“So… how do we level up?” Steven asked as they walked down a quieter street just off Briarton’s main square.

  John grunted. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  “We’ve got no idea what we’re doing,” Lucy said. “Feels like we should figure that part out early.”

  “Fair enough,” John replied. “Leveling comes slow, especially after the first few. You can see your current experience and level on the Interface. At the beginning, you’ll earn a bit just by training—swinging a sword, casting a spell, using your skill. The Interface rewards practice. But that’ll only get you so far.”

  Steven frowned. “So how do we move faster?”

  “You want real experience? You take risks. Combat. Challenges. For non-combat classes, it's about creating something new, expanding operations, improving your trade. The Interface pays attention when you push yourself.”

  Lucy glanced down at her palm. “But I’m a Healer. Does that mean I have to fight?”

  John nodded. “You’ll train in combat. Maybe not on the front lines, but they’ll make sure you can survive a fight. Especially since you’re both combat-aligned classes.”

  “And dungeons?” Steven asked. “You mentioned them before.”

  John’s face grew serious. “Dungeons are hands down the fastest way to level. Also, they’re most dangerous. They’re full of monsters, traps, and dangerous terrain. The Interface rewards risk because if you die, all the energy it gave you—your stats, skills, power—it gets returned. Same reason war and conflict give good experience too. The Interface rewards, but it also reaps. Like recycling. It’s the circle of life, I guess.”

  “That’s… messed up,” Steven muttered.

  “Maybe,” John said. “But it keeps the world moving. And the higher you go, the more the Interface gives. More power. More money. Even longer life. And every level comes with one stat point to assign. Fighters usually want Strength, Dexterity, or Constitution. Healers and Mages lean toward Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma. Depends on your class path.”

  Lucy nodded slowly. “And the guild helps us figure that out?”

  “They’ll train you, test you, help you specialize. But first, you’ll both be expected to serve the kingdom for one year. That’s the rule.”

  Steven raised an eyebrow. “Like the military?”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Sort of,” John said. “The guilds prepare you. Then the crown uses you—usually for dungeon diving or regional defense. Everything you earn that year goes back to the kingdom. It’s how they keep order and grow power. I had to do it too—planted potatoes day and night. Kingdom needed hardy crops for a war campaign. They fed me, but I couldn’t grow anything else. Couldn’t raise animals. Just dug and planted.”

  “That’s rough,” Steven said.

  “It was,” John agreed. “But everyone contributes. You’ll see. The guilds will walk you through the rest. I’m just a farmer. Not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

  They turned a corner and reached a clean stone building with a large carved symbol over the door—a simple cross-shaped staff encircled by a vine.

  “The Healer’s Guild,” John said.

  Lucy took a step closer, eyes wide. Through the window, she could see people in pale robes tending to injuries, measuring herbs, and speaking with quiet purpose.

  John held the door and motioned her through. Inside, it smelled of mint and dried flowers. A young woman with short dark hair and a silver-rimmed badge sat behind the front desk.

  “I’m here with a referral,” John said casually.

  The receptionist stood. “Name?”

  “Lucy,” Lucy said, a little uncertain.

  “Level one, Healer?” the woman asked. Lucy nodded. “We’ll take her from here.”

  Before they could ask any more questions, John was already turning to leave.

  “Wait,” Steven said, narrowing his eyes. “Referral?”

  John paused at the door. “Yeah. The guild pays a commission for promising recruits. Don’t look at me like that—food’s not free.”

  Lucy frowned. “So that’s why you brought us here?”

  “Partly,” John admitted. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to help. Just means I’m not stupid.”

  Lucy didn’t say anything. Neither did Steven. It wasn’t betrayal exactly, but the moment left a sour taste.

  “Welcome to Tierra,” John said simply. “Altruism’s a bit rarer here.”

  They left Lucy with the receptionist and continued walking west through Briarton’s winding streets. The tone between Steven and John had shifted. Not tense, but quiet. Businesslike.

  Ten minutes later, they arrived at a tall, fortress-like hall with a wide black banner hanging over the door—an emblem of a gauntleted fist gripping a spear.

  John sighed and stepped inside.

  The Fighter’s Guild was louder, grittier. Weapon racks lined the entrance hall. Recruits sparred in an open training ring. The scent of sweat and metal filled the air.

  “Referral,” John said again, approaching a man at the counter who barely looked up from his paperwork.

  Steven raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—commission?”

  “Yep,” John said, unapologetic.

  The clerk nodded and waved to a nearby hallway. “Take him to Liaison Rusk.”

  A younger recruit appeared and motioned for Steven to follow.

  John offered a short nod. “You’ll be fine. Guilds take care of their own. Just don’t be an idiot.”

  “Thanks,” Steven said, though it came out a little flat.

  John turned and walked out without another word.

  Steven took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped into the unknown.