“Alright, listen up! We’ve got ten applicants hired. Only four spots left. Next group, step forward.”

I stood, trying to keep my face calm, but I could feel the guard’s eyes on me. He didn’t say anything at first, just gave me a long, suspicious look.

Thump...thump

My heart pounded. Did he already suspect I wasn’t old enough?

Before I could say anything, the old man beside me piped up, his voice steady and confident.

“This one’s with me,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “My grandson. He’s nineteen. Strong and reliable kid, too.”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “Nineteen, huh?”

The old man didn’t flinch. “Check for yourself.”

The guard grunted and reached out, grabbing my arm, then my shoulder. His grip was firm, like he was testing for muscle. I stayed still, flexing slightly under his touch. It was weird, but I knew this was part of the process.

“Hmm. You’ve had some training done huh?,” the guard muttered.

“Yes, sir.”

The guard gave a final squeeze before letting go. “Alright. You’re in. Both of you, head inside.”

I whispered to the old man as we walked past the guard.

“Thanks for that old man. I owe you one.”

He just grinned. “Yeah don’t mention it, kid. Just don’t mess this up.”

Seven of us entered the building. Inside, I saw a wide training area in the center. The air smelled of sweat and old wood. Another guard stepped forward, holding a clipboard.

“We’ll be testing your skills now. Show us what you’ve got. Swordsmanship, combat techniques, any special abilities. Impress us, and you’ll get the job.”

One by one, the applicants stepped forward to demonstrate their skills. Some were decent, swinging their swords with practiced ease. Others stumbled, clearly nervous.

When it was my turn, I took a deep breath, drawing my blade. I focused on my form, making each movement precise and deliberate. I executed a series of attacks and defensive maneuvers, finishing with a powerful overhead strike.

Swissssh!

The guards nodded in approval.

“Not bad,” one of them said.

The old man was up next.

He chuckled as he hobbled forward, drawing a short sword. His movements were slow, a little shaky, but his strikes were deliberate. There was a certain grace to them, a rhythm that spoke of years of experience.

But when he finished, the guards shook their heads.

“Sorry, old-timer,” the lead guard said. “You’re not what we’re looking for. You wouldn’t last a day on a long journey.”

The old man just laughed, slipping his sword back into its sheath. “No worries. I figured as much.” He turned to me, giving a playful wink. “Guess I’ll leave the heroics to you, kid.”

I felt a pang of disappointment for him, but he didn’t seem upset.

“Maybe I’ll try another job,” he said, grinning. “Something less... strenuous. Like brewing ale. Or storytelling. I’ve got plenty of stories, you know.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks for helping me get in.”

“Don’t waste the opportunity,” he said, giving me a pat on the back. “Make the most of it.”

As he walked out, I felt a strange mix of gratitude and determination. I’d made it this far, thanks to him. Now, it was up to me to prove I belonged here.

Four out of seven. That’s how many of us made it through, including me. The guard handed each of us a slip with our basic details. I couldn’t help but glance at the others’ profiles.

[Jonathan]

Level: 26

Age: 39

[Bram]

Level: 35

Age: 15

[Obrak]

Level: ??

Age: 34

Wait, hold up.

Something’s wrong.

That Bram’s fifteen?

Another one faking his age.

I guess I’m not alone in this boat. I nearly burst out laughing.

I looked over at him. Bram was tall and lean, his shiny, spiky hair catching the light. It was this sandy brown color, like dried wheat.

But the real showstopper? His sword. It was absurdly long, almost taller than him. I could see why they hired him—anyone carrying a blade like that was either incredibly skilled or insanely reckless. Maybe both.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Then there was Obrak. His level wasn’t visible, which could only mean one thing—he was way above my league. His presence was heavy, like the air around him was denser. He had a rugged look, with a thick beard and a huge battle axe strapped to his back.

“You’re fifteen?” I whispered, grinning.

His eyes flicked to the guard, then back to me. He gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “And you’re nineteen?”

I stifled a laugh. “Fair point.”

“Keep it quiet,” he muttered. “You don’t rat me out, I won’t rat you out.”

