Chapter 7 — The Adventurer's Guild
The gates of Rendercity loomed ahead, tall and imposing. Gray stone walls stretched in both directions, dotted with watchtowers where guards patrolled lazily. The massive iron gates stood open, welcoming travelers and merchants alike.
But the guards at the entrance were another matter.
Two men in chainmail armor flanked the gate, halberds resting against their shoulders. They looked bored—until their eyes landed on Chris.
"Hold."
The cart slowed to a stop. One guard approached, his gaze sweeping over Chris with undisguised suspicion.
"State your business."
Chris opened his mouth, but Gareth spoke first.
"He's with me. Picked him up on the road—poor lad got attacked by a goblin in the forest."
The guard's eyes narrowed, taking in Chris's torn clothes, dried blood, and overall disheveled appearance.
"Goblin, you say?"
"Killed it too," Gareth added with a grin. "Impressive for a young swordsman, wouldn't you agree?"
The guard studied Chris for a long moment. Chris kept his expression neutral, his hand resting casually on his knee—nowhere near his sword.
Stay calm. You've done nothing wrong.
"You have identification?" the guard asked.
Chris shook his head. "I'm from a small village. We don't have formal documents."
The guard grunted, clearly not satisfied but unwilling to push further. "Purpose of visit?"
"I'm looking to join the Adventurer's Guild."
Something shifted in the guard's expression—a flicker of respect, perhaps, or at least understanding. Adventurers were valuable. Cities welcomed them.
"Fine. Keep your nose clean, and we won't have problems." The guard stepped back, waving them through. "Welcome to Rendercity."
Gareth flicked the reins, and the cart rolled forward.
Chris let out a slow breath.
That was close.
"Master, your composure was adequate. The guard suspected nothing beyond your appearance."
Gee, thanks.
---
The city opened up before them.
Streets of cobblestone wound between buildings of wood and stone. Shops lined the main road—blacksmiths, bakeries, tailors, apothecaries. Lanterns hung from posts, flickering to life as the evening deepened.
People filled the streets. Humans mostly, but Chris spotted other races too—a dwarf haggling with a merchant, a group of beastkin carrying crates, an elf browsing a bookstall.
It felt alive. Real.
Different from the quiet monotony of his old life.
Gareth steered the cart toward a side street, pulling to a stop near a large warehouse.
"This is where I unload," he said, turning to Chris. "You'll want to head north—follow the main road until you see a building with a crossed sword and shield sign. Can't miss it."
Chris nodded, climbing down from the cart. His legs were stiff from the journey, but he forced himself to stand straight.
"Gareth... thank you. For everything."
The merchant waved dismissively. "Don't mention it, lad. Just do me a favor and don't die in some dungeon, eh? I'd hate to think my good deed was wasted."
Chris smiled faintly. "I'll try."
Gareth reached into his vest, pulling out a small pouch. He tossed it to Chris.
"Here. Consider it a loan—or a gift, if you prefer. Enough for a night at the inn and a hot meal. You can pay me back once you're a famous adventurer."
Chris caught the pouch, feeling the weight of coins inside. His throat tightened.
"I... I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing. Just survive." Gareth grinned, tipping an imaginary hat. "Good luck, Chris the swordsman. May we meet again."
With that, he turned and began unloading his cart, humming the same tune from the road.
Chris stood there for a moment, clutching the coin pouch.
A stranger's kindness. In a world he barely understood.
Don't waste it.
He turned and headed north.
---
The Adventurer's Guild was impossible to miss.
It was a massive building—three stories tall, built from sturdy timber and stone. A large sign hung above the entrance, depicting a crossed sword and shield in faded paint. Noise spilled out from within—laughter, shouting, the clinking of mugs.
Chris pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside.
The interior was exactly what he'd imagined from countless novels. A large common room dominated the first floor, filled with tables where adventurers ate, drank, and argued. A massive board covered one wall, plastered with quest papers of varying colors. A bar ran along the back, staffed by a burly man pouring drinks.
And at the center of it all—a long reception counter, where a woman sat behind a stack of papers.
Chris made his way toward her, weaving between tables. A few adventurers glanced at him—some curious, some dismissive—but most ignored him entirely.
Just another rookie.
He reached the counter and cleared his throat.
The receptionist didn't look up. She was young—mid-twenties, maybe—with dark hair pulled into a messy bun and bags under her eyes that spoke of too many late nights. Her uniform was crisp but rumpled, as if she'd stopped caring about appearances hours ago.
"Registration, quest submission, or complaint?" she asked flatly, still scribbling on a document.
