The Adventurers Guild of the Fontaniska Capital was a massive, three-story stone structure located near the central plaza. The air inside smelled faintly of spilled ale, pipe tobacco, and sweat. Roars of laughter and the clinking of heavy tankards echoed off the high wooden rafters as seasoned mercenaries, scout archers, and heavy-armored vanguard fighters celebrated their recent bounties.
Anwan stepped through the heavy oak doors, his iron broadsword resting comfortably on his shoulder.
Because of his short stature, he had to dodge around towering warriors clad in plate mail. Most of the veterans barely noticed him, assuming he was a page boy running errands for a noble or a tavern helper carrying messages.
Anwan’s dark eyes calmly scanned the room. His absolute vision immediately took in the subtle details surrounding him: the way a drunken mercenary shifted his weight to hide an injured knee, the slight twitch in an archer’s fingers as he dealt cards, and the fine dust of magical residue coating the robes of a secluded scholar in the corner.
He walked directly up to the front counter, where a young woman with neat blonde hair was filing parchment documents.
"Excuse me," Anwan said, his voice quiet yet clear.
The receptionist looked up, blinking in surprise as she peered over the edge of the tall wooden counter.
"Oh! Hello there, little guy. Are you looking for your parents? The lost-and-found board is over by the left entrance."
Anwan shook his head gently.
"I am sixteen years old. I came here to register as an adventurer."
The receptionist blinked again, taking a closer look at him. His face indeed lacked the soft roundness of early childhood, and his posture was relaxed yet perfectly balanced.
"Sixteen? Ah... my apologies," she said, quickly straightening her uniform. "We do have late-bloomers from time to time. My name is Clara. If you wish to register, the fee is five silver coins, and you must undergo a basic physical and weapon assessment."
Anwan reached into his pouch, pulled out five shiny silver coins from the gold bag given to him by the King, and placed them on the counter.
"Where do I take the assessment?"
Clara collected the coins, her eyes widening slightly at the pristine royal mint stamp on the silver.
"Follow me to the rear courtyard, please."
The rear training ground was a wide, enclosed yard covered in packed dirt and lined with wooden practice dummies. Standing in the center was a massive, heavily scarred man holding a thick wooden greatsword. He wore thick leather armor and had a thick beard braided with steel rings.
"Clara! Another greenhorn?" the large man boomed, laughing loudly. "Looks like a breeze carried a straw into my yard! Kid, are you sure you didn't wander off from the academy?"
"This is Master Boros, our Guild Assessor," Clara introduced smoothly. "Boros, this is Anwan Rodas. He wishes to register as a martial combatant."
Boros tossed a wooden practice sword toward Anwan.
"Catch, kid. All you need to do is land one clean hit on my armor or survive three minutes against me. Don't worry, I won't swing hard enough to break your bones."
Anwan caught the wooden sword effortlessly by the hilt. He didn't bother taking a high or low guard position; he simply stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his arms hanging casually at his sides.
"Whenever you are ready, Master Boros."
Boros smirked, raising his greatsword.
"Arrogant little cub, aren't ya? Alright, hold tight!"
Boros lunged forward, sweeping his heavy wooden blade horizontally. To an average recruit, the strike was a terrifying wall of speed and weight.
To Anwan's eyes, the entire world slowed down.
Anwan saw the tension in Boros's right calf ignite a fraction of a second before he moved. He saw the shift in his hip joint and the path the wooden blade would take.
Anwan didn't even raise his weapon to block. He simply took half a step backward, letting the massive wooden sword pass a mere millimeter from his chest.
Fwwwh!
The displacement of air ruffled Anwan's dark hair.
Boros blinked, surprised by the clean miss. He immediately followed up with a vertical overhead crush.
Again, Anwan observed the shoulder tilt. He tilted his torso slightly to the left, stepping inside the guard of the strike.
As the heavy wooden greatsword slammed into the dirt ground, Anwan lightly tapped the side of Boros’s neck with his wooden sword.
Tap.
The courtyard went completely dead silent.
Clara dropped her clipboard onto the dirt.
Boros froze, his greatsword stuck two inches deep into the soil. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He hadn't even felt the kid move. It was as if Anwan had simply vanished from his sight and reappeared right next to his throat.
"You... your eyes..." Boros muttered, slowly turning his head to look at Anwan. "You weren't guessing. You read my muscle movements before I even swung."
Anwan lowered his wooden sword and offered a polite bow.
"Did I pass the assessment?"
Boros stared at him for three full seconds before breaking into a booming roar of laughter that echoed across the courtyard.
"Pass?! Kid, you just made an Iron-rank Assessor look like an amateur! Clara! Fetch an Iron Tag immediately! No—make it a Bronze Tag!"
