Guild

Next to the merchant's stall, Gabriel's eyes were drawn to a worn-out building nestled between two taller structures. It was unassuming, almost easy to overlook if not for the constant stream of people flowing in and out of its single wooden door. The building itself was simple—its walls were made of weathered stone, and the wooden beams that supported its structure looked aged but sturdy. A faded sign above the entrance swung gently in the breeze, its lettering barely legible, though the image of a sword and bow etched into the wood left little doubt as to its purpose.

He frowned, tilting his head as he stared at the sign. "What does it say?"  he murmured, the unfamiliar symbols taunting him. He couldn't read the language, but somehow, he had no trouble understanding the words of the people around him.

Gabriel's gaze shifted to the street, where people bustled about in lively conversation. Their voices were clear, the words flowing naturally to his ears, as though they were speaking his native tongue. And yet, he knew they weren't.

How am I able to understand them? The thought unsettled him. The language barrier should have been insurmountable, and yet it wasn't. He pushed the thought aside for now, filing it away as another mystery of this strange world.

His attention returned to the building. Despite its worn appearance, there was a constant influx of people coming and going through the single wooden door. Most of them were clad in armor—simple leather armor for the majority, though a few wore heavier gear made of iron or steel. Their weapons were varied: swords, spears, bows, and even a few strange contraptions Gabriel couldn't name.

The people moving in and out of the building were a rough-looking crowd, their faces marked with scars, their movements confident and purposeful. Gabriel watched as a man in a dented breastplate exited the building, laughing loudly with his companion, a woman who carried a longbow slung across her back. Another group passed by him, their conversation lively but unintelligible, their armor clinking softly as they walked.

Curiosity tugged at him. What is this place? he thought, his gaze lingering on the door. The steady flow of people suggested it was important—or at least busy.

Gabriel hesitated, glancing down at himself. His tattered clothes were a far cry from the sturdy armor and polished weapons these people carried. He looked more like a beggar than anything else. I don't belong here, he thought. But the more he watched, the more he felt the pull to step inside.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted the rusted sword at his side and pushed open the wooden door.

The air inside the building was thick with the smell of sweat, leather, and something metallic—blood, perhaps. The space was larger than it appeared from the outside, with high ceilings supported by wooden beams. A large, circular desk dominated the center of the room, where a tired-looking clerk sat, scribbling something onto a sheet of parchment.

The walls were lined with notice boards, each one cluttered with sheets of paper. Gabriel squinted at them, the strange script once again unreadable to him. Hunters crowded around the boards, pulling papers down and discussing them in low, serious tones. Others sat at long wooden tables along the edges of the room, their weapons resting beside them as they ate, drank, or argued.

The atmosphere was loud and chaotic, yet strangely organized. People moved with purpose, their voices carrying a mixture of excitement and tension. Gabriel stepped farther inside, feeling out of place among the hardened hunters.

A sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. "You lost, stranger?"

Gabriel turned to see a man standing near the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. He was broad-shouldered, with a thick scar running down the side of his face. His leather armor was well-worn but well-maintained, and a sword rested at his hip.

"I… no, not lost." Gabriel said, quickly slipping into his "doc" persona. He offered a warm, disarming smile. "Just curious. What is this place?"

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "This is the Hunters Guild." he said, his tone making it sound like Gabriel should have known that already. "You don't look like a hunter."

Gabriel laughed softly, spreading his hands in a gesture of humility. "Oh, I'm not. Just a wandering doctor, trying to get my bearings in this city. I saw the sign outside, but I can't read it. Thought I'd step inside and see what all the commotion was about."

The man's expression didn't soften, but he seemed less hostile. "A doctor, huh? Well, this isn't a place for sightseeing. The Guild's for people who know how to fight. Hunters take on contracts to deal with beasts, bandits, and whatever else needs killing. You don't look like you'd last five minutes."

Gabriel chuckled, nodding in agreement. "I won't argue with you there. I'm not much of a fighter. But I imagine a place like this could use a good doctor, no?"

