A week passed before Soren even realised it.
In that time, he had somehow gone from being a brand-new Copper-rank adventurer to Bronze.
His days had settled into a dull rhythm.
Wake up, eat, take a quest, deliver the goods, return before sunset, report, eat again, sleep.
Over and over.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was effective.
He had gotten used to the terrain around Ingrid, was more efficient at finishing requests, and, more importantly, his Points were finally beginning to rise once again.
Currently, he was sitting at just over 1500 Points.
That was progress, but still nowhere near enough.
His next goal was clear: raise his rank to Iron as soon as possible.
Once he reached Iron, he would finally be able to take dungeon-related requests, and that was where the real farming would begin.
'Combat experience? Sure, that's a bonus,' he thought, wiping the green blood of a goblin off his face. 'But the main goal of summer break is farming Points.'
The store window had become a part of his nightly routine again.
He had neglected it for months, mainly because the number beside "Points" had always been too depressing to look at, but now that it was moving, even if slowly, it felt like progress.
He had spent more than an hour the previous night browsing the store's endless list of skills and items, trying to find something worth buying.
[Mental Acceleration] → 500P
[Endurance] → 750P
[Stealth] → 1000P
[Regeneration] → 2000P
All of them were tempting in their own way, but only a small group mattered to him right now.
That group was mana-related skills.
[Mana Control] → 2000P
[Mana Sensitivity] → 2000P
[Mana Mastery] → 5000P
They were all skills he desperately wanted, especially as someone who had fallen as deeply in love with magic as he had.
And they were also the reason why Soren had been saving his Points until now.
It didn't matter which of the skills he bought; any of them would drastically improve his magic capabilities, and beyond that, they would also help him with mana enhancement in the future.
And now he was only 500 Points away from obtaining one.
He tightened his grip on Labrys, a small smile tugging at his lips.
[+1P]
The notification blinked faintly in the corner of his vision.
The forest around him was quiet except for the buzzing of insects.
The last goblin's corpse lay a few feet away, its chest caved in from the blow of his axe.
He wasn't even winded.
He sighed.
"Killing weak monsters is boring as hell," he muttered under his breath to himself.
He was starting to understand Amelia's words more and more.
There was no thrill in slaughtering something that could barely fight back.
No challenge, no satisfaction.
Just repetition.
Still, it was necessary.
Once he had confirmed the area was clear, he crouched beside the corpses and pulled a short dagger from his inventory, the sharp metal gleaming faintly in the late afternoon light.
He hated this part.
The guild demanded proof of every monster kill, and for goblins, that proof was their left ear.
The stench hit him immediately as he crouched down.
Rotten meat mixed with the metallic tang of blood.
Soren grimaced as he cut the first one off.
His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to keep going.
"Ugh… disgusting…"
By the time he was done, he had a small pile of goblin ears wrapped up in cloth.
He tossed them into a pouch and sealed it tight before throwing it into his inventory.
He stood, dusted himself off, and took one last look around before heading back toward Ingrid.
The sun was dipping below the treetops by the time he reached the city gates.
The guards barely looked at him; adventurers came and went all the time, especially at this hour.
Inside, the streets were alive with movement.
Merchants closing stalls, drunk men shouting over cheap ale, and carriages rolling by.
He passed them all without slowing, walking straight toward the large building at the end of the street, the Adventurers' Guild.
The sound hit him as soon as he stepped inside.
Laughter, shouting, the clinking of mugs.
The smell of sweat, smoke and alcohol hung thick in the air.
The same as always.
Soren walked up to the reception desk.
The woman behind the counter, the same polite receptionist who had given him that tip in the past, looked up with a small, practised smile.
"Welcome back, Miss Soren. What can I do for you today?"
"I've completed this request," he said, placing the folded paper on the counter.
"Do you have your proofs?"
Without a word, Soren reached into his inventory and pulled out the pouch, setting it gently on the desk.
The receptionist blinked once when the items appeared out of thin air, but she quickly recovered, having seen it many times already.
She untied the bag, counted the ears and nodded.
"Everything checks out. One goblin extermination request, verified. Good work." She stamped the paper, slid over a small pouch of coins, and smiled. "Payment complete."
Soren accepted it quietly.
"Thanks."
"You're progressing fast," she added, almost conversationally. "Only a week and you've already reached Bronze. That's impressive."
He gave a small shrug.
"I'm trying to make it to Iron by the end of the month, so there's still a way to go."
The receptionist blinked, then smiled a little wider.
"Ambitious. I like that."
He nodded lightly, thanking her for her work, then turned away toward the tavern section.
It was quieter there, though still lively.
He sat down at a small wooden table near the wall and waved over a server.
