Rowan strode through the bustling streets of Litwick, walking along the well-worn cobblestone paths. The tang of grilled meat and spiced ale lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of wildflowers that bloomed just outside the city walls. Vendors called out to passersby, hawking their wares in loud, cheerful voices.
Litwick was a peaceful settlement in the Verdant Vale with around ten thousand people calling it home. Barely large enough to even be considered a city.
Tucked away in an insignificant corner of the kingdom, Litwick was exactly where Rowan wanted to be. Far away from anything—and anyone—important.
The chances of someone coming to look for him here were slim. Especially after the way he'd left Eiseylth.
Not many people had cared about a wayward son of a fallen Great House, so the moment he'd Awakened and gained access to the Vault, Rowan had used the tokens inside to teleport away. Leaving a burned-down mansion in his wake.
He doubted anyone had looked too far into it.
Rowan might have been the last scion of a once prosperous bloodline, but he'd also been dull. Cut off from the System and all the boons that came with it. To the rest of the world, House Athlain had died on the day the demon was summoned.
His gaze wandered over to the towering walls that surrounded the city. The same walls that every settlement needed to have if it wanted even the slightest chance of lasting more than a year. The Wilds were an unforgiving place, and as of late, people were asking themselves if they should have built them higher.
Snippets of conversations came to him as he made his way towards the Guild Hall. There were talks of farms being raided during the night, of monsters that had no business being this far south appearing more and more often.
There were other conversations too, but those he tried his hardest to ignore.
"...telling you, ever since House Athlain fell, the world's gone to shit," a wiry shopkeeper lamented.
"Ain't that the truth," a woman nodded. "The other Houses are so focused on carving up their lands that they're leaving the Walls unmanned. Who knows what kind of horrors managed to pass through while they play their little games."
"I heard there were harpy sightings in Tumbleton," another man added. "Can you believe that? Harpies? In the Vale?" he shook his head. "We're in for a tough year, that's for damn sure."
The shopkeeper sighed, handing a meat skewer to the woman. "As always, shit flows downwards. Not much we can do but endure and wait for it to pass."
Rowan kept walking, his fists clenched.
They don't know how right they are, he thought to himself. It's a full migration. Something gets past the Walls, establishes its territory, and forces the other monsters to move. And down the chain it goes, from the Walls to the Vale.
He gritted his teeth. Riches and power, that's all the other Houses see.
His family had been a bulwark against the Far Wilds of the North for generations. Safeguarding the kingdom from threats uncountable. It had made them rich, and powerful, yet it was in the service of something greater.
Rowan had been taught that the privileges afforded to them came with a cost. They came with a duty. An obligation. It was the burden of the powerful to lead their charges into a brighter future. To give them a chance to step into that role themselves.
He knew it was already too late to stop the surge. It was more than a year in the making, and with the turmoil the fall of his House caused, it might take decades for balance to return.
Rowan passed through the now familiar streets, moving past blacksmiths and tailors, shops and taverns. But it wasn't until he got closer to the Guild Hall that he began seeing adventurers.
Distinguishing them from regular citizens wasn't all that hard. They openly wore their weapons, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Some of them caught his eye, nodding in greeting. He returned the nods and continued on his way.
It wasn't long before he reached his destination.
The Adventurer's Guild Hall was more a compound than a singular building. It occupied the whole street, the marble facade polished, though the interior was anything but. The massive wooden doors stood perpetually over. Night or day, it didn't matter. There was always something happening here.
The only time it seemed to quiet down was in the early hours of the morning, when most of the people who spent their night here slept off their drunken stupors.
Just as Rowan stepped inside, a mug sailed across the room, crashing into the wall behind him. He ducked away from the splash, his gaze moving to the commotion.
"I saw it first," a tall, wide-shouldered man said, glaring down at a lanky-looking youth tucking a piece of paper into his pocket.
"Then you must have seen me taking it too," the youth shrugged, not seeming all that bothered by the other adventurer's threatening posture.
The man growled, and just as he pulled his arm back to throw a punch, the barkeep interjected. "You know the rules," he grumbled, absentmindedly polishing a glass, his deep, raspy voice stopping the adventurer cold. "If you want to fight, do it in the pits."
Rowan snorted a laugh, Emanuel's job seems exhausting.
Though the grumpy old man was certainly more than capable of doing it. After all, being among the few dozen Silver-ranks in the city came with some perks. Respect being one of them.
