Eron followed the dirt path until he reached the top of the hill. He stopped and looked down.
Below him lay ElmForg Town, surrounded by sturdy stone walls. Roofs of red and brown tiles shone faintly under the twin suns. Thin smoke rose from chimneys in lazy spirals. The steady ring of a blacksmith's hammer echoed from somewhere inside the walls. Windmills turned near the outer edge, their blades catching the afternoon breeze. Inside, he saw narrow streets lined with shops and houses built close together. Guards patrolled the walls in pairs while wagons rolled through the main road, wheels creaking under heavy loads.
The sight made him stop for a moment. After days of silence and forest, the view almost felt unreal. He took a deep breath and started walking down the hill.
At the bottom stood a wooden gate reinforced with iron. Two guards waited by the path. Eron's breath caught. Finally. Civilization. Relief quickly gave way to worry. His mud-covered boots, sweat-stained shirt, worn jacket, everything screamed outsider. He didn't know the currency here, the language, the customs. Still, he had no choice. He walked toward the gates.
Two guards stood by the entrance. One was a stocky man in chainmail who eyed him up and down. "You lost, mountain folk?"
Eron forced a smile. "Just trying to find my way."
The younger guard leaned toward his partner, not bothering to lower his voice. "Looks like a country bumpkin wandered out of a cave."
Heat flared on Eron's cheeks. He muttered under his breath, "Thanks for the warm welcome."
The older guard handed him a thin wooden plaque. "Temporary Entry Token. You'll need to register at the Guild Hall or Town Hall before sunset. No trouble." Eron accepted it with a stiff nod, fingers tightening around the edges. "Got it."
He stepped through the gate. The town hit him like a wave.
Cobblestone streets twisted between tightly packed buildings, their roofs painted in shades of red and brown tile. Signs hung from wooden beams, marked with symbols and letters he didn't recognize. Yet when he stared at them, his mind clicked into understanding. The symbols became words. Bread. Potions. Magic Crystals. A cold feeling ran down his neck. He stopped mid-step and stared at the signs again.
Auto-translate? What? His eyes widened. No way. The words on the signs kept shifting, rearranging into ones he could read. Heartbeat quickened. It wasn't just that he'd been sent to another world. Even its rules were changing around him.
He walked, trying to absorb everything at once. Mages floated crates down alleys with flicks of their hands. Adventurers in mismatched armor boasted about recent hunts. One held up a claw the size of a dog's head. Strange animals squawked in cages along the street, their feathers shimmering with faint sparks of light.
As he walked deeper, he noticed adventurers everywhere. Sitting at tavern tables, weapons propped against chairs. Loud voices, louder laughter. They had a confidence he envied. They belonged here.
A group of kids noticed him and burst into laughter. "Look at his clothes!" one shouted. "He must've gotten lost from a mountain village!" another yelled, and the others laughed harder.
Eron's ears burned. He kept his head down and walked faster, trying to disappear into the flow of people. Even the kids are laughing at me. Guess I really don't belong here. He said nothing and just kept walking.
The guard's words echoed in his mind. He had to make a choice. No skills for this world, no connections, no money. But watching the adventurers, a thought began to form. In his world, he'd read countless stories of ordinary people transported to fantasy worlds, becoming heroes.
This is a real fantasy world. And I have real magic flowing through my body. Maybe he could try being an adventurer too.
He reached the town center. A wide plaza spread out before him, paved with white stone. At its center stood a massive statue of a woman clad in armor, wings folded neatly behind her. A blindfold covered her eyes. Both hands rested on the hilt of a sword, the blade pointed toward the ground, its tip embedded in the stone beneath her feet.
On the plaque below were the words:
> Goddess Relmza
The Watcher of Fate. Giver of Gifts.
Eron stepped closer. Strange script curved across the pedestal. After a slight shimmer, it changed into words he could read.
> The Blessing of Awakening. Let the Gift Find the Worthy.
He watched as people lined up. One by one, they pressed their palms against the pedestal. Some gasped, eyes wide with delight. Others stepped back with quiet sighs of disappointment. "Another Fireball?" a man groaned. "That's three in a row."
Fireball? That doesn't sound bad. Curiosity pulled him forward. Whispers spread through the crowd. "Another outsider?"
Eron took a deep breath and stepped up to the statue. He placed his palm flat against the pedestal. Light flared and flooded his vision. Warmth surged into his hand, then into his chest. Pulse quickened. Heat spread through his veins.
Then, inside his head, words appeared.
[Skill Acquired: Fireball]
The voice echoed, clear and final. A faint heat tingled at his fingertips. He flexed his hand. The warmth didn't fade. He blinked, stunned. That was it?
He stepped back as murmurs began. "Another one with Fireball. Beginner-level garbage."
Eron's brow furrowed. Jaw tightened. But even as they dismissed him, something felt different. The warmth hadn't faded. It coiled inside him, steady and alive. His pulse throbbed in rhythm with it. The crowd might see Fireball as worthless, but it felt powerful to him.
Why are they laughing? He clenched his fists. Didn't argue, didn't shout back. He just turned away, eyes catching a wooden sign swinging nearby.
ElmForg Adventurer Guild – Main Branch
The decision was made. He had no other options. He needed to register before sunset. And if the stories were right, this might be his path to something greater. If this is a joke to them, fine. But I'll see what this Fireball can really do.
He stepped through the guild's arched doorway. Sound hit him first, a mix of chatter and clinking metal. Laughter filled the wide hall. Wooden beams arched overhead, hung with glowing crystal lamps that cast warm amber light. The air smelled of ale, smoke, and metal polish.
Long tables filled the center of the room, crowded with armored adventurers boasting about hunts. Some raised their mugs in cheers, others argued over spoils. Sparks flashed from a corner where a blacksmith was repairing gear beside the wall.
To the left stood a massive board covered in quest papers and bounty slips stamped with wax seals and crested emblems. Behind a long counter, a woman in a dark vest flipped through stacks of parchment, calling names one after another.
Eron hesitated near the doorway, taking in the sight. The guild was noisy, chaotic, alive. But it felt real. Felt like a place where he could start. He straightened his back, adjusted the strap of his bag, and started walking toward the counter.