"Yeah alright, we have a deal." I didn’t start this for nothing, though—I wanted some good, exciting company.

Just then, a tall man in noble attire stepped forward. His hair was slicked back, and he wore a blue coat embroidered with gold. Must be the employer.

“Congratulations to those who made it,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. “This mission is critical. You will be escorting my caravan to the neighboring kingdom. We depart immediately.”

“Gather your belongings and report back here within the hour,” he added. “The caravan won’t wait for stragglers.”

I glanced at the others. Jonathan nodded, looking calm and prepared. Obrak didn’t react, as if he expected this. Bram shrugged, his long sword shifting slightly on his back.

I gave a small sigh. Time to gear up. This was going to be one hell of a journey.

Then after going back we finally left Vermillion, riding out with the caravan. Well, they were riding. I wasn’t. Turns out, I can’t ride a horse.

I’ve never ridden one before, and in my past life as Elian, I didn’t either. Guess I’ll have to learn it once we’re back from this.

The employer didn’t seem too thrilled when I told him, but he just sighed and told me to stay inside the caravan. So, here I am. Surrounded by boxes. No clue what’s inside them, but judging by the way everyone treats them, it’s probably something expensive or important.

I stretched out on one of the seats, letting the gentle sway of the caravan lull me. It wasn’t bad, actually. Kind of cozy. Until I glanced out the window and caught Bram staring at me like I’d just stolen his sword.

He leaned over, his lips moving, but I could barely hear him over the clatter of wheels. Still, I got the gist:

“Why the hell are you even here if you can’t ride a horse?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself, then mimed someone falling off a horse.

I sat back, ignoring him, and pulled up my system screen.

[Alistair Quinlan]

Level: 29

Age: 15

Role: Swordsman [Beginner]

Title: Undead Slayer

Stats:

Strength (STR): 98

Agility (AGI): 103

Stamina (STA): 105

Intelligence (INT): 92

Aura (AURA): 20

Perception (PER): 100

Endurance (END): 106

I frowned. These numbers looked solid on paper, but everytime I see them they didn’t tell me the whole story.

I still didn’t know the cap for each stat, which made it hard to gauge how I measured up against stronger opponents.

Take Obrak, for instance. His level was hidden, meaning he was way above me. Same with Lucian. I couldn’t even see their stats.

Still, I was getting stronger. I could feel it, especially in battle. Stamina and endurance were a game-changer. I could fight longer without burning out, and with my strength, weaker enemies didn’t stand a chance.

But it was my agility and perception that really stood out. Those stats had saved my life more times than I could count. Like when I faced that Undead Knight. Its strikes were relentless, but I dodged almost everything it threw at me.

I wasn’t where I wanted to be yet, but I’d get there.

“having fun inside that caravan little princess?” Bram called out, breaking my focus.

I leaned out the window slightly. “You’re just mad because I get to sit and sleep while you bounce around on that horse all day.”

He smirked. “At least I know how to ride.”

“Yeah good for you, you must be enjoying the saddle sores.”

Bram laughed, and even though he was a pain, I couldn’t help but chuckle too.

"By the way, what’s your name? We’ve been joking around, and we don’t even know each other’s names yet. I’m Bram. What about you?"

"Alistair. Alistair Quinlan."

"So you’re 15 like me, huh, Alistair? Hahaha, bet you’re planning to take the Trial of the Arcane Flame next year too!"

"What? So we’re gonna be rivals then?"

"We could be, but helping each other pass sounds like a way better plan!"

We shared a smile after that.

It darken quickly so we gotta set a camp for the rest of the night. We help to get resources needed to build a campfire and some little camp to sleep on. But after that I feel so tired even to I rest all day inside the caravan. Like im feeling fine but im tired. I dont know anymore hahaa.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I heard footsteps nearby.

I turned just in time to see Bram strolling over, his ridiculously long sword bouncing slightly with each step, strapped to his back.

"Here," he said, holding out a piece of steaming meat. "You’re gonna need this if you want to survive the Trial of the Arcane Flame."