Level:
27
Body:
Silver IV [27 Levels]
Core:
N/A
None of the other people in the Hall seemed to be paying all that much attention to the situation—the usual chaos of a midday at the Guild nothing new to them.
"Winner gets the quest," the man said, his fists clenched at his sides.
The boy snorted. "I already have it. Why would I risk it for no gain?" With a sly smile, he rubbed his fingers together. "Five gold."
The man's eyes widened. "Are you out of your mind!? The quest's only worth three!"
"You scared Kiki?" the boy grinned, patting his pocket. "Think you're gonna lose?"
That seemed to set the man off, his eyes narrowing. "I'm going to enjoy making you squeal."
Nothing more needed to be said, and the two adventurers made their way towards the arena.
Unfortunately for them, it was already occupied. Though it didn't seem like it would stay that way for long.
Inside the dueling pit, a short but sturdy woman was straddling a massive bear of a man, raining fists and elbows onto his face. Even over the cheering, Rowan thought he heard the sound of a nose breaking.
With a haymaker, the man's eyes rolled back, and an even louder cheer went out. Her fight won, the woman didn't feel a need to continue pummeling her opponent. She stood up, swaying slightly on her feet with a bloody grin stretched across her face, raising her fist into the air.
It didn't take long for the unconscious man to be dragged outside while the woman jumped over the railing. Landing next to her team as they congratulated her, a mug quickly thrust into her hands. The earlier duo already jumping in to replace them.
Being an adventurer required a certain type of personality. And with so many of them in the same place—not to mention the copious amount of booze flowing from the taps—it was practically a given that disagreements would arise.
The problem with that was that these people fought for a living. They faced down monsters and danced with death every time they left for the Wilds. If they were allowed to fight amongst themselves without any rules, the city of Litwick would be without adventurers in less than a fortnight.
That was where the pits came in.
No weapons. No skills. Just pure martial might.
It wasn't the fairest way to settle disputes, but it was a good one, and that was all that mattered here.
Rowan looked around, trying to see if he could spot anyone familiar.
After a moment, his eyes landed on a familiar redhead and a burly swordsman talking next to the quest board. Both of them were armed, with the woman holding a fine looking spear by her side, and the man with a greatsword strapped across his back.
Rowan had taken on a few missions with a couple of different teams. And out of all of them, the Crimson Grove was by far his favorite.
They were capable and driven. Willing to take on the hard, dangerous tasks that were more trouble than they were worth. Their desire to grow stronger matching Rowan's own.
And it doesn't hurt that they don't treat me like a walking meal ticket.
Most teams were eager to have a mage join them when venturing into the Wilds. Even though Rowan hadn't advanced his core to Orange yet, simply possessing an affinity made him as valuable as a Silver-ranked warrior—the tier at which they gained an Aura.
That usually ended with him killing the monsters from range while others stood around and watched, happy to have someone else do all the work. From their perspective, it was free gold. But for Rowan, it was a waste of time.
He could do the same thing on his own.
Rowan walked up to the duo, glancing over their shoulders. "See anything good?"
The girl yelped and spun around, glaring daggers at him. "I told you to stop doing that," she said, crossing her arms.
Rowan suppressed a laugh, knowing it would only set her off. "What? It's not my fault you're so jumpy."
Annie nudged him with the heel of her spear. "You're a mage, not a rogue," she muttered. "You have no business being sneaky. Make a bit of noise, would you? You're lucky I didn't skewer you."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You'd miss."
Annie narrowed her eyes. "Wanna bet?"
"Alright, alright, enough of that now," Nemir snorted, looking at Rowan with an amused smile. "It's good to see you again, Jamis," he said, extending a hand. "We were actually just talking about you."
Rowan returned the handshake, the swordsman's callused palm gripping his firmly. "Oh? What about?"
Annie tore a flier from the board, handing it to him. "Goblins."
Goblins? He frowned, taking the flier and quickly scanning it.
On their own, goblins weren't much of a threat. They were small, vicious creatures, with not a lot of brains and even less brawn. In a small group, even a Bronze-ranked team should have been more than enough to deal with them. But the quest was ranked for Iron and above, and as he finished reading, Rowan realized why.
"A pack, huh?" he muttered, his lips twisting into a half-smile. "Perfect."
