’t worry, sir. We’re more than capable of handling any trouble on the road.”
The merchant scoffed. “We’ll see. Just make sure my goods get to Eryndor intact. That’s all that matters.”
As they set out, the merchant rode atop his cart, still grumbling about the lack of quality in his hired help. Alaric walked alongside Jack, who seemed unbothered by the merchant’s attitude.
“Guy’s a real charmer, isn’t he?” Jack joked, nudging Alaric with his elbow.
Alaric allowed himself a small smile. “I’ve dealt with worse. Let’s just focus on getting to the city in one piece.”
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The road wound its way through Darkwood Forest, a dense and shadowy expanse known for its dangers. The tall, ancient trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches forming a canopy that blocked most of the sunlight.
Rude led the group, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Jack stayed close to the cart, his easy demeanor replaced by a quiet vigilance. Alaric trailed behind, his hand resting on the hilt of the Steel Broodblade.
“Stay sharp,” Rude called over his shoulder. “This area’s a haven for bandits. They’ll be watching for weak spots in our formation.”
“Lovely,” Jack muttered, tightening his grip on his sword.
Hours passed without incident, but the tension in the air was palpable. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig set Alaric on edge. He reminded himself to stay calm, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing.
As they rounded a bend in the road, Rude raised a hand, signaling the group to stop.
“What is it?” the merchant asked nervously, peering down from the cart.
Rude didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crouched low, inspecting the dirt road. “Tracks,” he said after a moment. “Fresh. Looks like a group of six, maybe seven. Bandits.”
The merchant paled. “Bandits? You mean they’re nearby?”
“Probably,” Rude replied, standing. “Stay close to the cart. Hunters, form up.”
Jack moved to the left side of the cart while Alaric took the right. They exchanged a brief glance, both of them bracing for what was to come.
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The attack came swiftly. A group of seven bandits emerged from the underbrush, their weapons glinting in the dappled light.
“Well, well,” their leader drawled, a scarred man with a wicked grin. “What do we have here? A merchant and his merry band of protectors? Hand over the goods, and we might let you live.”
Rude stepped forward, his sword drawn. “You’re not getting anything. Turn around and leave, or we’ll cut you down.”
The bandits laughed, their confidence clear. The leader raised his hand, signaling his men to attack.
Chaos erupted as the bandits charged.
Rude met them head-on, his blade flashing as he parried and struck with practiced precision. Jack moved to intercept another, his lighter build allowing him to dodge and weave around his opponent’s attacks.
Alaric found himself face-to-face with a burly bandit wielding a club. Drawing the Steel Broodblade, he braced himself as the man swung. The weight of the enchanted weapon felt natural in his hands, and its regenerative coating absorbed the impact as he blocked the blow.
Seizing the opening, Alaric countered with a swift slash, the blade biting deep into the bandit’s side. The man cried out, falling to the ground.
Alaric spared no time for celebration, turning to face his next opponent. The fight was relentless, each swing of the Steel Broodblade testing his stamina. But the sword’s durability and enhanced resistance to physical damage gave him a crucial edge.
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The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. The surviving bandits fled into the forest, leaving their fallen comrades behind.
The merchant climbed down from the cart, his face pale. “That... that was close,” he stammered.
Rude sheathed his sword, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Close doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re alive.”
Jack grinned, though his clothes were smeared with dirt and blood. “Well, that was fun. Can’t say I was expecting such excitement on the first day.”
Alaric remained quiet, cleaning the Steel Broodblade with a piece of cloth. His mind was already racing ahead, thinking about the road still to come.