The training yard behind the Adventurer Guild was almost empty by the time Aric finished his final set.
The sun had already climbed above the eastern rooftops, spilling pale gold across Highglade's stone walls. Morning traffic had begun to fill the streets beyond the guild compound, but inside the yard, there was only the scrape of boots, the dull ring of steel, and Aric's measured breathing.
He turned the spear in his hands and swept the shaft low.
The movement was simple.
The execution was not.
His rear foot pivoted first. His hips followed. The spearhead cut through the space in front of him in a broad horizontal arc, forcing an imaginary group of opponents away before the weapon returned to guard.
He repeated the motion.
Again.
Again.
The first few attempts had felt awkward. He had spent years refining movements that were designed for a sword, not a spear. The weapon demanded more space, more commitment, and a greater awareness of distance. A sword forgave hesitation. A spear punished it.
Aric exhaled through his nose and reset his stance.
The System appeared at the edge of his vision.
[Skill: Spear Sweep]
[Current Efficiency: 43%]
A faint smile touched his face.
"Only three percent," he muttered.
[Three percent is still progress.]
"That sounds like something a tutor says when the student is disappointing."
[The tutor is usually correct.]
Aric gave the spear another turn before planting its butt against the ground.
The skill had been copied the previous night from one of the guild's instructors, a broad-shouldered woman named Marta who had demonstrated it while correcting a pair of young adventurers. It was not a powerful technique. It was not rare. It did not carry the destructive force of Arcane Slash or the speed of Quickstep.
But it was practical.
That mattered more.
A technique that could control several enemies at once was worth having, especially when facing beasts that attacked in groups. Aric had no interest in collecting impressive abilities merely because they sounded impressive.
He glanced toward the far side of the yard.
Marta stood near the weapons rack, arms folded over her chest. She had been watching him for several minutes.
"You're improving," she said.
Aric lifted the spear. "That sounded almost approving."
"Don't get carried away." She walked closer, her eyes dropping to his feet. "Your upper body is learning faster than your lower body. If you sweep from that position against a real opponent, you'll lose balance when the spear connects."
"I know."
"Knowing is not the same as fixing."
"That sounded more like approval."
Marta snorted. "You're less irritating when you stay quiet."
"I've been told the opposite."
"By people who like you?"
"Mostly by people who are related to me."
For half a second, her expression softened. Then she pointed at his stance.
"Again."
Aric obeyed.
This time he shifted his weight more carefully. His left foot slid back, his shoulders remained relaxed, and the spear moved in a clean arc that stopped just short of the wooden target set in the yard.
The motion was still rough, but it no longer looked borrowed.
Marta nodded once.
"Better."
Aric lowered the spear. "You're going to make me emotional."
"Don't. I'm not prepared for that."
He rested the weapon against his shoulder as they crossed the yard. The guild had offered him a small room on the second floor in exchange for helping with basic field work and paying a modest lodging fee. It was nothing like Frosthold, but it was private, clean, and close enough to the guild hall that he could hear the building come alive before sunrise.
That alone made it useful.
The room had been little more than a bed, a chair, and a narrow table. Yet after years of sleeping in noble chambers surrounded by servants and family members, the quiet had felt strangely comforting.
It also made thinking easier.
And he had a great deal to think about.
Highglade had not been what he expected.
The town was wealthier than Winterford, more crowded, and more connected to the kingdom's larger trade routes. Merchants passed through daily. Students from the academy moved through the streets in groups. Noble families maintained residences here, even if their primary estates lay elsewhere.
And somewhere within the Veylin estate, Selisse was living a life he had only heard about through letters.
Aric had seen her once from a distance.
He still had not spoken to her.
The thought sat in the back of his mind, irritating in a way he could not quite explain.
"Your head is somewhere else," Marta said.
"It usually is."
"That's a poor habit for a fighter."
"It hasn't killed me yet."
"Give it time."
They entered the guild hall through the rear door. The main room was already loud with conversation. Adventurers filled the tables, some eating breakfast, others comparing maps or arguing over the quality of a recent contract. The smell of boiled grain, fried meat, and old wood filled the air.
Aric had grown used to entering crowded places without drawing attention. At first, his refined clothing had made that difficult. Even after choosing simpler garments, he still carried himself with the controlled posture of someone who had been trained from childhood.
He had learned to loosen his shoulders.
He had not yet learned to look careless.
At the counter, the receptionist from the previous day sorted through a stack of reports. She raised her head when Aric approached.
"You're early."
"I was told the guild accepts work from people who arrive before breakfast."
"That depends on the person."
"Then I'm fortunate to be charming."
