He had regained about five pounds (2.25 kg) of the thirty pounds (13 kg) he'd lost in just three days. The inn's food was rich in protein and fat, and though he still looked skinny, he was closer to normal than before. He figured he could make more progress once his re-registration went through.
And more importantly, he had acquired...
Knock, knock, knock.
"Sir Alvar! The knights have arrived!"
He dressed in plain black trousers and a shirt under his armor, strapped his sword at his side, and pulled on a new pair of leather boots. With that, he stepped outside.
Four knights waited for him—more escort than he'd expected.
"I'm glad to see you looking… healthier," said Theodore, smiling. "It's good that you've been resting."
"Yes. The food here is very good—that's why," he replied.
The blonde knight stepped forward. "I haven't told you my name, have I? I'm Isolde Brax, knight lieutenant of the Flame-Well Brigade the Third!, under Count Keel."
They shook hands.
The knight with short dark hair spoke up. "I am Veronica Wax, archer class, 3rd Squad. She is my leader." They shook hands as well.
A taller blonde-haired knight, with a stoic stance, forwarded his hands in a robotic manner and said: "I am Smith." It seemed he was introverted. "I am Alvar Walter, an F-rank Adventurer," he replied.
"And you know me," Theodore said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Let's go then!"
The wooden doors of the inn opened, and sound rushed in—the muffled clamor of a world he hadn't yet seen.
It was… fantasy.
The attire of the people looked like something out of a fantasy book; it was so exotic, yet it felt authentic, as all were comfortable in their clothes and didn't need to role-play. They were the real deal.
Directly opposite the inn was a large stable. Stranger still, people wearing robes dyed with specific hues, leather straps, and chainmail, with long boots, circled around the stable, paying money to a less affluent-looking kid to take some of the horses. Merchants shouted above the crowd, hawking goods that smelled of spice and smoke.
Going further, he could notice three shops that stood out and garnered the most crowd: a blacksmith hammering a glowing sword, sparks bursting with each strike; an apothecary with glass jars full of powders and dried roots stacked to the ceiling; and a clothier whose mannequins wore capes embroidered with golden thread. All of them stood side by side, and you could sense the fierce competition in the air.
Just while being mesmerized by the beauty of the vista, he passed by a small carriage owned by an old lady selling spices. The draft animal was a beast—an ostrich, but shorter-necked, thick-bodied, and covered in coarse hair tied into a topknot— that pulled the spice cart for the old woman. Nearby, he noticed a pair of lizard-hounds snapped at each other, their scaled hides gleaming in the sun. Overhead, pigeon-sized creatures with translucent wings flitted from rooftop to rooftop, chirping like windchimes.
"Wow…" The word slipped from him before he could stop it.
They walked about ten minutes through the bustling streets before reaching the Adventurers' Guild. He tried his best to memorize every turn, as he would definitely need it.
A two-story house stood tall at a pavement. Unlike the previous buildings, it had a bigger sign: a green lotus with a thorn at the end of its tail carved on a wooden slab was hung from the structure. The aura around it was different. You could see people gathered around it, but they looked the same as the merchants and buyers—nothing unique—or so he thought. A party of people that looked zombified came into his view. From his knowledge, there was a berserker-armor-wearing knight with brown hair who was crouching; a shifty-looking rogue girl; a mage girl with a staff; a tank holding his arms, which might look broken; and the most exhausted of them all was the healer, who looked a little bit scrawny that would fall on the ground after going a few steps forward.
The others didn't lend him a hand as they had to keep themselves standing upwards.
He continued looking at them when he noticed a single white cloth that had been ragged and mudded that was tied at the knees of the tank.
It had a symbol of an insect but it was too far he couldn't tell what.
The color was yellow.... or maybe be not, he couldn't just tell.
They all proceeded to open the door to the guild.
A lot of colorful characters were inside, some sitting, some standing. (A bustling hall filled with loud voices, clinking armor, worn wooden tables, crowded quest boards, and adventurers of every type gathered chaotically together.) There was a counter that had papers on it, and they took one. It said 10. It seems some kind of queue letter. They sat down at a round table. He wondered if there was a fantasy race in this world. There had to be, but he had only encountered humans.