The man studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe. But you'd need to prove you're worth keeping around. We don't take in dead weight."

Before Gabriel could respond, the clerk at the desk called out. "Next!"

The scarred man turned back to the desk, leaving Gabriel to take in the rest of the room. He stepped closer to one of the notice boards, pretending to examine the papers pinned there. Hunters brushed past him, barely sparing him a glance, but he could feel their strength and confidence radiating off them. Compared to them, he felt like a ghost—insignificant and unseen.

He glanced at the papers again, frustration bubbling up inside him. I can't read a word of this. How am I supposed to make sense of this world if I can't even understand its writing?

As he stood there, lost in thought, a young woman approached him. She was dressed in simple leather armor, her long black hair tied back in a braid. Her eyes were sharp, but not unkind.

"You don't belong here." she said bluntly, crossing her arms.

Gabriel turned to her, offering another one of his practiced smiles. "I've been hearing that a lot lately."

Her gaze flicked to his sword, then back to his face. "That's a terrible weapon. And you don't look like you've ever fought a day in your life. What are you doing here?"

Gabriel hesitated, then decided to lean into his persona. "I'm a doctor," he said, his tone calm and reassuring. "Not a hunter. Just… curious about how this place works."

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Well, curiosity's fine, but don't get in anyone's way. This isn't a place for amateurs."

Gabriel nodded, his smile never faltering. "Understood. Thank you for the advice."

As the young woman walked away, he turned back to the bustling room, his mind racing. This seems like a good place to start—money, connections, knowledge about this world, he thought, his gaze drifting to the notice boards and the hunters crowding around them. The only problem is… I know nothing about fighting. And I know even less about being a doctor.

The thought struck him harder than he expected. Back in his old life, slipping into a role was second nature. He could become anyone—a king, a villain, a hero—because the stakes had never been real. Now, pretending to be "Marcelle" felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. One slip, and it wouldn't be bad reviews he'd face—it would be death.

He lowered his head, muttering under his breath, his words coming in a quick, rhythmic whisper, almost like a mantra. "I guess I could use some essence right now… but I'd need to fight again… and if I fight again, I might not survive…" His fingers brushed the hilt of his rusted sword, the cold metal grounding him as his thoughts spiraled.

No. Stay calm. You've played harder roles before, he told himself. All you need is time to figure things out.

His focus was broken by the sharp voice of the clerk at the desk.

"Next!"

Gabriel blinked, startled. He looked up and realized that the line had moved quickly, and now he was the next person to be called. The hunters behind him shuffled impatiently, their boots scuffing against the wooden floor.

For a moment, Gabriel hesitated. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, and a faint sheen of sweat prickled at his forehead. He wasn't ready—he didn't even know what he was about to step into. What do I say? What if they ask me to prove myself?

But then he forced a smile onto his face, the familiar mask slipping into place. Stay in character, he thought, taking a steadying breath. You're Marcelle. A doctor. And you're here to survive.

Straightening his back, he stepped forward, approaching the circular desk at the center of the room.

The clerk barely looked up as Gabriel approached. He was a wiry man with graying hair tied back in a loose knot, his ink-stained fingers moving quickly as he scribbled notes onto a sheet of parchment. A small, flickering lamp on the desk cast long shadows across his tired face.

"Name?" the clerk asked curtly, his voice flat and disinterested.

Gabriel paused for half a heartbeat, then answered smoothly, "Marcelle."

The clerk raised an eyebrow, glancing up briefly to give Gabriel a once-over. His eyes lingered on Gabriel's tattered clothes and the rusted sword at his side, and his lips curled slightly in what might have been amusement—or disdain.

"Marcelle, huh? And what exactly are you here for? You don't look like a hunter."

Gabriel chuckled softly, spreading his hands in a gesture of humility. "Ah, appearances can be deceiving, can't they? I'm not a hunter, no. Just a wandering doctor, hoping to offer my services where they might be needed."

The clerk snorted, leaning back in his chair. "A doctor, you say? You don't look like much of one either. Where's your kit? Your herbs? Your tools?"

