The First Mission

Verdeloth City – Adventurers' Association Guildhall, Late Afternoon

The soft orange light of the setting sun spilled through the tall windows of the Adventurers' Association, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

The day had been quieter than most, and as the hall slowly emptied, Alaric approached the reception desk with his usual calm, golden eyes steady beneath the hood of his robe.

Behind the desk was a woman with auburn hair tied in a neat braid, her eyes a sharp moss-green that missed little.

Her nameplate, modest and polished, read:

[Lirael Windcroft]

She had a reputation for being professional but fair—often the one new adventurers turned to when uncertain about their next steps.

She noticed him at once.

"You've been finishing your jobs early, as usual,"

She said, voice smooth with faint amusement.

Alaric nodded slightly.

"Thank you. I wanted to ask… do you know of any parties that might need a healer? Someone… efficient."

Lirael raised an eyebrow at the phrasing, then looked him over once more—not dismissively, but analytically.

She had read the reviews of Foreman Darnel : the boy who purified a sewer to a shine, who never failed a task, who never bragged.

"Hmmm,"

she said thoughtfully.

"That depends. Are you looking for a one-time job or hoping to join a longer-term party?"

"One-time. For now."

She tapped a pen against the side of her ledger, then flipped through a few pages.

"A few groups might be heading out tomorrow, but most of them are already full or looking for physical frontliners. However…"

Her finger landed on a name.

"There's a party heading out in the morning. A small group—nothing flashy. They've taken a job to collect medicinal herbs deep in the outer forest. It's a routine mission, but the location is tricky, and they lost their usual healer to an injury last week. They asked me to find someone."

She glanced up at him again.

"You'd be the youngest on the team by far. But if you're serious, come back tomorrow just after sunrise. I'll introduce you."

Alaric bowed his head slightly.

"I'll be here. Thank you, Miss Lirael."

Her lips twitched.

"Lirael is fine."

***

The Next Morning – Guildhall Courtyard, Just After Sunrise

The world was still bathed in the pale blue hush of morning when Alaric arrived. Mist clung to the edges of the courtyard, and the city had not yet shaken off its sleep.

But the guildhall was already stirring. Boots on flagstones, whispers over steaming mugs, the thump of packs being strapped and checked.

Lirael stood waiting near the front, holding a clipboard, her braid gleaming with dew.

She noticed Alaric immediately and gave a short nod.

"Right on time,"

She said, tone approving.

"They're here."

She turned, motioning toward a small group gathered nearby.

Three adventurers stood in a loose semi-circle, dressed in well-worn travel gear. A tall man with russet hair and a sword strapped to his back.

A woman with twin daggers and an easy smirk. And a quiet, broad-shouldered figure in light armor with a longbow slung over one shoulder.

As Alaric approached, all three turned to look at him.

Their expressions shifted—from confusion to surprise, then something unreadable. The swordsman opened his mouth, but Lirael cut in smoothly.

"This is Alaric Aurelian. He's a certified adventurer and a healer."

The rogue raised a brow.

"A bit young, isn't he?"

Alaric stepped forward, lifting his hand slightly. A faint golden light gathered around his palm—not too bright, not too showy, but clear and pulsing with tranquil warmth.

"I'm capable,"

He said quietly.

"I can keep you alive."

The swordsman stared for a long moment. Then, with a quiet huff of breath, he offered his hand.

"Name's Garron. That's Sela"

He gestured to the rogue,

"and the quiet one's Bren."

Sela gave a short wave. Bren nodded once.

"We'll give it a shot,"

Garron said simply.

"Forest's not a bad place to start."

Alaric nodded, clasping his hand briefly.

And just like that, for the first time, he wasn't walking alone.

***

Outer Forest, Noon

The forest wasn't simply alive—it was aware. The trees, old and vast, reached high like silent priests cloaked in emerald.

Their limbs swayed to an unheard hymn, their leaves whispering in voices older than stone.

Every patch of moss, every breath of wind carried a weight that made the air feel sacred.

Alaric walked behind the others in quiet reverence.

