It was four in the morning—long before sunrise—when Jon opened his eyes. The room was still submerged in darkness, but his mind was already working at full speed.
Over the next few weeks, he intended to explore a good portion of the continent of Aeloria. It wasn't a rash decision; his goal was clear. He would start with Frostpeak, in the southeast, where the closest secret dungeon to the academy was located.
For a moment, he considered going straight to Dunewatch, a distant destination full of mysteries. But he dismissed the idea almost immediately. Dunewatch was the seat of the Thieves' Cult. Exposing himself like that on his first outing would be madness.
I need extra safety. There's no point taking unnecessary risks. Frostpeak is close, and even without a teleport, I can walk back to the academy in a few hours.
He put on a heavy overcoat, the hood covering most of his face. After one last look at the room, he slipped out in silence.
Soon after, he crossed the academy's teleportation circle. A blue flash swallowed him, and in the next instant, he was beyond the institution's walls.
Some distance away, a hooded man watched. When he saw Jon vanish in the beam of light, he discreetly pulled out a small communication artifact that pulsed in shades of red.
"He's left the academy. Don't lose him."
Jon strolled unhurriedly through the still-sleeping streets of Glacier's Edge, the capital. To any onlooker, he was just another youth enjoying the chilly morning on a casual walk.
Snow-covered stone houses reflected the faint light of magical torches, and the silence was broken only by the sound of his footsteps.
When he spotted a small café already open, he stepped inside. Warm air embraced him immediately, a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside.
"One strong coffee, please."
The attendant nodded, and soon a steaming cup sat before him. Jon drank slowly, savoring each sip as if it were part of a normal routine. He wanted to look natural—someone in no hurry.
After paying, he asked to use the restroom. Alone, he drew a deep breath.
I don't know if this will work…
His eyes shone intensely. The magical matrix spun in his iris and, with effort, he projected a small illusion over himself. His silhouette shifted gradually: hair lengthened and darkened, tied back in a ponytail; his face took on more aristocratic features; even his posture changed, exuding the confident bearing of a noble.
The price, however, was immediate. His mana plunged.
Mana: ▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱▱▱ ≈ 20%
Jon clenched his teeth and pulled out a small vial of bluish potion. He downed it in one go, feeling energy flow through his channels again.
I need to be careful. I can't abuse this trick, but for now, it will do.
He left the restroom with calm, measured steps, as if nothing had happened.
When he exited the café, no one seemed to notice a difference. To all eyes, he was just another young noble strolling through the capital, elegant and unconcerned.
Jon walked at an easy pace, eyes attentive to each reflection in shop windows and the shadows at the corners. Even so, his expression stayed relaxed, hiding any sign of vigilance.
His destination was clear: the Adventurers' Guild.
There, he could not only gather valuable information, but also take the first official steps toward building an identity beyond the academy—one that would let him move across the continent without arousing too much suspicion.
As he made his way toward the imposing building in the city center, Jon's heart beat faster.
From the roof of a nearby structure, a hooded figure watched him, eyes fixed on every detail. The assassin awaiting orders was already on the move. Being the only customer in the café at that hour made it easy to tell Jon was disguised.
The Adventurers' Guild rose in the heart of Glacier's Edge like a monument to courage and recklessness. Built of dark stone with stained glass that reflected magical light, the place bustled even in the early morning. The smell of leather, iron, and smoke mixed with the aroma of ale, proof the guild never slept.
Jon adjusted his hood, still sustaining the illusion from his Mystic Eyes. To any outside gaze, he was a young noble with long black hair tied back, carrying himself with discreet confidence.
Upon entering, his eyes swept the hall. Warriors in dented armor argued animatedly, mages leafed through grimoires as they waited, and hunters cleaned their weapons at wooden tables. The hubbub was intense yet orderly, as if chaos were part of the guild's natural ecosystem.
Jon approached the registration counter. The receptionist, a young woman with light brown hair pulled into a firm bun, greeted him with a practiced smile.
"Welcome to the Adventurers' Guild. Are you here to register?"
"Yes. Register under the name Jon Woodmoon."
She arched an eyebrow at the response—the name didn't match the noble appearance before her. Even so, she didn't ask questions. "All right. I need to confirm a few things. Full name, age, origin, and specialization."
Jon kept his voice calm and neutral. "Jon Woodmoon. Fifteen years old. From Riverwood. Specializes in sword, bow, and magic combat."
The clerk made quick notes on an enchanted tablet that absorbed the words as if etched in fire. "Understood. Would you like to request a skill evaluation, or start like everyone else at Rank F?"
Jon took a breath. Tempting—an evaluation could raise his rank faster. But wasting time on tests wasn't in his plans right now.
"Rank F will be enough."
"Perfect." She signaled, and another staffer brought a small pillar-shaped crystal artifact. "Please place your hand on the artifact. It will confirm only two things: your name and your current level."
Jon placed his hand on the crystal. Energy coursed up his arm, flooding his body for an instant before vanishing. The crystal glowed softly and the information appeared on its surface.
Name: Jon Woodmoon
Level: 25
The receptionist blinked in surprise, then quickly resumed a professional expression. "Confirmed. Here is your token."
She handed Jon a simple metal medallion bearing the guild's emblem—several crossed weapons symbolizing the union of different strengths under a single purpose.
He held it a moment, watching the reflection of magical fire on the surface. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Thank you."
He left the counter and walked to the large mission board. The space was crammed with posted sheets, each describing a request, a reward, and the minimum rank required. The variety was huge—caravan escorts, dangerous creature hunts, herb gathering, and more.
Jon's eyes stopped on a simple, almost overlooked notice:
"Purchase of Goblin corpses. 50 Tils per unit. Guild Potion Shop."
He chuckled under his breath. Melisa used to pay only ten. Here I can get five times more for the same work.
It was an absurd gap—and showed the guild was a far more advantageous market than any single store.
Jon pulled the notice from the board and pocketed it. Then he selected a few easy hunting jobs—wolves in the nearby forest, basic herb collection—nothing that would draw too much attention. He needed to maintain the façade of a newcomer, without standing out more than he already did at the academy.
With the papers in hand, he left the building. The icy wind of Glacier's Edge greeted him again, tugging at his overcoat. The sun was just beginning to rise, tinting the streets with gold.
Jon adjusted his hood once more and took the road southeast, toward Frostpeak. As he walked, the city woke behind him, filling the streets with movement. To them, he was just another young noble traveling at dawn.
Yet a few streets away, a shadow lingered at the mouth of an alley. The hired assassin watched his every move, patient.
Unaware, Jon was already being hunted.