Osric didn't sleep.
Not really.
He lay still on the thin blanket, eyes closed, letting his breathing slow while the noise of Ashbrook filtered faintly through the walls. Boots on stone. Distant voices. Life continuing whether he moved or not.
It wasn't rest the way sleep was.
But it was enough.
When he finally opened his eyes, the light spilling through the cracks in the walls hadn't shifted much. Midday still held the city in its grip. His body felt steadier—not refreshed, not renewed—but no longer on the edge of collapse.
That mattered.
Osric sat up slowly, testing himself out of habit. His muscles answered without protest. No stiffness creeping in. No sharp reminders of the fight earlier.
The Thornback Boar lingered in his thoughts.
Not the danger.
The control.
He hadn't rushed. He hadn't chased a killing blow. He'd waited, adjusted, learned where patience mattered more than strength. That lesson felt heavier than the reward pouch still hidden beneath the floorboard.
Osric stood and stretched lightly, careful not to push further than necessary.
'I don't need to do anything today,' he thought.
And that realization didn't bother him.
If anything, it felt like progress.
He still had to eat. Seven copper gone whether he moved or not. And tomorrow—tomorrow—he could choose another mission with a clear head and a body that would actually benefit from the experience instead of just surviving it.
Osric moved to the door and opened it, letting the noise and smell of the city in.
Not to rush forward.
Just to live the rest of the day properly.
Growth could wait a few more hours.
Osric returned to the Adventurers' Guild the next morning.
The city was still stretching awake—vendors setting up stalls, guards changing shifts, the air cool enough to carry sound farther than it would later in the day. Osric moved through it without hurry, steps measured, mind clear.
He felt rested.
Not pampered. Not softened.
Ready.
Inside the guild, the atmosphere was familiar. Low conversation. The scrape of boots. The quiet weight of routine danger hanging over everything. Osric didn't head for the front desk this time.
He went straight to the mission board.
Parchments lined the wall in neat rows, some freshly pinned, others worn from weeks of being ignored. He read them carefully, eyes moving slower than they once would have. No rushing. No chasing rewards alone.
When his gaze settled on the lower half of the board, he found what he was looking for.
Giant Rat Nest — E-rank
Multiple nests reported in the underground tunnels beneath the city.
Target: One small nest. Estimated population: ~10 giant rats.
Reward: 70 copper.
Condition: Nest must be fully cleared.
Osric read it twice.
Giant rats were weak individually—F-rank monsters at best. Their bites were dangerous more for disease than raw power, their claws crude, their bodies fragile compared to forest beasts.
But they never came alone.
That was why these missions were never ranked lower than E.
Numbers changed everything.
Tight spaces. Limited movement. Attacks from multiple angles. Panic punished faster underground than anywhere else.
Osric considered the other options briefly—forest patrols, creature sightings, follow-up work tied loosely to the hobgoblin incident.
Then he reached up and pulled the rat mission free.
He folded the parchment once and turned away from the board without hesitation.
This wasn't about danger.
It was about control.
Fighting one strong enemy had taught him patience. Fighting something predictable but numerous would teach him spacing, awareness, and restraint under pressure. How to move when retreat wasn't clean. How to strike without overcommitting. How to keep his footing when surrounded.
Mistakes wouldn't be fatal instantly.
But they would add up.
That was exactly the kind of lesson he needed next.
Osric passed the front desk without stopping.
Franklin noticed.
The branch leader's gaze followed him—not sharply, not openly—but with the same quiet attention he reserved for things that mattered. He didn't call Osric back. Didn't ask what mission he'd taken.
He already knew.
Franklin watched Osric leave the building, the door swinging shut behind him, and exhaled slowly.
No guidance asked for this time.
No reassurance.
Just a choice made.
Franklin turned his attention back to the paperwork in front of him, expression unreadable.
Osric, meanwhile, stepped back into the morning light, mission parchment tucked safely away.
Ten rats.
Seventy copper.
And a lesson that wouldn't wait for him to be perfect.
He adjusted the sword at his side and set off toward the city's lower tunnels—already thinking not about how to kill them fast, but how to survive fighting many without losing himself to the chaos.
This time, the battlefield wouldn't give him space.
And Osric intended to be ready for that.