Victor stirred awake, groaning as a dull ache throbbed in his head. "Ugh, my head hurts," he muttered, rubbing his temples. His stomach growled, adding to his misery. "And I'm starving too... Just great."
With a grunt, he pushed himself off the floor and stumbled toward the kitchen. His movements were sluggish, his body protesting every step. Reaching the cupboard, he yanked it open, half-hoping to find some forgotten scraps.
Instead, a lone, fat rat stared back at him, sitting smugly in the middle of the empty shelves.
Victor blinked at the unwelcome sight. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rat squeaked, as if mocking him, before scurrying out of sight. "Figures. Nothing left. Well, that's to be expected, I guess."
Sighing, he shut the cupboard and leaned against the counter. "Guess I'll just grab something at the inn later. First, I should clean up."
Victor emerged from his room a short while later, dressed casually for the day ahead. He wore a simple linen shirt, the faint beige fabric slightly loose around his frame, tucked into dark trousers held up by a worn leather belt. His boots, scuffed from years of wear, gave him a rugged, practical look. A lightweight brown cloak was slung over his shoulders, fastened by a dull brass clasp. His dark hair, now combed back somewhat neatly, still bore the faint sheen of water from a quick wash. He didn't care much for appearances, but at least he looked presentable enough for the day.
He glanced at the sun creeping over the horizon, its soft rays filtering through the windows. "Still morning. Good," he said to himself, stretching his arms. "I'll head to the guild first. Better to avoid her... less chance of running into trouble."
With that, Victor stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
Victor found himself standing before an imposing three-story building that towered over the surrounding structures. The stone façade was solid and weathered, etched with intricate carvings of swords, shields, and other symbols of valor. A large wooden sign above the entrance proudly displayed the emblem of the Adventurers' Guild: a sword crossed with a staff, encircled by a laurel wreath.
Even in the early hours, the place was bustling with activity. The hum of voices and clinking of armor spilled out into the street. Through the open doors, Victor could see a crowd of adventurers gathered inside, some huddled around the notice board, others chatting loudly over mugs of ale at the long tables. The faint smell of sweat, leather, and spilled beer wafted out, mingling with the crisp morning air.
Victor crossed his arms and surveyed the scene. "Huh," he murmured. "Morning, and it's already packed. Guess there's no rest for adventurers."
Bracing himself, he took a deep breath and stepped inside, ready to face the chaos of the guild.
Victor stepped inside the bustling Adventurers' Guild, greeted immediately by the chaotic symphony of voices overlapping one another. The air was alive with chatter, arguments, and bursts of laughter. The clinking of mugs, the creak of chairs, and the occasional clash of weapons being inspected or compared formed a backdrop to the scene.
A group of burly adventurers nearby was animatedly discussing their most recent haul, while another cluster huddled over a table laden with maps and notes, planning their next excursion.
"Did you hear about the wyvern sighting in the south? That bounty's no joke."
"Bah, wyverns are nothing compared to those damned frost wolves in the north. Nearly lost a hand last winter."
"Lost a hand? You still have both of them, you lying bastard!"
Victor smirked at the familiar banter but kept moving.
"Still as loud as ever," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
A nearby conversation caught his attention as he passed. Two adventurers, both clad in weathered leather armor, were speaking in hushed tones.
"Did you hear about Jonah?" one of them whispered, leaning closer to his companion.
"Yeah... Poor bastard. They say he died trying to conquer that dungeon in the Blackwood. Got too cocky."
The other adventurer frowned. "I heard it wasn't just cockiness. Someone said the traps in there are next-level, like nothing anyone's seen before. It's cursed, I tell you."
"Cursed or not, Jonah should've known better. You don't go into a dungeon like that without a full party."
"Rumor has it his sword was found near the entrance, but his body? Nowhere to be seen."
Victor's ears perked up at that detail, but he kept walking, his face portraying no reaction. Another group was talking loudly at a nearby table.
"Five gold says the guild puts that dungeon off-limits after this," one of them said, slamming his mug on the table.
"You kidding? They'll just raise the bounty to lure in some other fool. It's how they work," another replied with a laugh.
Victor shook his head, suppressing a sigh. The cycle of adventurers taking on dangerous quests for glory or gold, only to meet their end, was all too familiar.
