First Steps Toward the Guild

Morning came slower than usual, a dense haze of fog creeping in through the cracks of the carpenter's shed. Ren sat up as dawn seeped across the floorboards, his limbs stiff but mind sharp. The memory of the system window still hovered in the back of his thoughts. Focused Drafting. A small gain, but one that lined up perfectly with where he was headed.

He didn't need a sword skill or some flashy magic. Not yet. What he needed were tools. Precision. Leverage.

And a guild token.

Ren packed his things with practiced speed. The villagers were still stirring when he stepped into the open. A light mist clung to the rooftops, and the smell of fresh soil lingered in the air. He caught sight of the older carpenter from two days ago, leaning on his cane near the well, watching him.

"Boy," the man said, voice scratchy from age. "Still squattin' in my shed?"

Ren didn't flinch. "Only for one more night. It was unlocked."

"Hmph," the man grunted, but said nothing more.

Ren nodded once and continued walking.

---

The adventurer's guild office opened an hour after sunrise. This time, he didn't hesitate at the door.

Inside, the same woman from before was already seated at her post, shuffling a few scrolls into a locked chest. She looked up as he approached and gave a faint nod toward the counter.

"Got the paperwork?" she asked.

Ren placed the envelope down. "Complete."

She pulled it open without ceremony, eyes scanning each line. Her expression didn't change.

"You filled this out like a craftsman," she muttered. "You're not lying on any of this?"

"No," Ren said plainly.

She gave him one more long look, then turned toward the back and called out, "Garil! Come verify this one."

A moment later, a broad-shouldered man in worn leather stepped out from behind a curtained doorway. He had a scar running down his left brow and a guild badge strapped tight to his chest.

"This the new applicant?" the man asked, scratching his jaw.

"Claims he mapped three new trails and tagged two safe rest points. Has woodworking and tool repair experience. Wants low-risk commissions."

The man—Garil—stepped forward and leaned over the counter, examining Ren with the intensity of someone used to sorting useful from useless.

"Where'd you train?"

"Nowhere," Ren replied. "I learned through work."

"You ever fight?"

"Only when necessary."

"You want coin, or you want recognition?"

Ren tilted his head. "Neither. I want access."

That earned a brief pause.

Garil gave a half-smile. "Smart answer. You'll need to earn it."

He stepped back and motioned for Ren to follow. "Come on. Token processing's in the back."

---

The inner room was little more than a stone hallway with a table at the end. A younger clerk sat waiting, a box of blank guild tokens beside him. Ren was told to stand still while Garil filled out a register.

"Tier Zero," the clerk muttered. "No class, no mark, no spell attunement. That right?"

Ren nodded.

The clerk took a small metal badge—flat, round, stamped with the guild's insignia—and dipped it into a dark blue ink. He pressed it into a logbook, then handed it to Ren.

"Temporary tag," he said. "Valid for thirty days. If you want to upgrade to Tier One, you'll need three verified commissions and a sponsor."

"What counts as a sponsor?"

"A licensed adventurer willing to vouch for your competency," Garil replied. "Usually someone who's watched you work. Or someone who owes you a favor."

Ren tucked the tag into his inner sleeve. "Understood."

The process took less than ten minutes. When they returned to the front desk, the woman handed him a folded paper sheet with the local board's available tasks.

"Most of the top ones are taken," she said. "But there's always the bottom half. Odd jobs. Courier runs. Materials recovery. We don't expect much from Tier Zeros."

Ren scanned the list.

A few caught his eye immediately:

Scout the eastern treefall path (verify obstruction cleared)

Retrieve lost shipment crates along riverbank trail

Repair broken fencing along northern farm edge

Collect wood for local carpentry orders (priority)

He tapped the last one.

"I'll take this."

The clerk made a note. "Collect from the forest edge, not deeper in. You're not cleared for interior-range foraging yet."

"Understood."

---

Ren left the guild hall with purpose in his stride. He didn't smile, didn't rush. He simply walked to the carpenter's shed, picked up the bow saw and hatchet he'd stashed under the worktable, and slung a woven basket over his shoulder.

Wood collection. Simple. Safe. Routine.

But it wasn't the task that mattered.

It was the pattern.

Each small task opened another door. Another excuse to move. To map. To gather.

And while no one else knew it, every night he slept brought him closer to abilities none of them could predict.

---

By noon, he had already stacked four bundles of straight branches and half-dried split wood. Not all of it was perfect, but he understood what carpenters needed—clean grain, minimal knots, easy to plane. Most of what he selected was alder or ash, common trees but ideal for basic construction.

He returned to the drop point near the guild just before dusk. A guild assistant checked the bundles, then handed him a stamped chit.

"Turn this in tomorrow for coin," the assistant muttered.

Ren didn't care about the coin.

He filed the memory away: materials drop accepted, no dispute, credibility increased.

By the time the sun dipped below the treeline, Ren was seated again at his corner of the shed, lantern glowing faintly beside him.

He pulled out the token and held it up.

