“…(and) a guild has been established by royal decree of Rex Apsimir “Scarlet-Hand” Calloman II to address the growing unrest and unease threatening the peace of the Kingdom of Kladia on the northern continent. Members of the guild will be rewarded for the subjugation and eradication of unholy Magic Beasts that endanger the realm (etcetera)…”
“This excerpt is from a royal decree issued 25 years ago, marking the beginning of the end of the era of demons with the death of the 72nd Demon King Zepherous the Eternal Tempest 39 years ago. Guilds have become an integral part of daily life for the lower and middle classes, as well as a source of esteemed valor for noble households throughout the major cities of Kladia.
A guild consists of members known as Adventurers. Each Adventurer has access to a guild’s omniscient artifact (upon request) called an Identity Stone (or "Identification Stone" in some contexts), which determines their individual [Skills], [Talents], and distribution of attribute points. While Adventurers can see their available points, they do not need an Identity Stone to allocate them; they simply need to “will” their status into distribution. Those with a specific skill; [Status], [Inspect], or a rare talent ;(Observing Eye), (Manipulator), may find it easier to view and interact with their status.
- Each member of the Guild system, including Adventurers, is assigned a ranking based on their level, achievements, and contributions. These ranks are represented by plates, with higher ranks indicating greater skill and prestige:
- Plateless
- - Requirements: All new Adventurers start as Plateless.
- - Promotion: Automatically promoted to Copper upon reaching Level 2.
- - Notes: Plateless Adventurers have minimal experience and are often restricted to low-risk requests.
- Copper
- - Requirements: Adventurers above level two with at least one completed request(s).
- - Promotion requirements: Requires Level five and five successful request completions on file.
- - Notes: Copper Adventurers handle basic tasks such as gathering materials or dealing with minor threats.
- Iron
- - Requirements: Level 15+ and successful subjugation of a Rank two magical beast.
- - Promotion: Based on a Guild supervisor’s recommendation and completion of qualifying tasks.
- - Notes: Iron Adventurers demonstrate competence in combat and reliability in moderate-risk assignments.
- Bronze
- - Requirements: Level 35+ and completion of significant subjugation (guild orchestrated) or regional threat mitigation (natural events).
- - Promotion: Requires Guild oversight and approval from regional leadership.
- - Notes: Bronze Adventurers are respected professionals capable of handling high-risk missions and leading small teams.
- Silver
- - Requirements: Level 50+ and formal recognition by the King during biannual Guild ceremonies. (Non-Kladian adventurers may be subject to a different ceremony)
- - Promotion: Requires demonstrated excellence in both combat and diplomacy, with a significant regional or national impact.
- - Notes: Silver Adventurers are elite operatives trusted with missions of strategic importance to the Kingdom.
- Gold
- - Requirements: Level 75+ and a thorough inspection by both the Kingdom and the Church of Valor.
- - Promotion: Requires exemplary service, moral integrity, and the completion of legendary deeds. (Note: the guild office I checked with told me that they call them “Good boys and girls” -Serril)
- - Notes: Gold Adventurers are exceedingly rare and are often elevated to positions of authority, retiring from active adventuring long before reaching this rank.
- Platinum and Higher Ranks
- - Requirements: Achievements with global implications, such as defeating catastrophic threats or altering the course of history.
- - Notes: Platinum-ranked Adventurers are legendary figures, and higher ranks (e.g., Mythril or Adamantite) are often honorary, recognizing unparalleled contributions to the world. (Note: Living Platinum Rank Adventurers are beyond both my budget and ability to find information on, I apologize for my failure as a scholar to bring this information to you. -Serril)
Merchants and professionals within the guild are classified into three ranks: Bronze, Silver, and Gold. While all ranks are important, each performs unique duties that are essential to the guild's operations.
A typical Bronze rank mage or blacksmith can assist others with basic equipment or simple trinket-adjacent artifacts. In contrast, a Gold-rank blacksmith can forge equipment from the remains of a Hydra, which can be suitable for a Bronze or Silver-rank adventurer but comparable in quality to what a Gold-rank adventurer might use.”
