As they made their way down the stone path leading from the manor, Jordan glanced up at the massive structure towering in the distance—the same one that had caught his attention from his window earlier.
"What's that huge building in the center of town?" he asked, squinting slightly at its size. "It looks bigger than everything else."
Elysia followed his gaze and gave a small nod. "That's the Adventurers' Association. It's the central hub for mercenary work, monster-slaying contracts, and frontier missions in this region. Ours happens to be one of the largest branches."
Jordan blinked. Of course it was.
Adventurers' Association? That was straight out of every manga, anime, and light novel he'd ever read. A massive guild building, always in the middle of town, always the place where heroes and idiots gathered in equal numbers. This just confirmed it—he was deep inside a world that ran on fantasy tropes, even if it didn't always feel like one.
Cliché or not, at least I kinda know the rules, he thought, suppressing a grin.
He nodded slowly, then muttered under his breath, "Yup… definitely an isekai."
Elysia gave him a curious look but didn't ask. Sir Cedric raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
Jordan just kept walking, eyes still fixed on the towering building that loomed like a challenge waiting to be accepted.
"So, would I have to do a mission or quest to be accepted into the Adventurers' Association?" Jordan asked, his tone casual, but genuinely curious.
Elysia nodded. "Yes, that's standard. New applicants usually take on a preliminary task to prove they're capable—nothing too dangerous, just enough to assess their skills and mindset."
She paused, then continued. "But you should know, the Association doesn't control all missions or mercenary work. That's where the guilds come in. They're more independent—groups of warriors, mages, tamers, elemental users... really anyone with a skillset. Some guilds are massive, others are just a handful of people. They do their own thing, but they can accept Association quests if they choose to. It depends on the job."
Jordan's brow furrowed slightly. "So the Association posts the jobs, and guilds or individual adventurers can take them?"
"Exactly," she said. "The Association handles general oversight—verifying contracts, assigning ranks, and keeping things from spiraling into chaos. But they don't own the guilds. Think of it like… a marketplace of work. If you're strong enough, there's always something to do."
Jordan nodded slowly, processing the information. Then Elysia tilted her head, looking at him more closely.
"You really aren't from around here if you didn't know that," she said, half amused.
Jordan chuckled lightly, trying not to look too suspicious. "Let's just say… I'm from a place where things work a bit differently."
"So when you say ranks, what do you mean exactly?" Jordan asked. He was still curious, and this felt like the best chance to gather information without raising suspicion.
Elysia smiled a little, enjoying the opportunity to explain. "Ranks are how the Association and guilds measure strength and experience. The lowest is Bronze, then Iron, Silver, Gold, Platinum, and the highest is Diamond. Both individuals and guilds are ranked this way."
She continued, "Your rank determines what kind of missions you're allowed to take. A Bronze-ranked mage can't just take on a Gold-level quest—it'd be a death sentence. The system's there to prevent people from biting off more than they can chew."
Jordan nodded slowly. "Makes sense. So… how rare are Diamond ranks?"
"Extremely," Elysia said. "The last Diamond-ranked quest was two years ago—a monster wave. It was serious. The entire kingdom had to mobilize, the Association issued a full call, and every guild, including the ones here in Emberfall, answered. That's how dangerous Diamond-level threats are."
She raised a finger for emphasis. "In all of Emberfall, there are only three Diamond-ranked guilds. And maybe twenty or so adventurers and mercenaries who've reached that level—and that's combined."
Jordan gave a low whistle. "So… being Diamond is basically legendary."
"Exactly," she said. "Most people spend their whole lives trying to get to Silver or Gold. Anything above that… is rare air."
Elysia leaned back slightly, folding her arms. "But keep in mind—a Gold-ranked warrior isn't always stronger than a Silver-ranked mage."
Jordan tilted his head. "Really? I thought the higher rank always meant stronger."
"Not exactly," she said. "Magic changes the scale. A mage's destructive power can be devastating, especially if they specialize in large-area spells or advanced elemental control. But that doesn't mean they can just walk over everyone."
Sir Cedric, who had been quietly listening, added, "A skilled warrior with experience, precision, and the right technique can close the gap. Same goes for tamers and elemental users. Power in this world isn't just about brute strength—it's about how you use what you have."
Elysia nodded. "Exactly. It's why ranks exist, yes—but they're a guideline, not an absolute."
Jordan folded his arms, thoughtful. "So it's more about knowing your lane—and mastering it."
"Something like that," Elysia said with a faint grin. "Which is why people train for years, or even their whole lives, to rise in rank. Everyone brings something different to the table."
