Broke-Ass Noobs

Nathan had shoved both of their adventurer packs back into his inventory thirty or so paces outside the village. No reason to lug gear when he had digital storage. Their swords were the only things he kept out, sheathed in the scabbards at their belts.

After he finished grumbling about the situation in general, the landscape finally pried his attention outward.

The road wound ahead through fields that seemed to stretch forever, broken only by soft slopes and the slow sway of knee-high grass. Wildflowers dotted the distance in loose, accidental clusters.

He narrowed his eyes at the scattering of yellow, red, and purple star-shaped blooms bending in the breeze.

Golden light spilled over everything, warm and bright, like someone had paid extra for the premium graphics pack.

“I thought the tutorial was idyllic,” he muttered. “But the graphics out here are just splendid.”

Kieran glanced back at him. “What?”

“Nothing important, sir.” Nathan waved it off quickly. “Just mumbling.”

He pulled up his map. The fog around their route really was widening as they walked.

At least that works.

The Graystone marker now read thirty miles.

He checked the overall progress bar.
Still one percent.

Ugh.

His UI flickered at the edge of his vision in its usual taunting, passive-aggressive way. He swatted at it like it was a hovering gnat. It refused to die.

Kieran’s attention drifted back to the horizon, shoulders loose but not careless. He walked a few steps ahead of Nathan, scanning the field like he was expecting an ambush every ten steps, though the strain from the labyrinth was gone. Controlled. Steady. Almost comfortable.

After a moment, without slowing his pace, he said, “I have a question for you, Draegor.”

Nathan tensed. Of course he does. He quickened his steps to stay closer. “Okay…?”

Kieran glanced over his shoulder. “Why could I suddenly read the sign in that village? It was written in Standard Kingdom, not glyphs anymore. How could the language change? You said the word translate several times.” He turned his head enough for Nathan to catch his expression fully now. “And why do you seem to know so much about how this place works?”

Nathan’s throat made a very unhelpful noise. “Ah. Well. That is… complicated. And also several questions.”

Kieran faced forward again and kept walking.

Nathan waved vaguely at the sky as he followed. “The interface sometimes, you know, adjusts things. For convenience. Or clarity. Or… well, your interface is translating for you. I have seen something like this before, and I haven't steered you wrong yet.” Nathan laughed weakly.

“I require more explanation.”

“I know.” Nathan rubbed his forehead as they walked. “But can you just accept for now that I do know, sir? We will have time.”

Kieran slowed half a step, glancing back again. His gaze sharpened. “I will not be kept waiting forever.”

“Yes, sir.”

A quiet rustle cut across the field.

Nathan froze mid-step. “Uh. Sir?”

Kieran was already turning.

From the wildflowers, several blurs of tan fur shot toward them at once, each one carrying the fury of something whose entire personality was biting.

Nathan’s UI flashed.
A clean bracketed tag appeared, like the world had installed a graphics update while he wasn’t looking.

[ Level 1: Feral Hopper ]
Behavior: Aggressive

Oh thank god, no chime. Beautiful silence. Maybe the world loves me a little. But what is this format? Why does it look different from the tutorial?

While he pondered the UI upgrade, he did not even worry about the monsters. Kieran would stomp them or something.

The first creature launched itself at Kieran’s shin with all the murderous ambition of a tiny demon.

Kieran looked offended. Deeply.

Nathan almost laughed. It was exactly the same expression he had worn when facing the tutorial slimes.

Kieran did not even bother with a proper swing. He nudged the thing aside with the flat of his blade like someone removing lint from a jacket.

Another hopper darted in. And another. Five total.

Kieran dispatched them with the same irritated efficiency. A nudge. A swift kick. A flick of his wrist.

One spun through the air and dissolved into drifting particles before it hit the ground.
The others followed in quick succession, bursting apart like discount fireworks.

Nathan’s eyebrows shot up. Huh. True game mobs. That is awesome.

[ +5 XP ]

Oh. Must go toward Kieran's leveling. Nice.

A soft shimmer scattered across the grass as the last hopper burst.
Objects blinked into existence, each outlined in a pale glow.

[ Hopper Fur x 5 ]
[ Hopper Claw x 5 ]
[ Fragmented Instinct: Tier 0 ]

Nathan crouched, squinting. The items hovered politely, waiting to be collected.

"What am I supposed to do with this," he muttered. “There is no market tab. No sell button. Do I craft? Combine? Trade with someone? Eat it?”

