The helmet sealed out some sound and a part of his vision.
Every step Knight took echoed dully inside the iron shell. He could hear his own breath, ragged and uneven, louder than the market around him.
It was hot inside. Uncomfortably so.
But he didn't take it off.
He walked with the sword in his hand—no sheath, no belt. Just gripping it awkwardly, hoping no one would call him out. The blade bumped against his bare leg sometimes.
The city blurred around him. Every building looked the same: uneven stone walls, wooden doors, hanging signs with illegible curls. Runes. Curved strokes. Spirals and angles.
Knight stared at them uselessly. Not even a guess. His eyes scanned up and down, but his brain gave up halfway through.
Gathering his confidence to strike up a conversation, he tried to ask someone, a hunched man with a cart full of hay.
"Excuse me," Knight muttered.
The man didn't even look up.
After a few more awkward tries,he stopped trying.
He wandered. Turned corners. Followed voices. Took the streets that looked slightly wider. Trusted instinct—not that he'd ever had any.
That was when he saw it.
A hanging wooden sign: a lion, carved crudely but recognizably, holding a sword in one paw and a scroll in the other.
It swayed slightly in the wind.
The building beneath it was squat and weathered. No grand architecture. Just thick stone, iron-banded doors, and a faint smell of smoke.
Knight stepped inside.
The air changed.
It wasn't loud nor rowdy like the light novels he had read, where adventurers laughed with beer mugs raised and arm-wrestled on bar tables.
Just silence. A few grunts and the creak of a few old chairs.
Five people sat scattered across the room. One was asleep, his head down on folded arms. Another was wrapping a bandage around his thigh. A third sharpened a blade silently, staring into nothing.
The walls were bare. The floor was stained. The fireplace was unlit.
Knight adjusted the sword at his hip and stepped further inside. His boots made soft thuds against the stone floor. At the far end of the room stood a long counter, and behind it, a young woman watched him approach.
She looked only a few years older than him. Her auburn hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, and her uniform was simple but clean. Her posture was perfect. She didn't look bored. Just calm. Tired, maybe.
"You here to register?" she asked, voice flat but not unfriendly.
He nodded.
"Name?" she asked.
He hesitated. "...Knight."
She didn't blink. "Full name?"
"…Knight Muetsukashi."
She wrote it down slowly. "Age?"
"…Sixteen."
"Any experience in combat?"
"…No," he said quietly.
There was a silence. She didn't seem surprised. Didn't even raise an eyebrow. After a second, she reached under the desk and pulled out a small wooden plate, about the size of his palm. A steel leaf was carved into it.
"This is your guild tag," she said. "You're Steel-ranked. That's the lowest tier. You'll need this to take quests and collect payment. If you lose it, we won't recognize you."
"Also, are you planning to fight in those clothes?"
Knight looked down at himself. Still just his T-shirt and shorts with sweat now cold against his skin. The helmet and sword made him look like a joke from two different time periods.
"I'll… figure something out."
"Sure." She gestured with her pen toward the wall. "Quest board's over there. Don't take anything above your rank or you'll get gutted."
Knight nodded and approached the board.
It was cluttered—dozens of parchment sheets pinned haphazardly. Most had thick stamps across the top: animals, tools, coins, fire, skulls. Symbols.
He couldn't read a single word.
He squinted. Tilted his head.
Then, he saw it.
A flyer marked with a wolf's head. Rough, thick lines. The only image that meant anything to him.
He plucked it from the board and walked back.
"This one?" he asked, holding it out.
The receptionist scanned it. "Wolf subjugation. Forest's not far. You sure?"
He nodded once.
She handed it back. "Kill three wolves and bring any kind of evidence that you had killed them. If you're still alive we'll pay you."
Knight tucked the paper into the waistband of his shorts and turned to leave.
"Hey," she called.
He looked back.
"You can't read, can you?"
Silence.
"…Not yet," he said.
She just nodded. "Then look for the painted stones. Red mark on a white tree. That's where the trail starts."
Knight gave a faint bow and stepped back into the street.
The town didn't feel any smaller.
But at least he had a direction.