Jordan nodded slowly, processing it all.
"Take Sir Cedric for example," Elysia continued, gesturing toward the older knight standing nearby. "He's a Silver-ranked warrior—but he doesn't wield aura."
Cedric chuckled, clearly unbothered. "Never needed it to put someone on their back."
Elysia smiled faintly. "True, but someone at the same rank with aura would technically have the edge. Aura enhances strength, speed, and even defense. It's a powerful skill—and not every warrior can awaken it."
Jordan looked at Cedric again, now with a deeper sense of respect. "So he's Silver without it... That's actually impressive."
"It is," Elysia agreed. "It takes talent and discipline to climb the ranks without certain advantages. But that's what makes rankings so complex—skills, weapons, experience, and abilities like aura or magic all factor in."
Cedric grinned. "Some people lean on power too early. I made do with grit."
Jordan couldn't help but grin. "Grit, huh? Guess I better figure out what I'm leaning on."
"Start with not dying," Cedric smirked. "Everything else comes later."
Elysia laughed softly. "Good advice, actually."
"Ok, ok, enough with the lessons," Sir Cedric said, waving a hand dismissively as if brushing the air itself. He then looked at Jordan with a slightly sheepish grin. "Say, Jordan, do you want to take a look at the town? The soldiers who were with us when we got attacked—they want to thank you. I… kinda told them you'd come."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "You what?"
Cedric scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I may have said yes on your behalf. Thought it'd be rude to turn them down after they made all the effort."
Elysia arched a brow. "So you committed him without asking?"
"Well, I figured he wouldn't mind," Cedric said, clearly trying not to look guilty. "They were really grateful. Thought it'd be nice for him to meet the people he helped save."
Jordan shook his head but couldn't help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're lucky I'm not the difficult type."
"See?" Cedric said with a clap. "Knew you'd say yes."
Elysia stood as well. "It's not a bad idea. You should see more of Emberfall anyway. Besides, it's good for the people to know the face of someone who risked their life for them."
Jordan gave a soft sigh but nodded. "Alright, let's go meet the fan club."
Cedric grinned. "That's the spirit."
----
Jordan stood in the wide training yard of the Emberfall barracks, flanked by Sir Cedric. Soldiers bustled around, some still in gear from the morning drills, others relaxing with water and food in hand. Elysia had gone to check on her father, promising to return once she was done so they could all walk the city together. Lord Harwin had originally shown interest in joining them—likely to keep a closer eye on Jordan—but other duties had pulled him away.
The yard itself was surprisingly lively, the air filled with the metallic tang of sweat and steel, along with the occasional laughter and shouts of sparring soldiers. Jordan kept a polite smile as men and women in uniform came up to him, offering handshakes and slaps on the shoulder.
"You're the guy from the forest, right?" one soldier said, squinting like he was matching Jordan's face with a half-remembered memory. "Didn't recognize you at first—looks like you've had a bath and some decent rest."
Jordan gave a short laugh. "Yeah, that forest didn't exactly have spa service."
"I was sure you weren't going to make it out alive," another chimed in, stepping forward. "But you held out. Gave us enough time to regroup. We owe you."
Jordan gave a small nod. "I didn't really do much—just stayed alive."
"Sometimes that's enough," Sir Cedric said beside him, arms crossed. "And it was more than that."
The conversations blurred one into the next. A few soldiers recounted details he had already half-forgotten—the fire, the chaos, the moment the tide shifted just enough to make it out alive. Jordan recognized several of them from that night, their faces cleaner now, postures less frantic.
It felt strange being thanked like this.
He glanced down at his boots—well, what was left of them. The soles were worn thin, the leather cracked and scuffed from days of walking, fighting, and barely surviving. Elysia's words echoed in his head:
"Your shoes look weird. But it looks like you need new ones."
He smirked slightly at the memory.
"Once they're done praising you, we'll get you some real clothes and boots," Cedric said, nudging him. "Don't want you walking around looking like a lost woodsman."
Jordan rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the honesty."
"You're welcome. I'm full of it," Cedric said with a grin.
A few more soldiers approached and thanked him before the crowd finally began to disperse. Training resumed, and the yard began to shift back into its usual rhythm.
"Ready to see the rest of the city?" Cedric asked, already beginning to lead the way.
"Yeah," Jordan replied, glancing once more at the barracks behind him. "Let's go before anyone else starts crying."
Cedric laughed, and the two of them began to head toward the city gates, where Elysia would be waiting.
Jordan glanced at the ten soldiers lined up behind Elysia, each one armored and alert, with a carriage waiting nearby.