His visit to the Plateau had left him feeling antsy, and taking out his frustrations on those green pests was exactly what he needed.
"Alright. I'm in," Rowan nodded, handing the flier back.
"That was quick," Annie smirked.
He shrugged. "I could use the training."
"The reward isn't bad either," Annie nodded. "Twenty gold to take out some pests? Sign me up," she glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. "You still fine with our usual split? I wouldn't want some other team poaching you because you can't feed yourself."
Rowan snorted. "First off, I'm not a ham. And secondly, yeah, I'm more than fine with it. We work well together, and trying to find another team I won't have to babysit sounds exhausting."
Not like I need the gold anyway, he thought to himself, instinctively rolling the ring on his finger. But I'm definitely not going to tell her that. She'd never buy another round again.
Nemir neatly folded the piece of paper, putting it into his pocket. "Fantastic," he smiled. "I'll go and get the quest assigned to us. Annie, could you inform Silvia and Omi? I think they're out back in the training yard."
"Sure thing. Meet back here in half an hour?"
Nemir glanced at Rowan. "Does that work for you?"
His Core was still mostly empty from his fights in the Plateau, and for other mages, half an hour wasn't nearly enough time to refill it.
It took a whole day for his mana to replenish naturally, but that was if he did nothing to help it along. Meditation could cut that down to just around three hours, and Rowan had a way of pushing that down even further.
"Yeah, I should be fine," he answered. "I practiced some spells in the morning. I'll go and meditate, get my mana back up."
Nemir nodded. "Alright. Take as long as you need. The quest isn't going anywhere, and I'd rather have you at full strength than for us to get there quicker."
"Probably a good idea," Annie said. "Meditation is supposed to be calming, right? And you look wound tighter than an alchemist's purse."
Rowan forced his muscles to relax, unclenching his fists, though the tension didn't leave him entirely. Meditating wasn't something he enjoyed, and calming was the last word he'd used to describe it. Being forced to sit in silence with his own thoughts rarely ended well for him.
"I'm fine," he waved her off. "Just excited."
Nemir clapped him on the back, a reassuring smile on his face. "Keep that fire stoked. We're going to need it."
With that, the burly-looking swordsman walked away. Making his way towards the reception.
Annie, on the other hand, didn't move. Tapping her foot impatiently and watching him with an eager smirk.
"I'm not a mind reader, Annie," Rowan snorted. "Use your words."
She flashed him a grin. "Scan me."
Rowan complied, his eyes widening in surprise.
Level:
11
Body:
Iron III [11 Levels]
Core:
N/A
"Would you look at that," he whistled. "Organ Fortification done, huh? Well, congratulations," Rowan returned her grin. "At least now you won't crumple like a wet piece of paper when someone punches you in the liver."
"That happened once!" she shot back, but even Rowan's teasing wasn't able to hamper her good mood.
"But yeah, Iron III," she shook her head, letting out a long, drawn-out breath. "Finally."
"Just Blood Purification and Nerve Reinforcement to go," Rowan nodded, a genuine smile on his face. "You'll be Silver in no time."
"Here's to hoping," Annie chuckled. "What about you?" she asked, glancing at him knowingly. "Hitting Bronze II isn't all that hard. I'd even be willing to help you out."
"Would you now?" Rowan crossed his arms. "And that wouldn't have anything to do with you wanting to spend a few days hitting me with a stick?"
"No way!" she exclaimed, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "My reasons are purely selfless. I'm honestly offended you'd even think that."
Rowan snorted. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."
She might be right though, he thought. Skin Toughening isn't all that hard to do. And gaining a skill would definitely be useful.
But like everything in his life, time was the limiting factor.
His list of tasks was ever growing, and the hours in a day unfortunately stayed the same. Mastering spells and advancing his Core took up a bulk of his time, leaving little room for anything else. The idea of working on his body was definitely tempting—another layer of strength to add—but finding the time seemed impossible.
After I advanced, he decided. I have healing potions in the Vault to help me along. It shouldn't take me more than a week.
It wouldn't be fun, but Body refinement rarely was.
"I might take you up on that offer," he said. "But after I push my Core to Orange. That's the priority right now."
"You mages have it so easy," she grumbled. "All you have to do is think real hard and poof, you're stronger."
Rowan rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to dignify that comment with a response."
She chuckled, but a moment later, Annie's expression grew serious. "You know, these goblin packs have been appearing more and more often," she ran a hand through her blood-red hair. "There's been talk of a tribe."