He picked up the Hopper Fur. It weighed almost nothing, faintly warm, like static trapped in fabric.

“What is this for,” he whispered at it, aware it would not answer.

[ Party Inventory Unlocked ]

What the fuck is this now.

A new icon glowed beside his inventory grid, shaped like two overlapping circles.

Of course.

He tapped it.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Nathan groaned.

Kieran stared at the glowing drops with a look somewhere between suspicion and offense. “They left materials, but the bodies vanished.”

Nathan held up the fur like he was presenting Exhibit A. “Uh. Loot. Rewards. Probably. That's usually how this goes.”

Kieran did not look reassured. “Rewards. A tuft of fur.”

“Yes.” Nathan tapped the rest and they all dematerialized.

His UI pulsed. Soft. Subtle. Like a polite knock.

[ Loot Added to Party Inventory ]

Kieran’s brows drew together. “My panel did not react.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Nathan waved. “You’re on the premium learn-everything-the-hard-way plan. The system gave you stats and skills. It gave me… admin nonsense.”

Kieran continued, voice tightening. “In the tutorial, some creatures dissolved like this as well, or slowly disappeared. Others left gore behind. There was no consistency.”

Nathan winced. “Yeah. Messy rollout.”

“And the loot drops there had catastrophic mishaps,” Kieran said. “Calling creatures to you.”

Nathan dragged a hand down his face. “Right. That too. Definitely memorable. This is different though.”

Kieran stared at him.

“Probably different,” Nathan corrected quickly. “I believe we are supposed to sell these or something. Like normal. Like how you could sell harvested items after dungeon raids in Eryndral.”

Kieran’s jaw flexed. “It is still unsettling to receive harvested parts without the creature remaining.”

Nathan sighed. “Honestly. Same. And just so you know, sir, the loot went into a… party inventory. Apparently I have one now. You may have seen it pop up.”

Kieran grunted. “It does not matter where the loot goes, as long as you can still store it.”

“Yeah, good point.”

“We may need it later.”

And the road stretched on.

Kieran moved ahead of him, relaxed but alert, sword hanging easy in his hand. Nathan kept half an eye on the map, still admiring the absurdly high-quality scenery as the road began a gentle upward slope toward a treeline.

Something rustled in the brush as they entered the more forested part of the road.

Kieran stilled.

A low, throaty growl rippled out of the greenery.

Nathan’s UI flickered.

[ Level 3: Ridge Wolf ]
Behavior: Pack instincts

“…Oh,” Nathan whispered. “Fun.”

A wolf burst out of the brush. More followed.

Kieran met the first midway. Nathan instinctively stepped forward to help—

Kieran took one lethal pivot and a smooth horizontal strike that turned momentum into pure demolition. He repeated the move with barely any adjustments.

The bodies evaporated.

[ +3 XP Earned ]

Nathan flinched anyway. “Right. Yes. That works too.”

Glowing items hovered where the wolves had been.

His party inventory icon pulsed.

Nathan tapped it and a list unfurled.

[ Copper Coins +7 ]
[ Ridge Wolf Pelt +1 ]
[ Ridge Wolf Fang +2 ]
[ Rank Progression: Iron Initiate — 14% → 15% ]

Nathan’s breath caught. “Wait. Wait—hold up—”

He tapped his rank icon.

Sure enough: 15%.
A tiny sliver. But real.

Kieran turned toward him slowly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Nathan said too fast. “Everything is normal. Very normal. Peak normality.”

Kieran stepped closer. “You have advanced?”

“Uh.” Nathan swallowed. “Small… update. Tiny. Insignificant. Background progress. I think the system is syncing party gains now.”

“Party gains,” Kieran repeated.

“Experience goes to the party and to whoever makes the kill. Different amounts. Probably.”

Kieran checked his own UI.

Nathan muttered something that definitely sounded like jealousy.
Several of Kieran’s stats had risen.

Nathan exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Experience gets split. You kill, I… sort. Apparently.”

A tiny notification flickered at the edge of his vision:

[ Party Inventory: Access restricted to party leader ]

“I did not ask to be leader,” Nathan muttered.

“You accepted,” Kieran said.

“I did not accept. I was assigned.”

“You are the leader. Whether you wanted it or not.”

“Again, I did not want. I was bullied into it without recourse. Menace of a UI.”

Kieran gave no reaction at all.

“We are an ecosystem now. A food chain. You kill things, I… manage spreadsheets.” Nathan muttered.