- Excerpt from History of the Guildhouse by Serril Zale
Sebas stood alone in the grove, a solitary tree casting jagged shadows across the blood-soaked earth. His chest heaved as he drew in ragged breaths, the acrid scent of blood filling his nostrils- a pungent mix of his own and that of the rabbit limp in his jaws. The metallic tang clung to the air, mingling with the damp, disturbed earth, creating an oppressive atmosphere akin to a freshly dug grave.
[You have been inflicted with: Mild Delirium, Mild Confusion, and Moderate Bleed.]
A dull thunk broke the silence as his quivering jaw finally unclenched, releasing the crimson-streaked rabbit. Its lifeless body hit the ground with a wet thud, staining the soil further. Trembling hands tore at his shirt, shredding fabric into strips. Each movement was frantic, desperate, as he wrapped the makeshift bandages tightly around the gaping wound in his hand. Pain roared through him, a visceral scream from his nerves demanding he stop, but he gritted his teeth, pressing on as his body trembled with defiance.
Collapsing to his knees, Sebas fixed his gaze on the dripping blackened bandages, his breathing ragged and uneven. His free hand curled into a fist, the knuckles white with strain, before driving it into the rough bark of the tree. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through him, forcing a reflexive swallow. The taste of blood coated his tongue, thick and coppery, and he gagged, his body convulsing with the effort to suppress it.
Then, the delayed agony surged forth like a dam breaking, and a bloodcurdling scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing through the desolate grove.
[You are no longer afflicted with: Confusion.]
Sebas' scream was abruptly silenced as a heavy branch struck his shoulder and back, forcing him face-first into the red-stained dirt. Pinned beneath it, he stared eye to eye with the lifeless rabbit, as if interrogated by its cadaver.
His mania turned to violence, he threw the hefty branch to the side and snarled words out to the corpse in his hand, his fingers curled around its broken neck with a death grip. “YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO MOCK ME.” He declared, his vision drilling into the rabbit’s eyes.
His grip on the rabbit's neck weakened as his labored breathing subsided, devolving into muted laughter. Crouching low, he almost fell to his knees as he relived the entire encounter in his mind, glancing back at the dark hallway of the underground sanctuary. He held the rabbit's floppy ears at his side in silence.
[You are no longer afflicted by: Delerium.]
As his thoughts raced, his thumb traced his upper lip, a habitual action he resorted to when he was deep in contemplation. Slowly, he pushed himself back to his feet, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides as he walked back toward the cavernous entrance, his vision seemed to focus on distance as the sound chimed in his mind again.
[You Have Leveled Up, Congratulations!]
[You are now Level 4]
[Access. 5 Stat Points are available for Distribution.]
Sebas grunted as he slammed against the door. He paused midway through his assault to kick the metal barricade but quickly regretted it. He cursed under his breath as the pain shot through his foot, which was missing a shoe.
His gaze shifted to the wide-eyed Sir Elimir, who was openly gawking at him as he squeezed his body through the doorway.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Sebas looked over to him, his gaze caught by the adventurer guild officer, or whatever position the thirty-something human held. He stiffly asked, “What?”
“Ye look like shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You. Look. Like shit.” He emphasized again.
His expression turned sour, “thanks, you too.”
“Well, you didn’t die, so good job, urchin. That’s better than some can say. Toss the rabbit onto the counter; I’ll take it off your hands if you’d like.”
“Are you really mugging me?” Sebas asked in disbelief.
Elimir shook his head with a small laugh in his voice “Relax, I do my job here without any of Eruka’s bad apples influencing my life; sell me the horned rabbit corpse, go back to the guild… maybe get that dealt with,” he finished his explanation with a gesture at Sebas’ devastated left hand.
A small "oh" escaped from Sebas as he tossed the filthy corpse onto the weathered chestnut-brown counter. However, all his energy was focused on maintaining his balance, adjusting his body as his shoulders swayed from side to side.