He leaned toward Sir Cedric and asked, "Isn't this a bit much for a simple trip into the city?"
Cedric gave a short grunt, his eyes scanning the soldiers. "After what happened to the Duke, we can't afford to take chances. Until he fully recovers, Elysia's the acting authority—and a prime target if anyone decides to strike again."
Jordan nodded slightly. "Right... makes sense."
"She won't say it out loud," Cedric added, his voice lowering, "but she knows she's at risk. That's why we're not letting her out of the manor without backup."
Jordan looked over at Elysia, who was speaking with one of the guards. She seemed composed, confident even—but now, knowing the weight she carried, that calm took on a different meaning.
"I get it now," Jordan said. "Still, ten soldiers?"
Cedric smirked faintly. "You're forgetting, you're with her too now. That bumps the risk up even more."
Jordan scoffed, but didn't argue.
Jordan leaned slightly toward the window, watching the soldiers move around the carriage as it rumbled to a steady start. He noticed the neat formation and the dozen or so armored guards riding alongside.
"You really need this many people just to go into town?" he asked, glancing back at Elysia.
She exhaled lightly, resting one gloved hand on the hilt of her sword. "Yes. Ever since the attempt on my father's life, Cedric won't take any chances. I'm the third daughter, but right now, I'm the only one here."
Jordan's brow lifted. "Only one?"
Elysia nodded. "My older siblings are away. My brother commands a battalion near the western border, and my sister was stationed in the capital. We haven't heard from them since the attack. No letters, no word. It's… concerning."
Jordan frowned. "You think something happened to them?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But it wouldn't be surprising if someone tried to keep them from returning. With Father incapacitated, the line of succession is shaky—and that makes me a target."
Jordan leaned back, arms crossed, a thoughtful look on his face. "Sounds like someone's trying to break the whole family apart piece by piece."
Elysia met his eyes. "Which is why I have to step up. Until we know more, Emberfall needs leadership. Even if it's from the third daughter."
Jordan gave a short nod. "You're doing more than most would. That sword at your side suits you."
She smiled faintly. "I plan to make sure I'm never caught helpless again."
Jordan looked back out the window. "Well… guess I picked an interesting time to show up."
-----
Dom's Clothing Store was nestled between a potion vendor and a glassblower's workshop, its black-and-gold sign swinging gently in the breeze. When they entered, a small bell chimed above the door. The shop was warm and smelled faintly of cedar and pressed linen. Bolts of fabric lined the walls, and mannequins stood dressed in elegant outfits—some clearly meant for nobles, others practical yet refined for warriors and travelers.
Dom himself, a stout man with a bushy mustache and measuring tape draped around his neck, squinted as the trio walked in.
"Ah, Lady Elysia, Sir Cedric," he said, bowing slightly before turning his eyes to Jordan. "And… you must be the one in need of rescuing."
Jordan glanced down at the worn clothes Cedric had lent him and offered a sheepish smile. "Guilty."
"He looks like a bard who lost a bet," Dom muttered, already circling him with an appraising eye. "We'll fix that."
As Jordan was ushered to the back to change into freshly measured and crafted attire, Sir Cedric chuckled. "What I gave you was survival gear. This—" he gestured toward Jordan when he returned in his new clothes "—this is civilization."
Jordan now wore a dark blue tunic stitched with subtle silver accents, fitted trousers, and a light overcoat that looked both sleek and durable. His boots were replaced with finely crafted leather ones that Dom insisted suited the cut of the outfit better.
"These," Dom said, holding up Jordan's old shoes like a prized artifact, "I'm keeping. The design is bizarre—lightweight, flexible, reinforced at the bottom... Fascinating craftsmanship even in their ruined state."
Jordan could only blink. "Uh… sure."
From there, they made their way to a nearby barber. The shop was modest, the tools lined up neatly along the stone counter. The barber, a wiry man with steady hands, used a pair of hand-forged scissors to trim Jordan's thick, wild hair—leaving it just long enough to look stylish while removing the uneven, overgrown edges. The stubble on his face was also shaved clean.
By the time Jordan stepped out of the chair and dusted off his shoulders, Elysia was visibly taken aback.
He looked—refined.
No longer like the stranger who had stumbled out of the woods with wild hair and scruffy cheeks, but someone who could easily pass for a young noble. His stronger frame was now better emphasized by the tailored clothes, and his face, no longer half-hidden by stubble, was sharp and clean.
Sir Cedric let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. Didn't think I brought a knight in hiding back with me."