"Registration."
"First time?"
"Yes."
She sighed—a long, exhausted sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand annoying rookies.
"Name?"
"Chris."
"Last name?"
Chris hesitated. He didn't have one. Not one that made sense here, anyway.
"Just Chris."
The receptionist finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Just Chris? No family name? No village name?"
"Small village. Remote. We don't use family names."
She stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. 'Just Chris' it is. Class?"
"Swordsman."
"Any magic abilities?"
Chris's heart skipped.
"Master, I advise caution. Admitting to magic may trigger additional testing."
"No," Chris said smoothly. "Just the sword."
The receptionist nodded, making a note. "Registration fee is five copper. Combat evaluation is mandatory for all new applicants. Magic evaluation is optional." She glanced at him. "Since you have no magic, we'll skip that."
Chris almost smiled. Perfect.
He opened Gareth's pouch, counting out five copper coins and sliding them across the counter.
The receptionist scooped them up with practiced efficiency. "Combat evaluation will be conducted in the training yard. Through that door, turn left. Instructor Vance will assess your abilities."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She returned to her paperwork. "Most rookies fail. Try not to embarrass yourself too badly."
Encouraging.
Chris turned and headed for the door she'd indicated.
---
The training yard was a large open space behind the guild, surrounded by wooden fences. Weapon racks lined the walls—swords, spears, axes, bows. Training dummies stood in one corner, battered and scarred from countless strikes.
In the center of the yard, a man waited.
He was tall—well over six feet—with broad shoulders and arms like tree trunks. His head was shaved, his jaw square, and his expression radiated pure arrogance. A longsword hung at his hip, the blade gleaming in the torchlight.
This was Instructor Vance.
He looked Chris up and down, his lip curling with disdain.
"This is the new applicant?" He snorted. "Looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over."
Chris said nothing. He'd dealt with arrogant people before—corporate managers, self-important clients. This was no different.
Just stay calm. Let your actions speak.
Vance drew his sword, the blade singing as it left the scabbard. "The rules are simple. Survive for three minutes, and you pass. Land a single hit on me, and I'll be impressed." He grinned. "Neither is likely."
Chris drew his iron sword, falling into a ready stance.
Shadow Sense activated automatically, spreading awareness through the yard. He felt Vance's presence—solid, confident, radiating controlled aggression.
And something else.
Faint echoes. Whispers of movement before they happened.
He's going to attack first. Right side.
Vance moved.
He was fast—faster than the goblin, faster than anything Chris had faced. His blade blurred toward Chris's right shoulder.
But Chris was already moving.
He sidestepped, deflecting the blow with a clumsy parry. The impact jarred his arm, but he kept his footing.
Vance's eyes widened slightly. "Not bad. You actually blocked it."
He attacked again. And again. A relentless barrage of strikes—high, low, left, right. Each one faster than the last.
Chris retreated, parrying desperately. His Shadow Sense screamed warnings, showing him echoes of attacks a split second before they came.
Dodge left.
He dodged.
Parry high.
He parried.
Roll back.
He rolled.
But it wasn't enough. Vance was too skilled, too experienced. Chris was surviving, but barely.
One minute passed.
His arms burned. His breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat dripped into his eyes.
Vance pressed harder, sensing weakness. "Come on, rookie! Is this all you've got?"
Chris gritted his teeth.
I can't win. Not with pure swordsmanship.
But I can't use my shadow powers either. Not here. Not in public.
So what do I do?
He remembered the goblin fight. The dirty tactics. The handful of dirt.
Sometimes, survival isn't about being strong. It's about being smart.
Vance lunged, aiming for Chris's chest.
Chris didn't parry. Instead, he sidestepped at the last possible moment, letting the blade whistle past him. At the same time, he kicked dirt toward Vance's face.
The instructor recoiled, eyes narrowing. The dirt missed, but it created an opening—a split second of distraction.
Chris lunged, extending his sword toward Vance's chest.
The tip stopped an inch from the instructor's armor.
Silence.
Vance looked down at the blade, then back at Chris. For a moment, his expression was unreadable.
Then he laughed.
"Well, well. The rookie has some tricks." He sheathed his sword, stepping back. "Dirty fighting. Unorthodox. But effective."
Chris lowered his blade, chest heaving. "Did I pass?"
"Pass?" Vance snorted. "You survived two minutes and almost landed a hit. That's more than most rookies manage." He nodded grudgingly. "You pass. Barely."
Chris let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
I did it.
---
Back at the reception counter, the tired receptionist stamped a document and slid a small object across the counter.