Elimir leaned forward to pick up the rabbit and held it in front of him while addressing Sebas. "Kid, I’m really impressed; I have to hand it to you," he began, a smug grin spreading across his face as his eyes shifted toward Sebas’s swaying form. "This is the smallest, weakest thing I’ve ever seen come out of this dungeon. Congratulations! If you had died in there, I would have named my kid Tiny in your honor."
Sebas kept eye contact with the older man for a long time before he called out to him. “Sir Elimir?”
“Yes, lad?”
“How could anyone possibly love you, much less have a child with you?”
Elimir let out a hearty guffaw, pulling a large coin pouch from his belt and dropping it onto the counter with a heavy thud. Beside it, he placed a much smaller, pitiful-looking leather bag that barely made a sound. With practiced ease, he slipped a silver coin and 28 coppers into the tiny pouch, cinched the drawstring tight, and slid it across the elevated desk to the far end.
Noticing the way the boy’s eyes lingered on the hefty sack of coins, Elimir placed a protective hand over it, smirking as he spoke. "Listen, kid, your kind’s rarer than a baker's dozen around here. You didn’t die, somehow, and you’re actually fun to talk shit with. Beats the hell outta dealing with the rest of these doormat pricks," he said, nodding toward the dirt road leading to town.
His grin widened as he leaned closer. "Pretty sure I know who you are. That damn hair of yours always caught my eye in town. I like you, so here’s the deal: go get yourself a weapon, something that won't break on you. Oh, and one more thing," he added, his tone shifting to mock seriousness, "swing by the Church of Mercy. There’s a maiden there named Nria. She’ll patch you up real nice. None of those old hags they usually have, she’s a real looker. Consider it a bonus for the decent shape of the body."
Elimir leaned back, his laugh echoing as he motioned toward the coins. "Now don’t keep me waiting, kid. Go on, make something of yourself."
His eyes shifted from the bag to the new one given to him. Bleary-eyed, he then focused on Elimir’s smug face, grabbed the bag of coins, and turned away to trudge off into town.
Sebas walked into the adventurer’s guild, barely avoiding a collision with a drunk patron’s fist brushed past his head and collided with another, making a small whooshing in the air from the impact. He stood like a deer in headlights for a single second before wrapping his right hand around his head and sidled through the congested hall of moving people to reach the booths. He managed to note that a staff of primarily demi-human and nonhuman ethnicities populated the new shift of workers. He managed to get in line behind a leaving adventurer and speak with a cat-lineage demihuman in a guild uniform, “Someone from the daytime told me I could get a bed?” he asked hesitantly.
“A cot only costs a single piece of copper, throw in two more and they’ll give you a grilled fish,” he said with a toothy smile.
The cat-eared guild worker observed as his right hand reached into his left pocket and retrieved three oxidized copper coins. He placed the coins onto the wooden table, then slid them across the counter with a flat palm and dropped them into a lockbox beneath the counter. He gestured toward the flight of stairs while holding a silver key attached to a wooden tag that read “16.”
He walked toward the stairway, the key tightly clutched in his hand. The guild worker asked him, “If you need anything else from us, don’t hesitate to ask. Perhaps a potion for your wound?”
Sebas turned to his poorly dressed hand that was dripping towards the ground and asked, “How
The catman's expression changed to that of a fisherman who had just caught a big fish. "Five silver for a mid-rank health recovery potion? Surely, young master Aren can afford such a small expense."
Sebas curled his lip in disdain at the guild worker as he spat on the counter, refusing to give him the satisfaction of denial before stomping up the staircase.
A hallway adorned with ornate wooden plaques stood next to sturdy doorways embossed with luminous runes. One door was marked “16.” This plaque was aligned with a blue magic circle composed of three distinct lines of circuit-like runes inscribed on the upper half of the door. When he inserted the key into the lock, he noticed that the small door key did not need to be turned to engage the locking mechanism. Instead, the simple act of inserting the key caused the blue lines of mana to fade, it transformed the solid wall into a light wooden door and made it open with a push on the key.
