Knight woke sore and slow, but rested. His body still ached from drills—legs stiff, arms heavy from gripping practice swords until his fingers locked—but the pain no longer felt like punishment. It felt earned.
He arrived at the training yard early. The sky was a pale gray-blue, dew clinging to the grass. Titus stood alone, sipping something hot from a dented tin mug.
"You're early," Titus said without looking. "Good. Grab the weighted blade."
Knight stepped to the rack and pulled a dull, heavy sword from it. The handle was rough, the blade worn blunt—but it weighed double what a real one did. Enough to hurt if used carelessly. Enough to teach.
"Reaction drills today," Titus said. "Parry, counter, disengage. I'm not holding back."
Knight nodded once and took his stance.
Titus came at him fast.
The blade snapped forward, and Knight caught it, barely. Then again. And again. Titus moved with practiced precision, each swing calculated to throw Knight off-balance—attacks from high, low, left, feints that turned real halfway through.
"Stop flinching," Titus barked. "Let them come to you. Make them waste movement."
Knight's arms burned. He was forced to pivot, sidestep, twist. When he hesitated, Titus clipped him. Not hard. Just enough to sting. They reset. Again and again. Footwork bled into close-quarters clashes. Sometimes Knight misstepped—too wide, too slow.
But sometimes, he didn't.
One exchange left them blade-to-blade, locked. Knight shifted low, redirected, stepped in. His sword tapped lightly against Titus's ribs.
The man grunted. "Better. Again."
They trained through the morning. Then again after a short break. Titus hammered every flaw out of him. How to deflect at angles. How to hold a weapon under pressure. How not to panic. How to last.
By mid-afternoon, Knight was shaking.
"You're getting sharper," Titus said as they sat at the edge of the training yard. "But you still fight like you're expecting to lose. Start believing you can control the fight—not just survive it."
Knight stared at his hands. Bruised, but steady. "I'm trying."
"Good." Titus stood and tossed him a scroll. "Because you're ready for something harder."
Knight caught it, broke the wax.
[Quest: Disrupted Trade Route]
Type: Escort + Hostile Clearing
Rank: C
A merchant caravan was ambushed last week en route to Kaldrith Valley. Survivors report organized bandits in the forest pass. Your party is to escort a new shipment through the same path—and eliminate any threats encountered.
Knight blinked. "C-rank?"
"You've earned it," Titus said. "Guild's been watching your reports. This one's no formality, though. Expect real danger. You in?"
Knight folded the parchment. "We're in."
He found Miriam at the guild hall, half-asleep on a windowsill, a drink in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
She read the scroll, then gave a low whistle. "C-rank already? Damn. Figured you'd be stuck scrubbing dishes another week."
Knight deadpanned. "Appreciate the confidence."
"Kidding. Kidding." She smirked. "Bandits though, huh? Could be ex-adventurers. People like that don't play fair."
"That's why I brought it to you first."
She yawned, stood, and clapped him on the back. "Fine. I'll stop drinking. Tonight."
Amber was outside the apothecary, restocking her satchel with fresh vials when he caught up to her.
"We're leaving tomorrow," she guessed, reading the scroll.
Knight nodded. "We'll need your eyes. If they're organized, traps are likely."
"I'll be ready." She adjusted her pack. "And I'll bring sleep spells. In case you freeze up again."
"I didn't freeze."
Amber's smile was faint. "You didn't move either."
Miriam appeared behind him. "We're going to die."
Knight sighed. "You'll be fine."
"Yeah," Miriam said. "Because we've got the kingdom's gloomiest swordsman."
Amber laughed softly.
That night, they packed gear, sharpened blades, and checked straps twice over. Titus briefed them one last time. Narrow forest paths, ridgelines, an abandoned watchtower midway. Possible hidden camps.
By sundown, they returned to their rooms.
Knight stared at the ceiling.
There was no fear now. Just calm.
For the first time, he felt ready.
He woke early the next morning. Earlier than planned. His body was already moving—drills echoing in his muscles, his mind running through footwork patterns.
He dressed, stepped outside. The air was crisp. Dawn hadn't fully broken. Violet light crept across the horizon as he walked toward the guildhall.
The board was being cleaned. A few low-ranked adventurers milled around, armor still loose, eyes half-closed.
He turned to leave.
"You're up early, gloomy."
Miriam's voice cut through the air. She approached, a scroll twirling between her fingers. Amber followed behind, still sleepy, satchel slung over her shoulder.
Knight blinked. "I thought we were leaving tomorrow."
"We are," Miriam said. "But this one's today. Quick warm-up."
Knight frowned. "What kind of quest?"
Amber handed over the scroll.
[Quest: Tunnel Cleanse – Abandoned Quarry]
Type: Subjugation
Rank: D+
A sealed tunnel near Westmoor Quarry reopened. Scout reports suggest aggressive subterranean creatures have made a nest. Patrol requests immediate extermination.
"Why wasn't this posted earlier?"
"The guild only got word last night," Miriam said. "Its close by and the job is just clearing pests."
