Walking through the main thoroughfares of the city was a lesson in humility. Armen kept his head low, but he could feel the weight of a thousand judgmental eyes. The people of this world didn't just look at him; they peered through him with a visceral, curling disgust. To them, he was a walking reminder of the gutter. His rugged clothes were caked in the dried fluids of the wagon, and he likely smelled of the stale, metallic scent of the dead.
"Watch where you're going, filth!" a merchant barked, pulling a rack of cured meats further into his stall as Armen passed. "You'll spoil the stock just by breathing near it!"
Armen didn't snap back. He just laughed awkwardly, a dry, nervous sound that didn't reach his eyes, and shuffled a few feet further away. He was too busy staring at the wonders of the street to care about a merchant's insults.
The technology of this world, he realized, was biological. He stopped near a stone fountain to watch a massive beast lumber past. It looked like a cross between an ox and a rhinoceros, standing a towering ten feet tall at the shoulder. Its skin was like plated armor, and it pulled a wagon laden with massive iron girders that would have required a modern semi-truck back on Earth. The ground trembled under its weight, and the smell of its musky, hot breath filled the air.
Further down the road, he saw smaller, more exotic creatures. A noblewoman walked with a small, sleek beast wrapped around her shoulders like a living stole. It resembled a ferret but with iridescent scales, and from time to time, tiny arcs of blue lightning would spark along its spine, making her hair stand on end. She didn't seem bothered; she simply stroked its head with a gloved hand.
Then, there was a dog sized animal that looked like a giraffe combined with a deer. Its horns were made of hard, crystallized ice that never melted, exuding a faint, freezing mist that cooled the air around its owner.
Armen stared with genuine awe. "It's like a living encyclopedia of mythology," he whispered.
But as he observed the crowd, he noticed a pattern. Despite the variety, only a small fraction of the people actually had beasts with them. Most were like him, or at least like he appeared to be: ordinary people walking on two legs, relying on their own strength. More importantly, he felt something. It was a pressure, a subtle weight on his chest that changed depending on which creature he looked at. The massive ox-beast felt like a dull, heavy pressure. The lightning ferret felt like the same pressure as the giant ox-beast but the giraffe like beast pressure is a weaker.
He was feeling their strength. The system, or perhaps his new body, was tuned to the frequency of these monsters.
As he navigated the winding streets, the architecture began to grow more imposing. The wood and plaster of the slums gave way to heavy, reinforced stone and iron-wrought gates. Standing at the center of a wide plaza was a building that looked like a fortress. Above its massive double doors, a heavy wooden sign was hung, carved with a single, sharp word: GUILD.
Armen's eyes widened. This was the trope of all tropes. If there was a guild, there was work. If there was work, there was cash.
He approached the building, his heart hammering against his ribs. As he stepped through the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. The air inside was thick with the smell of leather, wet fur, and sharpened steel. It was crowded, a sea of people in various stages of armor and gear.
He immediately noticed the beasts. Unlike the streets, where monsters were rare, here they were everywhere. However, they were all small. Most of the beasts standing beside their masters ranged from one foot to three feet in height. He saw a miniature stone golem sitting on a table, a feathered lizard perched on a man's shoulder, and a ball of sentient vine rolling at a woman's heels.
Two grizzled men stood near the entrance, leaning against a pillar. One was cleaning a jagged gash on his forearm, the blood dark and thick, staining the floor.
"I'm telling you, the forest is crawling with Snappers," the injured man said, wincing as he poured a clear liquid over the wound. "One of them took a chunk out of my arm before Pip could even get a spark off."
He gestured to a small, bird-like creature at his feet that looked exhausted.
"You're lucky it was just a chunk," Kael replied, sharpening a dagger. "The guys came back this morning with a wagon full of bodies. Something bigger is moving in the woods. Something that doesn't care about Rank F tamers like us. You need a stronger beast, or you need to learn to run faster."
"Easy for you to say," the injured man spat. "A bigger beast means a bigger permit, and I can barely afford the feed for this one. Besides, the city laws are clear. You bring anything over four feet in here without a specialized harness, and the guards' beasts will have you for breakfast."
Armen listened intently, his mind spinning. I might actually be in a world where basically everyone is a beast tamer, beast summoner or something, he thought. And I guess they have a rule that if your beast is so big you're not allowed to summon it in public areas unless you have a permit.
That explained why he hadn't seen any massive monsters inside the building. His own Abyss-Crawler was currently a juvenile, but it was already at the limit of what seemed socially acceptable here.
He looked at the people who didn't have beasts. They looked tense, carrying heavy weapons and looking at the tamers with a mix of envy and professional respect. It seemed having a beast was a mark of status, or at least a significant advantage in whatever trade they practiced here.
Armen took a deep breath, trying to smooth down his rugged hair. He felt like an imposter, a dead man walking into a room full of professional killers. But the hunger in his stomach and the glowing UI in his mind pushed him forward. He needed to find a way to earn points and cash, and this was the only path he saw.
He slowly entered the building, his eyes darting toward the main counter where a woman was stamping parchment with mechanical precision.
"Next!" she called out, her voice cutting through the din of the room.
Armen took a step forward, his feet silent on the blood-stained stone. He didn't know if he was ready, but he knew he couldn't go back to the wagon.
Armen then slowly entered the building.