A few days later, after following a half-crumpled map Leon had drawn with what looked suspiciously like ketchup stains, they arrived at the outskirts of Stoneveil — a town perched along the edge of a forest and wrapped in the dull hum of trade, chatter, and clanking tools.
It wasn’t a large place, but it felt dense. Smoke from chimneys, a few Essentia-lit lamps, and signs of movement everywhere.
“Alright,” Towan said, adjusting the strap of his bag, “we ask for Lytharos and—”
“I wouldn’t shout his name like that,” a nearby merchant interrupted without looking up from his stall. “People don’t usually say it out loud unless they mean business.”
Towan and Elliot blinked.
“Uh… why?” Elliot asked.
The merchant finally looked at them — an older man with thick eyebrows and soot-covered gloves. “Because he doesn’t like being found. And unless he’s expecting you, you might not walk away with all your teeth.”
Towan whistled. “Fun guy.”
“You want to find him? Start with the Adventurers’ Board. Sometimes folks see him out on commissions. Though good luck. The guy moves like wind and punches like thunder.”
At the Adventurers’ Guild, the boys squeezed into a wooden building that smelled like sweat, ale, and old paper. A large board sat on the far wall, covered in slips of paper with scrawled requests: missing pets, gathering herbs, minor monster sightings.
They browsed for a while until one caught Elliot’s eye:
“Bandits sighted near the east trail. Harassing travelers. Minor threat. 10 silvers.”
– Posted by: Goren, town guard
He pointed. “This one. Think we can handle it.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Towan raised an eyebrow. “We looking for Lytharos or playing heroes?”
“Both,” Elliot said. “Besides… if he’s as well known as they say, someone’s bound to mention him if we show we can hold our own.”
Towan smiled. “Alright then. Let’s beat up some bandits.”
They approached the front desk of the Adventurers’ Guild, commission paper in hand. The building buzzed around them — footsteps, arguments over payment, a guy in the corner bragging about defeating a wolf that somehow grew three heads.
“Hello!” Towan said, practically leaning on the counter with excitement. “We’d like to take this one.”
The secretary, a young woman with tied-back hair and a bored look that could pierce armor, glanced at the paper, then back at him. “Sure. Can I see your adventurer’s badges?”
Towan blinked. “Our what now?”
Behind him, Elliot gave a slow, awkward nod. The kind of nod that translated to: we definitely do not have those.
The girl sighed, but not in a mean way. More like a barista who's just been asked if the caramel macchiato comes with foam.
“Newbies.” She reached under the desk and pulled out two thin stacks of paperwork. “Here you go. Fill these out. Congratulations — you're about to become official.”
Towan stared at the forms like they might explode.
“Wait, so we can’t take this one yet?”
“Not until you’re registered. You’ll start at Bronze Rank. That commission’s listed as Iron, so you’ll have to work your way up to it,” she explained, popping a piece of gum into her mouth mid-sentence. “Do a few easy ones, prove you won’t die immediately, and then we’ll talk.”
Elliot flipped through the forms. “This isn’t too bad. Basic info, Essentia type, emergency contact…”
“Emergency contact?” Towan frowned. “Ours would be… what? A guy who lives halfway up a mountain and sometimes vanishes for weeks?”
“Put Leon,” Elliot said. “If they can find him, we probably deserve to be rescued.”
The commission board at Stoneveil’s Adventurer’s Guild was a graveyard of bad decisions. Torn posters, crossed-out names, and one particularly ominous stain that smelled like regret.
Towan slapped their chosen parchment onto the counter with the confidence of a man who had absolutely not read the fine print.
"We’ve got this," he declared. "Escort mission, minor bandits, easy coin."
Elliot leaned over his shoulder, squinting. "Did you skim the part about the ox?"
"It said ‘easily spooked,’ not ‘demon-possessed.’" Towan waved a hand. "Besides, how bad can an ox be?"
Behind the counter, the guild secretary—Mara, a woman who had long since run out of patience for Bronze-rank idiocy—let out a slow exhale. "Give me a moment to contact the commissioner." Her fingers drummed the wood.