The sun in Oakhaven began to lean toward the western horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the irregularly lined stone rooftops. The city air felt heavy, carrying the scent of damp earth, cooking steam from roadside stalls, and the lingering traces of incense from the cathedral carried by a gentle breeze. Zhenos stood tall in front of the massive doors of the Adventurer's Guild, which were crafted from sturdy black oak. His hand gripped the Rank F bronze badge, which felt cold and slightly rough against his palm.
To others, that badge was merely a symbol of low status in the social order of adventurers—a sign that the wearer was nothing more than an errand boy searching for spare change. But for Zhenos, it was a precious new identity. He was no longer the Architect who governed galaxies; he was a wanderer who now had to follow the rules of the world he had created. He felt the weight of this role, the necessity to crawl from the absolute bottom to understand the essence of his creatures, whom he had previously seen only as tiny specks from his throne.
"Zhenos, you can't go on a mission empty-handed," Kael broke the long silence. The silver-haired youth looked much calmer now, though traces of tension from the previous incident still lingered in his weary eyes. "An adventurer's identity is their weapon. Without something hanging at your waist, people will look down on you or even suspect you. In the outside world, appearance is the first shield before you draw your sword. Come with me; I know the right place to get honest basic equipment."
Zhenos simply nodded—a movement so efficient it betrayed no emotion. He followed Kael through the city streets, which were bustling with the chaotic life of late afternoon. Zhenos observed his surroundings intently. He saw a mother scolding her child for playing in a puddle, a fruit vendor shouting to sell goods that were nearly withered, and city guards walking with clinking armor.
All of this felt incredibly real. The sting in his feet from thin soles, the dust entering his throat, and the overlapping scents of life. Zhenos realized that for thousands of years he had only created the concept of "life," but now he was truly experiencing it. There was a deep restlessness in the eyes of the people—a subconscious premonition that the world they inhabited was on the brink of a massive shift they did not yet understand.
The Old Forge and Rusted Hopes
They stopped at a narrow, dark alley where the rhythmic, deafening sound of metal pounding echoed. TANG! TANG! TANG! The sound reverberated between the mossy stone walls, creating a raw industrial symphony.
Thin smoke billowed from an old forge whose walls were starting to crack with age. In the center of the room, sweltering from the heat of the furnace, stood a powerfully built man. The muscles in his arms bulged like the roots of an old tree, telling a story of decades of hard labor at the anvil. His white beard was long, and his face was etched with lines of sternness carved by bitter experience. This was Goran, the Blacksmith known for his high integrity and blunt speech.
"Uncle Goran!" Kael greeted him with deep respect.
Goran stopped striking the glowing iron. He set down his massive hammer with a heavy thud that made the forge floor vibrate slightly. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve blackened by soot, then stared intently at Zhenos. His sharp eyes seemed to be trying to dissect exactly who this youth standing before him was.
"A new Rank F, eh?" Goran grunted in a heavy, raspy voice. "Looking for something to protect you in the forest but at a price that won't leave you starving for a week? I've seen thousands of brats like you. They walk in with sparkling eyes, then return with a broken sword—or don't return at all."
Zhenos stepped forward, standing amidst piles of scrap metal and discarded armor. "I don't need legends or jeweled decorations that only attract thieves. I only need something sturdy, balanced, and that won't fail me when needed," Zhenos replied in a calm, flat tone.
Goran fell silent for a moment, surprised by the youth's composure. He then walked to a corner of the room and picked up an old iron sword lying under a pile of cloth. The blade looked dull and the scabbard was made of worn leather, but the structure remained solid.
"Two silver coins. This is a simple sword made of old, quality iron. Its weight might be a bit uncomfortable for spoiled knights used to wearing gold, but if you use it correctly, it will last through a storm. Take it, or search the flea market where they sell iron that snaps when it hits wood," Goran said firmly.
Zhenos took the sword, feeling its weight—perfectly suited for his disguise. He examined the blade, realizing that although it looked old, it was crafted with dedication. To Zhenos, this sword was the perfect tool to hide his power behind a pathetic appearance. "I'll take it," he said, placing the coins on the fragile wooden table.
"Remember one thing, kid," Goran advised as Zhenos prepared to leave. "Iron is an extension of your will. If your will is brittle, even the strongest steel will break in your hands. But if your will is pure, even rusted iron can change history."
