Osric's steps slowed as the city swallowed him again.
The sun had already dipped low, leaving the streets painted in long shadows and dim lanternlight. His body felt hollowed out—arms heavy, shoulders aching deep into the joints, legs moving more from habit than strength. The earlier surge from completing the challenge had long since faded, leaving only honest exhaustion behind.
Low stamina didn't announce itself loudly.
It crept in.
His stomach tightened as he walked, a dull, persistent ache that finally forced its way into his awareness. Osric frowned slightly, then realized why.
"…I haven't eaten since yesterday."
The thought landed harder than it should have.
Training, fighting, surviving—it had all pushed hunger aside. But now that he was no longer moving on adrenaline alone, his body demanded to be paid.
Osric slowed, eyes drifting across the street.
That was when he noticed the inn.
Calling it an inn was generous. The building leaned slightly inward, its sign weathered and chipped, lantern hanging by a rusted hook. The windows glowed weakly, but there was warmth there. Smell, too—something rich and savory that made his stomach twist painfully.
He stopped.
Just for a moment.
Then he turned toward it.
Inside, the air was thick with steam and low conversation. The place was small, crowded with mismatched tables and worn benches, but it was clean enough. More importantly, it was warm. Osric took a seat near the wall and waited, ignoring the faint looks cast his way—his tired posture, his plain clothes, the sword resting at his side.
When the server came, he spoke without hesitation.
"One soup," Osric said. "With bread."
The bowl arrived not long after.
Chicken soup. Real pieces of meat floating beneath the surface, steam curling upward. A chunk of fresh bread sat beside it, crust still warm to the touch.
Seven copper.
To most people, it would've been nothing.
To Osric, it was a luxury.
He ate slowly.
Each spoonful settled heat into his chest, easing the tightness in his stomach and the ache in his limbs. The bread was dense and filling, the kind that didn't disappear after a few bites. By the time he finished, the fog behind his eyes had lifted just enough for him to breathe easier.
He sat back, hands resting on the table.
"…Worth it."
Outside, night had fully claimed the city by the time he stepped back into the street. Osric didn't linger. He headed home, fatigue pressing down harder now that he'd allowed himself rest.
Tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow, he would walk into the Adventurers' Guild—not as a desperate slum rat chasing coin wherever he could find it, but as someone choosing his path.
And starting now, he decided, he would eat properly.
At least one real meal a day.
He'd earn it. Mission by mission, blade by blade.
Osric reached his broken door, slipped inside, and let exhaustion finally take him—sleep claiming him almost the moment he lay down.
Tomorrow, his life as an adventurer would begin.
Osric entered the Adventurers' Guild just after sunrise.
The building was already awake. The smell of parchment, ink, and old wood mixed with the faint tang of steel and leather. A few adventurers lingered near the notice boards—some armed, some half-asleep, some already arguing over rewards. It was louder than his home, busier than the alleys of Lowbrook, but calmer than the underground ring.
This was a place where survival was expected, not gambled on.
Behind the main desk stood Franklin.
He looked exactly as Osric remembered—broad-shouldered, posture relaxed but deliberate, dark hair threaded with early gray, and sharp eyes that missed very little. He wore no armor, no visible weapon, and nothing that marked him as dangerous.
Which was precisely why he was.
Franklin looked up from his paperwork as Osric approached, gaze flicking over him in a single, practiced glance. The sword at his side. The way he walked—still sore, but controlled. The faint stiffness that hadn't fully faded yet.
Recognition sparked.
"…Osric," Franklin said, voice even. "Didn't expect to see you here this morning."
Osric stopped at the desk and bowed his head slightly. "I'm here to take a mission."
Franklin studied him for another moment before leaning back in his chair.
"I figured you would be," he said. "After what I heard."
Osric stiffened faintly. "You heard?"
Franklin's mouth twitched—not quite a smile. "Ashbrook is small. And I hear more than most." He tapped a finger against the desk. "Underground ring. Two fights. One veteran. Walked out on your feet."
Osric didn't deny it.
"I was surprised," Franklin continued calmly. "Not that you survived. That you won."
He paused, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You keep an interesting profile for someone who claims to want honest work."
Osric met his gaze. "I need money. And I need to get stronger."
Franklin nodded once, as if that answer pleased him more than anything else Osric could've said.
"Fair enough."
He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a stack of mission parchments, spreading them out between them.
"Before you look," Franklin said, "I'll remind you—there are no F-rank missions here."
Osric already knew that, but he listened anyway.
"The Greydell soldiers handle the weakest threats. Goblins. Pests. Anything that keeps the streets clean and the Baron looking competent." A faint edge entered Franklin's voice. "Which leaves the real work to us."
Another reason he disliked the Baron.
"Ashbrook sits on the edge of a small territory," Franklin went on. "One forest. Weak monsters. That means E-rank work is the backbone of this branch. D-rank shows up occasionally. Anything above that?" He shook his head. "Doesn't happen."
Osric looked down at the parchments.
Franklin slid five forward.
"Your options."
1. Eliminate two Lizardmen spotted near the northern forest stream.
Direct combat. Known for ambush tactics. Decent physical strength.
-
2. Clear a small nest of giant rats in the city's lower sewer tunnels.
Cramped environment. Numbers over individual threat.
-
3. Track and locate a hobgoblin sighted near an abandoned watch post.
Do not engage. Report location only.
-
4. Exterminate a Thornback Boar near the eastern forest edge.
Thick hide. Dangerous charges. Usually encountered alone.
-
5. Eliminate a Forest Creeper nest along old logging paths.
Small, venomous, and territorial. Numbers matter more than strength.
.
Franklin folded his hands together.
"No one's forcing your choice," he said. "But I'll be clear—E-rank doesn't mean safe. It just means survivable if you're careful."
Osric's eyes moved from parchment to parchment.
Direct combat. Numbers. Tracking. Containment. Forest threats.
He felt the weight of his sword at his side. Felt his stamina still not fully recovered. Felt the memory of pain, hunger, and effort layered beneath his skin.
This was different from the ring.
Out there, mistakes didn't stop when the crowd got bored.
Osric inhaled slowly.
Then he thought.