The city of Bahamara came into view slowly, as the slope of the road flattened. Its walls were tall and solid, built from pale, finely-cut stone. No frills, no banners—just practical, imposing height. The towers spaced along the wall had narrow slits for archers and flat tops for sentries. Everything about it said: this place didn't take chances.
As they neared the gate, the noise changed. Less chatter, more controlled. Wagons rolled forward in a slow, deliberate line. People spoke quietly or not at all, waiting their turn under the eyes of guards stationed at the entrance.
Woon gave the gate a look.
"Not the kind of place you just walk into without getting asked questions."
Arth responded with a short grunt.
"Wouldn't be much of a city if they did."
They kept moving with the line. The closer they got, the more eyes turned toward them—some briefly, some with faint caution.
Even without armor, Arth's presence carried weight. Broad-shouldered, tall, posture straight, every step controlled. He wore plain clothes—linen and a short cloak—but they couldn't hide the discipline in how he moved. Not aggressive, but steady. The kind of man who didn't need to raise his voice to be taken seriously.
Woon, smaller and younger, stayed a step behind. His hood was up, clothes dirtied from the road. He kept his head down but didn't seem nervous—just watchful.
The line shortened.
"Even without the armor, that build of yours stands out. Doesn't matter what you wear—no one's mistaking you for a regular traveler."
"Standing out's fine," Arth said. "As long as no one's sure what to make of me."
A few more paces, and it was their turn.
A guard stepped forward. Medium height, worn mail, square jaw, and a calm stare. He held his spear lightly but stood solid.
"What brings you here? Any documents?"
"We ran into trouble on the forest trail. A beast came at us near a bend—we managed to take it down, but the horse spooked and took off with our packs before we could grab anything."
The guard looked between the two. His gaze stayed on Arth just a little longer than normal.
"No documents, then?"
"No."
He paused a beat. "Alright. Entry fee's ten copper for you, two for the boy."
Arth counted the coins and handed them over.
The guard stepped aside.
"You'll need to get your papers reissued. That kind of thing draws attention in the wrong areas."
"Understood." Arth replied.
They passed under the gate. The heavy wood doors stood open on one side, iron-reinforced and thick. They looked imposing.
Inside, the street widened. The stone underfoot was worn smooth by carts and boots. Buildings lined the road, two and three stories high, a mix of stone bases and timber frames. Shop signs creaked in the breeze. The air carried the smell of bread, dust, and iron.
"Finally," Woon exhaled, stretching his arms. "No more rocks in my back or waking up with bugs in my boots. A real bed…"
Arth said nothing. His eyes were already scanning the nearest corners, rooftops, and alley shadows—a habit that hadn't faded, even here.
"Guild should be straight in from the main square," Woon added. "We'll head there first?"
"Yes."
They joined the flow of foot traffic and slipped into the rhythm of the city.
__________
The main square of Bahamara stretched wide under the midday light, framed by gray-brick buildings and the rhythmic clatter of foot traffic. A small stone fountain stood at the center, surrounded by benches, vendors, and a few street performers halfheartedly trying their luck. The bustle here felt different—less frantic than a market, more focused than a festival.
Arth's gaze swept the area briefly. "This is the square."
Woon pointed ahead. "That should be the Guild."
A large stone building stood slightly apart from the others—three floors, flat-roofed, its stonework clean but plain. The only sign of its purpose was a bronze plaque mounted just above the thick double doors that read: Bahamara Guild Branch.
"Looks more like a city office than anything," Woon muttered as they approached.
Arth gave a small nod. "That's probably what it is half the time."
Inside, the scent shifted immediately—ink, oiled leather, and old parchment. Conversations murmured in the background, mixed with the occasional clink of armor or boot against stone. The main hall was spacious but not grand. Benches sat along the walls, and a wide quest board took up the left side. The reception desk stretched along the far end, manned by a handful of staff members shuffling through forms, chatting with adventurers, or ignoring both.
They stepped into line behind a half-elf with a large bow and two satchels.
Woon leaned over slightly. "So... we just hand over the fee and say we want in?"
Arth didn't look at him. "Pretty much."
Their turn came after a short wait. The receptionist didn't so much greet them as glance up from her stack of parchment. She looked young, maybe mid-twenties, with her chestnut hair pulled into a loose bun that looked like it had started tight but gave up halfway through the day. Her uniform blouse had a coffee stain near the hem and the kind of creases that said ironing had stopped being a priority long ago.
She blinked once, as if reminding herself she had a job to do. "Here to register?"
"Yes," Arth said.
She let out a small breath through her nose. "Name and age?"
"Arth. Thirty-one."
"No last name?"
"No."
Her quill scratched quickly. She didn't ask for a reason.