He didn't speak unless spoken to, and his golden eyes rarely stayed fixed on the trail. Instead, they flitted from limb to limb, hand to shoulder, breath to chest. He watched the way Garron shifted his weight in battle-readiness.

How Sela's breathing slowed when she entered combat. How Bren's mana threaded subtly into his arrows like ripples across a pond.

He was memorizing them—everything.

Not out of admiration. Out of necessity.

Alaric channeled a thin thread of divine energy into his eyes. It wasn't enough to glow, but it changed his perception.

Veins of mana lit up subtly in the bodies of his companions, like veins beneath parchment.

He watched how it moved, how it pulsed, retreated, surged with intent. Not just the body—but the breath of spirit within it.

He had used this technique before—an instinctive attempt to understand others. But now, he did it with purpose. Precision.

To learn. To preserve.

He was not simply a boy following a party. He was an archivist of movement, of life.

And he had no intention of standing out.

Alaric understood something that most others overlooked: in a world like this, power without protection was danger. Not the obvious kind. Not the blade to the throat or the threat in the shadows.

No, this was more insidious.

Attention.

When someone powerful noticed you, they didn't always strike you down. Sometimes, they claimed you.

Wrapped you in praise, offers, contracts, expectations. Until your will bent to theirs. Until your path no longer belonged to you.

That was the slavery Alaric feared. A gilded cage that smiled while tightening its bars.

This party was temporary. The mission was simple. His role was quiet. And that was exactly how he wanted

The quiet was broken by a faint clicking. Sharp. Rhythmic.

Garron raised his fist, and they stopped.

The Murkfang Crawlers emerged from the underbrush—five of them. Insectoid beasts with moss-ridden carapaces and faintly luminous fungal growths trailing their backs.

Their limbs were angular and wrong, and their mandibles twitched with toxic anticipation.

They were common in these parts, but still deadly. Not because of brute strength—but because of strategy.

They hunted like a hive. With patience.

Steel met chitin.

Sela darted forward, her blades glancing off their armor until she found a weak point. Garron absorbed a heavy blow, countering with a shield slam. Bren's arrows whistled through the air, pinning one crawler in place.

And Alaric?

He knelt. He watched.

"Sanctifying Benediction."

The spell left his lips like a prayer.

A warm, steady glow pulsed from beneath their feet. Not bright. Not attention-grabbing. Just enough to keep their muscles fluid and wounds at bay. He channeled no more than necessary—healing, not saving.

When Sela cried out from a venomous scratch, Alaric moved behind her with practiced ease. His hand hovered.

Light sank into the wound. The venom hissed, and she was steady again. No words were needed.

He was there.

But not present enough to dazzle.

When the last crawler fell—its carapace crushed under Garron's heel—the forest exhaled. The sounds of birds slowly returned.

A breeze stirred the upper branches, as though the forest itself had been watching, and now granted them passage.

They made camp near a circle of crumbling stone—ancient ruins swallowed by moss and ivy. Bren brewed tea from fire-scorched leaves while Sela and Garron patched gear.

Alaric sat quietly by the edge, hands warm with residual glow, watching his party with quiet satisfaction.

"You're not flashy,"

Sela said, tossing him a dried fruit.

"But you're solid."

Alaric caught it with a nod.

"I don't need to shine. Just make sure you all do."

Garron chuckled from across the fire.

"That's a healer's answer if I've ever heard one."

The laughter that followed wasn't loud, but it was warm. Familiar.

And for the first time since he stepped into this world, Alaric didn't feel like an outsider.

Just another adventurer, walking the ancient path.

***

Verdant Hollow - Outer Forest

The trees thinned, not in density but in presence—each one older than memory, their trunks twisted with time and their leaves tinted with silver-green, whispering in a language only the wind remembered.

Luminescent moss grew in soft patches along the bark, casting a faint glow even in daylight. Above, specks of falling light passed through the dense canopy like drifting motes of starlight.

Here, time felt slower. And heavier.

They had arrived.

Verdant Hollow.

"It's even more beautiful than the stories,"

Sela whispered.