Kieran frowned. “An ecosystem.”

“Nothing, sir. Please continue deleting the local wildlife.”

Kieran gave him a long, unreadable look. “Explain how leveling works. Party gains.”

Nathan nearly choked. “As we walk, we talk?”
He checked the map. Only twenty-five miles to go.

“Yes,” Kieran said, already turning back to the road. “If it tracks our progress, I need to understand how.”

He resumed walking.

Nathan lingered, staring at his Iron Initiate bar like it had personally betrayed him.

“Now leveling feels real,” he muttered. “God help me.”

He jogged to catch up.

***

They had been walking for hours. The sun had climbed past its peak, bright and unbothered, casting long but lazy shadows across the dirt road. Nathan was just about ready to congratulate himself on not dying again when voices drifted on the breeze.

Not screams.

Not monster sounds.

Arguing.

A woman said sharply, “I told you. I told you three different times, Arlen. And yet here we are, stuck on the side of the road because you overpacked the wagon. Again!”

A man replied sheepishly, “I thought it would be fine this time.”

“Fine? You said that last month. And the month before that.”

“You make it sound like a pattern.”

“It is a pattern.”

Kieran slowed immediately, expression sharpening. His hand drifted toward his sword, like even marital disputes might be disguised ambushes.

Nathan blinked as the wagon came into view. Supplies were spilled everywhere: crates yawning open, flour dusting the ground, produce rolling aimlessly, chickens walking around clucking. A wheel had popped off, and the wagon was wedged deep into a rut, axle tilted, like the road had swallowed half their transport whole.

The wife planted her hands on her hips. The husband wilted like a houseplant in a drought.

Kieran leaned slightly toward Nathan. “Are those… real?”

Nathan glanced at him. “Sound… real.”

Reminds me of my aunt yelling at my uncle.

“You sound unsure.”

Nathan squinted at the couple. “They’re not tutorial-type. Tutorial people had cardboard energy. But she’s giving a full marital TED Talk. She’s improvising. Like she’s alive.”

"So real?"

“No, I don’t think they’re real-real, but—”

The wife jabbed a finger at her husband’s chest.
“If you hadn’t overpacked the wagon again, Arlen, we wouldn’t be stranded with a wheel we can’t put back on because the wagon is too heavy to lift!”

Arlen lifted his hands defensively. “The ground wasn’t this soft last week. The ruts must’ve gotten worse.”

She shot back, “What do the roads have to do with your bad packing?”

“Oh, man,” Nathan muttered. “They have chemistry. Doesn’t sound scripted.”

Kieran watched the couple like they were an unfamiliar species. “They are merely travelers.”

“No. They have opinions. They have frustrations. She has emotional energy.”

Kieran remained wholly unmoved.

Nathan’s UI pulsed gently.

Hint: Offer to help fix their wagon!

He stared at the text like it had insulted his ancestors.

“You’re kidding me. Now Story Mode decides to intervene? We get roadside assistance tips?”

Kieran looked at the notification. “It says we should help fix their wagon.”
He surveyed the scene in silence, his expression tightening with some internal calculus Nathan couldn’t read.
He nodded once. “Then we assist.”

Nathan blinked. “You’re just… agreeing with it? Just like that?”

“You oversee our objectives,” Kieran said. “If your interface gives direction, we follow it.”

Nathan groaned at the sky. “Story Mode really said: congratulations on surviving lethal trauma. Time for community service.”

They approached the couple.

Nathan stepped forward awkwardly. “Um… hi. We noticed you’re having a roadside marital apocalypse. Need help?”

The wife turned mid-rant, her whole demeanor brightening. “Oh thank the stars. Please tell me one of you knows how to reattach a wheel, because my husband certainly does not.”

Arlen muttered, “I was getting around to it.”

The wife gave him a look capable of curdling milk.

Nathan whispered to Kieran, “These people definitely feel real.”

Kieran murmured back, “They smell real.”

“Please never say that again.”

Nathan opened his mouth to say more, but the couple’s argument surged back into full volume, dragging his attention back to the wagon.

The wife gestured dramatically. “See? This is what happens when we take shortcuts, Arlen.”

“It looked stable,” Arlen muttered.

“It was quicksand for wagons, Arlen.”

How many times can she say the poor man's name? Jeez.

Nathan whispered, “They really come preloaded with personality, huh?”

Kieran ignored him and examined the rut. “The wagon is stuck. Not damaged.”

