A soft *ding* stabbed my ears like a Windows update chime at 3 a.m., and the blue panel popped back up right in my face, blocking half the street.
**Name: Kael Veyron**
**—confirmed—**
I flicked it away with a middle finger that felt entirely earned. Panel vanished with a sulky shimmer.
I started walking. Not the awkward shuffle of a guy wearing one broken slipper, no, I locked in the strut: shoulders loose, hips rolling just enough, chin tilted like the sun personally asked my permission to shine. The dirt path was warm under my soles, little puffs of dust rising with every step like I was kicking up applause. I nailed it. Even the chickens stopped pecking to watch.
The village thrummed around me, golden, stupidly pretty. Bakery heat rolled out front rolled over my skin in waves of cinnamon and browned butter. Somewhere a lute player actually knew how to play; the notes floated bright and clean above the chatter. Kids chased a hoop with a stick, laughing like hyenas. An old dwarf lady watered hanging flower baskets, petals dripping cold onto my forearm as I passed—smelled like rain on lilac.
Then the MILFs hit.
A curvy elf with silver-streaked black hair leaned out a second-story window, blouse laced loose enough to make physics nervous. "Morning, handsome~"
A human baker, flour on her freckled cleavage, winked over a tray of steaming tray. "Fresh rolls, sweetie—or something hotter?"
Even a seven-foot orc matron with tusks polished shiny blew me a kiss that smelled faintly of vanilla and threat.
I didn't break stride. Just flashed the half-smirk I'd practiced in a thousand mental mirrors, lifted one lazy hand, and gave them a two-finger wave cool enough to freeze beer. Their giggles turned into full-on schoolgirl squeals.
"Come by anytime, little brother!" the elf called, voice dripping honey. "Big sisters will teach you all about… tea."
I kept walking, the street alive under my feet—cobblestones starting where the dirt ended, warm from the sun, slick in shady spots where someone had tossed wash water. Smells layered like a buffet: roasted chestnuts, sun-dried lavender, faint forge smoke, a whiff of ozone from a passing mage's stall. Colors everywhere, bright skirts twirling, stained-glass guild banners flapping overhead like lazy kites.
Inside my chest something light and ridiculous fluttered. Not the old, average ache. Just… good. Simple, stupid, good.
I breathed it in until my lungs felt too small, slipped my hands into pockets I didn't have, and kept striding like the whole damn world had finally synced to my playlist.
"Why the hell am I pulling MILFs like a magnet on legs?" I muttered, kicking a pebble that skipped across the dirt with a dry clack.
Inner voice snorted: *Because you're dripping narcissist juice, pretty boy.*
I nodded solemnly. "Fair. Maybe I am just that handsome."
*Or maybe you're delusional.*
"Same thing."
A few minutes later the thought elbowed me again: *Go look at the merchandise, hotshot. Clean river's that way.*
Sold.
I veered off the main street, following the rising smell of cold water and wet stone until the village thinned into willows. The river slid past like liquid glass, sunlight shattering into a million white shards across the surface. Dragonflies buzzed low, wings ticking. Pebbles under my bare feet turned smooth and chilled, slick with moss in the shady spots. A kingfisher flashed electric blue overhead and dove with a splash that sprayed my shins icy.
I crouched at the edge, knees sinking into soft mud that smelled like minerals and forgotten rain, and stared down.
The face looking back wasn't the average nobody who got pulped by a truck.
Crimson eyes (not red contacts, actual glowing scarlet, bright as fresh blood under moonlight) stared up at me, narrowed in permanent lazy amusement. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, jawline carved like someone had used a ruler and spite. Nose straight, arrogant. Hair black as fresh ink, long and slightly wavy, drifting over one eye and sticking to my forehead where river mist had kissed it. Skin pale but warm, like it had never seen fluorescent office lighting a day in its life. Lips curled in a default half-smirk that looked like it knew every secret you'd never tell.
I looked twenty-five flavors of dangerous noble who'd stepped out of a painting and decided rules were suggestions.
A soft *ding* rippled the water. The panel shimmered into view, reflected perfectly on the river's mirror:
**Name:** Kael Veyron
**Age:** 25
**Gender:** Male
**—appearance updated—**
The reflection winked at me (no, I winked, but it felt mutual). A breeze lifted the dark hair off my forehead, cool fingers against suddenly warm skin. Somewhere behind me a woman's laugh drifted from the village, low and appreciative, like she'd followed at a distance just to watch the view.
I exhaled, watching the surface ripple and settle again, scarlet eyes still staring back, unblinking.
Yeah. Narcissism officially justified
I pushed through the double doors of the guild hall and the noise hit me like a living thing: tankards clanging, a minotaur laughing so hard the rafters shook, dice rattling across scarred oak tables. The air was thick with pipe smoke, roasted meat grease, spilled ale, and the sharp tang of oiled steel. Sunlight slanted in through high colored windows, painting the crowd in reds and golds—dwarves with axes bigger than my torso, lithe cat-folk perched on balcony rails, a dragonborn polishing scales that steamed faintly in the cool shade.