Gabriel's smile didn't falter, though inwardly, he cursed his lack of preparation. "Lost in the forest, I'm afraid." he said smoothly, his voice warm and self-deprecating. "It's been a difficult journey. But even without tools, I've found that a steady hand and a bit of knowledge can go a long way."

The clerk tapped his quill against the desk, his expression skeptical. "And what are you hoping to do here, Marcelle? This isn't a charity. The Guild doesn't take in dead weight."

Gabriel resisted the urge to flinch at the words, keeping his voice calm. "I'm not asking for charity. I'm asking for a chance. A place like this must see its fair share of injuries, yes? Hunters coming back from contracts, bruised and bloodied?" He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I can help with that."

The clerk narrowed his eyes, studying Gabriel carefully. The room seemed to grow quieter, the distant hum of voices fading into the background as Gabriel waited for the man's response.

Finally, the clerk sighed, scratching something onto the parchment in front of him. "Fine. You want a chance? You'll start at the bottom. Cleaning up after the hunters, tending to their wounds if you can manage it. If you screw up, you're out. Got it?"

Gabriel nodded quickly, relief flooding through him. "Got it. Thank you."

The clerk handed him a small wooden token, roughly carved and stamped with a crude symbol—a pair of crossed swords. "That's your temporary pass. Don't lose it. And don't get in anyone's way, or you'll regret it."

Gabriel took the token, his fingers brushing over its rough surface. "Understood. I'll do my best."

As he stepped away from the desk, the reality of what he'd just agreed to began to sink in. Cleaning up after hunters? Tending to wounds? He had no idea how to do any of that. But it was a start.

His thoughts flicked to the system, and he called it up instinctively, his gaze landing on the essence counter. Zero. The empty number stared back at him, taunting him. He clenched his fist, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He needed essence urgently, and there was only one way to get it.

Turning sharply, Gabriel headed back toward the desk, weaving through the bustling crowd of hunters. The person next in line was already stepping forward, but Gabriel slipped in front of them with an apologetic smile.

"Hey, sorry—quick question." he said to the clerk, keeping his tone light. "When and where should I be?"

The clerk, who had already moved on to the next task, looked up with a sigh. His quill paused mid-scratch as he waved Gabriel off with a flick of his hand. "Be here the day after tomorrow. At sunrise. Don't be late."

Gabriel nodded, offering a quick "Thanks!" before stepping aside to let the next person approach.

The cold evening air hit him as he left the guild, the noise of the bustling interior fading behind the creak of the wooden door closing. He stood there for a moment, staring at the street ahead. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, their warm glow casting long shadows across the cobblestone road. The city was alive, but its energy felt distant, separate from him.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cooling air. "I just got to the city," he muttered, his voice low, "and I'm already heading back to the forest."

The thought sent a ripple of unease through him. The forest wasn't a place he wanted to return to so soon. It was hostile, unpredictable, and teeming with dangers that could end his life in an instant. But the truth was, he didn't have a choice. He needed essence, and the only way to get it was to fight.

His hand brushed against the rusted sword at his side, the rough leather of the hilt a poor comfort. He couldn't shake the image of the guard at the gate, his sharp eyes studying him from above. If I leave again, he'll notice. He'll ask questions. He already doesn't trust me.

Gabriel sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet night. One problem after another, stacking higher and higher. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, but he pushed the thought aside. He'd dealt with pressure before—on stage, under the scrutiny of thousands. This wasn't so different. At least, that's what he told himself.

He glanced down at the wooden token in his hand, its surface rough and unpolished, the symbol of crossed swords etched into it. The token felt small and insignificant in his palm, much like himself in this world. But it was something. A foothold.

Gabriel slipped the token into his pocket and started walking, his steps steady but slow. The city loomed around him, its towering buildings and curved roofs casting shadows that danced in the flickering light. He didn't know what lay ahead—whether it was in the forest or within the walls of Xian'an—but he knew one thing for certain:

He wasn't going to survive by standing still.