The problem wasn’t subtle.

The wheel hadn’t just popped off.
The wagon was stuck, axle buried deep in the rut like it had attempted to burrow to hell and given up halfway. One side sagged under the sheer weight of the overloaded crates piled haphazardly inside.

Nathan’s brain clicked through possibilities.

Okay. Heavy wagon. Uneven ground. No jack. No leverage. NPCs arguing.
Puzzle mode engaged.

He nudged Kieran. “This is fixable.”

Kieran crouched beside the rut, assessing the mess with military detachment. “The structure is sound. It is simply too heavy to lift.”

Nathan perked up. “Not for you.”

Kieran did not dignify that with a response.

Nathan scanned the roadside—rocks, fallen branches, a broken fencepost. Plenty of debris to brace the wheels and angle the axle.

Yeah. This was solvable.
And weirdly… fun.

[ New Skill Acquired: Improvisation ]
[ Passive Skill Unlocked: Chivalry ]
[ Party Sync: Strength Teamwork Bonus +2 ]

Nathan blinked. “Oh, okay. Really?”

“What did it do now?” Kieran asked, not even looking at the notification.

Nathan waved him off. “Nothing. Ignore it.”

“If it is not a threat, I do not care.”

“Right. Not a threat.” Nathan clapped his hands once. “Great. Then we can fix this. Let’s get to work.”

Kieran nodded.

Between the two of them, they pushed crates aside, built a makeshift brace of stones and wood under the other wheels, and positioned the spare wheel.

Then Kieran knelt, slid both hands beneath the axle—

—and lifted.

The wagon rose like it weighed nothing.

Nathan’s mind short-circuited. “Yes. Good. Excellent. Casual wagon deadlift. Love that for us.”

The wife gasped. “Stars above—he’s strong!”

Arlen whispered, “I could do that.”

“No, you cannot, Arlen.” She smacked him on the shoulder.

Nathan scrambled to work while Kieran held the impossible amount of weight steady. He guided the wheel back onto the axle, aligned the peg, hammered the latch into place with a stone, and secured the cotter pin.

“Okay, sir—lower.”

Kieran eased the wagon down with absurd grace.

The frame thumped neatly back into alignment.

Nathan beamed. “See? Helping people builds character and—”

His UI flickered.

[ Experience Gained: Chivalry +3 ]
[ Chivalry Rank: Novice Helper ]

Nathan stared. “Am I really being graded on kindness?”

The wife clasped her hands. “Thank you! Truly. You must let us give you a ride to Graystone. It’s the least we can do.”

Kieran inhaled like he was preparing a polite refusal.

Nathan shot his hand up. “Yes. We accept. Immediately. Enthusiastically. No take-backs.”

Kieran froze mid-breath.

Nathan hissed to him, “Sir. I am not walking the last eight miles. Work with me.”

Kieran’s mouth tightened.

The merchants cleared a space in the back of the wagon. Kieran watched them with the tense resignation of a man confronting a moral crisis.

Then he pulled Nathan aside, tension humming off him.

“We could walk the rest of the way,” he murmured.

Nathan blinked. “Why would we walk? It’s free. It’s fast. It’s sitting.”

Kieran turned his face toward the fields, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I have not ridden in a wagon.”

Nathan’s eyebrows nearly left his face. “Like… ever?”

“I ride a horse,” Kieran said, posture stiffening into knightly rigidity. “Wagons are intended for cargo. Or the transport of large groups.”

Nathan stared at him. “Sir. Are you too fancy for wagons?”

Kieran bristled, jaw tightening. “It is not a matter of status. It is about practicality.”

“Practicality says my legs are staging a coup,” Nathan said firmly. “Get in the wagon, sir. Please.”

Kieran hesitated. A long second. Then another.
He exhaled once, low and resigned.

“…Very well.”

Nathan lit up. “Growth.”

His UI flickered.

Hint: Enjoy a comfortable ride to Graystone!

“I hate this system,” Nathan muttered. “I'd prefer something useful.”
Something like a gun. Or teleportation. Or at least my mana.

Nathan climbed up first—and something rustled beside his boots.

Chickens.

Three of them. One stared with judgmental yellow eyes.

“Hello,” he whispered.

It did not respond.
But it smelled.
Why does it smell?

He scooted over fast. “Sir, watch your step. There are chickens.”

Kieran climbed aboard with careful, rigid dignity, determined not to let poultry undermine his authority.