"The cheapest meal set and milk, please."
The man gave him a knowing look and disappeared into the back.
Soren leaned his head on his palm, staring at the flickering candles nearby while his food was being prepared.
If he kept up this pace, one quest per day, sometimes two, he would hit Iron within two weeks at most, he felt.
Then he would finally be able to start tackling dungeon requests.
The first dungeon he wanted to tackle was the Goblin King's Nest, a low-level dungeon near the outskirts of the region.
In the original game, it was almost like a tutorial dungeon; easy, predictable and safe.
Perfect for what he needed.
He would stock his inventory with food, a lantern, potions, maybe a few traps, and just camp at the entrance.
Then he would spend every waking moment inside, grinding Points until his hands went numb.
Once that was done, he could look into deeper, more difficult dungeons, maybe even some of the undiscovered ones he knew of.
That was the real plan.
When his food arrived, he ate absently, lost in thought.
The milk was lukewarm, the meat overcooked, but it all filled his stomach nonetheless.
He barely noticed when the guild's door opened again.
The sudden drop in noise made him glance up; a group of rough-looking men had just walked in.
His expression didn't change, but his shoulders stiffened slightly.
It was them.
The group of drunks who had cornered him on his first day here.
They hadn't changed much, still loud, still reeking of alcohol, and still wearing the same half-armour that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.
They spotted him immediately.
His snow-white hair made him impossible to miss.
After looking around to check if there was anyone else with him, one of them grinned.
"Well, well. Look who it is."
Soren didn't bother responding.
They stomped over, boots thudding against the wooden floor, until they were standing around his table.
He kept eating.
"Hey, sweetheart, ignoring us again?" one of them jeered, leaning down with a crooked smile. "Think you're hot shit now 'cause you've got Witch Hunt covering your ass?"
Soren didn't look up; he was too focused on cutting the tough meat with his fork.
"Oi. I'm talking to you."
When the man's hand tapped the back of his head, Soren blinked and finally looked up.
The noise of the tavern had dimmed again, and a few adventurers nearby were watching him with mild curiosity.
Soren looked at the man, then at the group surrounding him.
"Sorry? I'm not sure I know you?" he said with a gentle smile, then turned back to his plate and took another bite.
The men exchanged looks, frowns forming.
"You ignoring us, bitch?"
Soren raised his middle finger without looking up.
The group froze for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Hah! Guess she's got some balls after all."
'More than you know,' he thought as he rolled his eyes.
"Thinks she's all that just 'cause Witch Hunt's got her back."
"Yeah, let's see how long that lasts when they're not around."
Soren tuned them out.
He had learned quickly that as long as Witch Hunt wasn't in the room, these idiots felt free to run their mouths.
At first, he had gotten angry, almost sticking to his words of scorching one of their members off before Morrigan stepped in.
Now, he just didn't care.
They weren't worth the effort.
Even the noble brats at the academy were more intimidating than this.
'How pathetic,' he thought, taking another bite. 'They could be taking quests, earning gold, drinking, sleeping with whoever they want, but instead, they're wasting time trying to piss me off.'
He sighed.
'I really am more normal than I first thought…'
Soren didn't even glance at them as he reached for his knife again.
The food on his plate had already gone lukewarm, but it was still better than wasting breath on idiots.
The same thing had happened five times this past week alone, each instance more annoying than the last.
"Hey, you listening?" one of the men barked, slamming his hand on the table.
The bowl shook, a bit of soup spilling over the edge.
Soren's crimson eyes slowly lifted, blank and unamused.
For a brief second, the noisy tavern seemed to quieten.
The man's voice faltered.
Soren's eyes didn't hold fear, anger or arrogance, just complete indifference, a perfect mirror of Osric Arden.
Then, without a word, Soren reached into his food, scooped another mouthful, and ate it.
The man's jaw clenched.
When his meal was done, Soren wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, stood, and left a few copper coins on the counter for the tavernkeep.
The men trailed his movements with hostile eyes, muttering under their breath.
And Soren ignored them all entirely.
Walking toward the stairs that led up to the inn's lodging area, he passed by Witch Hunt's usual table.
It was empty tonight.
Soni had said she was running errands, and the others were probably out on quests.
As he climbed the stairs, he could still hear the laughter and mockery from below, but it barely reached him.
All he could think was that they were pathetic.
When he reached his room, he closed the door behind him and locked it out of habit.
The room was small, barely large enough for a bed, desk and chair.
It smelled faintly of wood polish and alcohol from the tavern below.
Soren took off his cloak and tossed it onto the desk before collapsing face-first onto the bed.
The sheets were rough, but he was too tired to care.
"...I can't wait for this break to end," he muttered into the pillow.
————「❤︎」————