The city of Greyforge was a place of opportunity—but only for those strong enough to seize it.
For everyone else, it was a pit of misery.
Rowan knew this firsthand. He had spent his entire life scraping by in the filthy back alleys, scavenging for food like a rat. The orphanage that once housed him had burned down when he was ten, leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back and the will to survive.
And now, he stood at the Adventurers Guild, hands clenched into fists, heart pounding against his ribs.
This was his only chance. If he failed here, he'd be doomed to a life of starving in the gutters.
The guild hall was packed. Warriors in heavy plate armor laughed over mugs of ale. Mages in flowing robes sat at tables, discussing dungeon expeditions. Mercenaries with scars and cruel smirks eyed the job board, picking out quests worth more than Rowan had ever seen in his life.
He swallowed hard and stepped toward the registration counter. The clerk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, barely spared him a glance.
"Name?" she asked, flipping through a massive logbook.
"Rowan," he said, voice steadier than he felt.
"Age?"
"Eighteen."
"Take this." She shoved a thin slab of metal toward him—a Guild Identification Token. It was rusted and barely worth a copper. The lowest rank. F-Rank Adventurer.
"Next," the clerk called, already ignoring him.
Rowan exhaled. That was it. He was officially an adventurer.
No money. No equipment. No skills. Just a title.
[System Notification]
You have become an F-Rank Adventurer!
You can now accept guild quests and earn experience points.
Rowan stepped away from the counter, gripping the token. Around him, real adventurers strode by in gleaming armor, laughing like they had nothing to fear. They had power. He had nothing.
But that would change.
The job board was nailed to a massive stone pillar, covered in hundreds of quest slips. Rowan scanned the options.
• [Dungeon Raid – Rank C]: Requires a party of at least five. Reward: 10 gold.
• [Wyvern Subjugation – Rank B]: Only Silver Rank or higher may accept.
• [Sewer Rats Extermination – Rank F]: Requires at least three rat tails as proof. Reward: 10 bronze.
Rowan clenched his jaw. Sewer rats.
It was humiliating, but it was all he could take.
He tore the quest slip off the board and approached the counter again. The clerk barely glanced at him as she stamped his token.
"Accepted," she muttered. "Be back before nightfall."
Rowan nodded stiffly and left.
The sewers beneath Greyforge were a rotting labyrinth of tunnels. The stench of waste and decay clung to the air, so thick Rowan had to breathe through his sleeve.
Somewhere in the darkness, chittering sounds echoed.
His grip tightened on the rusted dagger he had scrounged up earlier. It was barely sharp enough to cut through bread, let alone a monster's hide.
But this was all he had.
A rustle. Then—a blur of movement.
A sewer rat lunged at him from the shadows.
Rowan barely dodged as its yellowed fangs snapped inches from his throat. He fell backward, hitting the damp stone floor hard. The rat screeched, its matted fur bristling as it prepared to lunge again.
Shit—it's fast!
Rowan gritted his teeth and swung wildly with his dagger. The blade sliced the air, missing completely.
The rat leaped—Rowan barely raised his arm in time.
Fangs sank into his forearm. Agony ripped through him as he screamed, trying to shake it off. The rat refused to let go, its beady black eyes gleaming with hunger.
"Get—off!"
In a panic, Rowan slammed his dagger into the rat's skull. Once. Twice. A third time. The bones cracked with a wet crunch.
The rat twitched violently… then went limp.
[System Notification]
You have slain a Sewer Rat!
+10 Experience Points
Rowan lay there, panting, blood dripping from his torn arm. His heart pounded against his ribs. His vision swam from the pain.
That was just one!
And he needed two more.
This is insane. he tought
He wanted to get up and leave. This was too much. Too dangerous.
But then he thought of the adventurers upstairs, laughing in the warmth of the guild hall, while he rotted down here in filth.
If he quit now, he'd always be the weak one.
Shaking, he pushed himself up.
I'm not going to die here.
With blood-soaked hands, Rowan picked up his dagger and stepped deeper into the darkness.