Osric woke to pain.
Not the sharp, blinding agony he had grown used to, but a deep, suffocating heaviness that clung to his limbs like wet cloth. His muscles protested as he shifted on the cold floor of the hut, every movement dragging dull aches through his shoulders, legs, and back. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had finally pushed himself too far—if his body had simply given up during the night.
But he was alive.
He sat up slowly, teeth clenched, and waited for the familiar wave of dizziness. It came—but weaker than before. His breathing steadied after a few seconds, and when he flexed his fingers, they responded without trembling. The pain was still there, constant and oppressive, yet it no longer felt like something that would knock him unconscious at the slightest mistake. It was… manageable.
Osric exhaled through his nose.
"So it worked," he muttered, voice hoarse.
Osric's stomach twisted.
The ache was sharp and insistent, cutting through the lingering soreness in his muscles. He pressed a hand against his abdomen and grimaced. He hadn't eaten properly since before the fight with the Dire Wolf, and the little strength he had gained from completing the challenge only made his body more aware of what it lacked.
Energy.
He reached for the pouch at his side and loosened the string. The soft clink of copper sounded almost mocking. Osric poured the contents into his palm and counted silently.
Twenty-five copper crowns.
Ten gone to a guard who hadn't earned a single one of them.
"That won't last," he muttered.
Even if he bought the cheapest bread, it would only keep him alive for a few days—and barely at that. No meat. No warm meals. No chance of recovery. Training like this on an empty stomach would kill him long before the system ever did.
Osric leaned back against the hut's wall, staring at the warped wooden ceiling.
He had three choices.
He could spend the money slowly and starve.
He could try to find work again in Lowbrook and be exploited for scraps.
Or—
His eyes narrowed.
—he could risk the forest again.
Not deep inside. Not against monsters like the Dire Wolf. But small game. Weak creatures. Things he could handle if he was careful. If the system rewarded survival and effort, then hunting—real hunting—might be his way forward.
Osric clenched his fist.
"I don't have the luxury of playing it safe."
As if responding to his resolve, faint blue text flickered at the edge of his vision.
[ Opportunity detected. ]
[ System Challenge Generated. ]
[ Challenge: First Contract ]
Objective: Accept and complete an E-rank hunting mission at the Adventurers' Guild.
Condition:
Mission must be officially registered.
Completion must be verified by the Guild.
Failure:
No penalty.
Reward:
Strength +1
Endurance +1
Stamina +1
Pain Resistance (F) progress increases
Unlock: System Mission Interface (Partial)
Osric stared at the screen.
"…The Adventurers' Guild?"
He had passed the building countless times in Ashbrook, but it might as well have been another world. For slum-born orphans, the guild wasn't a place of opportunity—it was a reminder of the gap between those who had options and those who didn't.
Still—
No penalty.
That alone made this different.
Osric exhaled slowly and pushed himself to his feet. Every muscle protested, but the system's presence steadied him.
"If I'm going to gamble," he muttered, "this is better than starving."
The Adventurers' Guild of Ashbrook was smaller than Osric had imagined.
A squat stone building pressed between a tannery and a half-collapsed warehouse, its faded sign creaking softly in the morning wind. The emblem — crossed blades beneath a crown — was chipped and poorly maintained, like everything else in the barony.
Osric paused at the entrance.
This place decides whether I eat… or starve.
He stepped inside.
The smell hit him first — sweat, old leather, and iron. A handful of adventurers occupied the main hall, their voices low and guarded. Most wore battered gear, mismatched armor, or patched cloaks. No one laughed.
At the far end stood the reception counter.
Behind it sat a man in his forties, his posture straight despite the deep lines etched into his face. A faded silver pin marked his rank — C-rank, the highest Osric had ever seen in Ashbrook.
The branch manager.
The man's sharp eyes lifted the moment Osric approached, flicking over his injuries, his posture, his thin frame.
"…New?" the man asked.
"Yes," Osric replied. "I want to register."
The manager slid a parchment forward. "Name."
"Osric."
A pause. The scratching of a quill.
"No party?"
"No."
That earned him a brief look — not mocking, not impressed. Just tired.
"E-rank only," the manager said. "No exceptions."
"That's fine."
The man nodded once and turned toward a board mounted behind him — the mission board. Most notices were sparse, written in cheap ink.
Extermination. Cleanup. Tracking.
Osric's eyes skimmed the list until one entry made his breath hitch.
[Stray Wolf – Outskirts]
Reward: 1 Silver Crown
Rank: E
One silver.
His fingers tightened unconsciously.
That's enough for a weapon.
The manager followed his gaze and exhaled quietly. "That one's trouble."
Osric looked back at him. "It's still E-rank."
"On paper," the man replied flatly. "Big wolf. Smart. Already killed livestock. Might've taken a man or two."
"Then why isn't it D-rank?"
A humorless smile crossed the manager's face. "Because if I mark it D-rank, the baron asks questions. And if the baron asks questions, he cuts funding."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, the manager added, "I won't stop you. But I won't lie either."
Osric took a breath.
His body still ached. His coin pouch was light. He had no blade.
And yet…
"I'll take it."
The quill paused mid-air.
"You sure?"
Osric nodded. "Yes."
The manager studied him for a long moment, then pushed the notice across the counter.
"Sign here. One silver upon confirmed kill. Proof required."
Osric pressed his thumb to the ink and marked the parchment.
The moment he did—
[System Notification]
Mission Recognized.
E-rank Hunting Mission detected.
Objective: Eliminate the Stray Wolf.
Status: Accepted.
[System Mission Interface (Partial) unlocked.]
Osric's pulse quickened, but he kept his face still.
The manager leaned back slightly. "You've got three days. If you're still breathing after, come back."
Osric turned toward the door.
As he stepped outside, the weight of the mission settled into his chest — heavy, real, unavoidable.
This wasn't training anymore.
This was survival.