The city of Valebris woke to the sound of wagons, the fluttering of banners atop the black stone walls, and the distant chime of bells from the Adventurer's Agency. The smell of fresh bread mixed with the heat of the Foundry District, and the streets of the suburbs pulsed with life: beggars, workers, traveling merchants, and would-be heroes.
It was there, between narrow alleys and cracked cobblestone sidewalks, that three young men walked with determined expressions—though one of them carried something deeper in his eyes: purpose.
Fleck, tall and broad-shouldered with a calm gaze, moved as if every step were part of a plan only he understood. His dark hair matched the soot of the chimneys, and his expression was that of someone who had seen the worst—and learned from it. At eighteen, he had no surname, no legacy, no wealth. All he carried were the scars of growing up in Valebris' orphanages… and a silent ambition, forged in every sleepless night.
Beside him walked the twin brothers, Rogar and Drakar—both mountains of muscle and resolve, each the same height as Fleck, from the same origin, yet opposite in temperament.
Rogar, the impulsive one, walked with clenched fists, as if expecting a fight at any moment. His fiery red hair was tied back, and his eyes carried the wild spark of someone desperate to prove his worth. Drakar, by contrast, was the calm after the storm: dark eyes, steady stance, gaze always forward. He spoke little, but when he did, everyone listened.
"Today's the day…" Rogar muttered, breaking the silence. "We're finally getting out of this dump."
"It's not about leaving," Fleck corrected, eyes fixed on the distant tower of the Agency. "It's about starting."
The Adventurer's Agency loomed over the central plaza like a colossus of white marble and arcane glass. Rotating doors were guarded by lightly armored soldiers with bored expressions. For many, this was the end of the dream. For them, it was only the first gate.
Inside, the main hall resembled a temple more than a government office: stained glass windows depicted scenes of legendary battles, ancient heroes, and slain mythical beasts. But no one looked up. Everyone was there for something far more tangible—power.
An attendant led them to a line of dozens of anxious, nervous, and hopeful youths. Fleck simply observed in silence, scanning expressions, sweaty palms, darting eyes. He knew most wouldn't last a month. But he wasn't there to compete with them—he was there to begin a construction.
"Next!" called a registrar behind a glowing crystal biomancer.
Fleck stepped forward first. He placed his hand on the device, which shimmered with a bluish light. A translucent screen materialized before them.
NAME: Fleck
AGE: 18
CLASS: —
LEVEL: 1
INITIAL ATTRIBUTES:
Strength: 6 | Dexterity: 7 | Constitution: 6
Intelligence: 8 | Willpower: 9 | Luck: 5
ELEMENTAL AFFINITIES: None detected
SKILLS:
— [Untranslatable Text] (hidden ability detected)
NOTE: This ability cannot be translated. Effects are unidentified.
SUGGESTED CLASS: Swordsman / Elementalist
The registrar raised an eyebrow at the mention of a hidden ability, but her expression quickly hardened.
"You're… not following the Agency's recommendation? Arcane Swordsman is a common transition class for early magic users."
"I'll decide for myself," Fleck replied calmly.
She nodded, visibly displeased. A tray slid toward him with an iron tag and a registration crystal.
"Welcome, Iron-Rank Adventurer. May luck guide your path."
Rogar and Drakar followed right after.
The crystal pulsed intensely upon contact with both, as if reacting to burning blood.
NAME: Rogar
AGE: 18
CLASS: —
LEVEL: 1
INITIAL ATTRIBUTES:
Strength: 10 | Dexterity: 5 | Constitution: 8
Intelligence: 4 | Willpower: 6 | Luck: 3
ELEMENTAL AFFINITY: Fire (Latent)
SUGGESTED CLASS: Warrior
NAME: Drakar
AGE: 18
CLASS: —
LEVEL: 1
INITIAL ATTRIBUTES:
Strength: 9 | Dexterity: 6 | Constitution: 9
Intelligence: 5 | Willpower: 7 | Luck: 4
ELEMENTAL AFFINITY: Earth (Latent)
SUGGESTED CLASS: Warrior
The iron tags now hung from their necks like silent medals for a war not yet fought.
Outside, with the sun setting over the rooftops of Valebris, Fleck watched the other new adventurers cheering, running through the streets, filling taverns and cheap gear shops.
He knew most of them would die on their first mission. He also knew that registration was only the first step.
"Now it truly begins," he murmured.
Drakar crossed his arms. "What's the plan?"
"Tomorrow… a hunt. We'll take a pest-clearing mission on the outskirts of the city. No unnecessary risks."
"That's rookie stuff," Rogar growled.
"Because that's what we are," Fleck retorted, locking eyes with him. "But if we do it right—efficiently and with discipline—we won't be rookies for long."
He looked at the Agency's symbol engraved on his tag, then lifted his gaze to the city's horizon. One day, it would be his symbol that others wore.
The time for merely surviving was over. It was time to build something… something that could burn like a flame—the fire of a new order.