Herbal Aromas and Hidden Laughter
Their journey continued to a small stall squeezed between large buildings on the main road. The stall was filled with hundreds of glass bottles containing colorful liquids that emitted a sharp, sweet, yet bitter herbal aroma. A young girl with thick glasses that kept sliding to the tip of her nose was busy tidying shelves that looked cluttered. Her name was Mina, the Potion Seller known for her genuine kindness, though she was often considered clumsy by the townsfolk.
"A-ah! Kael! Is there anything I can help you with today?" Mina asked nervously, nearly dropping the bottle in her hand as she saw Zhenos's unusual, cold gaze.
"We need basic medical supplies for our first mission, Mina. Something to help us if things go wrong in the Foggy Forest," Kael said with a reassuring smile.
Mina handed over several small potion bottles containing a murky green liquid. "This is a standard recovery potion I brewed myself. The taste might be a bit bitter—similar to concentrated and sour forest grass juice—but it's very effective for restoring drained energy. The price is quite affordable for those of you just starting out."
Zhenos took one bottle and tasted a bit of the liquid. A very sharp bitterness and an earthy smell immediately greeted his tongue, making him wince slightly without realizing it. It was a rare human reaction for the Architect, which made Kael chuckle beside him.
"So you can taste something bad, huh? I thought you were made of stone," Kael teased, patting Zhenos on the shoulder.
This simple moment—Kael's free laughter, Mina's anxious sincerity, and the aroma of potions filling the room—added a unique color to Zhenos's inner state. He began to feel what is called warm social interaction, something he had never received while sitting alone on the throne of creation for millions of years. Here, in this tiny shop, he felt more "alive" than when he was creating galaxies.
Mockery and the Test of Patience
However, that peace was disturbed as they returned toward the city center to pick up their final supplies. A group of adventurers with much more luxurious equipment—shining silver armor and wolf-fur cloaks—blocked their path right in front of the plaza fountain. They were the 'Black Fang' group, comrades of Barok who had clashed with Zhenos in the Guild hall.
"Stop right there, you lucky new kid," said their leader, a man named Vorg. He had a burn scar on his cheek that made him look terrifying when he smiled slyly. "You think you can walk with your head held high after embarrassing our comrade? Rank F is still dust beneath our feet. Your luck yesterday in the hall won't help you forever in the outside world."
Vorg tried to intimidate them with insulting words. People around the market began to gather to watch; some joined in with jeers. In this city, rank was everything. Seeing a low-ranked adventurer humiliated by a high-ranked one was cruel daily entertainment.
"Look at that brat, carrying a rusted sword from Goran's forge!" shouted one of Vorg's followers. "Are you planning to chop onions with that?"
"Crawl now, and maybe Lord Vorg will let you go with your legs intact!" another chimed in, laughing dismissively.
Vorg stepped forward, attempting a physical act to crush Zhenos's pride. He delivered a hard shove to Zhenos's shoulder. However, with a movement that looked entirely natural—as if Zhenos simply dodged out of panic and lack of balance—he caused Vorg to lose his center of gravity. Vorg was propelled by his own force and fell face-first into a pile of rotten vegetables in the wet gutter.
"You...!" Vorg stood up, his face crimson with rage, his eyes reflecting the overflowing anger of being shamed in public. He tried to lunge again with a blind fist. But somehow, every move he made only made him look incredibly clumsy. He repeatedly bumped into merchant carts or got caught in his own cloak, as if fate were playing a humiliating joke on him.
"It seems today isn't the right time for you to look for trouble, Vorg. Your luck seems even worse than my rank," Zhenos said in a tone that remained calm and flat, as if no drama had even occurred.
Zhenos then prompted Kael to ignore them and immediately begin their mission journey. In his mind, Zhenos began to realize one important thing. Behind the bad nature of some humans he met today, there were still honest souls like Goran and Mina who provided a small hope for this world.
He decided to continue maintaining his role strictly. He wanted to understand more deeply the meaning of friendship, hard work, and what it felt like to struggle from the bottom without the help of divine authority. Together with Kael, he stepped toward the massive city gates, ready to face any obstacles outside Oakhaven's walls in a way that remained "lowly" yet calculated. The true journey toward a great change had only just begun.