Rowan's eyes widened. A goblin tribe was a serious threat, and for a city as small and isolated as Litwick, it might prove too much for them to handle on their own.
"A tribe? Do you know which one?" Rowan asked. "If they're this far south, they're bound to have passed by a settlement or two."
"No. It's just rumors for now. But with the way things are looking?" She shook her head. "I'm not going to be holding my breath. Qui–I mean, the Guildmistress—" she quickly corrected herself, narrowing her eyes and daring him to say anything. "—has scouts looking into it. If I find out anything else, I'll let you know."
Rowan chuckled. "We all know she's your aunt, Annie. It's not a secret."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want everyone else to know," she muttered, glancing around to make sure no one overheard them. "Anyways, I'm going to find those two. You go and meditate. We'll meet back here when you're done."
And with that, she turned around and walked away, leaving Rowan on his own.
He stood there a moment, thinking over what she said.
Goblin tribes were Gold-ranked threats, and it wasn't just their numbers that made them dangerous. They were led by a Warchief and a Warlock, monsters that only two people in Litwick had any chance of dealing with. Quinea, the Guildmistress and the only Gold-ranked adventurer in the city, and Tremil, the mage advisor and only Yellow-core mage.
And it didn't end there. Tribes weren't just filled with mindless goblins, but hobgoblins and shamans—monsters you needed Silver-ranks to deal with.
Rowan sighed. I guess it's starting.
It was hard not to feel nervous about being in the middle of a monster surge, but that was overshadowed by a burgeoning excitement.
He needed to grow stronger. After all, that was the reason he'd come to Litwick in the first place. To grow in power, to learn his magic, and to become something more than what he was.
And fighting against shamans was the perfect way to do that.
They might have been monsters, but more than that, they were casters.
A whetstone to sharpen myself against. That's what I need.
With renewed determination, Rowan moved to a quieter corner of the Guild Hall, the clattering of mugs and impacts of fists fading behind him. He sat down on an empty table, running his fingers over the rough grain.
Looking around, he made sure that nobody was watching and moved a hand into his coat, summoning a vial filled with clear blue liquid.
Name:
Mana Potion
Grade:
Basic
On its own, the potion wouldn't do much. It was actually less effective than meditating, but Rowan had something others didn't.
His trait.
Mana potions didn't actually refill a mage's reserves—at least not until they were a much higher rank. But what they did do was agitate the Core, forcing it to refill itself faster.
It wasn't a pleasant experience, and meditating on top of that was something no sane mage would ever do. It could lead to straining your soul, and in the worst cases, actually cracking your Core.
But Rowan didn't have that problem.
He uncorked the vial with a satisfying pop and gulped it down in one quick swig, feeling the bitter liquid burn slightly as it settled in his stomach.
It was this next part that always proved problematic for him, but he closed his eyes and forced his mind to settle.
His thoughts were a jumbled mess of excitement, frustration, and sorrow. The same as always. And as the world around him slowly slipped away, the lack of anything to focus on heightened them—made them jump to the forefront.
His memories started burrowing out of the holes he'd stuck them in, and all Rowan could do was endure.
Gritting his teeth, he focused on his Core, feeling the potion start to work its magic.
It thrummed with energy, the dual stimulation of the potion and his meditation working wonders. It started filling with mana at a noticeable rate, but Rowan was too distracted to notice.
He settled in, knowing the next half hour wouldn't be pleasant.
Memories rose—unbidden. The faint crackle of fire, the acrid scent of wrongness in the air, the light of Dawn and the serenity of Dusk illuminating an orange sky.
Rowan winced, forcing the memories back. But as always, the weight of them lingered, pressing down on him like a lead cloak.
By the time his Core was once again full, he was more than ready to leave.
A dull ache spread across his shoulders as he opened his eyes, his muscles coiled and ready to snap. It took him nearly a minute to get his breathing under control, sweat dripping down his back, feeling like he'd spent the last half hour sprinting.
Looking around, he spotted Nemir returning from the reception. Annie had managed to wrangle Omi and Silvia, the three of them already geared up and waiting by a nearby table.
Standing up, Rowan stretched, trying to work out the tension. It didn't help all that much, but thankfully for him, he knew exactly what would.
Time to go hunt some goblins
And with that exciting thought, he started making his way towards the group.