Ren woke to the muffled creak of floorboards and the low murmur of voices drifting up from downstairs. The attic space he'd earned was cramped and smelled of dry hay and old wood, but it had been warm and dry through the night. Dust motes danced in the thin beams of light cutting through the single narrow window. He sat up, his muscles protesting—a deep, honest ache from a full day's labor. It was a good feeling.
He pushed the small window open, letting in a sharp gust of cool morning air. Below, the village was already stirring. A man heaved sacks of grain onto a cart, two women led goats to a tethering post, and a young boy chased a chicken through the mud. The smell of baking bread drifted up, making his stomach tighten.
For the first time since waking in that field, he wasn't just alive—he was somewhere.
He climbed down the ladder from the loft. The tavern's main room was quiet now, only a few early drinkers nursing mugs of ale. The innkeeper was behind the counter, wiping down surfaces with a rag that had seen better days.
"You get the wood split for Old Lady Hesta?" the man asked without looking up.
"Stacked and covered," Ren said.
The innkeeper grunted. "She didn't come complainin', so I'll take your word for it. Want breakfast?"
"I don't have coin."
"No," the man said, "but you've got two hands. Sweep the front porch. Help scrub last night' pots. That'll earn you a bowl."
Ren didn't mind. There was a rhythm to this kind of work—a simple, honest trade. By mid-morning, he'd swept the porch, wiped down the benches, and scoured pots until his hands were raw. It wasn't exciting, but it was real.
When the innkeeper handed him a bowl of thick oat porridge with a boiled egg on the side, it tasted better than anything he'd had since coming to this world.
"You plannin' on stayin' around?" the innkeeper asked as Ren ate on a bench near the door.
Ren looked up. "Not sure yet. I came out of the woods yesterday. Been on my own awhile."
"Lucky. Lots of folks don't make it out of the deepwood."
"I almost didn't," Ren admitted.
The man studied him. "You know what we do with strangers here?"
"Turn them away?"
"Usually. But you work. You're quiet. Didn't steal nothin'. Didn't talk big."
Ren nodded. "I'm not looking for charity."
"Might want to check with the Adventurer's Guild, then."
That got Ren's attention. "There's a guild here?"
"Other side of the square. Old timber buildin' with a faded blue banner. They'll take near anybody willin' to sign the book. Lastin' is another matter."
"What's the work like?"
"Dangerous. Pay's uneven. But it's a way to stop bein' a nobody."
Ren finished the last of his egg. "I'll check it out."
The innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron. "If they take you, maybe I'll give you a discount on pan-scrubbin'."
Ren almost smiled.
A short while later, he stood at the edge of the village square, looking at a weathered building with a tattered blue banner hanging above the door. A wooden sign, cracked with age, showed a sword crossed behind a shield. It wasn't much, but it was something.
He stepped inside.
The air in the guild hall was cool and still smelled of smoke and old wood. A few people sat at long benches, talking quietly over maps and mugs. Behind a scarred counter stood a woman with her arms crossed. She had sharp eyes and wore a practical tunic.
"New face," she said. Her voice was low, no-nonsense. "Here to register?"
"Thinking on it," Ren said.
"We don't do 'thinkin'. You're in or you're out."
"I'm in."
She slid a thick ledger across the counter. "Name and mark. Then we test."
Ren picked up the quill. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he wrote:
*Ren Hoshikage*
The ink spread a little, but the name stood clear. It felt like claiming a piece of himself he'd almost forgotten.
The woman looked at it. "Ren Hoshikage. Not from around here."
"No."
She didn't press. "Alright, Ren. Before you get a guild mark, you do the trial. Basic skills. Make sure you don't get yourself killed first time out."
"What's involved?"
"Depends who's testin' you. Today—Caren."
She called over her shoulder. "Caren! Fresh one."
A broad man with a broken nose and worn half-plate armor emerged from a back room. He looked Ren over.
"Green?" he asked the woman.
"Green."
Caren gestured with his head. "Follow me."
