Chapter 3: Into the Wild

Sorin awoke to the morning light streaming through his window, the soreness from the previous day’s work lingering in his muscles. He stretched, rolling his shoulders before dropping into a quick routine of push-ups and squats. If he was going to survive here, he needed to stay strong.

Once his morning routine was finished, he made his way to the tavern’s makeshift bath—a large wash bucket near the kitchen. After hauling water from the well and mixing in a few pots of boiling water, it was barely warm enough to be tolerable. The harsh lye soap felt like it was stripping his skin raw, but he scrubbed himself clean and dressed in his now-familiar, rough-spun clothes.

As he made his way downstairs, the familiar scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air. Beyorjn, the tavern owner, spotted him from across the room.

“Ready to greet another day?” Beyorjn called cheerfully.

Sorin shook his head with a smirk. “Not today. I plan to do a bit of adventuring after stopping by the merchants to pick up a sword. Hoping to bring in enough coin to cover my room and board.”

Beyorjn clapped him on the back, his laughter rumbling through his chest. “Be careful out there, lad. With the increase in bandit and goblin attacks, the roads aren’t as safe as they used to be. Keep your wits about you—I’d hate to have to break in another helper so soon.”

Sorin nodded, not missing the hint of concern beneath the old man’s humor.

---

Sorin made his way to the merchant stalls, where he found the vendor he had spoken to before—the one selling the short sword he had been eyeing.

“Good morning,” Sorin greeted.

“Back for the sword?” the merchant asked, already reaching for the weapon.

Sorin grinned, holding up three silvers and two copper coins. “After working my ass off at the tavern? Yes.”

The merchant smiled widely, setting the sword on the wooden counter. He waited expectantly, and Sorin quickly handed over the coins, realizing the man wouldn’t part with the weapon until he did.

“What do I call you?” Sorin asked.

The merchant gave a satisfied nod. “Foorid. I’m from a town at the foothills of the Aerwyni Mountains. Travel far and wide, bringing my wares wherever there’s coin to be had.”

“Well, Foorid, I’m Sorin. New to this land. Do you know where I might find the guild houses? I’m considering adventuring to earn my keep.”

Foorid nodded approvingly. “A bold choice. The guild houses aren’t far—head toward the central square, then take a left. Look for the large stone buildings with their insignias. Can’t miss ‘em.”

Before Sorin could leave, Foorid handed him a scabbard—free of charge.

“You’ll need this,” the merchant said. “And a word of advice—sharpen your blade often. Run the whetstone from hilt to tip, always at an angle. Keeps the edge sharp. Re-hone after any heavy use, or at least once a week to prevent rust.”

Sorin thanked him before heading toward the guild houses, now with a sword secured at his hip.

---

Before he reached his destination, a familiar group caught his eye.

Zarin, the scarred warrior, spotted him first. She carried a double-headed axe strapped to her back, her stance confident. Beside her stood Florin, a male elf with a well-worn bow, and Celis, an elven mage with a gnarled wooden staff.

“Well, look who’s decided to arm himself,” Zarin remarked, her eyes flicking to the sword at Sorin’s waist. “What’s your plan for the day?”

Sorin frowned. He hadn’t told them his name yet.

“How do you all know me?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Florin chuckled. “We make it a point to know the new faces in town, especially the ones serving our ale.”

Celis nodded, her smile warm. “Besides, you’ve refilled our drinks enough times to be remembered.”

Sorin smirked. “Fair enough. And now I finally get your names.”

The trio introduced themselves properly, and when Sorin mentioned he planned to venture into the wilds to level up, Florin raised an eyebrow.

“Mind if we join you?” the archer asked. “Could be useful to have extra hands.”

Celis chimed in, “An extra three pairs, actually. And it’s safer to travel as a group.”

Sorin hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Going alone had been the original plan, but this? This was better.

---

Their destination was the Forest of Hakor, a well-known hunting ground for low-level adventurers.

“We should start there,” Florin said as they walked. “The creatures aren’t too dangerous… but they’ll be enough of a challenge for you.”

“Besides,” Celis added, adjusting her staff, “I need to gather herbs for our healing potions.”

Sorin followed as the group turned toward a familiar stream—the same one where he had bathed on his first day. He wasn’t alone this time, and that was a strange but comforting thought.

Not long after entering the forest, they spotted their first target.

A large tusked boar—a borskin.

Zarin signaled for them to hold position.

“That thing is strong enough to gore you,” she warned Sorin. “Stay back. We’ll handle this one.”

Sorin wasn’t about to argue—he valued his insides.

The plan was simple—Florin would fire the first arrow, driving the borskin toward Zarin’s waiting axe. Celis stood ready to cast an ice spell if it veered off course.

But plans rarely went as expected.

The borskin turned—and charged straight for Sorin.

His heart leaped into his throat.

Oh, shit, I’m about to die.

Instinct took over. Sorin swung his sword down hard, slicing into the borskin’s face. The beast reeled back in pain, giving him just enough time to dodge before it bolted toward Zarin—right into the waiting edge of her axe.

The borskin fell.

Ding!

For slaying Raging Borskin (Level 3), you are awarded 26 experience points.
19 XP to next level.

A second notification followed.

You have reached Level 1 in Short Swords.
+2% damage with short swords.
+1% accuracy with short swords.
+1% attack speed with short swords.

Sorin stared at the text.

He had leveled up his weapon skills.

Florin grinned. He dipped his fingers into the fallen borskin’s blood and swiped it across Sorin’s face.

“Welcome to the team, Sorin.”

Celis chuckled. “You handled yourself well.”

Sorin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He was one of them now.

And this world was starting to make sense.

---

But they weren’t alone.

Two shadowed figures crouched deep in the forest, watching.

“They have returned,” one hissed.

“Slaying creatures of the forest. Collecting.“

The second figure nodded. “Kill them, we must. Survive, they shall not.”

And with that, they melted into the darkness—racing toward their Master.