The sun was high in the midday sky when Arthur pushed through the heavy doors of the Adventurers’ Guild. The main hall was bustling with iron-ranked mercenaries, local woodsmen, and merchants hawking monster parts. Leaving his leather pack slung over one broad shoulder, Arthur made his way toward the long counter where Elena was busy organizing a stack of newly posted bounty scrolls.
"Welcome back, Arthur," Elena greeted him with a bright, professional smile, setting her quill aside. "The guild master was impressed with the quality of those viper sacs."
"Thanks, Elena," Arthur said, leaning his forearms against the cool wood of the counter. "Actually, I'm here for something else today. I want to register for the D-Rank Advancement Trial."
Elena paused, her blue eyes blinking in surprise. She pulled out a heavy ledger bound in dark leather, flipping through the parchment pages until she reached Arthur’s personal index file.
"Let me check your recorded standing," she said, running her index finger down the column. She looked up, her expression turning sympathetic. "Ah, Arthur... I'm afraid I can't issue the trial paperwork just yet."
Arthur frowned slightly. "Is there an issue with my monster slay counts?"
"No, your contract completion rate is immaculate," Elena explained, pointing to a bold seal at the top of the ledger page. "It's the Guild Bylaws. To attempt a D-Rank Advancement Trial, an adventurer must reach a minimum baseline threshold of Level 20. Our records show you reached Level 16 after your last report. Four levels is a massive gap in raw stat scaling—the guild master strictly forbids issuing solo trial permits to anyone under Level 20 due to the high mortality rate."
Arthur let out a slow, quiet breath. Four levels. Under the current system, hard-earned EXP didn't come easily from minor forest pests. He needed high-density combat against elite beast targets.
"I understand," Arthur said, adjusting his coat. "If I can't take the trial yet, give me the highest-yielding solo contract you have on the board. Something with high target density."
Elena hesitated, then turned to the locked cabinet behind her counter. She retrieved a faded parchment stamped with a warning seal and laid it on the desk.
"This came in yesterday," she said in a lower tone. "It's a wide-area clearance contract for the outer sectors of the Mistwood Jungle. It’s a long six-hour trek southwest of the frontier wall. The terrain is dense, damp, and populated by aggressive Gloom-Stalkers and Venom-Spitters. Because of the travel distance and environmental hazard, most squads avoid it, but the Guild is paying a premium rate per core."
Arthur looked at the contract terms. High monster spawn rates, tough hide yields, and enough raw combat to push his EXP bar closer to that Level 20 barrier.
"Be extremely careful out there," Elena warned as she logged the assignment. "The Mistwood isn't like the ravine. Navigating that canopy after dark is suicide for a solo hunter. Plan your travel time wisely."
"Understood."
After stocking up at the general store with extra iron rations, water bladders, and fresh linen bandages, Arthur made a quick stop back at the cabin.
Martha was on the front porch, washing fresh root vegetables in a wooden basin while Robin practiced his footwork in the yard, his wooden sword whirring through the air with absolute concentration. Seeing Arthur return with his hunting pack fully loaded, Martha set her wooden bowl down, concern flickering across her gentle features.
"Another contract so soon?" she asked softly, wiping her wet hands on her apron as she walked down the porch steps.
"I need to reach Level 20 before the Guild will clear me for the D-Rank trial," Arthur explained in a low voice. "I'm heading to the Mistwood Jungle. It's a six-hour march southwest, so I'll be out overnight."
While Robin’s back was turned—the boy fully immersed in executing a sharp pivot stance—Arthur stepped close to Martha, blocking Robin's line of sight with his broad shoulders. He gently cupped Martha's cheek and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her lips. Martha caught her breath, a deep blush rising up her neck, but her eyes softened with deep affection as she kissed him back in quiet secret.
Breaking away smoothly before Robin turned around, Arthur cleared his throat and looked over at the boy.
"Robin," Arthur called out.
The boy dropped his wooden sword into a guard position, looking up with wide, curious eyes. "The Mistwood? The hunters in town say the trees are so thick down there you can't even see the sun!"
"That's why I'm leaving now to make the outer camp before dark," Arthur smiled, walking over and patting Robin's head firmly. "Keep practicing those balance drills while I'm away. When I get back, we'll work on your side-step counter."
Martha walked over to help Arthur adjust the heavy shoulder straps of his leather armor, her fingers lingering against his chest for a private second. "Take care of yourself, Arthur. Don't push your body past its limit just to rush a number."
"I won't," Arthur promised softly with a subtle nod, before turning down the dirt road toward the jungle.
The six-hour trek southwest was brutal on the legs. As the open pine forest slowly gave way to the dense, humid foliage of the Mistwood Jungle, the temperature rose and the air grew heavy with the scent of damp moss and decaying vegetation. Massive tree roots jutted out from the muddy ground like twisted ribs, forced over sharp limestone crags.
By late afternoon, the canopy above had thinned the sunlight into dim, greenish rays. Arthur pushed his way through a thick barrier of fern fronds, his steel longsword drawn and held low at his side.
Suddenly, a strange sound broke through the rhythmic drone of jungle insects—not the screech of a beast, but a sharp, painful gasp, followed by the wet thud of something collapsing against a stone wall.
Arthur froze, his instincts instantly flaring to life. He dropped into a low crouch, blending into the shadows of a massive banyan tree, and carefully parted the leafy branches ahead.
Lying against a moss-covered rock outcrop just thirty yards away was a woman.
She was an Dark elf, but unlike any Arthur had encountered. She possessed a mature, lushly curved figure that filled out her torn, dark-green tunic in breathtaking fashion. Her long, silver-white hair was tangled with dirt and leaves, framing a face of striking, mature beauty marred by pale exhaustion and sweat. A deep claw wound rent through her leather leg guard, pooling dark blood onto the muddy moss beneath her.
She was panting heavily, her trembling fingers pressed against her wounded thigh as she tried to force a green spark of mana from her palm. But nothing manifested—her mana pool was completely dry.
A low, guttural growl echoed from the surrounding brush as two juvenile Gloom-Stalkers—panther-like beasts with obsidian scales—crept toward her helpless form, their yellow eyes locked on their bleeding prey.
Arthur didn't hesitate.
With a surge of movement, he triggered [Haste: Lv 1], channeling mana through his legs as he burst from the treeline, his blade flashing bright in the dim jungle shade.