I hesitated for a moment, but then took it. Not really in the mood to argue. "Thanks."

"Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"You keep to yourself a lot."

"No way. I love meeting people, talking to them."

"Could’ve fooled me."

"Don’t get it twisted, I’m just tired. Feel like I’m gonna hurl, too."

"Probably ‘cause it’s your first time on a caravan."

"Yeah, maybe. Makes sense. Haven’t felt like eating either, but thanks for this."

"Yeah, yeah, just eat."

I could tell we were gonna be tight.

But then I caught how he handled his sword—smooth, like it was part of him. A little showy for my taste, but hey, whatever works.

“Everyone, gather up!”

It was the gold rank adventurer.

Bram and I joined the others as they formed a circle around the flames. Tavian stood in the center, his presence alone enough to command respect.

"If you didn’t know, I’m Tavian Crowe," he began, his voice steady. "I just want to say how much I appreciate you all. You’ve chosen to apply for this dangerous job, knowing full well we could die out there. That takes guts. I commend every one of you! Cheers!"

The group raised their food in unison, laughing and clinking chunks of meat together like goblets.

Jonathan, the oldest in our group, leaned forward with a sly grin. "Hey, mister, how about showing us some of those legendary bow skills? We’re dying to see how strong a Gold Rank adventurer really is."

Tavian smirked, grabbing his bow from where it leaned against a tree. "Sounds like fun. But don’t blink—you’ll miss it."

He drew an arrow, notched it smoothly, and without a word, scanned the treetops. With a calm precision, he pulled back the string and released.

Whip.

Thud.

The arrow zipped through the air, vanishing into the darkness above.

For a second, nobody moved.

“What the hell?” Bram muttered. “He shot at nothing.”

Before anyone could react, a faint rustling came from the branches. Moments later, something fell near the fire—a night bird, skewered clean through.

The group gasped. Even Jonathan looked stunned. The bird had been perfectly camouflaged, invisible in the dark. Yet Tavian spotted it like it was glowing.

Tavian bent down, pulled his arrow free, and held it up. "And that," he said with a grin, "is why the bow is the ultimate weapon."

I couldn’t help but stare, feeling a spark of curiosity and admiration. I activated my Observer’s Eye to try and get a read on him.

[Observer’s Eye]

Error: Target level too high for your current level.

It looks like I’ve got a long way to go.

We traveled steadily after that night, each passing day bringing us closer as a team. It wasn’t just about moving from point A to point B anymore—it felt like we were building something real.

Tavian Crowe, with his calm authority and sharp instincts, kept us in line. He wasn’t the kind of leader who barked orders or flaunted his rank. Instead, he led by example, guiding us through tough spots and sharing his wisdom in quiet moments.

It was hard not to admire him. He made you want to be better, to push harder.

Then there was Bram. Despite our rough start, we’d grown into solid friends. The guy had a knack for making even the most boring stretches of travel entertaining. We’d trade stories, crack jokes, and sometimes, just try to one-up each other in the most ridiculous ways.

“Hey, Alistair,” Bram said one morning as we rode alongside the caravan. “Bet I can out-eat you when we stop for lunch.”

“Bram, you already ate half the rations yesterday. I’m not even trying.”

“Excuses,” he said, grinning.

By the fifth day, it felt like we’d hit a rhythm. Everyone knew their role, and the journey was smooth—until it wasn’t.

That morning, one man is missing.

His horse gone, his body gone.

We didn’t know what happen.

At first, some of the group shrugged it off.

“Maybe he bailed,” Jonathan said, stretching his arms. “It’s a tough gig. Not everyone’s cut out for it.”

But Tavian’s expression said otherwise. He stood by the fire, arms crossed, his face unusually grim.

“Something’s wrong,” he finally said, his voice low.

We all went quiet.

“He didn’t run, not when we are close to our destination.”

He was right. Even if I put myself on the situation of that missing man I wouldn't just give up and run away, not when the price of the work is nearing.

“What are you saying?” Bram asked, his usual playful tone gone.

Tavian hesitated for a moment, then said, “There’s a traitor among us.”