The adventurers were quite happy with this newer type of commission because it finally gave them a stable and reliable way to earn a living. Before these commissions existed, making a career out of adventuring had been incredibly uncertain, with most people barely earning enough to justify the risks involved. A steady income changed everything, allowing experienced adventurers to focus on exploration instead of constantly worrying about whether they would be able to pay for their next meal. For many, it was the first time that adventuring had begun to resemble a genuine profession instead of an expensive hobby filled with danger.
This new way of life had only truly appeared during the last two and a half years. Before then, being called an adventurer was little more than a legal designation that granted permission to explore the wilderness beyond civilization. The government had created the title primarily to regulate exploration rather than encourage it, ensuring that anyone venturing into dangerous territory possessed at least the minimum knowledge needed to survive. They were not interested in watching reckless people throw away their lives for no reason, especially when every citizen represented years of investment, education, and future tax revenue.
Some people considered that way of thinking cold and calculating, but the government made little effort to deny it. Every living citizen contributed to society in one form or another, making each individual a valuable economic asset that should not be wasted through needless stupidity. That practical outlook became the foundation of the entire adventurer licensing system, with survival taking priority over personal freedom. If someone wished to enter the wilderness, they first had to prove they possessed enough knowledge to return alive.
To accomplish that goal, applicants were required to pass a long series of examinations before receiving their license. These tests covered far more than simple combat ability, placing equal importance on navigation, wildlife identification, edible plants, weather prediction, emergency medicine, and survival techniques. The examinations were intentionally demanding because the government understood that monsters were not always the greatest threat waiting in the wilderness. More adventurers died from ignorance and poor decisions than from direct combat, making knowledge every bit as valuable as strength.
Even after passing those difficult examinations, the profession remained unattractive during its first year of existence. There simply was not enough money to justify spending months preparing for the licensing process, only to risk one's life for uncertain rewards. Most expeditions produced little more than common resources that barely covered travel expenses. As a result, only the most stubborn explorers or those with a genuine love for the wilderness continued pursuing the profession.
The dream of becoming wealthy through adventuring also failed to attract many people during those early days. In reality, there were only two discoveries capable of producing a truly life-changing fortune: finding a new mineral deposit or uncovering a mana vein before anyone else. Those discoveries had to be reported to the Adventure Guild, which would verify the claim before notifying the appropriate authorities. While the rewards were substantial, the chances of making such a discovery were so incredibly small that very few people considered it a realistic career plan.
Passing the entrance examinations only added another obstacle to an already difficult profession. The written and practical tests demanded extensive knowledge of wildlife, ecosystems, medicinal plants, and natural terrain, subjects that had gradually disappeared from everyday education. Even back in 2020, relatively few people possessed meaningful experience in the wilderness outside of recreational camping. By the year 2106, that disconnect between humanity and nature had only become more pronounced despite the remarkable recovery of the world's ecosystems.
Ironically, nature itself had never been healthier. Decades of environmental restoration projects, strict conservation laws, and massive ecological investments had allowed forests, wetlands, and wildlife populations to recover beyond what many experts had once believed possible. Rivers flowed clean once more, endangered species returned to habitats they had abandoned centuries earlier, and entire ecosystems slowly rebuilt themselves under careful human supervision. Yet while nature flourished, humanity's direct connection with it continued to fade.
Most people learned about forests, animals, and ecosystems through documentaries, educational programs, or virtual simulations displayed on screens. They could identify dozens of species from memory, explain migration patterns with surprising accuracy, and even recite information about medicinal herbs without ever touching a real plant. Knowledge had become abundant, but practical experience remained exceptionally rare. Reading about surviving in the wilderness and actually surviving in it were two entirely different matters.
That lack of experience became painfully obvious whenever new applicants attempted the practical portion of the licensing examinations. Many entered the wilderness with confidence born from years of theoretical study, only to discover that reality refused to follow textbooks. Weather changed without warning, landmarks appeared completely different from maps, and exhaustion clouded even the simplest decisions. Nature cared very little about academic achievements once someone stood alone beneath an unfamiliar canopy.
The survival trial itself attempted to close that gap between theory and experience. Every applicant spent an extended period living in carefully monitored wilderness zones where instructors observed them from a distance without interfering unless their lives were genuinely endangered. Participants learned to build shelters, identify safe drinking water, avoid dangerous wildlife, and manage limited supplies under constant pressure. By the end of the trial, most candidates had developed a healthier respect for the natural world, even if they still lacked true mastery over it.
Even so, civilization remained deeply rooted within them. Years of comfortable living had conditioned people to rely on technology, infrastructure, and immediate assistance whenever problems appeared. Those habits did not disappear after spending a few weeks sleeping beneath the stars, no matter how intensive the training had been. The trial made applicants more capable than before, but it could not erase generations of dependence on modern society.
Because of all these obstacles, the total number of licensed adventurers remained surprisingly small throughout the profession's early years. Those who succeeded were respected for their perseverance, yet few citizens viewed adventuring as a sensible career choice. Parents encouraged their children to pursue safer occupations with stable salaries instead of risking their lives in unexplored wilderness. Society admired adventurers from a distance but rarely wished to become one.