He sat next to Nathan, posture straight, sword angled so it wouldn’t poke a crate.

Nathan patted his shoulder. “Welcome to commoner life, sir.”

“Hiyah!” Arlen snapped the reins.

The wagon lurched forward, rattling into motion.

Kieran gripped a nearby crate. “This shakes more than I anticipated.”

"You're doing great, sir."

"I'd still prefer my horse."

Nathan laughed and checked the map.

You Are Here
Distance: 7.8 miles
Destination: Graystone

He leaned back against the crates as the breeze washed over him.

“This is kind of nice,” he murmured. “Not a dungeon. Not an arena. Just… the world.”

***

The wagon ride went by fairly quickly. Arlen’s wife continued to lecture him the entire way, her monologue weaving seamlessly between complaints, affectionate sighs, and philosophical debates about wagon-loading technique.

Nathan rested his chin on his hand.
“I never did learn her name,” he whispered.

Kieran didn’t reply, but he gave a small nod of agreement—like this, somehow, was also information to file away for later.

The road smoothed as they traveled.
The fields thickened into organized rows of crops, earth neatly turned and watered.
Other wagons appeared. Then a trader leading a pair of donkeys. Then three teenagers with fishing poles slung over their shoulders.
A man riding a sturdy brown mare passed them by and tipped his hat.

Civilization. Actual civilization.

Nathan felt a weird flutter in his chest. Hope? Nerves? Hard to tell.

Beyond the next rise, a stone wall began to grow across the horizon.
Tall. Weathered. Solid.
Massive gates shaped like twin archways framed the entrance, banners fluttering overhead.

Graystone.

A long line stretched toward the gates—wagons on one side, people and livestock on the other.
As they inched forward, the crowd thickened.

They stayed with the wagon.

The walls loomed higher, layered with battlements that looked carved from stubborn mountain rock rather than built by human hands.

Kieran watched everything with quiet alertness, studying each wagon, each guard, each gatehouse shadow as if danger might be politely waiting its turn in line. Even he seemed slightly less coiled.

Slightly.

Nathan couldn’t stop staring. Their first real city.
Felt like a real city, anyway.
Not a tutorial-coded village. Not a dungeon. A place with people and laws and—unfortunately—bureaucracy.

They’re NPCs, though. How bad could it be?

Finally, the wagon reached the gate.

One guard spoke with the couple. Another stepped up beside the wagon and addressed Nathan and Kieran with a voice bored enough to peel paint.

“Papers.”

Nathan blinked. “…Papers?”

“Your guild identification,” the guard said. “You’re adventurers, aren’t you?”

Kieran answered instantly. “Yes.”

Nathan choked on a laugh. Of course he’d answer without blinking.

The guard squinted. “Where are your identifications, then?”

Nathan’s mouth panicked. “We got ambushed. Lost them.”

Kieran shot him a look Nathan immediately interpreted as I expected better from you.
Nathan wasn’t even sure why he lied. It had become second nature since waking up in Mason’s life.

The guard stared with the flat patience of someone whose soul had retired early.
“Then go to the guild hall as soon as you get through.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Absolutely. Thank you.”

The guard didn’t move.

He just extended his hand.

Nathan stared. “What…?”

“The city gate fee,” the guard said. “You think security is free?”

Right. Money existed now. The tutorial had spoiled him.

Nathan opened his inventory. Their total wealth from wolves and random encounters shimmered politely.

Seven copper.

He handed over three.

The guard stared. “What do you think this is? Charity? Entrance fee is seven.”

Kieran sneered.

Nathan sighed like a man parting with his final kidney and added the remaining four.

Their entire net worth disappeared into the guard’s palm.

“Next,” he barked, stepping aside.

The wagon crossed the threshold.

[ Reached City of Graystone. Quest Completed ]
[ Overall Progress: 1.5% ]
[ Iron Initiate: 19% ]

Nathan slumped. “We just paid literally all of our money to walk through a door.”

Kieran gave him a solemn nod. “Welcome to civilization.”

Nathan’s UI flickered silently.

[ New Quest: Complete objectives in the city of Graystone ]

“How helpful,” Nathan muttered.

A chicken pecked Nathan's boot.

He groaned.

[ Objective: Register Party at the Graystone guild hall. Acquire Identification. ]

"Yeah, yeah."

Kieran looked at it and nodded. "That sounds easy."

Nathan called over his shoulder. "Hey, Arlen?"