A card.
It was made of copper, slightly warm to the touch. Chris picked it up, studying it.
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ADVENTURER GUILD CARD ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ Name: Chris ║
║ Rank: F ║
║ Class: Swordsman ║
║ Card: Copper ║
║ Branch: Rendercity ║
║ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
"Congratulations," the receptionist said, not sounding congratulatory at all. "You're officially an F-rank adventurer. Don't die on your first quest."
"Thanks for the encouragement."
"I'm not paid to encourage. I'm paid to process paperwork." She pointed toward the quest board. "F-rank quests are on the left side. Color-coded brown. Pick one, bring it here, and I'll register it for you. Payment upon completion."
Chris nodded, tucking the copper card into his pocket. His first real proof that he belonged in this world.
A small step. But a step nonetheless.
He turned toward the quest board, studying the various papers pinned to it.
"Not bad for a rookie."
The voice came from behind him—light, melodic, with a hint of amusement.
Chris turned.
And found himself face-to-face with an elf.
She was striking. Long silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a delicate face with sharp, elegant features. Pointed ears poked through her hair, marking her race unmistakably. Her eyes were a vivid green—like spring leaves—and they sparkled with curiosity.
She wore a light robe in shades of green and white, with a wooden staff strapped to her back. A bronze adventurer card hung from a cord around her neck.
D-rank. Experienced.
"I watched your spar," she said, tilting her head. "You're self-taught, right?"
Chris blinked. "How did you—"
"Your form is unconventional. Sloppy in some places, surprisingly refined in others. Like you learned from books instead of teachers." She grinned. "Also, I heard you tell the receptionist."
...Fair enough.
"I'm Iris," she said, extending a hand. "Mage. Wind, nature, and a bit of healing. Nice to meet you, 'Just Chris.'"
Chris shook her hand. "You heard that too?"
"The receptionist has a loud voice when she's annoyed." Iris shrugged cheerfully. "So, mysterious village boy with no last name and strange sword techniques—what's your story?"
"Not much of one," Chris said carefully. "Just looking to make a living as an adventurer."
Iris studied him for a moment, those green eyes seeing more than he was comfortable with. Then she smiled.
"You're a terrible liar. But that's okay—everyone has secrets." She stepped beside him, looking at the quest board. "First quest, right? Want some advice?"
Chris hesitated. He barely knew this elf. She could have ulterior motives.
But his Shadow Sense remained quiet. No hostility. No danger.
Just... curiosity.
"Sure," he said. "What do you recommend?"
Iris's smile widened. "Now we're talking! Okay, first rule—never take a quest that involves sewers. The pay isn't worth the smell. Second rule—herb gathering quests are boring but safe. Third rule—if it says 'subjugation,' expect things to go wrong."
She plucked a brown paper from the board, handing it to him.
"This one's good for beginners. Collect five Moonpetal flowers from the Eastern Woods. Low danger, decent pay, and you won't smell like rat droppings when you're done."
Chris looked at the quest paper.
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ QUEST DETAILS ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ Quest: Moonpetal Collection ║
║ Rank: F ║
║ Objective: Collect 5 Moonpetal flowers ║
║ Location: Eastern Woods ║
║ Reward: 15 Copper ║
║ Danger Level: Low ║
║ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════╝
"Sounds simple enough," Chris said.
"It is. But the Eastern Woods can be tricky if you don't know your way around." Iris paused, then added casually, "I happen to be free tomorrow. If you want, I could show you around."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "You'd do that? For a stranger?"
"What can I say? I'm a generous soul." She grinned. "Also, you're interesting. I want to see what you can really do."
Interesting.
That word made Chris uneasy. He was trying to blend in, not stand out.
But having an experienced adventurer as a guide wasn't a bad idea. Especially one who knew the area.
"Master, accepting her offer is tactically sound. She possesses knowledge and experience you currently lack. Additionally, her healing abilities could prove valuable."
For once, the system made a good point.
"Alright," Chris said. "Tomorrow it is."
Iris clapped her hands together. "Perfect! Meet me here at sunrise. Don't be late—I hate waiting."
With that, she turned and walked away, silver hair swaying behind her.
Chris watched her go, a strange feeling settling in his chest.
He'd just made his first... ally? Friend? Acquaintance?
Whatever she was, she was definitely going to be trouble.
But maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
He turned back to the quest board, a small smile forming on his lips.
Day one in Rendercity.
Copper card in his pocket. First quest in hand. An elf mage who saw right through him.
Not bad at all.
[End of Chapter 7]