Above every head floated faint, glowing question marks, some silver, some sickly green, a few pulsing angry red. My own status was still a big fat zero, so I figured: anyone I can read is equal or weaker; everyone else is just walking spoilers. Neat.
I scanned the chaos with that old gut instinct (the one that used to warn me which coworkers would steal your lunch and which bar patrons would glass you). It still worked here, sharper even, like the void had sanded off the rust. I picked out a lanky human in worn leathers nursing a cider, vibe screaming harmless.
"Excuse me, man—receptionist desk?"
He glanced up, grinned around a missing canine. "New blood, huh? Straight past the boar's head mounted on the pillar (the ugly one, not the uglier one), left at the notice board that smells like wet dog, up the three creaky steps. Big counter, can't miss it."
"Thanks."
"Anytime, Red-Eyes." He tipped his mug and wandered off.
The receptionist sat behind a polished dark-wood counter that smelled of beeswax and old parchment. She was stunning in the way a glacier is stunning: long silver hair tied in a severe bun, skin like fresh cream, pointed elf ears peeking through the strands. Eyes the pale gray of winter sky. Expression: someone had murdered her last smile and buried it deep.
She slid a palm-sized crystal plate across the counter. It looked like smoked glass veined with liquid starlight, warm to the touch, humming faintly like a distant beehive.
"Fingerprint here. Look into the orb. One strand of hair."
I raised an eyebrow. "DNA test in fantasy land?"
"Criminal registry," she answered, voice flat as hammered iron. "Murderers, slavers, rapists—rejected on the spot. Clean record—welcome aboard."
The crystal flared soft green under my thumb, the orb bathed my face in cold blue, and the hair sizzled away in a puff of cinnamon-scented smoke. Another green flash. Clean.
"Name, age, occupation, level."
"Kael Veyron. Twenty-five. Mage. Level zero."
Her quill scratched like dry leaves. "Update your level here whenever you want. We forward it to the information guild. Nobles, royals, mercenary companies—they all recruit through the broker. Keep it private if you wanna stay a free bird. Your choice."
"What about adventurer ranks? Bronze, silver, whatever?"
She didn't blink. "Doesn't exist. Take whatever quest you can finish. Slay a dragon, deliver cabbages—guild only cares that the client signs off."
I leaned in a little. "So if two guys want the same quest?"
Her eyes stayed dead, but the air suddenly turned razor-thin and heavy, like the moment before lightning. Killing intent brushed my skin like frostbite, raising every hair on my arms. My heart stuttered, knees threatening to fold.
She let it linger two full seconds, then reeled it back in as if nothing happened.
"Stronger one gets it," she said, monotone. "Weaker one… doesn't. Simple."
Inside I was screaming like a kettle. Outside I just smirked, slow and lazy, the way the reflection in the river had practiced.
"Cool. Cool. Yeah, about that—later."
I backed away before my legs decided to bolt on their own, gave her the same two-finger salute I'd given Jory, and melted into the crowd while the guild noise rushed back in to fill the vacuum her killing intent left behind
I drifted deeper into the hall, letting the heat and noise wash over me: sour ale sloshing, iron tang of weapon oil, someone's unwashed wolf-pelt cloak, the sweet smoke of dreamroot curling from a hookah in the corner. My bare feet stuck slightly to the floorboards tacky with spilled mead. Every laugh felt like it rattled my ribs.
I scanned slowly, the way a stray dog checks alleys: no sudden moves, eyes half-lidded, that old void-sharpened instinct pinging soft warnings. Too many red question marks swaggering around with hands on sword hilts. Too many drunk giggles hiding knives. Then, tucked against the far wall beneath a flickering lantern that smelled of whale oil, I saw them.
Two glowing white zeroes floated above their heads like lazy fireflies. Level 0. Same as me.
An elf lounged sideways across a bench, long legs dangling, forest-green cloak spilled open to show travel-stained leathers. Her hair was moonlight-pale braided with tiny hawk feathers that trembled every time she laughed, and the laugh itself was low, smoky, tasting the air like she was sampling wine. One pointed ear had three silver rings catching the light every time she turned her head.
Beside her, sprawled in a chair like a cat-eared girl (calico patches on her ears and tail) had claimed an entire table for her boots. Short honey-brown hair stuck up in deliberate chaos, amber eyes slitted in permanent amusement. A thin scar curved through one eyebrow like someone had tried to underline her smirk and missed. She was rolling a copper coin across her knuckles so fast it blurred, the soft *tick-tick-tick* cutting through the tavern roar.
They leaned into each other, shoulders brushing, sharing a single tankard between them like they'd done it a thousand times. The elf said something that made the cat-girl choke on her drink and thump her own chest, tail lashing once in delight. They looked broke, cocky, and completely unbothered by the chaos around them, like the guild was their personal living room and the rest of us were just guests.
My pulse did a stupid little skip, half nerves, half hunger.
Level zero. Just like me.
I dragged a hand through my hair, felt the river-mist still clinging to the strands, tasted smoke and cinnamon on the back of my tongue, and started walking toward them.
Alright then. Let's go.