"Yes?"

"Would be so kind as to drop us off at the guild hall?"

“Already headed that way, young man!”

“Thank you,” Nathan said, sagging with relief.

The wagon rolled a few more blocks before pulling up beside a wide stone building stamped with a massive crest: crossed blades, a quill, and a shield. Adventurers streamed in and out like harassed ants.

Moments later, after heartfelt thanks and one last marital bicker from the couple, Nathan and Kieran stepped inside the Graystone Adventurer Guild.

It smelled like musty paper, sweat, and ten thousand rejected dreams.
Nathan inhaled and immediately regretted it. Yep. Bureaucracy has a scent.

Long tables stretched across the cavernous hall. Clerks hunched behind stacks of forms like bureaucratic gargoyles. Adventurers shuffled through slow-moving lines. Armor clanked, paper rustled, and someone was loudly bragging about their latest dungeon raid.

Pompous much?
Nathan eyed him. Sir, this is a government building. Please lower your testosterone.

They joined the nearest queue. Their line crawled forward until a clerk with thinning hair and the emotional energy of a damp potato waved them up.

Nathan had never seen a man look so defeated by paper.

Without lifting his eyes, the clerk shoved a form across the counter with all the enthusiasm of someone pushing a tax bill into a volcano.
“Fill out the top.”

Nathan stared at the sheet. So many boxes. So many lines. Why does the paper smell tired?
He scribbled Mason Draegor. Kieran wrote Kieran Halcyros in regal, battle-ready handwriting as if the form were a formal treaty and not damp cardstock.

They both paused at Party Name.

Nathan pretended not to see it. Kieran pretended it was beneath him.
They left it blank with synchronized denial.

The clerk finally looked up, his expression still somewhere between “I’ve given up on life” and “I wish I were dead.”
“Names?”

Nathan blinked. “…We wrote them?”

He didn’t react. “Say them anyway.”

“M-mason Draegor,” Nathan said.

“Kieran Halcyros,” came the dignified knightly rumble beside him.

He’ll walk into battle without flinching, but a registration desk is apparently his mortal enemy.

The clerk scribbled. “First guild card?”

Nathan hesitated. “…Uh. Yes?”

Circle. Scratch. Scribble.

“And you?” he asked Kieran.

Kieran lifted his chin. “I am a guild command—”

Nathan slapped his hand over his mouth. “YES, him too.”

We’re not starting an international incident over the registration desk, sir.

Kieran turned his head with the slow, surgical precision of a man deciding which bone to break first. His gaze dropped to the hand on his mouth, then rose to Nathan’s eyes with a silent, blistering message:

Move. Your. Hand.

Nathan yanked it away so fast he nearly sprained a tendon. Shit.

Nathan laughed weakly at the clerk. “Yes. First card. Totally fresh. Love bureaucracy. Please continue.”

The clerk stared at them like he’d processed far weirder forms today. He flicked to the next section.
“Parties use the lowest shared adventurer tier. You’re both listed as Iron.”

Silence.

Nathan fought a grin.

Kieran looked like someone had informed him he’d been demoted from commander to decorative shrubbery.

“That is incorrect,” he said tightly. “I am F-rank.”

Nathan stifled a laugh. Ohhhh because that's so much better than Iron.

“Take it up with the gods,” the clerk muttered. “Or your party leader.”

Nathan coughed violently. “Moving on!”

The clerk tapped the blank section. “Party name?”

Nathan froze.

Kieran blinked. “A what.”

“A party name,” the clerk repeated, already spiritually dead. “You cannot register without one.”

Nathan’s brain blue-screened.
“A respectable name. Something honorable,” Kieran added.

“Oh sure, NOW you have standards,” Nathan whispered.

“How about The Golden Blades?”

“No.”

“Silver Wolves?”

“No.”

“The Immortal Wanderers?”

“We are not immortal.”

“Not with that attitude.”

The clerk pressed both palms to his temples. “Please. My shift ended fourteen minutes ago.”

Nathan panicked.

Truly panicked.

His mouth betrayed him.

“Wipe Squad Anonymous.”

Oh. FUCK. One of my old online guild names.

STAMP.

The clerk did not even blink. He simply rose and started walking toward a closed door.

Nathan made a sound no man should make. “WAIT—NO—DON’T—”

But the man was gone and the ink was already dry.

He turned to Kieran in horror.