Her tone stayed flat, almost disinterested. "Kid's not registering, right?"
Woon raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I want to?"
She didn't even look up from the papers in her hand.
"He's underage. Guild rule says twelve minimum. Can't register him even if I wanted to."
Woon leaned slightly on the counter.
"He can read, write, fight better than most drunks out there. Isn't there some kind of exception?"
She sighed through her nose, tapping her pen idly against the desk.
"Every week someone asks the same thing. Still twelve. I don't make the rules—I just get yelled at if I break them."
Woon opened his mouth to retort but caught Arth's look from the side and settled back with a quiet exhale.
"Fine. Just him for now."
She gave the faintest shrug and pulled a sheet of paper from under the desk.
"Fill this out. Block letters. Please don't make me guess your handwriting."
Arth took the quill and did as instructed.
She tapped her fingers on the desk, eyes scanning the room like she was already somewhere else mentally.
"You're not from around here," she mumbled, more to herself than them.
Arth handed over the paper.
She glanced through it. "Three silver for the fee."
He passed the coins over without complaint.
A small crystal orb was placed on the desk. She gestured lazily. "Hand here. Just a quick check."
He complied. The orb glowed briefly, then dimmed.
"Clean," she muttered.
She reached under the desk again and retrieved a small metal card.
__________
*** Adventurer ID ***
Name: Arth
Race: Human
Rank: F *** ***
She pushed it across to him with two fingers.
"Try not to lose it. I really don't want to fill out another form."
Woon tilted his head slightly.
"And the ranks work how?"
The receptionist blinked slowly, then sighed through her nose again.
"Everyone starts at F. Do enough quests, you get bumped to E. Then D, C, B, A. S is above that, but it's rare. Beyond that… well, we call them Mythical. Doesn't concern most people."
She gestured vaguely to the left wall.
"Board's over there. Pick something in your rank range. Bring proof when you're done."
Arth took the card and pocketed it.
"Got it."
The receptionist nodded once. Then laid her head gently on the counter, face turned away.
"Next…"
No one else was in line yet.
Woon leaned over a little.
"You, uh… alright?"
"Let me know when a full night of sleep gets delivered with the mail," she muttered.
Arth turned, already walking.
"Come on."
Woon followed, glancing back once.
"At least she didn't ask too many questions."
"Because she's tired, not because she trusts us."
"Still counts."
To be continued…
__________
# Skill System of Eldia
In the world of Eldia, power is not just determined by strength or status, but by the mastery of Skills. Every living being possesses the potential to wield these abilities, which are classified into two primary categories: Innate Skills and Acquired Skills.
Innate Skills: Gifts at Birth
Innate skills are unique abilities that individuals are born with—gifts woven into their very soul. These skills manifest naturally and are first revealed during a sacred ceremony held when a child reaches the age of five. Every person is guaranteed at least one innate skill, though it's not uncommon for individuals—especially those from noble or magically gifted lineages—to awaken two or even three. On exceedingly rare occasions, someone may be born with four or more, often seen as signs of destiny or divine favor.
Each innate skill is assigned a rank, ranging from F (the weakest) to S (exceptionally rare and powerful). The ranking determines not only the raw potential of the skill but also its complexity, mana consumption, and effectiveness in combat or support roles.
Ranks (Lowest to Highest):
F, E, D, C, B, A, S
Once unlocked, these skills grow passively as the individual levels up. However, only one innate skill can be chosen for evolution, meaning it can ascend to a higher rank—B to A, for example—once the individual reaches level 50.
The maximum rank an innate skill can achieve through evolution is S-rank, but such achievements are extremely rare.
Acquired Skills: Power through Discovery
Acquired skills, unlike innate ones, are learned rather than inherited. They are typically obtained through Skill Scrolls—ancient or enchanted parchments that, when read under specific conditions, transfer knowledge directly into the user's mind and soul. These scrolls are found in dungeons, ancient ruins, or handed out in exchange for donations and services by the Church.
However, most acquired skill scrolls are of low-tier quality—F, E, or occasionally D rank. Scrolls of higher rank exist, but they are heavily guarded, lost to time, or hoarded by powerful guilds, kingdoms, or corrupt aristocrats. Some say an S-rank scroll hasn't been seen in over a century.
Each person can hold a maximum of three acquired skills at any given time. While these can be replaced with new ones, doing so causes the original skill to be permanently lost—it vanishes from both mind and spirit, leaving no trace behind.
Acquired skills, like their innate counterparts, can also be upgraded. The difference is in the timing: every 10 levels, the user can choose one acquired skill to improve in rank. Just like innate skills, their growth caps at S-rank.
Note: The rank-up of acquired skills is much more accessible than that of innate skills, but their power ceiling is often slightly lower at the highest tiers.