The orphanage loomed ahead, its familiar sight bringing a sense of home. Amelia and Claire were already by the fire pit, preparing the meal, their quiet conversation blending into the sounds of the evening.
James sat down near the wooden post, resting his bow against his knee. The warmth of the fire was a stark contrast to the cold determination settling in his chest.
Amelia glanced at him, reading his expression immediately. "You're thinking about your next step," she noted.
James didn't bother denying it. "This was a test run," he admitted. "I needed to see how my training held up in a real mission."
Claire stirred the pot, considering his words. "And?"
James exhaled, watching the flames flicker. "I need a mission that actually challenges me."
Amelia smirked. "You think you're ready for that?"
James met her gaze. "I know I am."
Claire set down the spoon, resting her elbows on her knees. "Then you need more than just a hunt," she mused. "Something with weight. Something that'll actually matter."
Amelia nodded in agreement. "That means taking jobs outside town."
James grinned, the anticipation sparking through him.Tomorrow, he would find his next mission.
The night passed uneventfully, James adjusted the strap of his pack, standing at the town's main gates where the road stretched toward the next city. The morning air was crisp, charged with the promise of new challenges.
Amelia leaned against the wooden post beside him, arms crossed. "You better not slack off," she said with a smirk. "City hunters don't play nice."
James chuckled. "I'm counting on it."
Claire tightened the straps of her own bag, shifting the weight on her shoulders. "We'll catch up eventually," she said. "Just don't get yourself killed before then."
James grinned, tapping the side of his bow. "Not planning on it."
Amelia pushed off the post, giving a casual salute. "Well, we're off. You know how to find us."
James gave a nod, watching as they turned toward their own paths. No drawn-out goodbyes, no hesitation—just three fighters stepping into new chapters of their lives with confidence.
James tightened his pack and took his first steps down the winding road to Westmere. The town behind him faded into the horizon, replaced by open fields and dense woodland stretching toward the unfamiliar city ahead.
The journey wasn't short. He'd be traveling for days, passing through scattered villages, hunting for food when necessary, and sharpening his techniques along the way.
Rumors had reached even his quiet town—a growing guild presence, mercenaries staking their claim, and whispers of rune scholars who had uncovered lost techniques buried in ancient inscriptions.
Opportunities waited, but so did the unknown.
James **stepped over the final ridge**, the dirt road beneath him giving way to well-worn stone, and at last, **Westmere stretched before him**—vast, structured, alive.
Unlike the quiet town he left behind, **Westmere thrived with movement**. Towering stone walls framed its entrance, **fortified with runic inscriptions**, glowing faintly under the midday sun—**a testament to the city's deep connection to magic.**
Beyond the gates, wide streets branched into **organized districts**, each pulsing with its own rhythm. The **market square** teemed with traders—exotic goods laid out in precise rows, rune-forged weapons glinting under the torchlight of artisan booths. **Scholars debated over aged scrolls**, their robes ink-stained from a lifetime of study, while hunters examined postings on the massive mission board near the central plaza.
James scanned the skyline. **Towering guild halls**, banners fluttering in the breeze, loomed over the southern quarter, marking where **mercenaries and elite hunters gathered**. To the east, the air **hummed with arcane energy**, the presence of **specialized rune masters** unmistakable—an entire sector dedicated to magical refinement and research.
But Westmere wasn't just structured—it was **competitive**. Voices rose in heated arguments over contracts, warriors eyed each other with measured calculation, and **every movement carried purpose**—because here, survival wasn't enough. **Mastery mattered. Reputation mattered. Strength mattered.**
James exhaled, gripping the strap of his pack a little tighter. This city was **exactly what he needed**.
---
As he laid eyes on the city, he was awed by its sheer size, walls hundreds of meters high, covered in pulsing runes, and some black substance, which smelled unmistakably like blood, mixture of human and beast blood. It sent a shiver down his spine, when he thought about the magnitudes of battles, the city must have been through, and the danger the outside world held. As he got closer to the gate , he saw armoured soliders standing guard atop the walls, and in front of the gate, stood two knight professionals carrying heavy swords, their levels at an average of thirty . As he approached, one them stepped forward and said ," Please pay ,one hundred credits for the entrance fee, and led him to the side of the gate, where a terminal simmering in light blue was installed. James took out his card, and pressed it against it. He thought for a moment and then took out one intermediate grade monter core, turned to one the guards, placed it in his hand, to which his eyes instantly brightened a bit . Even though, his heart bled for doing something like this, he still kept a straight face and asked, " Senior, do you have any advice for me ?". As he was new to the city and wanted to have some semblance of the situation inside. The guard swiftly hid the monster core, cleared his throat and said, "I'll just say it once, only buy things from the businesses certified by the City, cause if you get scammed otherwise, then you'll have only yourself to blame, and try not to cause trouble inside if you want to fight head to the arena, as disturbing order in the city might get you thrown in jail, or worse killed. James listened to it all intently, nodded his thanks and walked through the gate. As he stepped further into the heart of Westmere, taking in the sheer scale of the city's organized chaos. Among the structured districts, two locations immediately stood out— Mission Hall and the Branch institute of the Academic Federation.
The Mission Hall, a towering structure near the central plaza, was a constant hive of activity. Massive notice boards covered the interior walls, lined with missions of varying difficulty—ranging from basic patrol assignments to high-risk monster hunts. Hunters, mercenaries, and guild representatives argued, negotiated, and claimed contracts, each striving for prestige and profit.
A tiered system governed the Mission Hall—higher-ranked fighters had access to the best missions, while newcomers had to prove themselves before earning real recognition. James could feel it in the air—competition, ambition, the need to rise above, which had his blood pumping in excitement.
Further down the eastern district stood something more refined—the Westmere Branch of the Academic Federation. Unlike the rowdy halls of hunters and warriors, the Federation's academy operated under *strict discipline .
Towering spires marked its presence, etched with ancient inscriptions, buzzing faintly with controlled arcane energy. Here, scholars, researchers, and rune masters trained relentlessly, pushing the boundaries of magical knowledge.
James wasn't sure if he had business there—not yet. But if the rumors were true, the Federation housed rare teachings on advanced rune layering, techniques that could change everything he understood about combat inscriptions.
He exhaled, feeling the weight of his choice settling in.
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