Tier Zero, yes. But official now.

That was all he needed.

Ren didn't sleep immediately that night. His body was tired, but his mind kept replaying the sequence of events—his entry into the guild, the interaction with Garil, the acceptance of his first commission.

It was progress, but slow. Purposeful.

The stamped chit sat on the table beside him. He hadn't even pocketed it. It wasn't about the payment—it was about having his name, or at least his face, logged into the guild's system. It meant he could now build legitimacy, one commission at a time.

He glanced at the small notepad he'd fashioned from spare wood shavings and parchment. He flipped through the pages he'd scribbled over the last few days—rough maps, notes on terrain types, estimated distances between rest points, even some ideas for new tools he could make if he ever got access to better materials.

Focused Drafting would help now. It wasn't a game-changing ability, but it gave his sketching an edge. The shapes felt easier to lock in—proportions, angles, alignment. No shaky lines or redrawing. The system must have optimized his hand-eye coordination slightly, though it hadn't said so outright.

He closed the pad, leaned back, and forced his eyes shut.

This time, he fell asleep within minutes.

---

The system window greeted him the moment his breathing deepened.

> New Ability Acquired

[Soil Composition Sense] – Passive

Automatically detects nutrient levels, moisture, and fertility of soil within a 1-meter radius.

Ren opened his eyes before dawn, mind immediately processing the gain. Soil sensing? Not something he expected. Not directly useful for a wood collection job—but potentially valuable in farming, land scouting, even construction foundation assessments.

"Everything connects," he muttered quietly.

There were farms outside the village. If he could identify where the best soil was, he could help the farmers rotate their fields or choose better planting plots. And with that—more goodwill.

He gathered his things, skipped breakfast, and made his way back toward the guild.

---

The front desk clerk from yesterday had already rotated out. A different man was now posted—leaner, younger, with an easier smile. He raised a brow as Ren approached and handed over the commission chit.

The man took it, verified the stamp, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small pouch of coins. "Standard reward," he said. "Nothing extra for speed, but no complaints either."

Ren accepted the pouch and tucked it away.

"Anything new posted?" he asked.

The clerk gestured toward the board behind him. "We restock after noon, but there's always something up. You looking for another?"

"Yes."

Ren scanned the tasks. Most were similar—low-risk, low-pay. But one caught his eye.

Soil Sample Evaluation – Northern Farmland (requires basic analysis skills)

It was almost too perfect. He tapped it.

"I'll take this one."

The clerk looked skeptical. "You a field worker?"

"I've studied terrain," Ren answered simply.

"Alright, but don't mess up the plots. Farmers won't tolerate damage."

---

The northern farms were a fifteen-minute walk beyond the last cluster of village homes. The land stretched wide, tilled and lined with early summer sprouts—barley, cabbage, some small roots just starting to poke out. Most plots were run by family groups or older couples, judging by the worn hands and sun-dried clothes of those already in the fields.

Ren found the plot in question—marked by a blue ribbon tied around a boundary post. A woman in her thirties was waiting there, arms crossed, hoe resting on one shoulder. She looked wary.

"You're the one the guild sent?" she asked.

Ren nodded. "Just here to check the soil."

She didn't respond for a moment. Then, reluctantly, she stepped aside. "Alright. Don't ruin the planting beds. This one's for next season."

Ren crouched and ran his fingers over the soil. It looked ordinary at first glance—dry but not cracked, a mix of brown and gray. But as his fingertips dug in slightly, the system activated.

A subtle overlay filled his vision, readable only to him:

> Soil Quality: Fair

Moisture: Low

Nitrogen: Adequate

Phosphorus: Low

Potassium: Moderate

Drainage: Sub-optimal

Recommendation: Not ideal for root vegetables. Best suited for shallow crops or soil enrichment phase.

He blinked, absorbing the information. It wasn't visual—more like a pulse of intuitive knowledge passed directly into his brain. It didn't tell him what to do. Just gave him the raw data.

Ren stood up.

"Low phosphorus. You'd want to avoid deep-rooted crops here," he said.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You can tell that from looking?"

Ren didn't answer.

"Barley or cabbage?" she asked.

"Barley. But rotate the plot if you can. Give it time to breathe. Or mix in compost."

She narrowed her eyes, then gave a grunt. "Hmph. That's what I was told last year. You ain't wrong."

Ren stepped back. "Commission complete?"

She nodded slowly. "I'll confirm it."

---

Back at the guild, the same clerk raised his eyebrows as Ren handed in the request form.

"Farmer already sent word," he said. "You done quick."

Ren gave a brief nod. "Any more?"

The clerk flipped the page. "Come back after lunch. If they clear your work, you might get access to farm-adjacent postings. Most Tier Zeros don't touch those."

Ren turned to leave, but the clerk stopped him with a question.

"You really know that much about soil?"

Ren paused at the door. "Enough to help."

---

He didn't return to the shed that night. Instead, he asked the guild if there were any campsites available near the trail fork he'd mapped earlier. The woman at the counter—back on shift—checked a ledger and handed him a location tag.