The adventurer guild’s single bedroom was as bare-bones as it got for a single copper. The room measured roughly eight by eight feet, its wood walls rough and unpolished, with visible cracks that let in the occasional draft. A narrow wooden bed stood against the wall, its straw-stuffed mattress lumpy and sagging in the middle. The blanket was coarse and threadbare, and the pillow barely deserved the name, a flattened sack of old feathers.
A battered chest sat at the foot of the bed, its iron hinges rusty but functional, offering a place to store belongings. Beside the bed, a rickety nightstand held a small, dented mana-stone lamp, its light unreliable and prone to sputtering. A cracked mirror hung crookedly on the wall above an empty basin, which rested atop a wooden stand. The basin’s water pitcher was chipped but usable.
A cramped, attached bathroom offered the bare minimum: a bucket, a drain in the corner for runoff, and a thin curtain for privacy. The floor was rough stone, uneven, and cold, with no rug to soften the chill. The single small window was clouded with grime, letting in faint light during the day but offering no insulation from the elements.
His gaze fell upon the fractured mirror, where half-lidded black eyes stared back at him, judgmental of the blood that surrounded his face like a messy eater. His garnet-stained teeth were exposed by a curled lip, and his dirty red hair was matted with caked chunks that clung to the soft ruby locks. The shirt he wore was missing most of its fabric, leaving his stomach exposed.
His muscles were atrophied, and his body was emaciated, covered in scrawny scars. As he stared into the mirror, the words You look. Like shit. Echoed in his mind, quickly overshadowed by the fierce repetition of his previous outburst: YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO MOCK ME. He gripped the mirror tightly with his right hand and winced as his destroyed left hand throbbed in pain as he reached to grab it as well.
He stepped away from the cracked mirror, his gaze shifting to the basin. Steam rose from the water within, heated by the faintly glowing runes etched beneath the tap, a rudimentary but effective bit of magic. He gritted his teeth as he plunged his ravaged hand into the scalding water. Stabbing shot up his arm, sharp and unrelenting, but he bore it with a clenched jaw and body trembling with pain.
His free hand clawed at the wooden floorboards for balance as he fumbled with his belt. With no medical training and no patience left, he wrapped the leather strap tightly around his wrist, pulling it taut until the bleeding slowed to a sluggish ooze. The improvised tourniquet bit into his skin, but it bought him time.
Taking a shaky breath, he forced himself to inspect the wound, his bloodied fingers twitching under the water as he braced for the worst.
His hand trembled as he gingerly pulled it from the water, the skin flushed a raw, angry red from the heat and pressure of the tourniquet. The bleeding had slowed, but the sight of the wound made his stomach churn- a clean puncture through two parts of his palm, splitting the flesh on the middle and outer edges, opposite the thumb. It was grotesque, the kind of injury that begged for proper care he couldn’t afford or find.
He let out a shaky breath and reached behind him, and he yanked the remaining fabric of his shirt free with a sharp tug. Stripping it down to its last usable scraps, he soaked the cloth in clean water and rubbed soap into it, scrubbing it together with urgency. With his spare hand and teeth, he twisted the sodden fabric, wringing out the excess water until it was damp but manageable.
Carefully, he wrapped the improvised bandage around his wounded palm, tightening it as best he could. The pressure sent fresh jolts of pain shooting up his arm, but he didn’t stop, securing the cloth with trembling fingers. It wasn’t elegant or sterile, but it would have to do.
He stood up from the bloodwater trough and collapsed into the shoddy bed covered with animal skins, his good hand squeezed them as he laid face down in the bed, not bothering to turn off the manalamp.
His body trembled against the bed, his fragile vessel yearning to release the crushing weight of his stress. Starved to near death, anemic, and shivering in the biting cold, he lacked the strength to confront the torment that loomed over him like a merciless specter. The pain and exhaustion seemed to mock him from some intangible void, unrelenting and cruel.
[You are no longer afflicted with: Bleed.]
With nothing else to do, he chose to confide in the only reprieve he was comfortable with, if he survived it, sleep. Whether he would survive the night was a question he didn’t care about the answer to, but at that moment, it was a risk he was willing to take.
[5 Stat Points are available to be allocated.]