Everything began changing once the commission system and a series of supporting laws were introduced. Suddenly, adventurers were no longer dependent solely on random discoveries or unbelievable luck to earn a respectable income. Governments, private companies, research institutes, universities, and countless other organizations started posting official requests through the Adventure Guild. These commissions transformed exploration from gambling into contract work, giving adventurers predictable rewards for completing clearly defined objectives.
The benefits extended far beyond the adventurers themselves. Governments quickly realized that licensed explorers collectively covered an extraordinary amount of territory every single day, reaching places that would have been impractical or prohibitively expensive for official agencies to monitor continuously. Rather than funding enormous bureaucracies to patrol remote forests, mountains, wetlands, and valleys, authorities could simply reward adventurers for reporting valuable discoveries during expeditions they already intended to undertake. It proved to be a remarkably efficient partnership that benefited both sides.
Once these commissions became widely available, interest in the profession exploded almost overnight. Thousands of people who had previously dismissed adventuring as financially irresponsible suddenly reconsidered their options, seeing genuine long-term career prospects for the first time. Training academies filled with new applicants, survival courses expanded rapidly, and examination centers struggled to keep pace with demand. Before long, the number of people successfully earning adventurer licenses increased far beyond anyone's original expectations.
The surge became so significant that the government eventually faced an unexpected problem. Too many capable workers were choosing the adventurous lifestyle instead of remaining in more traditional industries that desperately needed labor. Manufacturing, agriculture, logistics, and infrastructure projects all experienced growing shortages as increasing numbers of qualified individuals sought licenses instead of conventional employment. In response, new limitations had to be introduced to balance the needs of society while still allowing the profession to continue growing.
The adventurer profession had finally become a respected and financially sustainable career, but its rapid success also revealed that careful regulation would remain essential. Without proper oversight, the very system designed to strengthen society risked creating shortages elsewhere. Even so, few people argued that the reforms had been a mistake. For the first time since the profession's creation, adventurers had proven that they were not merely wandering explorers but an indispensable part of the European Union's expanding economy and its understanding of the wilderness.
The organizations responsible for posting these commissions had not embraced the system immediately. During the first year of the Adventure Guild's existence, most companies, research institutes, universities, noble families, and government agencies considered the entire concept far too risky to justify the investment. From their perspective, there were simply too many loopholes that could be exploited before an adventurer officially handed over a discovery. Without proper legal protection, any valuable commission could become little more than an expensive gamble.
Their concerns were not without merit. At the time, there was nothing preventing another buyer from approaching an adventurer after they had completed a commission but before they reported their findings to the guild. A wealthier individual or organization could simply offer a better price and purchase the discovery outright, completely bypassing the original commissioner. Such a system destroyed confidence in the marketplace, making long-term contracts nearly impossible to enforce. No serious organization wanted to invest enormous sums of money under those conditions.
Those fears became reality almost immediately as a new class of businessmen appeared seemingly overnight. Middlemen began monitoring the activities of adventurers, purchasing unusual discoveries that their original finders did not fully understand. Since most adventurers specialized in survival rather than scientific research or commerce, they often accepted what appeared to be generous offers without realizing the true value of the items they had discovered. The middlemen then relied on their professional networks to have those items properly identified and appraised before selling them through prestigious auction houses for several times the original purchase price.
Within a single year, the number of these middlemen increased almost tenfold. Entire businesses were established around purchasing unidentified plants, minerals, monster materials, artifacts, and other strange discoveries from inexperienced adventurers. Some operated honestly and accepted reasonable profits, while others deliberately targeted newcomers who lacked the knowledge needed to negotiate fair prices. Although everything they did remained technically legal, their activities created enormous instability throughout the growing adventurer economy.
Naturally, organizations that wished to commission specific discoveries became increasingly dissatisfied with the situation. Posting a commission through the Adventure Guild already required a considerable financial commitment before the request even appeared on the public board. The guild retained five percent of every completed commission as its operating fee, allowing it to maintain offices, examination centers, and support services throughout the European Union. On top of that, commissioners were required to deposit ten percent of the total reward in advance as proof that they possessed the necessary funds to honor the contract.
Those financial safeguards protected adventurers from fraudulent commissions, but they did little to protect the commissioners themselves. Imagine spending months searching for a particular medicinal herb, setting aside a substantial reward, and waiting patiently for an adventurer to locate it, only for another buyer to purchase the discovery moments before it reached the guild. The commissioner lost the opportunity they had invested in, while the item later appeared at an auction house selling for three or even four times the original commission price. From their perspective, such a system was completely unacceptable.
As more complaints reached the European Parliament, lawmakers recognized that the growing profession required a stronger legal framework. The Adventure Guild had already demonstrated its value to society, and allowing confidence in the commission system to collapse would undermine years of progress. Rather than making small adjustments, Parliament decided to implement comprehensive legislation that clearly defined the rights and obligations of everyone involved. The new regulations fundamentally reshaped how discoveries were bought and sold throughout the Union.