"Old rest post, abandoned but stable. You'll need to bring your own firestarter."

"I have one," Ren replied.

And he did. He'd made one.

As the stars rose overhead and the forest rustled in the distance, Ren sat near a small campfire, alone but not aimless.

Tomorrow, he'd collect one more commission.

One step closer to Tier One.

The next morning was cooler than expected. A fog had rolled in over the trees, clinging to the undergrowth like a damp blanket. Ren packed up the campfire pit carefully, burying the embers and scattering the ashes as he'd learned in his early days. Leaving no trace behind mattered—even if no one saw it, he would know.

He returned to the village on foot, reaching the guild hall just after sunrise. The fog hadn't lifted entirely, but a few adventurers had already started gathering—mostly older teens and adults in light armor, chatting loosely in the open lot. Most ignored him, though a few spared glances as he passed.

Inside, the posting board had fresh slips pinned to its cork surface. He moved toward them, scanning.

Nothing too ambitious. Still Tier Zero jobs. But then one caught his attention:

Clearing Wild Brush Along East Pathway

Expected tools: hatchet or similar. Estimated time: half-day.

Payment on confirmation of cleared route (1 kilometer minimum).

Simple. Manual labor. The kind of thing no one wanted to do but needed done anyway. And—crucially—it gave him a reason to walk the east trail. He hadn't explored that direction yet.

Ren took the slip to the desk. The same clerk from before glanced at it, then gave a half-smirk.

"No one else touched this one. It's yours."

He took it, gave a short nod, and turned to leave.

---

The east path wound gently through wooded hills. It wasn't dangerous—not yet—but the overgrowth made travel difficult. Branches crept over the trail like stubborn fingers, snagging on fabric and packs. Bushes had swallowed parts of the road entirely, and thorned vines wrapped low around the trunks.

Ren worked methodically. His hatchet wasn't large, but he kept it sharp. The goal wasn't to fell trees—just to clear the overhang, push the trail open again for carts or foot traffic. Each swing was deliberate. Controlled.

A few hours in, his shirt was damp with sweat and the sun had finally burned through the morning fog. He paused to drink from his flask and check the trail behind him.

Clean. Walkable. Maybe not perfect, but a cart could pass now without too much scraping.

He kept going.

Near the 900-meter mark, he found something unexpected—a fallen log half-buried across the trail, moss already creeping over its edges. Not new. Months old, at least. The cut end told a story: it had been sawed deliberately, maybe even felled by someone who'd planned to return.

Ren knelt beside it. Something glinted beneath a cluster of mushrooms at its base.

He reached in and pulled out a rusted chisel—flat-bladed, chipped, but recognizably a tool meant for woodwork.

His brow furrowed.

Whoever had worked this trail before hadn't just cleared it—they'd been crafting something nearby. Maybe a structure. Maybe a shelter.

He slid the chisel into his pouch and stood, brushing off his knees. It wasn't part of the commission, but he marked the spot mentally. If he gained access to better commissions later, he'd want to revisit this area.

He finished the kilometer before noon.

---

The clerk looked surprised when Ren returned.

"You're back early. Cleared the route?"

Ren handed over the slip with the distance marked and signed.

"You measure it?"

"Kept track manually. Roughly 1.2 kilometers. All passable."

"Anyone verify?"

"Send someone if you want. It's done."

The clerk looked at him again, then reached under the desk and handed over a few small bronze coins. Not much—but still more than his first job.

"Two commissions done without issues. You'll move up soon," the man muttered.

Ren didn't answer.

Instead, he pulled the rusted chisel from his pouch and held it out. "Found this near a buried log on the east trail. Whoever left it might have been building something."

The clerk took it, turned it in his hand, and shrugged. "Looks like junk."

"Maybe. But mark the area down. Could be worth looking into later."

The man raised a brow. "You scouting now too?"

Ren didn't reply. He just turned and walked out.

---

Back at the shed, Ren finally sat down with his sketchpad and tried to piece together the day.

Not just the trail clearing. Not just the soil work.

Patterns.

He opened a clean page and wrote a single word at the top: Reputation.

The guild didn't reward strength at Tier Zero. It rewarded consistency. Trustworthiness. A lack of problems. If he kept this pace, avoided trouble, he could rise—slowly, yes, but with stability.

Each task completed without error would reinforce his reliability. Each repeat sighting of his face, each accurate assessment, each item returned honestly—it all added up.

He couldn't blaze a trail to power like in some fantasy. Not in this world. Not as he was now.

But he could lay bricks. One at a time.

He glanced at the bag of coins from the past two days' work. Still small, but growing.

Enough to afford better food. Enough, eventually, to start gathering components.

The soil-sensing ability opened one avenue. Focused Drafting opened another. If the system continued delivering tools like these—quiet, useful, unflashy—he could build something stable beneath the surface before anyone realized it.

He closed the sketchpad.

There was a long way to go.

But at least now, he had a map.