From across the room, a booming voice called out, cutting through the noise. "Oi, Victor! Come and drink with us!"
The voice belonged to Greg, a bald and bulky adventurer with a bronze necklace glinting on his chest. He waved a tankard in the air, his grin wide and toothy.
Victor rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Nah, I'm good, Greg. It's still morning. You should probably cut back before your wife gives you hell again."
Greg let out a hearty laugh, slapping his knee. "What does she know? I've earned this drink!"
Victor shook his head as he continued toward the counter, muttering, "Sometimes people just don't change."
The guild receptionist, Alicia, glanced up as Victor approached. An elven woman with sleek silver hair tied into a tight bun, she radiated professionalism. Her sharp, angular features were accentuated by thin, rectangular glasses perched on her nose. She wore the standard guild uniform: a tailored navy vest over a white blouse, paired with a long skirt and polished black shoes. A small nameplate pinned to her vest read "Alicia," written in elegant script.
She looked up from the ledger she was updating, her piercing green eyes meeting Victor's. "Good morning, Victor. What can I do for you?"
Victor leaned on the counter, casually drumming his fingers on the polished wood. "Just here to get my reward," he replied.
Alicia adjusted her glasses, tilting her head slightly. "Which quest was it this time?"
"Eliminating a wraith troll," Victor said . With a deft motion, he held out his hand, and with a faint shimmer of light, the severed head of the troll materialized in his grasp, revealing the severed head of the troll inside. Wisps of dark smoke coiled from its grotesque features, giving it an eerie appearance even in death.
Victor set it down on the counter with a solid thunk, the unsettling display drawing a low murmur from those watching. "Came from a cave near the village, two days out," he added nonchalantly.
Alicia didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned forward to inspect the head, her expression one of a professional "What makes you say this troll was a wraith troll?" she asked, her gaze shifting back to Victor's face.
Victor smirked, his tone laced with mock indignation. "Don't you trust me, Miss Alicia? We've been working together for five years."
She arched an elegant brow. "It's not about trust, Victor. You know I have to file a detailed report for every completed quest. Procedures are procedures." She set the ledger aside and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill.
Victor sighed theatrically, but a small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "All right, write this down. First, the troll was unusually large—at least twice the size of your standard variety. Second, it wasn't regenerating like normal trolls do. And finally, it was a hell of a lot stronger than any I've encountered before. That good enough for you?"
Alicia nodded, her quill moving swiftly across the parchment. "That'll do. Thank you, Victor. I just need your signature here." She slid the parchment and quill toward him.
Victor grabbed the quill and scribbled his name with a flourish. "There. Happy now?"
"Delighted," Alicia replied dryly, handing him a small pouch filled with coins. "Here's your reward. Good job, as always."
Victor took the pouch, weighing it in his hand. "Thanks, Miss Alicia. You do good work too." He waved lazily as he turned to leave, but before he could take another step, his stomach let out a loud growl.
Alicia raised an amused eyebrow. "Sounds like someone needs to spend that reward on a meal."
"Yeah, yeah," Victor muttered, speeding out of the guild with an embarrassed grin.
Victor made his way to the inn, the thought of a hot meal making his mouth water. "Finally, some cooked food," he muttered, pushing open the door.
Before he could take another step, a deafening explosion erupted from inside, sending a blast of dust and debris flying outward. Victor stumbled back, shielding his face as wood splinters and shards of glass rained down around him.
"Damn it!" he shouted, coughing as he tried to wave the dust away. His ears rang, and his heart pounded in his chest. Slowly, he lowered his arm, squinting through the chaos to assess the damage.
The inn's front wall had been blown apart, leaving a jagged hole where the door once stood. Inside, the tables and chairs were overturned, and thick smoke billowed from a central point.
"What the hell just happened?" Victor muttered, his instincts kicking in.
Shouts and cries filled the air as bystanders scrambled for safety. Some adventurers rushed toward the inn, weapons drawn, while others hung back, uncertain of what had caused the explosion.
Victor stepped forward cautiously, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. "Guess I'm not eating anytime soon," he muttered, scanning the wreckage for any sign of what—or who—was responsible.
As the dust began to settle, a figure emerged from the smoke, their silhouette flickering like a mirage. Victor's grip on his sword tightened. "Of course. It's never just a quiet morning, is it?"