Between Mockery and Warning

"The world offers no place for the weak. But it also fears those who cannot be predicted."

The next day, I woke up feeling like I had been crushed by a steel train. Every joint throbbed with bruising pain. The wound on my left shoulder still pulsed with agony—the bite from Sylven hadn't fully healed. That cheap healing potion had merely patched up the surface, like paint covering a crumbling wall. It hadn't touched the root of the wound.

I coughed softly and sat up. The cracked ceiling of my rented room stared back at me, its dark fissures creeping along the edges. The wood by the window groaned each time the night breeze swept through. This room was more of a storage closet than a place to live, but it was all I could afford.

Only two bronze coins left. Half a loaf of stale bread. The water in the jug was nearly spoiled.

But I was still alive.

And more importantly—I hadn't given up.

The adventurers' guild that morning was filled with laughter and the clinking of mugs. The air reeked of cheap soup and stale beer. Mid-level adventurers lounged about playing cards or joking about new quests they had taken. As soon as I stepped inside, several pairs of eyes turned toward me—a scrawny young man in torn armor, tangled hair, and the smell of dried blood I hadn't yet managed to wash off.

"Hey! It's the kid from yesterday—the one who almost became goblin chow!" a burly adventurer shouted, laughing.

"Still alive, huh? Thought a troll had already collected your bones!" another chimed in, followed by loud laughter.

I stayed silent. No need to answer taunts from those who felt safe behind their ranks and numbers. I walked steadily toward the mission board. My eyes scanned it carefully, reading every posted sheet from top to bottom.

"If you want to die quickly, take this one!" the burly adventurer jeered, pointing at an escort quest leading to the southern ruins—a place infamous for its ancient traps and wild monster packs.

I glanced slightly toward him, meeting his eyes directly.

"I'm not interested in dying... not yet," I answered flatly.

"Huh?"

"I'm interested in making those who tormented my family... suffer much longer."

The room fell silent. Someone dropped a beer mug, the clang of metal echoing.

I turned to leave when a voice from behind stopped me.

"Minato, right?"

The receptionist from yesterday—Claire—stood behind the counter. Her face no longer held the worry it had the night before. Now she looked calm... and a little curious.

"You need more than just a list of missions," she said, handing me a thin, brownish book.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because the way you fought yesterday... was stupid."

"..."

"But the result... was surprising."

I accepted the book hesitantly. The title was worn, but the contents were interesting—a map and descriptions of unexplored small monster nests.

"If I die there, at least it won't be at the feet of some rotten noble," I muttered, tucking the book into my battered leather bag.

Claire sighed. "You're different, Minato. Not because of your strength... but because of your eyes."

I frowned. "What do you see in my eyes?"

"Someone preparing for war... not an adventure."

I sat in a narrow alley near the lower market, reorganizing my gear. I polished my sword with leftover cooking oil I had traded for a loaf of bread. I patched my leather armor with pieces of burlap sack. I wrapped the bread tightly in a clean cloth and read the map over and over until its lines were engraved in my mind.

That night, the sky was shrouded in clouds. No stars. The world itself seemed to be holding its breath.

"I'll descend into even deeper darkness tomorrow... and I may not return the same," I whispered.

The orange dawn slowly split the horizon. I stood at the city's western gate, gazing far toward the southwest. The Black Claw Nest—the first target I had chosen.

With the map in my left hand and the sword at my hip, I began walking, crossing the frozen grass and cracked dirt paths.

Behind me, the old world had decided to forget my name.

But I would make the new world remember it.

"Minato Ascheveil. My name will be carved not by honor... but by wounds and vengeance."

---