Dawn came with Mono's explanations and a sense of impending change that made breakfast sit uneasily in Invia's stomach. The instructor's office was spartanly decorated—a desk, two chairs, and a map of the surrounding territories marked with different colored pins.
"The Adventurer's Guild serves multiple purposes," Mono began, his fingers tracing routes on the map. "Publicly, they handle beast subjugation, resource gathering, escort missions—anything too dangerous or specialized for regular forces. Privately, they're where Harmonics learn that power without experience equals elaborate suicide."
He tapped a cluster of red pins. "These marks confirm beast territories. Yellow indicates herb gathering sites. Blue for regular trade routes. You'll start with the basics and work up.. If you survive".
"Comforting."
"Comfort breeds complacency." Mono produced a sealed letter. "This introduces you as an academy student requiring field experience. The guild will assign you appropriate tasks. Don't try to be a hero. Heroes have the highest mortality rate of any profession."
He paused, studying Invia with that calculating gaze. "Your sword work is technically proficient. But technique is only one component of survival. Learn to read situations. Learn when to fight and when to run. Learn that glory means nothing to corpses."
"How long?"
"Until you stop flinching at shadows. Until drawing steel becomes a decision rather than a reaction. It could be weeks. Could be never." Mono's smile was winter given form. "That's entirely your choice."
Leaving the office, letter heavy in his pocket, Invia sought out Django and Marcus. He found them in their usual spots—Django at the archery range, turning bulls-eyes into pincushions with cheerful violence, and Marcus in the archives, surrounded by his fortress of books.
"Mono's sending me to the adventurers guild. Today. Says I need the experience to progress further from Upper Physical Realm."
"UPPER PHYSICAL?!" Django's arrow went wide, the first shot Invia had ever seen him miss. "You are amazing! You caught up so quickly! I advanced to upper last week!"
"Mono's not wrong," Marcus said quietly, closing his current volume. "The academy teaches perfection. The world teaches practicality. They're rarely the same thing." His sad smile deepened. "Just... be careful. The guild's necessary, but that doesn't make it kind."
Django recovered quickly, as he always did. "I'll walk you there! Can't have you getting lost on your first adventure! Plus, I know shortcuts. Well, they're not shorter, but they're more interesting!"
The journey through Dragonspire City was a Django-guided tour of architectural chaos. He led them through market districts where merchants hawked everything from glowing fruits to suspicious potions, past fighting pits where Harmonics tested themselves for coin and glory, through residential areas where the buildings seemed to compete for most improbable construction.
"See that tower?" Django pointed to a structure that corkscrewed into the sky. "Gravity Resonance architect. Lasted three weeks before everyone got too dizzy and moved out. Now it's just pigeons. Very dizzy pigeons."
The Adventurer's Guild occupied a full block, its building a Frankenstein's monster of architectural styles that somehow worked through sheer stubborn refusal to collapse. The main entrance bore scars from generations of returning adventurers—weapon marks, claw gouges, and what might have been acid burns.
"This is where I leave you," Django announced, suddenly serious. "Guild doesn't like people crowding the entrance. Bad for business. Too many tears." He grinned. "But mostly because I accidentally shot their weathervane last time. They're touchy about property damage."
Inside, the guild assaulted every sense simultaneously. The air tasted of leather, steel, and barely controlled violence. The noise was overwhelming: shouted negotiations, drunken boasts, the crash of someone being forcibly ejected through a window.
The registration desk stood like an island of relative calm in the chaos, manned by a woman who radiated the specific exhaustion of someone who'd seen every form of human stupidity and developed immunity through exposure.
She took Mono's letter, read it with the expression of a doctor diagnosing something terminal but tediously common. "Academy trainee, Mono's personal student, requires field experience." Each word carried the weight of prophecy. "Physical Realm, upper tier, Sword Resonance, no party affiliations, no practical experience beyond training dummy murder."
"That's... accurate."
"'Course it is. I've processed fifty of these letters over the years. You're either the ones who survive and become legends, or fertilizer. No middle ground with Mono's students." She stamped several documents with unnecessary force. "F-rank adventurer, probationary status. Don't touch anything above E-rank unless you've made peace with your preferred afterlife."
The bronze badge she handed over had surprising weight. "Mission board's that way. Current postings are sorted by difficulty and lethality. Try to pick something where those two factors don't overlap completely."