Amber nodded. "Tight tunnels. Watch your footing."
Knight glanced between them. Then folded the scroll.
"Alright."
The trip was quiet. Forest gave way to broken hills, overgrown stone, rusted mining tools buried in moss. The tunnel entrance yawned like a cracked tooth in the earth.
They lit torches and entered.
The walls pressed close. Damp, cold. Footing slick. The deeper they went, the tighter it got.
"Lets walk in a single file line," Miriam said, hand on the rock wall. "Don't rush."
Amber walked ahead of Knight, fingers near her spell focus. He took rear, blade drawn, helmet in place.
Then—click.
Knight's instincts flared. "Wait—"
Too late.
The ground beside Amber erupted. A creature lunged—jaws wide, twisted limbs flailing.
Amber ducked. Torch hit the ground.
"Sleep!" she shouted.
The beast slammed into stone and twitched violently.
"More," Miriam warned, already moving.
Two more burst from the tunnel wall.
Knight stepped forward.
He caught the first on a slash, blade half-burying in its hide. It screeched, flailed. He pivoted, stabbed it through the gut.
Second tried to flank.
Miriam's knife flashed—deep cut across the underbelly. It recoiled but didn't fall.
Knight crossed space. Low sweep. Blade cleaved through.
Amber steadied her torch, breath short. "Four down."
Miriam didn't answer. She was already watching the walls.
They pushed deeper.
A nest. Bones, fur, torn cloth.
More movement.
Six this time. Larger. Eyes reflecting flame.
Knight stepped forward.
"Split them up. I'll hold the front."
Miriam raised a brow. "Your giving orders now?"
He didn't respond.
The creatures charged.
Knight met them. No hesitation.
He ducked the first, took the hit on his shoulder guard, drove forward. Two went down in a single arc.
One slipped past.
Amber caught it with a gust of wind—sent it tumbling.
Miriam finished it.
Another tried from behind.
Knight spun, slammed it into the dirt, blade down.
Three left.
One leapt—he smacked it mid-air with the flat of his sword.
Another snapped.
Miriam tackled it low.
Last one burrowed.
Amber stopped it.
"Ignite."
Flames burst at its tail. It screamed.
Knight stepped in and ended it.
Silence.
Breaths.
Blood steaming on the cave floor.
"Sixteen," Amber said softly. "That's the whole den."
Knight looked down. His arms trembled, but not from fear.
He hadn't frozen.
Miriam smirked. "Yeah. You're ready."
They returned by sundown.
Guild confirmed the kill count. Bonus awarded.
Titus raised an eyebrow. "Didn't ask permission?"
Knight shrugged.
"Warm-up."
The morning they left for the Kaldrith route was cool and overcast.
Knight adjusted the strap on his pack and double-checked the buckles on his armor. He moved with a quiet calm—no nerves in his hands, no shaking in his breath. Just readiness.
Amber stood nearby, checking the fit of a new satchel, her white hair streaked with red catching faint morning light. Miriam stretched her arms with a yawn that turned into a curse under her breath.
Titus arrived last, saddlebags in tow, a fresh scar on his jawline and a look that said sleep had been minimal.
"Caravan's waiting outside the gates," he said, nodding toward the road. "Let's move."
They walked together—Knight, Amber, Miriam, and Titus—boots crunching over gravel, the town shrinking behind them with each step. The guild hall, the smithy, the alleyway where Knight had first picked up his helmet. Gone behind fog and distance.
Ahead was the Kaldrith forest pass. A harder quest. A real one.
They were C-rank now.
They passed the last marker of town—just a wooden post with old carvings faded smooth by wind and time. Knight turned slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder.
No one called out for them. No one watched from the gates. The town just… continued. People lived. The world didn't slow down to acknowledge them leaving.
And somehow, that felt right.
He walked in silence for a while, the gravel giving way to packed dirt and tall grasses. Birds stirred in the distance, and the sky brightened little by little.
Knight let the rhythm of his steps carry his thoughts backward.
He thought of Toby, dead on a roadside. Of a cave lit by flickering torchlight. Of swinging a sword too slowly, and crying without sound in the dark.
He thought of Miriam's laugh. Of Amber's quiet reassurance. Of Titus's drills, the way they left him aching, but solid.
He thought of the helmet still on his head—picked up in an alleyway on the day of his transmigration. Still scratched and plain, but still technically his.
In this world, he had nearly died. More than once.
But in this world… he had also begun to live.
Not as someone special. Not as some chosen one.
But as someone surviving.
He was learning and slowly changing.
He still wasn't sure who he was beneath the armor, beneath the silence—but for the first time in a long time, he wanted to find out. He was looking forward to the future.
Miriam started humming something. Amber walked beside him, quietly adjusting her grip on a staff she now carried with ease. Titus spoke up every so often, pointing out markers in the trees, or mentioning how to spot an ambush by foot pattern spacing.
They moved like a team.
Knight didn't speak much. But he didn't feel alone.
Not anymore.