Elysia blinked and quickly composed herself, though a hint of pink rose to her cheeks. "You clean up well," she said, turning away as if admiring the trim on a nearby curtain. "But don't let it go to your head. This isn't the first time I've seen a handsome man."
Jordan smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As they left, both the barber and Dom peeked out their doors, murmuring to themselves.
"What's so special about him?" the barber asked.
"Don't know," Dom replied, eyes still locked on the trio. "But the Duke's daughter and Sir Cedric don't usually escort just anyone around the city."
The streets of Emberfall buzzed with life as the carriage clattered through cobbled avenues. People moved in waves, some carrying baskets of herbs or crates of goods, others chatting near fountains or storefronts. As the Duke's banner fluttered from the side of the carriage, Jordan noticed several townsfolk stopping in their tracks to bow politely, particularly once they recognized Elysia inside. Children waved. Guards saluted.
Jordan leaned slightly out the window, trying not to look too obvious as his eyes darted around. He spotted towering clocktowers with stained glass faces, shop signs in flowing calligraphy, and bridges of stone arching over narrow canals.
And then he saw them—demi-humans.
At first, he thought he was imagining it, but as the carriage made its way deeper into the city, it became impossible to ignore. A woman with short tawny fur-covered ears—catfolk—was chatting animatedly outside a bakery. A tall, stoic lizardkin with gleaming emerald scales passed by in layered armor, followed by two dogfolk wearing merchant robes. In the distance, under the archway of a park, sat a group of elves, unmistakable with their long hair and otherworldly elegance.
"This city's... something else," Jordan muttered, eyes wide.
Sir Cedric smirked from his horse beside the window. "It's a melting pot. You'll find all kinds here—beastkin, elves, dwarves, even the occasional merfolk if you're lucky."
Elysia nodded. "Our location as a trade hub helps. Emberfall attracts all walks of life."
Jordan leaned back inside the carriage, fingers brushing the dagger sheathed at his side. He was grateful they'd let him keep it—something about its presence grounded him. But the sheath he had rigged up back in the forest was plain, makeshift leather, and it looked wildly out of place against his new clothes.
Sir Cedric clearly thought the same.
"That thing looks like it's choking the blade," the knight said flatly. "We're stopping at a smith. You've got a weapon like that, you need a sheath that doesn't look like you wrestled it off a scarecrow."
They veered off slightly from the main path and approached a wide forge built into the side of a brick building. Smoke billowed from its chimney, and the sound of rhythmic hammering rang out before it abruptly stopped. A sturdy figure stepped into view—short, broad-shouldered, with thick soot-streaked arms and a braided beard that touched his apron.
"A dwarf," Jordan said under his breath.
"Name's Garrun," Cedric told him. "One of the best smiths in Emberfall."
Garrun glanced up, already squinting at the dagger at Jordan's side.
"Show me," he grunted.
Jordan carefully handed over the blade. The dwarf's bushy brows rose slightly as he examined the edge, then the shape, the balance. Without saying a word, he pulled out a compact metallic tool and gently clamped it around the base of the blade.
"What's that?" Jordan asked curiously.
"Precision calibrator," Garrun muttered. "Lets me measure things most eyes miss. Got it from a gnome up north. Cost me two waraxes and a bottle of firebrew."
He took his notes with a stub of charcoal on thick parchment. "This dagger's... different. You didn't say where you got it."
Jordan shrugged, avoiding Cedric's curious glance. "It sort of… found me."
Garrun hummed but didn't press. "I'll make you something snug, flexible. Black leather with mithril lining, should adjust slightly with heat. Be ready in two days."
As they left the forge, Elysia leaned toward Jordan.
"You didn't mention that dagger of yours to be enchanted or alive. Most wouldn't hand something like that to just anyone."
Jordan met her eyes briefly. "There are... some things I don't fully understand about it myself."
He didn't mention that the dagger could evolve—that it changed after battles, responding to him, growing with him. That kind of detail, he knew, was best kept quiet until he understood it better himself.
Eventually, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a towering, ornate building with banners flapping from the battlements. It stood at the very heart of the city like a monument to warriors—stone statues of armed adventurers flanked the entrance, and a line of people, demi-humans and humans alike, waited along the steps.
Jordan craned his neck. "Is this—?"
"The Adventurers Association," Elysia confirmed with a small smile.
From his window, Jordan stared in awe at the fortress-like building. There was a glint of something familiar in it—a cliché, yes, but also opportunity.
He couldn't help but grin.
"Alright," he muttered, stepping down from the carriage. "Let's see what this world's really about."