The prince stared at his freshly printed guild card:

Kieran Halcyros
Iron Rank
Party: Wipe Squad Anonymous

A muscle in his jaw twitched violently.

“…We are anonymous… wipers.”

“No—PLEASE—STOP MAKING IT WORSE,” Nathan begged.

“Do we wipe squads?” Kieran asked sincerely.

Nathan slapped his hands over his face. “OH MY GOD, NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN.”

A female clerk took the seat the man had been in and said, “I believe you have been serviced… Wipe Squad. Next in line.”

"Oh my God." Nathan, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kill me now."

His UI flashed.

[ Party Title Registered: Wipe Squad Anonymous ]
[ Objective Completed: Identification Acquired. Registered with the Adventurer Guild. ]
[ New Objective: Complete Posted Job Assignments ]

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Someone in the line yelled, "Move it along, Wipe Squad!"

Hint: Check the quest boards in the guild hall to continue your journey!

Buddy, I’m begging you. Read the room.

Kieran’s eye twitched. “They will not call us that.”

Sir, they absolutely will.

Nathan thought of something. Money! "Excuse me, miss. We have items to sell. Can we do that here?"

She pointed at another queue.

Nathan nodded. "Thank you."

He and Kieran waited almost an hour in the appraisal line.

“Guild card.” Another soulless clerk held out their hand.

Nathan slapped his card into the man’s palm like it owed him money.

The man immediately handed it back. “You only just registered. We don’t buy items that weren’t collected on a job. Next.”

You motherfucker.

Nathan blinked. “Jobs?”

Behind him, someone in line snickered.

Kieran’s head snapped around with predator-level speed.

The line hushed like someone had unplugged the ambience.

The clerk pointed at a board pinned with scraps of parchment—the job postings. “You’re Iron, so you can only choose jobs in your tier and the one above. Though nothing on there will earn you anything today.”

“And one tier above us is…?”

The clerk stared at him for a long, painful second.

“Bronze.”

“Right. Bronze. Yep. Just confirming the hierarchy of our poverty.”

“Next,” he said again, already looking back down at his paperwork, as if staring harder might make them disappear.

Nathan refused to move. “Sir. Sir. We need the money.”

The clerk didn’t look up. “And that’s my problem because?”

Nathan stared at him. What kind of fucked up NPCs are these?

Kieran folded his arms. He didn’t glare. He didn’t speak. He just stood there, unmoving.

Ten seconds passed.

The clerk exhaled through his nose, finally glancing up. “Try the market.”

Nathan stumbled away like a man who had just lost a fight he wasn’t allowed to swing in.

Kieran growled. “This is very vexing.”

The market district sat just beyond the guild hall, like the city’s lungs.

Louder. Warmer. Messier.

Nathan approached a vendor with hope in his heart and loot in his inventory.

Within seconds, hope was dead.

The first vendor violently waved him away.

He tried another stall.

And another.

One vendor sniffed at the wolf pelts and waved him off.
“Too patchy. Try the tanners.”

The tanner glanced once and scoffed.
“Too raw. Try the hunters’ exchange.”

The hunters’ exchange sent him to a broker.
The broker sent him to an appraiser.
The appraiser sent him back to the market.

One man offered him a single copper for five fangs “as a favor.”
Another told him he should be grateful they weren’t cursed.

At one point, a woman took the fur, rubbed it thoughtfully between her fingers, nodded—and then handed it back.
“No demand.”

Nathan stared at her. “It’s wolf.”

She shrugged. “Everyone has wolf.”

By the time he found someone willing to buy everything—fangs, pelts, scraps, even the extra copper they’d somehow picked up along the way—Nathan was too tired to argue.

They had managed to sell everything for a grand total of eight copper.

Seven copper just to get into this damn place. I have no reference for the value. What a fucking nightmare.

Nathan stared at the sad little pile in his palm. “Sir… we are broke. Broke-ass noobs.”

No reply.

“…Sir?”

He lifted his head.

Kieran was gone.

“What? Seriously? Do I need to put bells on him? A leash?”

He swiveled, suddenly panicked, scanning the crowd.

There.

Kieran had drifted toward a blacksmith’s shop like a moth hypnotized by steel.

Nathan followed.

The interior was warm, gleaming, alive.

Not like the dead, unlit smithy in the tutorial village.

These weapons looked forged by artists. Blades polished to mirror sheen. Hilts wrapped with care instead of necessity. Magic hummed faintly in the air, subtle and steady, like a held breath.

