As I walked, the sleek black Hunter's ID felt less like a key and more like a shackle.
It was cool in my palm, a stark reminder of the second rule they'd hammered into us. No solo raids.
The logic was sound, I had to admit. Charging into a dungeon alone with zero experience was a spectacular way to get myself killed.
And getting myself killed wasn't part of my plan.
Fine. A team it is. Just to learn the ropes. Just to see how it's done.
The Association lobby was a river of controlled chaos.
Hunters of all shapes and sizes flowed around me, their conversations a low, purposeful hum of strategy talk, loot bartering, and guild gossip.
I stood there, an island of stillness, clutching my ID like a lifeline.
My eyes scanned the room, searching for the current I needed to catch.
There. A large board near the far wall, plastered with a chaotic collage of flyers and glowing digital screens.
The Team Recruitment board. It was a marketplace of desperation and ambition.
I waded into the periphery of the crowd, my gaze skimming the offers. Most were loud and demanding.
"ELITES ONLY! A-Rank Min. NO EXCEPTIONS!"
"High-Paying Run! Healer or Tank, S-Tier Gear Required! DM Logs!"
They might as well have been written in another language.
I was a single, unproven word in a dictionary of epics.
"Fresh meat, huh?"
The voice was a gravelly drawl, laced with a mocking amusement.
I turned. A man was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over a chest plate that had seen better days.
He was older, with a scruffy beard and a cocky grin that didn't reach his eyes.
He held his card loosely proudly showcasing him a C-Rank.
D-Rank. And he's this smug?
What kind of small pond does this fish live in to be so proud of being… average?
"Looking for a team?" he asked, his tone implying it was a cute, futile endeavor.
I gave a single, curt nod.
"Yeah."
He chuckled, a low, raspy sound.
"Good luck, kid. Most teams don't want a newbie dragging them down. Better hope you've got something special to offer."
He pushed off the wall and ambled away, leaving the sting of his words hanging in the air.
They weren't new; they were just the vocal version of every dismissive glance I'd gotten all day.
I turned back to the board, my jaw tight.
Most posts were a dead end. But then, tucked near the bottom of a digital screen, one entry stood out by its simplicity:
"Recruiting Hunters for Low-Rank Dungeon Runs. Elemental Ability Preferred. Group 17, Jace."
Element preferred?
That was unusual. Most pleas were for the foundational roles, the unbreakable shields, the life-giving healers. They wanted support, not… chaos.
"Interested?"
I hadn't heard him approach. A young man, probably not much older than me, stood nearby.
He had a mop of sandy hair that fell across his forehead, but it couldn't hide the sharp, assessing glint in his green eyes. He wasn't smiling.
"Are you Jace?" I asked.
He gave a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head.
"You want to be recruited, right?" His voice was calm, direct.
"Yes." The word came out flat.
Not that I want to, but I have to. You're a means to an end.
"What's your rank?" he asked, his eyes dropping to the ID in my hand.
"D Rank." I held it up, bracing for the dismissal.
He didn't flinch. Just raised an eyebrow, a silent question. 'And?'
"Element?"
"Lightning."
The change was instant. His casual lean straightened.
The assessing look in his eyes sharpened, focusing on me with a new, intense curiosity.
"Lightning, huh? That's… not common." He took a half-step closer, his voice dropping. "Can you control it?"
This was the moment. The proof.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then raised my right hand, palm up.
I didn't summon a storm. I didn't need to. I called on the barest whisper of power.
Tiny, brilliant arcs of blue energy sparked to life across my fingertips, dancing and crackling with a soft, eager hum before winking out of existence.
Jace watched, his expression unreadable. He nodded slowly, impressed but, more importantly, cautious.
"All right," he said, the words decisive. "We're running a low-rank raid tomorrow. Goblins, mostly. Standard sweep-and-clear. Think you can handle that?"
The question wasn't an insult. It was a test.
I met his gaze, keeping my voice level, devoid of the eager energy buzzing inside me.
"I can."
"Good." He fished a small, plain card from his pocket and handed it to me. An address, a time, a list of basic supplies. "Be there on time. And don't screw up."
"Okay," I said, taking the card.
As I walked away from the bustling lobby, a mix of relief and cold, sharp nerves settled in my gut. I had a team. A ticket in.
But stepping out into the fading afternoon light, the weight of it all descended on my shoulders.
This wasn't a simulation. This wasn't a theory in a rulebook.
Tomorrow, I would walk into a real dungeon. My first real test.
Failure wasn't an option. It was a luxury I could no longer afford.