Marenna ran to Tharion.

  The centaur was kneeling, frozen in place.

  His muscles tensed, eyes still sharp—but his body unable to move.

  A poisoned dagger was lodged in the leather of his flank.

  All around, the last embers of Garlan’s flames drifted lazily, glowing faintly in the smoky air.

  She placed her hands on him and attempted a detox spell.

  But the poison didn’t behave like it should.

  It was... old.

  Almost alive.

  As if it bonded with the blood and adapted to counter-spells.

  Marenna frowned and focused, channeling her magic with greater precision.

  A green aura pulsed between her palms.

  Tharion groaned softly, a trickle of black saliva spilling down his lip.

  — “Hang in there…”

  She could feel his body growing colder.

  Garlan had stepped closer in silence, his eyes still scanning the smoking horizon.

  Their first real encounter as adventurers…

  And they already understood why this wasn’t a job for everyone.

  He frowned. He wasn’t a healer.

  But an idea crossed his mind.

  He gently placed a hand on Marenna’s back.

  She jumped slightly, startled, and turned a deep shade of red.

  — “W-What are you doing?!”

  — “Don’t worry… I’m just trying something.”

  He closed his eyes and began to knead his mana.

  Instead of shaping it into an attack or a shield, he let it flow slowly—gently—into Marenna’s body.

  Like a warm, soothing wave.

  Fluid and enveloping.

  The effect was immediate.

  Marenna felt a surge of energy rush through her.

  Foreign, yet kind.

  Her magical flow unlocked.

  Her elven magic burst forth like never before.

  Her arms lit up with glowing green roots.

  Her hair floated softly around her face.

  For a brief moment, she seemed to merge with the air and the light.

  She became almost… a dryad.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Placing both hands on Tharion, she exhaled slowly, drawing the paralyzing poison out of his body—forcing it upward through his skin until it evaporated in a wisp of dark vapor carried away by the wind.

  Tharion, still dazed, slowly sat up.

  He cast a tired but amazed glance at the two teens.

  — “I don’t know if you’ll ever stop surprising me…”

  The three of them burst into laughter.

  Half from relief.

  Half from nervous exhaustion.

  The next morning, after a few hours of rest, they headed to the Adventurers’ Guild.

  There was nothing like real adventure to train, survive, and most importantly… master your own talents.

  First step: obtaining a rank plate.

  Every new adventurer started with a rank F plate—etched into a cheap alloy, but enchanted to resonate with its bearer’s aura.

  The ranking scale went from F to S.

  Then SS—for the truly exceptional.

  To date, only two individuals officially held an SS rank:

  Marcus, the hero of men—a legendary paladin with an unbreakable sacred shield.

  And Dragor, the demon necromancer—master of the dead and undefeated strategist of the dark front.

  Garlan stared at his plate in silence.

  Just a piece of metal.

  And yet… the doorway to an entirely new world.

  After registering, the trio made their way to the main quest board.

  — “Mushroom gathering…” Garlan muttered. “No.”

  — “Missing cat for Madame Mouchart…” Marenna sighed. “Also no.”

  Their eyes landed at the same time on a flyer pinned higher than the rest, bordered in red:

  URGENT REQUEST – Patus Hamlet (West)

  Recommended Level: A

  Target: Wyvern (Oxyr)

  Issue: Recurring livestock thefts. Dangerous creature. Increasing threat to the population.

  — “Now that’s got some bite,” Garlan said with a grin.

  — “Let’s just hope it only steals cattle,” Marenna mumbled.

  They tore off the request and marched back to the front desk, holding it high like a trophy.

  The receptionist—a semi-human hybrid between a woman and a toucan—blinked at them, her round eyes wide, curved beak slightly tilted.

  — “A rank A quest? You’re F rank… You’ll get yourselves killed. Even with ten of you, same result.”

  Garlan and Marenna froze.

  From the guild entrance, Tharion raised an eyebrow and spread his arms in a dramatic, exaggerated pose.

  “Behold me,” it said without words.

  The receptionist groaned, flapping her wings once before sighing:

  — “Alright… if you’re accompanied by an S rank, it’s allowed. But you’ll need to sign all the waivers. All of them.”

  Garlan and Marenna whipped around toward Tharion, eyes wide.

  — “Wait… You’re S rank?!”

  Tharion simply shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips—like this tiny detail had never seemed important.

  A hefty pile of papers landed on the counter with a thud.

  The receptionist handed them enchanted quills and thick parchment.

  — “Don’t forget the ‘fatal injury’ clause, the property damage waiver, and the appendix on uncontrolled magical fallout. You’ve got half an hour.”

  Thirty minutes later.

  Three wrist cramps.

  Twenty signatures each.

  They finally submitted the documents.

  The guild seal lit up—marking their very first official contract.

  A few hours later, the three companions left the city on foot, bags on their backs, map in hand.

  Destination: Patus.

  And their very first real mission.