Chapter 1.3 - Such a Life of a Guide

The world was still wrapped in night when Lyle fastened the last buckle on his shirt. Break of dawn, yet even the sun seemed reluctant to rise. The forge’s faint glow bled through the cracks in the shutters, but his own little room was quiet save for the scrape of leather and the creak of cart wheels as he checked each piece.

A rustle on the bed made him pause. Lyla, hair in a messy double-tail, scrunched her eyes against the gloom.

“You’re going out already?” she mumbled, still half asleep.

“Yeah,” Lyle said with a grin, tugging his boots tight. “I’m about to hunt some family members of yours, you fair-skinned goblin.”

Her cheeks puffed in mock outrage. “I hope one of my green-skin cousins bonks you on the head! Here ” She shoved something from under her pillow into his hand without looking. “I made this so the bonk won’t go through your thick skull.”

It was a simple bracelet, a thin leather cord strung with a small acorn charm.

Lyle’s chest softened. He fastened it to his wrist and brushed her hair lightly. “Thanks, little crow.”

“Mm.” With a satisfied grunt, she flopped back onto her pillow. “Don’t lose it.”

Smiling, Lyle slipped out into the hall. In the workshop, his parents were already stoking the kiln. He murmured his goodbyes Amorosa only nodded while feeding coal, and Liamme raised a soot-stained hand in farewell. Then the door shut behind him, and he pushed his cart into the chill morning air.

By the time he reached the North Gate, the sky had begun to pale, though the sun still clung shyly behind the horizon. The guard station buzzed with activity, porters and novices trickling in.

Today was no ordinary outing. It was a Goblin Den raid a beginner’s trial for novices aiming to reach level 10 or higher. Ten parties would enter, each made up of five fresh recruits and one local guide.

Guides in Lunyseria were no ordinary porters. They were teacher, strategist, rescuer, and disciplinarian rolled into one. Once inside a dungeon, their word was law no noble titles, no favoritism. Below level 20, survival depended on teamwork and discipline, not pedigree. Even princes had to obey their guide, while personal guards waited outside at the entrance.

The day’s goal was clear: each party must hunt ten goblins, five gnolls, and harvest crystals from five cores, plus three kinds of medicinal herbs. Their results would be recorded, judged, and sent back to the Guild to shape their future ranks.

Lyle leaned on his cart, replaying the checklist in his head, when a familiar voice cut across the yard.

“You sure are always early, Support Hero!”

He turned to see Aiwell, a boy with unruly blue hair, jogging toward him with that easy grin he always carried. Childhood friend, rival, fellow guide.

“Please let that nickname go,” Lyle groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I quit chanting spells and swinging wooden swords years ago.”

“Sorry, bud,” Aiwell said, clapping him on the back. “That’s your legacy now.”

Before Lyle could retort, more guides drifted over, laughing and teasing in turn. “Support Hero!” one called. “Blue Cotton Candy!” another chimed, earning a scowl from Aiwell. Laughter rippled among them until the sound of wheels and hooves silenced the yard.

A carriage, lavish and heavy with gilded trim, rolled to a stop. Its banners bore the seal of the Duke of the Southwest the Allopakilo family, rulers of sea trade across the Gimpekt Empire. Soldiers surrounded it in tight formation.

The carriage door opened. A butler in immaculate dress stepped down, his presence alone demanding silence. He approached Lyle directly.

“Are you Mr. Lodemmer?”

“Yes,” Lyle replied, steady though confused. “I’m Lyle Lodemmer.”

The butler bowed slightly. “Sire, the hunting group awaits your presence in the carriage. You may now board.”

Lyle blinked. “I’m sorry, but riding a carriage is against the rules. We guides walk with the party, always.”

The butler’s lips twitched faintly. He produced a parchment sealed in crimson wax, the Guild Master’s insignia pressed deep into it. “An exemption order for this team, signed by the Guild Master himself. Please, we will explain further inside.”

“Oooh,” Aiwell whistled behind him, grinning wide. “Look at you, fancy Support Hero. Off you go, Mister Noble Escort.”

Lyle exhaled through his nose, defeated. He handed the cart reins to a soldier and climbed the steps.

Inside, the carriage was large enough to host a feast. You could stand, pace, even spar without brushing elbows. Yet only five sat within: three boys and two girls, all around his age.

The butler began introductions with the girl in white.

“Mr. Lodemmer, I know you find this exemption unusual. But these are not average novices. Allow me. This is Lady Beatrice, of the Sanity Convent. Younger sister to the Hero Saintess, and herself a saintess candidate at fourteen.”

Beatrice smiled brightly, taking Lyle’s hand in both of hers. “Nice to meet you, Lyle. I’ve heard so much about you! I hope you can guide us, Mister Support Hero!”

Giggles erupted among the group at the title until the butler cleared his throat.

“Ehem. Next, the prodigy twins of the Empire: Nasha and Nisha Emeritos.”

The boy bowed like a knight, the girl like a princess.

“Please don’t treat us as anything above you,” Nisha said warmly. “We’re all friends here.”

“You humble me, Princess,” Lyle said with a bow.

“We actually requested you!” Nasha added with bright eyes. “We looked at the list of guides. You were the best choice!”

Heat touched Lyle’s ears. “I’m honored, Your Majesty.”

A scoff cut through the politeness. “Hah. What’s so great about him?”

The butler’s tone sharpened. “This is Sire Edmund Allopa, heir to the Allopakilo dukedom.”

Edmund lounged with one leg crossed, his eyes glinting with disdain. “I’m already level 21. I’ll carry this team. You’ll see.”

“Stop it, Edmund,” Nisha said firmly. “We’re here to learn. Even if you’re stronger, we lack the experience.”

Edmund only smirked, leaning back smugly.

“And lastly,” the butler said, gesturing to the corner, “Sire Naomiel Melcarme. Genius of the Empire. Though only of baron stock, he rose to the top of both theory and practice.”

The quiet boy gave a short nod, lips twitching into the barest smile. Introverted, Lyle noted. Watchful.

“As you see, Mr. Lodemmer,” the butler concluded, “this group of prodigies represents the Empire’s future. To safeguard their lives, secrecy and flexibility are necessary. I trust you understand.”

“I do,” Lyle replied after a beat. “The Goblin Den isn’t easy, but I know a path others won’t use. One we guides keep for rescues. It will be dangerous, but manageable and safe enough for them.”

“As expected of Sir Lyle!” the twins chorused, clapping hands together.Even Edmund, for all his arrogance, only smirked without protest.

By the time the carriage reached the Goblin Den, dawn had broken fully. The jagged cliffs bristled with moss and vines, a dozen crude cave mouths yawning dark. Soldiers stood ready at the main entrance with torches and blades, but Lyle led his party away.

“Here,” he said, guiding them to a narrow cave half-hidden by vines. “Rescuers use this route when things go wrong. Few parties ever step inside from here. Which means…”

“…the monsters will be stronger,” Nasha finished, eyes gleaming.

Lyle nodded once. “That’s right.”

Edmund scoffed, tightening the grip on his sword. “Hah. Stronger’s fine by me. I’ll crush whatever’s in there.”

“Good,” Lyle said calmly, turning toward the shadows. “Then let’s see what you’ve got.”And with that, the Support Hero led the Empire’s prodigies into the dark.