A Young Flame

The sun was high when a lone figure crossed the cracked stone gates into the town.

A young man, barely past his teenage years, with tousled chestnut hair and a longsword strapped awkwardly to his back, walked with a spring in his step. His leather armor still creaked when he moved—freshly bought and barely broken in. A small iron emblem bounced on his chest strap: the mark of a beginner adventurer.

He stopped just past the gate, taking in the sight of the town for the first time.

"...Whoa. This is... not what I imagined," he muttered to himself, scratching the back of his head.

The air was dry. Dust lingered in every corner. The buildings looked like they hadn't seen a repairman in years, and the streets were almost eerily quiet. The people that were around walked with their heads low, shoulders tense, and not a single smile in sight.

This is supposed to be a dungeon town? An abyss-level one at that?

He shook his head, trying to clear the thought. Nah, c’mon. This is the place. This is where the legends came from. The “Sin of Pride” is supposed to be buried deep in the dungeon here… If I can just get strong enough to reach it—

“Excuse me!” he called out to a passing merchant, a big man hauling empty crates. “Can you tell me where the Adventurer’s Guild is?”

The man didn’t even stop walking. He just kept going as if the boy wasn’t even there.

The young adventurer blinked. “O-kay…”

He tried again, this time to a woman sweeping the outside of a building. “Miss! Sorry, but can you point me to—?”

She stepped back inside and shut the door.

“…Ouch.”

He frowned. His excitement faltered just slightly, but he slapped his cheeks.

“No biggie! They’re probably just busy or something. I’ll find it myself.”

He walked on, scanning the streets for anything even remotely exciting. Most of the buildings were worn-down houses or empty market stalls.

Until—

He spotted it.

At the far end of the road, just before the town dipped into the slope leading toward the center, there stood a broad two-story structure. Its wooden walls were darkened with age, and a battered sign above the entrance read:

[Adventurer’s Guild – Black Hollow Branch]

He grinned. “Jackpot.”

The closer he got, the more he felt it... the tension. The building had life. Men and women in heavy armor leaned near the entrance, weapons resting against their shoulders. Others sat on barrels or stood in groups, talking in hushed voices. Everyone here looked the part, battle-scarred, sharp-eyed, dangerous.

The young adventurer’s boots clacked against the stone floor as he stepped inside.

The moment he entered, the air shifted.

Conversations dipped. Heads turned.

Nearly a dozen adventurers glanced at him—some with curiosity, most with disinterest, and a few with thinly veiled amusement. Their eyes ran over his small frame, his mismatched gear, and the still-shiny scabbard of his sword.

Then, one by one, they turned back to their drinks or their discussions.

A group near the window snorted.

“Fresh meat,” one murmured.

The boy pretended not to hear. He kept his back straight and walked up to the front desk where a woman in formal guild attire was reviewing paperwork.

She looked up at him with tired but polite eyes. “Yes?”

“I’d like to register to enter the dungeon!” he said with a smile, trying to keep his voice steady.

Her eyes scanned him for a moment, taking in the eager grin, the too-clean armor, the uncalloused hands, and she gave a faint nod.

“Name?”

“Renn. Renn Halvard.”

“First time here?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

She sighed and reached beneath the desk for a form.

As she handed it to him, Renn’s eyes drifted past her to the large notice board behind the desk, where dozens of quests and dungeon reports were pinned.

His heart pounded.

This is it.

He was finally here.

The place where legends were made.

Where the Sin of Pride slumbered, and the abyss awaited.

He clenched his fists with excitement.

Renn scribbled his information eagerly, his quill dragging slightly on the paper from his excitement.

Name: Renn Halvard
Age: 19
Rank: Three Dice

It wasn’t the highest rank—far from it. But in most guilds, a Three Dice was enough to be considered a proper adventurer, someone who had seen a few fights and knew how to swing a weapon without hurting themselves. He’d earned that rank after clearing a goblin den in the outer fields. It took him weeks, two broken ribs, and a chipped tooth, but he wore that rank like a badge of honor.

He handed the form to the receptionist with both hands, practically vibrating.

She gave it a glance.

Then sighed.

And slid it back to him.

“…I’m sorry,” she said, voice flat. “Request denied.”

Renn blinked. “Wha... wait, what? Why?”

She didn’t flinch. “The minimum rank has indeed been lowered for dungeon entry. However, entry into the abyss dungeon still requires a party of at least five adventurers, each of them ranked Three Dice or higher.”

“…Oh.” His voice deflated. “But I… I thought…”

“You thought that just being ranked was enough,” she finished for him. “You’re not the first to make that mistake.”

“But I’ve trained for this!” he blurted. “I... I heard this dungeon was open to all Three Dice rankers now! That it was a chance!”

The receptionist finally looked at him properly. She didn’t seem cruel, just tired.

“It is. But we’ve already lost too many lone adventurers who thought the same thing. The requirement is for your own safety. Going alone isn’t bravery. It’s suicide.”

Behind him, someone chuckled.

Another voice whispered loud enough for him to hear, “Another hopeful idiot thinking he's the protagonist.”

A quiet chorus of amusement followed. Renn's ears burned as he looked around the guild hall.

Eyes were on him again, but this time they weren't curious. They were entertained.

He lowered his gaze. His hands, still holding the form, began to crumple the paper at the corners.

“I… I didn’t know,” he muttered.

The receptionist softened, just a little. “Come back with a party. Or spend more time in the shallower levels. You’re not the only one trying to prove something here, kid.”

Renn gave a short nod and turned away from the desk. His steps were slower now. The energy in his stride was gone, replaced by the dragging weight of crushed expectation.

He moved to the side of the hall and sat in a chair near the notice board, pretending to read the requests. But his eyes weren’t really scanning the parchment.

I came all this way... saved coin, trained, dreamed… for this.

His grip tightened around the form.

Five Three Dice adventurers, huh…?

His jaw clenched.

Then I’ll find them. Somehow. Even if I have to drag them out myself.

He didn’t come here to be laughed at.

He came here to make history.

And he wasn’t giving up...