The Adventurer’s Guild waited at the edge of the Artisan Ring, its elderwood walls moss-covered and warm under the glow of mage-lights and hanging fruit lanterns. Hearthwood’s guild wasn’t impressive; it was worked in, lived in, layered with years of spell residue, contracts shouted across timbers, and footsteps pressed into the mossy floor. That mattered more.

  Bran pushed the door open first. His eyes swept the room with the practiced rhythm of a local—crowd density, sound pockets, faint tug of low-level enchantments. Nothing unusual. Good.

  Liora followed, cloak pulled tight more from habit than chill. She scanned the boards first, not the people. Words were safer. Numbers didn’t posture. She lingered on the posted Class F contracts, noting carefully which villages were calm, safe, and predictable.

  Calden entered last, already irritated by the raised voices near the bounty counter. Argument meant wasted time. His apprentice blade sat lightly against his back—a reminder that overreach could strain his Core beyond their level.

  The board confirmed it. Each posting precise, each contract a clear invitation:

  Contract #F-1142

  Task: Gather 12 bundles of Silverleaf Herbs and 6 Bluecap Mushrooms

  Zone: Forestglade — Hill village, pastoral lands, Class F

  Requested by: Apothecary “Mirelda”

  Duration: 3 days (Due: 26th of Frostmoon)

  Reward: 80 silver per bundle delivered

  Contract #F-1145

  Task: Collect 8 Rivermint Sprigs and 4 Moonwater Lilies

  Zone: Willowshade — River bend village, Class F

  Requested by: Apothecary “Thalen”

  Duration: 2 days (Due: 25th of Frostmoon)

  Reward: 100 silver per sprig or lily

  Bran exhaled. “Forestglade for herbs, Willowshade optional for plants and minor fauna. Safe. Manageable. Same as our last trips.”

  Liora tapped the page. “Forestglade’s mana currents are calm. Herbs plentiful. Fauna predictable. We won’t overreach.”

  Calden glanced toward the Market Ring beyond the guild’s edge. “Willowshade’s riverside is abundant. We could farm a few skulkers or river rats for Core cultivation—nothing beyond Class F. Basic, but we’re close to breaking through Adept. A push like that should keep us progressing.”

  “They’ll split the runs,” Liora noted. “Forestglade for herb gathering, Willowshade for river plants—enough coin to tide us over the week. Nothing too ambitious. Not for our third trip.”

  Bran smirked, fingers brushing the posted contracts. “We could take a Class E—better silver, nicer rewards—but that’s a full weekend burn. Mana-heavy, probably means dipping into potions, maybe even buying back what we earn. Class F gets us herbs, a few minor cores, and coin without bleeding dry. That’s enough for now.”

  Calden nodded. “Right. No point overextending. We’ll get the bigger rewards when we can dedicate proper time.”

  They moved as always—Bran reading space, Liora reading detail, Calden reading consequence. Rhythm and discipline, even if trust in the work was measured.

  A shadow fell across their path.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Lookit here. Well, well,” sneered Rico, an adventurer more famous for his mouth than his skill. His words dripped with Heartwood trash slang. “If it ain’t the Academy’s golden boy. Thought you’d earned some respect, eh? Guess I’m still the one teachin’ yah a lesson.”

  Bran stiffened. Liora and Calden felt the ripple of Rico’s attention, caught in association.

  He stepped forward before thinking. Just one pace. Enough.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Bran said quietly. “If there’s a problem, it’s mine.”

  “Keep yah voice down,” he added. “We’re working.”

  Rico laughed, stepping closer, boots echoing lightly on the mossed floor. “Workin’? Better hope your low-level contracts don’t embarrass yah. Passin’ the Academy don’t mean yah survive the field.”

  The trio didn’t retreat. Breathing stayed even—apprenticeship drilled discipline deeper than fear.

  A booming, colourful voice cut through the tension, rough with age and experience:

  “Oi! Rico, for the love of all that’s mana-bound, stop waggin’ yah tongue like a stray sapling in a storm! Yah’re not impressin’ anyone, least of all yahself!”

  Heads turned. Adventurer Guildmaster Jacob strode in, massive frame, scars glinting faintly under the guild’s mage-lighting, arms crossed, eyes like burning embers. At his hip hung the legendary sword EarthRend, its runes faintly pulsing. Even at rest, it radiated a subtle vibration—a whisper of earthquakes and storms, a reminder of why Jacob was feared and revered across the realms. Class S, famed for clearing dungeons and toppling Class A and B monsters, his aura alone made the apprentices’ mana hum in quiet respect.

  “And yah,” he pointed at Bran, “keep that posture, lad. Eyes front, chest back. Don’t let cocky miscreants like this make yah look like a sapling in a gale!”

  Rico faltered, smirk fading. Even a glance at EarthRend made the floor underfoot feel heavier; the room’s hum shifted with Jacob’s boundless mana.

  “Now!” Jacob barked, clapping his hands with the authority of someone who’d wrestled a Class A Behemoth with a grin. “Yah’re here to pick contracts, not inflate egos or fondle yah own reputation! Got it? Move along before I haul the lot of yah into a training dungeon to teach humility, yeah!”

  Bran, Liora, and Calden exhaled quietly—tiny victories stitched into Heartwood’s social calculus. Rico muttered something under his breath but wisely stepped back.

  Liora leaned slightly toward Bran, voice low. “Who’s the lunatic?”

  “No one,” Bran murmured. “We’ll steer clear of him.”

  Calden muttered, barely audible. “Ashes… always in the wrong place, like it’s a given.”

  Liora added softly, “At least for a while, he’ll think twice before picking on us again.”

  Calden smirked. “Safe to say Class F runs won’t be interrupted—hopefully.”

  The trio turned back to the boards, confirmed their contracts, and moved toward the counter to register them. Each contract stamped, tracked, and acknowledged; their commitment officially recorded.

  Bran adjusted his satchel. “Crafter Lodge first, Blacksmith next. Then we’ll circle back through the Guild road. I know the shortcuts and safe pathways—don’t waste time wandering.”

  Liora nodded, noting the subtle mana currents flowing from Mage Square toward the Adventurer Guild. “No deviations.”

  Calden glanced once toward the Academy district, then dismissed it. “We’ll pick up supplies later. Right now, contracts only.”

  Liora glanced at the river of students and merchants weaving through the Market Ring. “Think Seraphina is keeping pace? She’s probably finalising her Academy enrollment with Senior Instructor Alessandra.”

  Bran shrugged. “She's interested in registering. Wait for her? Or push on with our own runs?”

  Calden tapped his fingers against his satchel strap. “She’s precise, said don’t wait up… and we’ve got lunch-time constraints. Classes start soon. Better get back before the instructors notice we’re missing. We’ll see her eventually.”

  Bran exhaled, smiling faintly. “Same as always. Low-level contracts today. Forestglade for herbs. Willowshade optional for minor practice. Nothing beyond our level. Class F. Apprentice rank. Manageable.”

  Liora nodded. “Safe. Manageable. But we’ll keep an eye on Seraphina—she’ll catch up, in her own time.”

  The three silhouettes turned, careful, deliberate, weaving through the Market Ring—apprentice adventurers on the cusp of Adept breakthrough.

  Mana modest, blades ready, eyes alert. Fire was impressive. But it wasn’t required.

  Lunch hour ended. Next class waited. Heartwood moved on.