“Escaping the cage is not the same as winning your freedom.
It only means you have entered a larger arena where every spectator is a potential hazard.”— Seneca The side door of the Adventurers’ Guild led into a narrow corridor lined with whitewashed stone.
Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting long shadows against the walls.
The noise of the bustling main hall faded as Riven walked farther down the hallway.
In its place, he heard the faint sounds of boiling water and quiet conversation.
He followed the corridor until he reached a door bearing a small painted symbol of a white palm overlaid with a cross.
He pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was surprisingly warm, filled with the scent of crushed herbs, boiling eucalyptus, and scorched linen.
Shelves lined the walls, crammed with clay jars, glass flasks, and bundles of dried roots.
In the center stood a high wooden examination table.
Beside it, an older woman in simple white clerical robes was wiping down a set of steel instruments.
She looked up as the door creaked.
Her sharp, tired eyes immediately settled on Riven.
She glanced at his oversized sword, his ash-stained clothes, and finally the dark, stiffening patch of dried blood covering his shoulder.
“The receptionist said you needed treatment for a minor wound,” she said in a dry, raspy voice.
She gestured toward the examination table.
“Up.
Now.” Riven didn’t hesitate.
He climbed awkwardly onto the wooden stool beside the table, using his good arm to support himself.
Even that small movement made him wince as the muscles around his wound tightened.
The cleric stepped closer.
Her expression changed as she examined his shoulder.
Without saying anything, she picked up a pair of small iron shears and began cutting away the blood-matted fabric of his makeshift bandage.
Riven watched her work.
The moment the wound was exposed, the woman let out a sharp hiss.
The puncture left by the monster’s horn was an ugly, inflamed crater.
The skin around it was bruised and swollen, and the torn flesh had begun to show early signs of infection.
Days of sweat, dirt, and exposure in the forest had only made things worse.
“You let this sit for days without a proper wash?” she demanded.
She reached for a nearby shelf and grabbed a small bottle filled with amber liquid.
“You’re lucky the infection hasn’t spread any farther.
You could have lost the use of that arm.” Riven remained silent.
The cleric soaked a piece of cloth in the liquid and pressed it firmly against the wound.
Pain immediately shot through his shoulder.
Riven clenched his teeth and gripped the edge of the table.
His knuckles turned white as he fought to keep himself from making a sound.
The liquid burned like fire.
Still, he didn’t cry out.
The cleric continued cleaning the wound, occasionally glancing at his face.
At first, she seemed annoyed by his silence, but eventually, her expression softened.
“Tough little bastard, aren’t you?” she muttered.
Riven didn’t answer.
She set the cloth aside and placed both hands over his injured shoulder.
“Now hold still.
This might tickle” He watched as she closed her eyes.
A soft, pale-white light began to emanate from her palms.
It spread across his shoulder, slowly covering the damaged flesh.
The burning pain of the antiseptic vanished, replaced by a deep, numbing warmth.
It reminded him of sitting beside a fire on a freezing night.
Riven stared at his shoulder as the magic took effect.
The torn muscles began to knit together, and the swelling gradually faded.
The angry red skin slowly returned to a healthier color as the wound closed.
It wasn’t an instant recovery.
He could still feel a dull ache beneath the surface, but the worst of the pain was gone.
After a few moments, the cleric pulled her hands away.
“There.
That should do it.” She wiped her palms on a towel and examined his shoulder one last time.
“The skin is closed, but the tissue underneath is still weak.
Don’t go fighting any forest beasts for at least a week, or you’ll tear it open again.” She held out her hand.
“That’ll be one silver coin.” Riven reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin.
He placed it on the small tray beside her.
“Thank you.” She simply nodded.
Riven carefully slid off the examination table.
He rolled his shoulder experimentally.
The movement was still stiff, and he could feel the weakness in the muscles, but the blinding pain was gone.
That was good enough for now.
He collected his belongings, adjusted the sword at his waist, and stepped back into the corridor.
He was healed, registered as an adventurer, and had a little money left.
But as he walked toward the main hall, the reality of his situation began to sink in.
He had nowhere to sleep.
He had no food for tomorrow.
And he had absolutely no idea how much it would cost to survive in this town.
Riven had escaped the slave camp, but that didn’t mean his problems were over.
If anything, they had only just begun.
He returned to the main hall, where the noise of conversations and clattering mugs immediately surrounded him.
Several adventurers were gathered around the tables, discussing their latest jobs.
Others stood near the reception counter, handing in completed requests or collecting their rewards.
Riven ignored them and made his way toward the large bounty board near the entrance.
It was covered in parchment notices, some neatly arranged and others overlapping.
Many had been crossed out or stamped with red ink.
The higher-ranked requests included monster hunts, caravan escorts, and expeditions into dangerous territories.
He couldn’t do any of those.
Not yet.
He moved closer to the lower section of the board, scanning the available jobs.
Some required gathering herbs from nearby forests.
Others involved delivering packages or helping merchants transport goods.
A few offered rewards for hunting small monsters.
Riven carefully read through the notices he could understand.
He needed something simple.
Something that wouldn’t require him to travel too far or risk reopening his wound.
He also needed enough money to afford food and a place to sleep.
His eyes settled on a gathering request, but before he could read the details, a heavy hand suddenly clapped down on his good shoulder.
“Well, well, well.” A rough, gravelly voice echoed from above him.
“Looks like someone’s lost” Riven stiffened.
His hand instinctively dropped toward the hilt of his sword as he slowly turned around.
Standing behind him was a large man with a broad frame and a rough-looking face.
He towered over Riven, casting a shadow across the bounty board.
Riven’s eyes narrowed.
He didn’t know who the man was, but he had already learned that trusting strangers was a good way to get hurt.
And judging by the man’s mad grin, this encounter wasn’t going to be pleasant.