The mission board sprawled across an entire wall, layers of parchment competing for attention like merchants at a fair. The F-rank section read like a catalog of mundane dangers:
Goblin Subjugation - 10 confirmed kills required
Herb Collection - Silverleaf, minimum 20 stalks
Merchant Escort - Greywater Village, two days
Wolf Pack Tracking - Information gathering only
"First time?"
The woman studying the board beside him wore leather armor that told stories through patches and repairs. Her crossbow looked like it had survived more battles than most soldiers.
"That obvious?"
"Clean gear, bronze badge still shiny, reading postings like they contain philosophy." She plucked a posting without looking away from him. "Sera. Five years of converting problems into profit."
"Invia. Five minutes of questioning all my life choices."
"Honest. Give it a week, you'll learn to lie better." She pocketed her posting. "Building a group for goblin subjugation. Quick, safe coin if you know what you're doing. Want in?"
"Why invite someone this green?"
She eyed him. "Good. Three reasons. One, Mono's students either die quickly or survive forever—either way, you'll be motivated. Two, I need four for proper formation, and everyone else is already committed to bigger jobs. Three, goblins are basic but good for gauging where newbies stand."
"Five years and you're doing goblin hunts?"
Her smile turned bitter. "Five years at peak Physical, you mean. Some of us hit our ceiling early." She tapped her temple. "Mind's willing, body's able, but the Resonance just... stops growing. So we take safe jobs, make steady coin, accept what we can't change."
A choice, Invia thought. To live within limits rather than die exceeding them.
"When do we leave?"
"One hour, eastern gate. Don't be late."
The party assembled with the efficiency of long practice. Besides Sera, there was Brick—a mountain of a man whose tower shield looked like it had been carved from a cliff face. His handshake was surprisingly gentle, as if he was constantly aware of his strength. Lin wore merchant clothes over light armor, her Life Resonance marking her as a healer, though something about her careful movements suggested hidden costs.
"Standard arrangement," Sera announced as they headed out. "Equal shares of base pay, bonuses by contribution. Lin's healing isn't free—tell him your rates."
"Ten silver for minor wounds, scales up from there," Lin said, her voice clinical. "My Resonance burns my own life force to heal others. Every cut I close costs me time. So yes, I charge. Don't bleed if you're poor."
The brutal honesty of it struck Invia. A healer who aged herself to fix others, turning her own mortality into currency. Another choice—service at the cost of self.
"Brick's our wall," Sera continued. "Earth Resonance, specialized in density manipulation. Can't reshape terrain like the flashy ones, but—"
"But I can make myself heavier than bad decisions," Brick rumbled. "Or my shield. Or both. Goblins bounce off nicely."
They walked for two hours, following a well-worn path that spoke of countless similar expeditions. Sera filled the time with practical advice, her crossbow never leaving its ready position even on the safe road.
"Goblins are stupid but cunning," she explained. "Attack in groups, use basic tactics. Perfect for testing newbies because they're predictable. Make one mistake, and you're hurt. Make two, you're dead. Simple math."
Goblins. The irony wasn't lost on Invia. His first moments in this world, bleeding and desperate, barely surviving against creatures now classified as 'basic training.' The circular nature of it felt significant—a chance to measure how far he'd come, or how far he still had to go.
The nest was exactly where the posting indicated, a cave system marked by the characteristic stench of barely sapient humanoids. Bones and refuse created a perimeter of warning that most animals heeded.
"Standard pattern," Sera said, finding elevation on a rocky outcrop. Her hands moved over her crossbow with loving familiarity.
Inspect, Invia thought, curiosity getting the better of him.
[Well-Made Crossbow]
Quality: Uncommon
Damage: C
Durability: 89/120
Weight: Medium
Properties:
Steady Aim: +15% accuracy when stationary for 2+ secondsDeep Draw: Charged shots penetrate 20% deeper
Description: A crossbow that rewards careful aim over rapid fire. The worn grip speaks of countless patient kills.
"Brick takes point," Sera continued, unaware of his inspection. "I pick off runners and priority targets. Lin supports. New guy—that's you—flex position. Fill gaps, watch blind spots, try not to die."
The first goblin emerged, scratching itself with dedication. Invia focused, and new information flooded his awareness:
[Cave Goblin]
Type: Humanoid
Danger Level: Low
Weak Points: Neck, joints, eyes
Description: Scavenger subspecies. Poor eyesight, acute hearing, pack tactics.
Low danger. The classification should have been reassuring. Instead, it highlighted how much had changed. These creatures that had nearly killed him were now teaching tools.
Sera's crossbow thrummed. The bolt took the goblin through the eye with mechanical precision—no wasted motion, no dramatic flair. Just a problem identified, solution applied. The death brought others boiling from the cave, rusty weapons catching dim sunlight.