"Yes, Master Boros!" Clara scrambled back toward the building.
Boros slapped Anwan on the back with enough force to shatter a normal man's shoulder, but Anwan absorbed the momentum seamlessly with a subtle shift of his legs.
"You've got terrifying talent, Anwan. Keep your head sharp out there. The world outside these walls is getting crazier by the day."
An hour later, Anwan sat at a corner table inside the guild hall, staring at a brass-bordered wooden plaque stamped with his new registration details. Next to it was a fresh parchment listing his first official commission.
Rank: Bronze
Objective: Clear the Whispering Caves of a rogue pack of Cave Stalkers.
Location: Northern Border of Fontaniska Kingdom.
Reward: 45 Silver Coins.
"Cave Stalkers..." Anwan murmured to himself, reading the crude drawing of the creature on the paper.
They were quadrupedal, shadow-dwelling monsters known for their immense agility, razor-sharp claws, and ability to blend into darkness.
As Anwan memorized the route map, a tall figure clad in a dark traveler's cloak sat down at his table without asking.
Underneath the hood, sharp blue eyes looked out at him, accompanied by a faint, familiar scent of lavender and royal perfumes.
"I see you succeeded in becoming an adventurer, Anwan."
Anwan raised his head. His absolute vision easily saw through the shadow of the hood, recognizing the fine features and silver hair tucked underneath.
"Feodia?" Anwan asked, keeping his voice low. "Why are you dressed like a wanderer? Aren't you supposed to be in the palace?"
Princess Feodia let out a soft sigh, adjusting her hood to ensure no nearby mercenaries recognized her face.
"My father has been flooded with urgent reports from the outer territories. I managed to slip out with my personal royal guards waiting nearby."
She lowered her voice further, leaning across the table.
"Anwan, I came to warn you. That quest you just accepted... it might be far more dangerous than the Guild realizes."
Anwan tilted his head.
"Because of the Cave Stalkers?"
"Not just them," Feodia replied, her expression growing solemn. "Our royal intelligence division has noticed an unnatural pattern. Over the past three months, monster spawn rates near the northern trade routes have increased by four hundred percent. Monsters that usually live deep inside the volcanic valleys are moving into the outer caves."
Anwan listened attentively, processing her words.
"Is someone driving them out?"
Feodia’s eyes narrowed slightly, impressed by his sharp intuition.
"That is what my advisors fear. Something is disrupting the natural flow of mana across the borders. The King believes it is merely a natural mana surge, but I suspect foul play. Be extremely cautious, Anwan. If things look unnatural, retreat immediately."
Anwan reached out, picked up his broadsword, and strapped it to his back. He gave her a small, reassuring smile.
"Thank you for telling me, Feodia. But I need the silver. And I want to see how these monsters fight."
Feodia looked at his calm, unwavering eyes and knew there was no stopping him. She pulled a small, silver amulet from her pocket and pressed it into his palm.
"Take this. It carries the crest of the Fontaniska Royal House. If you ever find yourself in deep trouble near a garrison, show this to the commander."
Anwan looked at the cool metal in his hand, feeling the high-grade craftsmanship, and placed it inside his inner coat pocket.
"I will keep it safe."
Three days later, deep within the mountainous ridges of the Northern Fontaniska border, the air grew noticeably colder.
The mouth of the Whispering Caves looked like a giant, jagged maw carved into the side of a grey stone cliff. Dense shadows enveloped the entrance, and a foul, metallic stench wafted out from the depths.
Anwan stood at the entrance, holding a unlit torch in his left hand and his iron broadsword in his right.
To a normal human, stepping into the pitch-black cavern meant absolute blind terror. But as Anwan stepped inside, his vision adjusted rapidly. His absolute perception did not rely solely on light; he could process the subtle vibrations of air movement, light reflections on damp rock walls, and the sound of distant breathing.
Skitch... skitch... skitch...
The sound of sharp claws scraping against wet limestone echoed from above.
Anwan stopped walking. He looked up toward the ceiling forty feet above him.
Clinging to the stalactites were five lean, hairless beasts with pitch-black skin, elongated limbs, and glowing red eyes. They had no visible ears, but their long, whip-like tails twitched rhythmically.
Cave Stalkers.
The lead Stalker let out a silent hiss, opening its jaws to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. Without warning, all five beasts detached themselves from the ceiling, dropping toward Anwan from multiple angles in total silence.
To an ordinary swordsman, a simultaneous ambush from five unseen angles in pitch darkness was a death sentence.
Anwan didn't even flinch.
His mind processed the trajectory of each falling shadow.