Her expression remained flat. "You're fortunate I haven't had coffee."
Aric placed the folded quest report on the counter.
The receptionist opened it and scanned the contents. "Fang wolf proof, bear materials, and a clean completion record. No injuries?"
"Nothing worth reporting."
"That is not how reporting works."
"I slept afterward."
"That is not how healing works either."
She looked toward Marta, who had followed him in.
"He spent two hours repeating the same spear movement after returning from the forest."
Marta shrugged. "The boy is either disciplined or incapable of understanding when to stop."
"I can be both," Aric said.
The receptionist sighed and marked something on the page. "Your reward is ready. Five silver coins."
She counted them onto the counter.
Aric looked at the small stack.
Five silver was not a fortune, but it was meaningful. Under the established currency, each silver represented one hundred bronze coins. In a frontier town, that could cover several days of food, supplies, and lodging if spent carefully.
He slid the coins into his pouch.
The receptionist glanced at him. "You're not celebrating?"
"Should I buy a round for everyone?"
"No."
"Then I'll celebrate privately."
Marta let out a short laugh before disguising it with a cough.
The receptionist reached beneath the counter and produced another sheet of paper.
"There's a request posted this morning. Local escort work. A merchant caravan heading toward the western road."
Aric took the paper but did not read it immediately.
"Why are you offering it to me?"
"I'm not. I'm informing you that the guild has work available."
"That sounded suspiciously like an offer."
"It sounded like me doing my job."
He unfolded the page.
The contract was ordinary enough. The caravan was transporting cloth, preserved food, and several sealed crates to a smaller trade settlement west of Highglade. The route was considered safe, but recent reports had mentioned beast movement near the hills.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing that demanded his attention.
And yet he had not come to Highglade to spend two years guarding merchants on roads he had never seen.
He folded the page again.
"Do you have anything more difficult?"
The receptionist leaned back. "You've completed one D-rank request."
"I know."
"And you've been registered with the guild for less than a day."
"I know that too."
"Then you should understand why I'm not handing you something more dangerous."
Aric rested both hands on the counter. "I'm not asking for a death sentence. I'm asking for work that requires me to improve."
"You can improve by staying alive."
"That sounds like a slogan."
"It sounds like experience."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The guild hall carried on around them. Someone shouted for more ale. A chair scraped across the floor. Two adventurers argued over whether a monster's tracks had belonged to a wolf or a hound.
Aric studied the receptionist more carefully.
She had probably heard every ambitious newcomer ask for a harder task. Most of them wanted the reward. Some wanted recognition. A few wanted to prove something to themselves.
He wondered which category she had placed him in.
"Fine," he said. "Give me the escort contract."
Her brows lifted. "You're accepting the easy one?"
"I'm accepting the one that lets me learn the road."
That answer seemed to satisfy her more than the others had.
She stamped the paper and returned it.
"Departure is tomorrow at first light. Meet the caravan leader at the south gate."
Aric slipped the contract into his coat.
As he turned away, a familiar pressure brushed against his awareness.
The System spoke quietly.
[The route passes through terrain that may provide opportunities for training.]
Aric kept walking.
"You mean beasts."
[Among other things.]
He almost asked what else it meant, but stopped himself.
The System did not possess perfect knowledge. It could observe, calculate, and identify patterns, but it could not reveal every hidden danger before it appeared. Aric had learned that early.
The hard way.
At the far end of the hall, a pair of young adventurers entered through the main doors. One carried a sword and the other a short spear. They looked exhausted, muddy, and young enough to believe confidence could replace experience.
The spear-user demonstrated a clumsy thrust while explaining something to his companion.
Aric watched for a moment.
The System remained silent.
That was answer enough.
He had no reason to copy it.
His copy slot was not a trophy shelf. It was a resource.
He would spend it on something worth keeping.
Outside, Highglade's morning noise had grown louder. Carriages rolled over the street stones. Merchants called out prices. Somewhere in the distance, a bell marked the opening of the academy gates.
Aric paused at the bottom of the guild steps and looked toward the northern district.
The Veylin estate lay beyond the denser part of the town.
Selisse was somewhere in that direction.
For the first time since arriving, he considered going there without an excuse.
Then he dismissed the thought.
Not because he did not want to see her.
Because he did.
And wanting something was not the same as knowing how to approach it.
Aric adjusted the strap of his weapon and started toward the market district.
Tomorrow, he would leave Highglade again.
Tonight, he would train.
And before he left, he would decide whether the life he had built outside Frosthold was meant to remain a temporary escape—or the beginning of something entirely his own.