Under the new laws, every discovery made by a licensed adventurer first had to be presented to the nearest local branch of the Adventure Guild. Regardless of whether the adventurer intended to sell the item privately or keep it for personal use, the guild was legally required to inspect it before any transaction could occur. This initial inspection ensured that every valuable discovery entered an official registration system before ownership changed hands. The procedure added only a small delay, but it dramatically increased transparency throughout the profession.
Once an item arrived at the guild, officials compared it against every active commission that matched its general classification. By that point, adventurers themselves had popularized the term "quest," and the guild eventually adopted the name officially throughout all of its documentation. If the discovered item fulfilled the conditions of an active quest, the adventurer became legally obligated to complete that commission before considering any alternative offers. Personal preference no longer mattered once a valid match had been confirmed.
Ignoring that obligation carried severe consequences. Selling a quest item privately after knowingly bypassing a registered commission became a serious criminal offense throughout the European Union. The penalties included substantial financial fines, permanent suspension of an adventurer's license, confiscation of illegally obtained profits, and, in particularly severe cases, imprisonment. The authorities wanted to eliminate every incentive for bypassing the official system.
Enforcing those regulations required more than simply passing new legislation. The police, working together with the Adventure Guild, established an entirely new investigative branch dedicated specifically to adventurer-related crimes. Its officers specialized in tracing illegal sales, uncovering smuggling operations, monitoring fraudulent appraisals, and identifying attempts to circumvent the commission system through intermediaries. Because lawmakers had anticipated many of the obvious loopholes before implementing the legislation, the new branch began its work with an extensive list of investigative procedures already prepared.
The new legal framework did more than close loopholes. It also encouraged the guild to reorganize its commission structure into a far more efficient system that could accommodate the rapidly expanding number of quests. Rather than displaying every request together on a single board, commissions were divided according to both geographical jurisdiction and rarity. This allowed adventurers to search for relevant quests much more efficiently while preventing unnecessary duplication throughout the Union.
The first classification divided quests according to the authority that issued them. Local quests applied only to a single municipality or nearby region, provincial quests covered an entire province, national quests extended across a member state, and European quests remained active throughout the entire European Union. The broader the jurisdiction, the higher the expected reward, reflecting both the rarity of the requested discovery and the larger budget available to the issuing authority. Adventurers therefore had a clear understanding of the significance of a commission simply by looking at its classification.
The second classification focused on rarity rather than geography. Some discoveries represented extraordinary finds that had been documented only once or never, while others were uncommon but appeared regularly enough that organizations wished to purchase them continuously. Separating these categories prevented the quest board from becoming cluttered while ensuring that exceptionally valuable discoveries received the attention they deserved. It also simplified the appraisal process for guild officials responsible for processing newly discovered items.
The most common category became known as the Forever Quests. These standing commissions remained permanently active because certain plants, monster materials, ores, or natural resources were always in demand despite being difficult to obtain. Purple Loosestrife served as one of the most well-known examples. Although it was undeniably rare, it was not so extraordinary that finding a specimen became a once-in-a-decade event, nor was collecting it considered exceptionally dangerous for experienced adventurers.
Rare discovery quests followed a very different set of rules. Only one active commission for a particular discovery could exist at each jurisdictional level. If a European quest existed for a newly discovered plant, another European quest requesting that same plant could not be issued until the original commission had been completed or withdrawn. The same restriction applied independently to national, provincial, and local quests, preventing unnecessary competition between identical requests while keeping the commission system organized.
Whenever an adventurer returned from an expedition carrying an unfamiliar specimen, the appraisal process followed a carefully standardized procedure. Guild staff first examined the item using a specialized identification artifact that functioned as a vast magical database. Drawing upon information shared by countless guild branches and recognized professional experts, the artifact allowed trained appraisers to identify plants, minerals, monster materials, and countless other discoveries across enormous distances. It had become one of the guild's most valuable administrative tools.
Once the item's identity had been confirmed, officials began checking the commission registry in a strict order. They always started with the European level because those quests carried the highest authority and the largest rewards. If no matching European commission existed, they proceeded to the national registry, followed by the provincial registry, and finally the local registry. Only after every level had been examined without producing a match could the process continue to its next stage.
Even then, the search was not necessarily finished. Although the European Union functioned as a single political and economic entity in many respects, it still consisted of numerous individual member nations, each with its own research priorities and specialized interests. If no commission existed within the adventurer's own jurisdiction, guild officials were permitted to search equivalent registries maintained by every other member nation. Quite often, an item that held little importance locally turned out to be highly sought after somewhere else within the Union.
The reward associated with each jurisdiction reflected its broader scope and the resources available to the issuing authority. European-level commissions demanded exceptionally high minimum rewards before they could even be registered. The starting price alone was ten thousand silver coins, an amount so staggering that most ordinary citizens struggled to comprehend it. Considering that a comfortable apartment could be purchased for only ten silver coins, the reward offered by a single European quest represented a fortune capable of changing an adventurer's life forever.