Ren followed him out into a packed-dirt courtyard behind the hall. Training dummies lined one wall. A crate of practice weapons—clubs, spears, blunt swords—sat near the entrance.
"Pick one," Caren said.
Ren looked through the options. None felt natural. But he remembered the weight of the spear he'd made in the woods. He chose a short, sturdy one.
Caren nodded toward a straw dummy. "Show me."
Ren stepped forward, took a breath, and struck. The blow was solid, if not graceful. He adjusted his grip and struck again, lower this time. Then again—faster, more controlled.
"Not trained," Caren said. "But not stupid. Now defense."
He picked up a padded baton. "Try not to get hit."
He didn't wait. He swung low.
Ren stumbled back. Another swing came from above. He sidestepped, off-balance.
"Stop backing up," Caren grunted. "You'll fall. Move *with* it."
The next flurry was faster. Ren began to find a rhythm—not skill, but instinct. He ducked, blocked with his forearm, stayed on his feet. His breath came hard. His muscles burned.
Then Caren stopped.
"Enough. You'll live." He nodded once. "Probation. One-star rank. You get the weak jobs—gatherin', escorts, pest clearin'."
"That's fine."
"Do 'em well, you move up."
Back inside, the woman at the counter was already holding a leather guild badge. It was stamped with a single star above a crossed sword and wheat stalk.
She handed it to him. "Welcome to the Guild. Job board goes up at first light. Be here early if you want anythin' worth takin'."
Ren took the badge. It felt solid in his hand. Real.
"I'll be here," he said.
He stepped back out into the sunlight, the badge tucked safely in his pocket. For the first time, he had something others would recognize. A place to return to. A path to walk.
It was a small thing. But it was a beginning.
---
Ren spent the rest of the day walking through the village, learning its layout. The place was larger than he'd first thought, with a stone perimeter wall and a jumble of buildings inside—clay-brick homes next to timber workshops, muddy alleys opening into market squares. It wasn't pretty, but it was alive.
He kept to himself, watching. He saw where the guards lingered, where the traders set up, where the tired and hungry gathered. He bought a skewer of spiced meat from a street vendor—greasy and good—and ate it as he walked.
When he passed another adventurer—loud and armored—he didn't make eye contact. No one paid him much mind. He was just another person trying to get by.
He found a room for rent near the square—a small attic space in a quiet inn run by a no-nonsense woman with a loud voice. He paid for two nights with the few coins he'd gotten from the guild advance.
The room was plain, but it had a window overlooking the rooftops and a lock on the door. He slept with his pack as a pillow and his new knife close at hand.
Sleep came slowly. The sounds were all wrong—no wind, no crickets, just the occasional footstep or distant shout. But eventually, exhaustion took him.
---
> **[New Ability Acquired: Situational Awareness]**
> **Your perception sharpens in new environments. You notice small details more easily and sense threats sooner.**
> **Effect: +12% awareness in unsettled areas. Active during high alert.**
---
He woke before dawn. The sky was still dark, but the village was beginning to stir. He dressed quickly and went downstairs. The innkeeper handed him a bowl of warm porridge without a word.
"Guild board's up at first bell," she said. "You want a good job, don't be late."
He ate quickly and headed out.
The guild hall was already lit when he arrived. A few other adventurers were waiting—a pair with matching axes, a archer, a girl with a burned sleeve and two knives.
The job board clattered as it was hung.
Ren moved forward. He didn't reach for the flashy postings or the high-reward quests. His eyes settled on a small notice written in neat script:
*"Need help clearing stream blockage near Westfield. Minor nuisance beasts. Tools provided. Payment: 5 copper, plus right to keep any reagents found."*
He took the slip to the counter.
The clerk stamped it. "Be back before sundown with a field report."
Ren nodded and left.
The morning air was cool and clear as he walked toward the village gates. He had a job. A purpose. A place to begin.
Tomorrow there would be another. And another after that.
And each day, he would get a little stronger. A little further from the boy who woke up alone in the woods.
He was building something. One day at a time.
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