Target 1: Dropping straight down from above.
Target 2: Angling toward his left flank.
Target 3: Sweeping toward his right leg.
Targets 4 and 5: Landing behind him to cut off his escape.
Anwan pivoted on his right heel. His iron blade cut through the damp air in a fluid, circular arc.
Flash!
Slice! Slice!
Before the first two creatures could touch the ground, Anwan’s blade cleanly bisected their torsos. The sound of black blood splashing against stone echoed through the cave.
Without pausing his momentum, Anwan ducked low, allowing the third Stalker to fly harmlessly over his head. As it passed, he thrust his sword upward, driving the steel blade directly through the monster's lower jaw and out through its brain.
He ripped the blade out, spun around, and faced the remaining two Stalkers.
The two monsters landed on all fours, hissing aggressively, but they did not charge. Their instincts told them that the small human standing before them was far more dangerous than anything they had encountered before.
"Your movements are fast," Anwan noted aloud, his voice calm and completely devoid of fear. "But your muscle contractions give away your direction half a second before you jump."
The Stalkers lunged together in a desperate pincer attack.
Anwan stepped forward into their attack zone instead of backing away. With two clean, terrifyingly fast strikes, he severed the heads of both beasts before their claws could even scratch his leather armor.
Thud. Thud.
The cave returned to absolute silence.
Anwan wiped the dark monster blood off his blade with a rag, then pulled out his hunting knife to collect the monster cores required for his quest proof.
However, as he bent down, his senses suddenly caught something strange.
Sniff... sniff...
Anwan froze.
A faint, sweet, floral aroma drifted from deeper inside the cavern tunnel—a scent that had no business being inside a damp, filth-ridden monster cave.
Anwan had smelled this exact scent once before, months ago, when he had encountered a wounded winged creature in the deep woods.
A demon’s scent.
Anwan walked deeper into the cave, stepping quietly over the rocky terrain until he reached a massive subterranean chamber.
At the center of the chamber sat a strange, glowing crimson crystal embedded into a stone pedestal. Purple vapors leaked from the crystal, pooling on the floor and seeping out through the cracks in the cavern walls.
Surrounding the pedestal were dozens of unhatched, pulsating monster eggs.
Standing beside the crystal was a tall figure wrapped in a dark purple cloak. The figure held a leather-bound ledger, writing notes down with a silver quill.
Anwan stepped out from the tunnel shadows, his sword drawn.
"What are you doing to those eggs?" Anwan asked simply.
The hooded figure froze. He slowly turned around, pulling down his mask to reveal smooth, pale skin, brilliant purple eyes, and a set of sharp, obsidian-black horns curving back from his temples.
A Demon.
The demon stared at Anwan, his eyes narrowing as he evaluated the boy's small frame and simple gear.
"A human child? How did you get past the Stalkers outside?" the demon asked, his voice smooth and cold.
"I killed them," Anwan replied honestly. "They were fast, but easy to read. What is that crystal?"
The demon let out a low, amused chuckle.
"Impertinent brat. You stand before Malakor of the Eos Clan, and you dare ask questions? That crystal is a Catalyst of Abaddon. It accelerates the birth and aggression of wild beasts by overloading the atmospheric mana."
Malakor closed his ledger, resting his hand on the hilt of a curved black scimitar at his waist.
"Lord Araw's grand plan will not be ruined by a stray puppy. You have seen too much, human."
Anwan shifted his footing slightly, his absolute vision locking onto Malakor's posture.
"Lord Araw? Is he the one who instructed you to destroy the villages?"
Malakor sneered, pulling his curved scimitar from its sheath. Dark, purple magical fire ignited along the length of the steel.
"You do not deserve to speak his name! Die, worm!"
In a flash of purple light, Malakor vanished from his spot, moving at a speed far exceeding any human knight. He reappeared directly above Anwan, bringing the burning scimitar down in a lethal overhead strike intended to split the boy in two.
CRASH!
The floor shattered under the force of the magical impact, sending dust and rock fragments flying into the air.
However, Malakor’s purple eyes widened in shock.
His blade had struck empty air.
Standing right beside him, completely unharmed, was Anwan. The boy had sidestepped the lighting-fast attack with effortless grace, his dark eyes staring directly into Malakor’s face.
"Your spell speed is impressive," Anwan said softly, his voice echoing in the dusty air. "But your elbow flinched right before you swung."
Before Malakor could recover his stance, Anwan brought the flat of his iron broadsword down onto the demon’s shoulder with devastating physical force.
THWACK!
Malakor screamed as he was slammed into the cavern wall, coughing up dark blood as the stone cracked beneath him.
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