Nathan whispered, “Whoa.”

Kieran was staring. Completely transfixed.

Nathan followed his gaze to an augmented sword resting on the display wall. Metal layered with precise runic channels. A perfectly balanced hilt. A faint shimmer of reinforcement enchantment that made the blade feel almost alert.

The price tag below it made Nathan choke.

“Nope. Not even close. Not even in the same galaxy as our current wealth bracket.”

Kieran did not blink. “This blade is crafted with precision. It is worthy. It has an AUGMENT.”

“Yeah, and we are broke. Sir, we can come back later after we, you know, actually do jobs.”

A large, bearded blacksmith approached with an easy grin. “First day, huh?”

Nathan deflated. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh yeah.” The smith chuckled. “Every Iron-tier newbie ends up staring at the good stuff first. Do not worry. You will get coin eventually.”

Kieran looked pained.

The blacksmith leaned in slightly. “If you need a place to sleep, do not bother with the inns. Expensive. Adventurer field outside the east gate is what most of you lot use.”

They left the blacksmith’s shop with what little dignity remained.

Nathan tried to pep-talk himself as they walked. “Okay. Okay. Could be worse. At least there is a campsite. Maybe it is cozy. Maybe it is scenic. Maybe they have… something nice...”

Kieran nodded, still staring longingly back at the smithy that contained his augmented sword. “It sounds… practical.”

Nathan clapped him on the arm. “See? Spirits up. Fresh start. Camping adventure. Nature. Stars. Character growth.”

They turned the corner.

Stopped.

And just stared.

“Is that…” Nathan couldn’t even finish his sentence.

The Adventurer Field was a fenced expanse of trampled mud, horse droppings, and despair.

A wooden sign hung crookedly at the entrance:

ADVENTURER RESTING GROUNDS
FEE: 5 COPPER PER PARTY PER NIGHT
NO REFUNDS. NO COMPLAINTS. NO FIGHTING.

Nathan made a small, strangled noise. “Five… copper.”

He looked around.

People were crammed shoulder to shoulder on bedrolls. Someone was coughing like they were trying to evict a lung by force. A group of horses drank from the same water trough that two adventurers were washing their faces in. A man was asleep directly on a rock. Two others were arguing over who owned a single patch of non-muddy ground.

Nathan pressed both hands to his temples. “Sir. That is more than half of what we earned today. More. Than. Half. For this.”

Kieran surveyed the field with the solemnity of a general assessing a battlefield. “It appears… crowded.”

“That is not crowded,” Nathan hissed. “That is bacteria forming governments.”

A horse wandered past and sneezed violently into the trough.

Nathan gagged. “Nope. Absolutely not. Not drinking that. Not washing with it. I would rather die dusty.”

“We have no other option,” Kieran said quietly. “It will be dark soon.”

A sad-looking old man with one arm sat on a stool near the entrance, his lone hand already held out for payment.

Nathan sighed. Right. No option.

Even knowing that, he couldn’t part with the five copper he’d worked so hard for. Kieran had to pry the coins from his hand with steady insistence.

Nathan stared at the three remaining coppers in his palm. He wanted to cry.

He shoved them back into his inventory.

At least I don’t have to worry about theft.

He reluctantly followed Kieran toward the interior.

“Sir,” Nathan quickened his steps to catch up. “We don’t even have enough for another night.”

“Yes. We will be busy tomorrow.”

“That’s all you have to say? And why are you going toward the middle?”

“Yes. Busy with jobs. And because the largest fire is there.”

Nathan squinted at him. “You just want that sword.”

“Yes.”

“That is going to take forever.”

Kieran glanced over his shoulder, a small, entirely unfair smile tugging at his mouth. “Aren’t you typically the optimist?”

Nathan’s breath shuddered.

Do not do that. Do not pull your handsome smile on me, sir. Nope.

He kept following.

Kieran stopped at an occupied spot.

Three men stared at him.

“Move.”

They kept staring.

“Now.”

To Nathan’s shock, they gathered their belongings and cleared out without a word.

Holy shit.

“The packs.”

The packs… oh my god right, those exist…

“Right!”

They had water, food, sleeping rolls, all of it. Duh.

Nathan smiled a tiny bit.

“Did you forget?”

“NO!” He shoved a pack into Kieran’s hands. “Maybe.”

They set up their rolls. Ate quietly.

Nathan stared into the fire.

Maybe it won’t be so bad tomorrow.

He had said that before.