"Seven... eight... nine visible," Sera counted calmly. "Brick, you're up."
The big man stepped forward, and Invia watched Earth Resonance in action. It wasn't flashy—Brick didn't create walls or hurl boulders. Instead, he became more present. His feet sank slightly into the ground, and his shield gained a weight that transcended the physical. When the first goblin hit him, it was like watching water strike stone.
The goblin bounced—literally bounced—its momentum reversed by sheer density. Brick hadn't even moved.
"That's why we take these jobs," he said conversationally, shield sweeping out to crush another goblin's skull. "Good practice for the fundamentals."
Sera worked from her perch with sniper's patience. Draw, aim, wait for the perfect moment, release. Each shot mattered, each bolt a small investment in death. When goblins tried to flank toward her position, she didn't panic—just adjusted the angle and continued her methodical harvest.
Lin stayed back, hands glowing with soft light as she maintained enhancement on Brick. The glow flickered occasionally, and Invia noticed how each pulse corresponded to a slight tightening around her eyes. Life force spent in increments, aging herself second by second to keep others whole.
And Invia? He found himself between analysis and action, each movement a choice weighed and executed.
A goblin charged from his left, weapon raised high in telegraphed aggression. Time dilated as his mind catalogued: Favors overhead strikes. Right foot forward—poor balance. Rusted blade, likely brittle.
His response wasn't just a trained reaction. He chose to sidestep right, chose the angle of his rising cut, and chose to target the wrist rather than kill outright. The goblin's weapon went flying, and his following thrust took it through the throat before it could process the disarmament.
Clean. Efficient. Worlds apart from desperate flailing.
Another came from behind—he heard it in the scatter of gravel, felt it in the air displacement. Pivot on the left foot, sword already moving in a horizontal arc. The goblin ran into the blade, momentum doing half the work.
He could feel Mono's training in every movement, but more than that, he felt the progression. Each choice came faster, each analysis clearer. These weren't desperate reactions anymore—they were selected responses from an expanding catalog of possibilities.
By the sixth goblin, he'd found a rhythm. Not the stifled coordination of group tactics, but his own tempo. When Sera's target dodged her bolt, he was already moving to intercept. When Brick needed a moment to reset his stance, Invia's blade created the space. Not because the formation demanded it, but because he chose to.
"Behind you!" Sera's voice cracked like a whip.
Invia spun, sword already rising, and froze.
The thing emerging from the cave wasn't a goblin. It was what goblins might dream of becoming if they understood ambition. Seven feet of corded muscle, tusks like ivory daggers, crude armor that had seen actual maintenance. In its hands, a club that was less a weapon than portable geography.
Inspect, his mind supplied automatically.
[Hobgoblin Warrior]
Type: Humanoid (Evolved)
Danger Level: HIGH
Weak Points: Unknown
Description: Goblinoid that has achieved an evolutionary breakthrough. Equivalent to an early Conceptual Realm combatant. Significantly more intelligent and dangerous than base species.
"Shit," Sera breathed. "That wasn't in the posting."
The hobgoblin's eyes swept across them with disturbing intelligence. It saw Brick as the shield-wall he was. Noted Sera's elevation and angles. Dismissed Lin as a non-threat. Then its gaze found Invia, and something like recognition flickered in those dark eyes.
It's analyzing us too, Invia realized. Making choices.
The hobgoblin moved with speed that made its size a lie. Not charging blindly like its lesser kin, but advancing with purpose, the club held in a guard position that spoke of actual training.
"Spread out!" Sera commanded. "Don't let it focus on anyone! We kite it, wear it down!"
Sound tactics. Safe tactics. The kind that kept peak Physical adventurers alive when facing superior opponents.
But as Invia moved to comply, something twisted in his chest. Not pain—something harder to define. Like trying to breathe through fabric, or run with weights on his limbs. The coordinated movement felt wrong, constrained.
Stifled.
The word came unbidden, and with it a flash of understanding. He was limiting himself, binding his movements to the group's rhythm instead of his own. Safe, yes. Effective, probably. But somehow fundamentally wrong.
He pushed the feeling aside. Now wasn't the time for philosophical introspection. Not with death wearing a goblin's face and swinging geography at head height.
Choose, something whispered in his mind. Choose safety or choose growth.
The pendant at his throat pulsed warm as the hobgoblin's intelligent eyes found his, recognizing something. Not a threat, not yet. But potential.
The real test was about to begin.