"Number 9!!!" the guild receptionist called. The zombie-looking group approached the counter and the leader started explaining. "We have lost the Bat Demon again this time as well!"
"It abilities had advanced far more than before" said the berserker armor bearer explaining to the receptionist with emerald eyes and orange hair.
They continued their talks. It was a serious report, and somehow he could hear it from that far.
"This is the third time you attempted it, is it not?" said the receptionist. Suddenly, laughter broke out from a more mature-looking group of adventurers drinking booze at a round table.
The tank looked enraged. He didn't even look at his face, but his posture said it all.
The whole guild was silent, except for the receptionist and the leader, who continued as if nothing had happened.
Suddenly, "Why not give that mission to me then? Why waste the guild's funds like this?" exclaimed one of the adventurers at the round table.
He thought, 'What is this guy doing? Isn't it embarrassing to say something like this?' His question was answered when he glanced at the faces of the other adventurers in the guild.
It suddenly felt familiar—ah yes, just like in the dungeon when the goblins circled him, forcing him to fight the elite 2v1.
"This is a mission only for adventurers with kneecaps that still bend, old man. You're twenty years too late," said the tank.
This provoked the old one even more. "And what does that make you then, to lose against a monster we could have dealt with two weeks ago? Honorable son?"
They glared at each other, and before things could get out of hand, the healer pulled the tank back saying "This trash is not worth our time! lets go"
The tank was retreating when the old man sneered, "Aww, look at the boyfriend defending him you are so sweet"
The healer froze for a moment, then pulled a shotgun out of his bag and aimed straight at the man's head, only inches away, point-blank.
"A gun ?" Alvar's eyes widened in confusion.
The shot gun looked magical and it's shape didn't resemble a gun from any era on earth.
The old party members all stood up and rushed toward their leader. The healer pulled the trigger, but instead of a bullet, a slimy goo burst out.
This caught the leader off guard. Everyone knew the healer was a psycho—he might very well kill someone over an insult.
The healer said, while the old leader was paralyzed, "Maybe this is how you must have felt when your brother got turn—" He suddenly flinched, his voice hitching and trailing off as the old man's expression twisted into a cold, terrifying rage.
The paralysis melted off him instantly, as though he had become a different man. A faint shimmer rose from his skin—soft, like ripples on water. His party members froze, eyes wide. They knew that sign.
Then, a sudden burst of energy—something Alvar had never experienced before—exploded. A crushing pressure filled the room, stealing the very air from his lungs.
Alvar struggled to breathe, fighting for what little air remained, until Isolde placed her hand on his head, and suddenly he could breathe again.
'What the heck is this?' he thought, terrified.
The system popped up. Alvar panicked, afraid people might see it.
[DON'T WORRY. THEY CAN'T SEE ME. I FORGOT TO TELL YOU THAT.]
[WHAT THE OLD MAN JUST USED IS CALLED AURA RELEASE—AN ABILITY MARTIAL ARTISTS HAVE. THE ONE USED ON YOU RIGHT NOW IS ALSO AURA RELEASE, BUT WITH THE EFFECT OF CALMING THE BODY.]
The system then disappeared.
"THAT IS ENOUGH!!!" roared a huge man with a beard that reached his belly.
Everyone disbanded and went their own way. The young ones gathered at a round table—I guess the leader had finished his report. He heard the rogue lady scolding the healer for what he said, but he didn't seem to feel any guilt.
'What could be the case, I wonder…'
"Ohh—"
"By the way, thank you. I couldn't breathe. You saved me," Alvar said to Isolde.
"It is no problem."
"Who are they ? Do you know them ?" asked Alvar.
"They are called the blue beetles"
"I see"
"Number 10," called the receptionist, and the huge man working in the guild stepped up beside her.
"Yes," replied Isolde, and they began moving to the counter.