At the heart of the hollow bloomed a soft circle of pale-blue flowers, their petals gleaming with faint lunar shimmer. These were Moonlace Blossoms—a rare herb known for its use in healing draughts and memory tonics. Delicate. Elusive. And fiercely guarded by the forest.

Garron scanned the clearing.

"Keep your weapons ready. The stories never mentioned how hard it was to pick these."

Bren pointed ahead.

"We're not alone."

Every special herb has a monster protecting it. The monster gets benefits staying near it. And the Moonlace Blossoms Guardian is Verdant Warden, Talvrahn. A something in middle of mid to high [Rank-1] monster.

From the shadows beyond the grove emerged a creature—taller than a man, with a body like barked muscle wrapped in moss and vine. Its face bore no eyes, only deep root-hollows glowing with soft green fire.

Twisting horns of wooden antlers crowned its head. Its arms ended in clawed root-fingers, and from its back sprouted thorny branches that pulsed with faint mana.

Talvrahn,an ancient spirit beast said to awaken only when Moonlace is threatened.

It stepped between the herb and the party, its gaze somehow heavy despite its blindness.

"Fall back,"

Garron said immediately.

"This one isn't your average [Rank-1] .It's bound to the land."

Sela drew her daggers, breath steady.

Bren already had a defensive rune crackling to life in his palm.

Alaric stood still, quiet—his eyes glowing faintly, not from power but from focus. Even now, he didn't push forward. He remained behind them, his hands lightly resting near his belt, watching the battle with a calm, penetrating gaze.

Talvrahn moved like wind through wood—slow at first, then blinding. It lashed out with a whip of thorned vines, catching Garron's side and throwing him back.

Bren shouted and unleashed a bolt of arcane force that cracked through the creature's bark-skin, but it only staggered slightly.

Sela dashed in low, her blades flashing, carving shallow gashes into the beast's limbs. She moved like water, graceful and precise—but the guardian adapted fast. Its branches grew mid-swing, blocking her next attack.

Alaric watched every moment. Every ripple of mana. Every misstep. His divine-charged vision revealed the beast's internal flow—how it pulled mana from the roots below, how its attacks grew wilder when its core flared.

He saw the rhythm.

The breath between strikes.

He called out once—calm and clear.

"Its core flares before every spike volley. There's a delay in its left arm regeneration. Exploit it."

No one questioned him.

They moved in sync. Sela struck right as Talvrahn's left side twisted to defend. Garron, recovered, threw his axe with precision into the exposed bark. Bren locked its root-feet in place with a binding glyph.

A decisive blow. The guardian let out a groaning, wooden howl and collapsed inwards—its body dissolving into golden motes that sank back into the earth.

The hollow fell quiet again.

***

They approached the bloom slowly. Alaric knelt beside the patch and, with almost reverent care, cupped the base of a Moonlace Blossom.

He didn't yank. He whispered something, too low to hear. Then gently plucked it free, its glow undisturbed, as if the forest allowed it.

The others stared.

"…How did you do that?"

Bren asked.

Alaric stood, placing the blossom into a crystal-lined case they'd brought.

"I asked,"

He said simply.

"And meant it."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Adventurers Association

The sun dipped toward the horizon by the time they returned to the Association building in Veldroth.

Their boots were caked in mud, clothes torn at the edges, yet they moved with the quiet pride of a successful party.

The clerk—Lirael, the same one who introduced Alaric to the group—looked up as they entered.

"Back already? I didn't think—"

Sela dropped the sealed case onto the desk.

"Moonlace. Prime condition. With root, dew, and shimmer intact."

Lirael blinked. Then slowly nodded, impressed.

"You'll be getting your bonus."

Bren nudged Alaric, who stood quietly behind the others.

"He was the one who spotted the guardian's weakness."

Sela added,

"And the one who harvested the Moonlace without damaging its essence. Kid's sharp."

Alaric said nothing. Just gave a soft nod and stepped back, already vanishing into the room's periphery like a fading breeze.

***

Evening – Back at the Inn

Alaric sat by his window, watching the moon rise over the rooftops of Veldroth.

He hadn't meant to stand out. But perhaps, just being present was enough.

Even in silence, people began to see.

-To Be Continued