The morning sun crested over the massive stone ramparts of Terra Nova, casting long shadows across the cobblestone plaza.
At 7:30 AM, Trevor and Alister were already standing in a sprawling line outside the grand archways of the Adventurers' Guildhall. Surrounding them were hundreds of fresh-faced recruits, all buzzing with nervous energy.
Nearby, a small group of heavily armored veteran adventurers leaned against a pillar, loudly mocking the newcomers.
“Look at this batch of fresh meat,” a scarred warrior laughed, tossing an empty flask against the cobblestones. “Half of you won't last a week past the perimeter walls! You think this is a game? The western wilderness of Pangea isn't like the eastern kingdoms.”
“Aye,” a spearman chimed in, grinning wickedly. “Wait until you run into a swarm of Carrion Reapers. A-Rank nightmares, twenty of 'em hunting in a pack! They’ll slice through your steel armor with those scythe-arms before you can even chant a single spell.”
Trevor stood quietly, his matte-black briefcase resting on the pavement by his boots. Beneath his high crimson collar, a tiny synthesized whisper vibrated against his neck.
“Eelon to Trevor: Scanning local speech patterns. Query: Is their assessment of Carrion Reapers accurate?”
“Eelon, is that true?” Trevor muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips.
“Affirmative,” Eelon reported quietly. “Historical and biological archives classify Carrion Reapers as high-tier apex predators. However... based on combat metrics from your deployment back in the 45th century, these threats are negligible compared to the planetary-class siege bio-weapons you engaged alone.”
Beside Trevor, Alister swallowed hard, clutching his wooden focus staff tightly. “Shit... Carrion Reapers... I've only read about them in natural history books. They're insanely dangerous... but if anyone actually manages to hunt one, their core Mystic Orbs and scythe-blades sell for a absolute fortune...”
Trevor scoffed quietly, staring straight ahead. “Tch. Still amateurs...”
“Huh? Who?” Alister asked, blinking in confusion.
“The creatures. The veterans. All of them,” Trevor said smoothly. “Though... fighting in a world governed by mana is going to require a slightly different approach than what I'm used to.”
“Correct,” Eelon added secretly. “Sensors detect high concentration of spatial and magical anomalies in this domain, rather than standardized alien infantry.”
At precisely 8:00 AM, the massive iron-reinforced oak doors of the Guildhall swung open. A sea of 1,394 prospective adventurers flooded into the registration hall.
When Trevor and Alister reached the front desk, the guild registrar handed them their evaluation forms and directed them toward the assessment arena for basic power scaling.
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In the assessment booth, Alister stepped forward first. Wanting to keep a low profile, he held back his lightning-fast chantless casting, intentionally raising his hand slowly and letting off a weak, low-level Lightning Bolt spell that lightly singed a target dummy.
When it was Trevor’s turn, he didn't touch his weapon briefcase. Instead, he set the heavy metal case on the floor, cracked his knuckles, and threw a quick, heavy sequence of bare-knuckle punches directly into the center of a reinforced wooden dummy. He let the evaluator assume he was nothing more than a standard frontline brawler.
An hour later, they walked out of the hall with their official Guild Cards in hand:
[GUILD REGISTRATION CARD]
Name: Trevor Van Heimer (Age: 21) | Class: Brawler
Name: Alister Simmons (Age: 16) | Class: Mage / Wizard
Rank: F-Rank (Entry Level)
Permissions: Limited to designated novice hunting zones and basic collection contracts.
Looking down at his bronze F-Rank tag, Alister scratched his head in disappointment. “Why didn't we show our full strength? Is laying low really a good plan, Trevor?”
Trevor slipped his card into his inner coat pocket and picked up his briefcase. “Let those high-ranking arrogance-blinded fools think they're the top predators here. It just makes them easier prey when the time comes.”
“Prey?!” Alister squeaked, eyes widening. “Wait—what are you planning?!”
“Check the board,” Trevor said, nodding toward the mission counter.
Alister pulled their first official contract slip. “Okay... our first mission is in the outer fields. We need to hunt Wild Hares and Omni Boars and bring back their pelts for a reward.”
“The F-Rank transport train is pulling up,” Trevor said, heading toward the station platform. “Save the talking for later.”
Looking out the passenger windows, the dense stone buildings of the city quickly faded away, replaced by a sprawling, endless sea of tall green grass stretching toward the horizon of Gaia Pangea.
The train carried hundreds of the new 1,394 F-Rank recruits toward the novice hunting grounds. To the untrained eye, the target creatures sounded harmless—but the guild briefing manual made the danger clear:
Wild Hares: Four-foot-tall bipedal rabbits with massive, muscular forearms capable of throwing bone-crushing punches and delivering fatal bites.
Omni Boars: Low-slung, heavily armored pigs capable of bursting into extreme sprint speeds, tackling targets with enough force to shatter ribs and kill inexperienced fighters instantly.
When the train screeched to a halt at the frontier outpost, the recruits poured into the high grass.
Combat erupted immediately across the field. While other recruits struggled, screamed, and fumbled with their weapons against the aggressive four-foot bunnies and charging boars, Trevor and Alister moved like a well-oiled machine.
Alister’s high agility and instant, chantless magic dominated the field. He darted between the tall grass like a ghost, firing off pinpoint shock bolts that paralyzed the beasts in their tracks before they could counterattack.
Trevor didn't waste a single drop of mana. Swinging his heavy black briefcase like a massive blunt club, he smashed through charging Omni Boars and counter-punched Wild Hares mid-air, felling each beast with a single brutal impact.
Thirty Wild Hares and thirty Omni Boars per person.
By 11:30 AM, the slaughter was complete. The real challenge, however, was the tedious manual labor of skinning sixty wild beasts without ruining the hide quality.
By noon, the official Guild Inspection squad arrived on the transport train to check on the recruits' progress—only to freeze dead in their tracks.
Sitting on a pair of wooden crates near the track line were Trevor and Alister, casually wiping their daggers. Neatly stacked beside them was a monstrous pile of perfectly harvested pelts: 60 Wild Hare pelts and 60 Omni Boar pelts.
The inspector stared at the pile, his jaw practically hitting the dirt. “Sixty complete pelts?! From a two-man F-Rank team... in four hours?!”
Trevor stood up, dusting off his trench coat, and held out his hand. “We're done here. Give us our payout.” end of chapter