The guards at the gate were exactly what I expected. One was leaning against the stone wall, picking at his teeth with a splinter of wood, his eyes lazy and dismissive. The other stood straighter, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, but his armor was tarnished and his expression was one of profound boredom.
They straightened up when they saw Devika.
"Lady Devika! By the Sacred Flame, what happened to you?" the bored one exclaimed, his eyes widening at her torn robes and the crude splint on her arm.
Then his eyes landed on me.
His face, which had held a flicker of concern, instantly curdled into suspicion and disgust. He took in my blood-spattered loincloth, the raw-hide cloak I'd given Devika, and my emotionless expression.
"And what… is this?" he sneered, his gaze lingering on me like I was something he'd scraped off his boot.
Devika stepped forward, her small frame filled with a surprising fire. "He saved my life! From a pair of Rock-Tusk Ogres in the Sunken Grove!"
The lazy guard choked on his toothpick, bursting into a harsh laugh. "Ogres? Plural? Lady Devika, are you sure you didn't hit your head? This… savage… couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag. He has no gear, and I can't feel a lick of mana on him."
The other guard nodded in agreement, his hand tightening on his sword. "Tell us the truth, my lady. Did this brute attack you? We'll be happy to lock him in the stocks."
I didn't move. I didn't speak. I simply met the bored guard's eyes.
I didn't glare. I didn't threaten. I just… looked at him. I let him see the abyss that lay behind my calm exterior. The part of me that had faced down armies, that had shattered mountains, that had forgotten more about killing than he would ever learn.
A bead of sweat trickled down the guard's temple. The smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a primal fear he couldn't comprehend. He felt like a mouse being observed by a hawk—a hawk so high in the sky it was invisible, yet its shadow still chilled him to the bone.
He took an involuntary step back, his hand trembling slightly. "Fine," he stammered, looking away. "Go on through. But if there's any trouble…"
I was already walking past him.
The town of Shambala's First Gate was alive. The cobblestone streets were crowded with people: merchants hawking their wares, armored adventurers laughing loudly as they stumbled out of a tavern, children chasing a glowing butterfly down an alley. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, fresh bread, and the faint, metallic tang of a blacksmith's forge. It was vibrant. Chaotic. Everything my old life wasn't.
And every single person stopped to stare at me.
Mothers pulled their children closer. Adventurers sized me up with mocking grins. Whispers followed us like a cloud of insects.
"Look at that barbarian."
"Is he a slave?"
"Why is Lady Devika with him?"
Devika's face burned with shame, but not for herself. For them. "Don't listen to them, Sir Shera. They just… don't understand."
"There's nothing to understand," I said. "I am what they see."
She shook her head, her determination returning. "First, we need to get you registered at the Adventurer's Guild. With your strength, you'll earn enough coin for proper clothes and a room in a single day!"
The Guild Hall was the largest building in town, a massive stone structure with a monstrous, fang-filled skull mounted over the double doors. Inside, it was even louder than the street. A cacophony of shouts, laughter, and clanking mugs filled the air. A massive wooden board covered in parchments—quests, I presumed—dominated one wall.
At a long wooden counter sat a young woman with fiery red hair tied in a messy bun. She had a scattering of freckles across her nose and the most profoundly bored expression I had ever seen. She looked up as we approached, her eyes flicking from Devika's disheveled state to my loincloth, and her eyebrow arched in practiced disdain.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone suggesting she'd rather be doing anything else.
"I'd like to register as an adventurer," I said.
The receptionist, whose name tag read 'Elara,' sighed as if I'd just asked her to personally slay a dragon. "Name?"
"Shera."
"Class?"
"None."
Her pen stopped scratching. She looked up, her bored expression now tinged with annoyance. "Everyone has a class. Are you a Warrior? A Mage? A Ranger?"
"No."
A few adventurers at a nearby table had stopped their conversation to listen, snickering into their mugs.
Elara's jaw tightened. "Fine. Weapon of choice? Sword? Axe? Bow? Staff?"
"My hands."
The snickers grew louder. A burly man with a braided beard called out, "Oi, Elara, looks like you've got a real champion on your hands! A naked brawler!"
Elara ignored him, her patience wearing paper-thin. "Right. Let's make this simple. Place your hand on the crystal," she said, pointing to a glowing blue orb on the counter. "It measures your latent mana and combat potential. It will assign your preliminary rank."
This was it. The test that would define me in this new world.
Devika watched with bated breath, her eyes shining with absolute faith. She'd seen what I could do. She expected the crystal to explode, to light up the whole city.
The snickering adventurers leaned in, eager for the show. They expected it to flicker weakly, maybe glow with the faint light of a dying candle.
I placed my hand on the smooth, cool surface of the orb.
Nothing happened.
The crystal's gentle blue light didn't flicker. It didn't brighten. It didn't dim. It remained utterly, completely, and profoundly unchanged, as if I hadn't touched it at all. As if my hand was made of air.
The hall fell silent for a moment, before erupting into roaring laughter.
"He's a dud!" the bearded man howled, slapping his knee. "The crystal doesn't even recognize him!"
Devika's face fell, her expression a mask of confusion and disappointment. "But… I saw…"
Elara snatched her hand back from the counter as if I were contagious. She scribbled something on a wooden token with vicious force and slammed it on the counter.
"Congratulations," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have zero potential. Less than a rock. In all my years, I've never seen a reading that low. Or rather, a reading of nothing."
She pushed the token towards me. On it was carved a single, stark letter.
F
"You're a Rank F. The lowest of the low. Now, if you want a quest, I suggest you take the one for cleaning the guild's latrines. It's the only thing you're qualified for. Next!"