Chapter 9:

Nick shifted into the cupboard, trying to get more comfortable, already cramping from the awkward position. The initial rush of excitement had worn off, and now he found himself waiting, listening to the hum of tavern life. Voices drifted through the crack, but the conversations were mostly mundane. Well, as mundane as monster hunters and crazy people could get.He heard complaints about the local alchemist—how he’d started a frenzy by buying up everything and then stopped buying as many monster parts. Some of the older adventurers grumbled that their hard-earned kills were now worth less than before since the other merchants only purchased a few specific items and weren’t interested in wholesale.

“He’s stocked up, I heard,” one said, his voice gravelly too much ale. “Merchant caravan’s coming through in a few months. Wants to be ready.”

Another scoffed, “Doesn’t help us now. I had to take a job killing rats for that old bat Thorne just to make ends meet. I haven’t gotten a level in months!”

There was some laughter at that, but it was half-hearted. These adventurers weren’t the heroic types from stories. They were just people with a combat-related class who couldn’t make it in the big cities and were scraping by on the frontier, where there was less competition. Nick shifted slightly, his mind wandering. He wasn’t interested in their money problems, but something else piqued his curiosity.

“Forest’s been quiet lately,” another adventurer chimed in, his voice younger but still rough around the edges. “I had to go deeper than usual just to find anything useful. It’s like all the plants up front are dried out, or missing. The good spots had barely enough to make the day worth it.”

Nick’s ears perked up. He frowned. Could the dryad have something to do with that? His encounter still lingered in his mind. Her presence had been overwhelming, her control over the forest absolute. If she’d decided to hold back some of the forest’s natural mana from the area closest to Floria, that could explain the strange quiet. Though Nick had no idea how to do that himself, he was sure a semi-immortal being could figure it out over the centuries. But why would she do that?

The conversation drifted back to more mundane topics—who sold the best ale, how the militia was stretching patrols beyond the wall after the wolf attack, and increasing the drills. Nothing that held Nick’s attention.

After what felt like a day but was probably little more than an hour, the tavern began to quiet down. The lunch rush had come and gone, leaving only a couple of tables occupied. Nick stifled a sigh. He’d hoped to hear something more exciting about the leylines or the dungeons. He’d have settled for the story of an interesting spell being cast. But so far, nothing.

As he considered sneaking back out, the door to the tavern swung open with a loud creak. Someone stepped inside with heavy steps, and suddenly, the room went still. The low murmur of conversation died down, and even the clinking of mugs stopped. Sensing something important, Nick leaned closer to the crack.

“Out,” a voice commanded. It was old and grave, with a weight of authority that made Nick’s skin prickle. It wasn’t quite like the dryad, but there was mana in that order.

The adventurers, who were usually quick to throw insults or fists at anyone who disrespected them, didn’t argue. They gathered their things in silence and filed out. A nervous silence filled the room as they went. Nick had never heard anything like it. Some of the toughest people in town were walking away without a fight.

Through a crack in the wood, Nick could see the tavern owner emerge from the kitchen when the last one had left. He wiped his hands on his apron and nodded toward the newcomer. “Arthur,” he said with respect, which made Nick sit up straighter in his cramped hiding spot.

The two men sat at a table near the center of the room. The owner called out to Theresa, telling her to take the rest of the afternoon off. She hesitated but eventually agreed and left through the back door. The tavern was now empty except for the owner and Arthur.

Nick held his breath, straining to hear every word.

The owner spoke first. “It’s been a while since you showed your face here. A lot has happened. Things are changing in Floria, Arthur. A dryad was seen near the edge of the town, and the boys reported strange changes to the forest.”

The old man didn’t respond right away. Nick didn’t have a direct line of sight but imagined him leaning back in his chair, weighing his words carefully. “A dryad so close to Floria is not something I can ignore. Those damn fae never do anything without a reason. I might need to go take a look myself.”

The owner’s chair cracked as he leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “Do you think a dungeon’s forming?”

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There was a pause. Nick’s heart raced in the silence. This was what he wanted to know. He had lost his hopes after realizing that it wasn’t a common topic even among adventurers, but it looked like he was finally getting his answers.

“It’s possible,” Arthur finally sighed heavily. “The last time a dungeon formed so close… Floria didn’t survive it. The town was abandoned, and it took two decades to reclaim the land after the Green swallowed it up. We lost too much to allow another catastrophe like that to happen.”

The tavern owner sat back, tired, “This isn’t the kind of thing we can handle ourselves, Arthur. Other places might have enough high-level adventurers, but we only have you. And no matter how good you are, it’s not a fair comparison. No one else has to fight for days through a damn hell just to get to the entrance.”

Arthur didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, his voice was grim. “The signs are there. The mana has increased in density and the forest is too quiet. If it’s true that a dryad showed its ugly mug this close… Something is happening, and it’s only a matter of time before the monsters start coming. The measurement and tactics they use elsewhere won’t work here. We saw that much last time. I’ll check myself, but we’ll need to prepare to weather the storm.”

Hitting the ground once again, Nick decided that he was done.

“Oi, no one said you could stop fighting!” His brother complained, placing his wooden sword on his shoulder in annoyance, but no matter how much he might complain, Nick had a maximum quota of how many times he could be beaten up before he started slinging fireballs.

“Devon, stop picking on your brother. You know his class doesn’t give him as much stamina. Nicholas, stop being lazy. You haven’t hit your limit yet.” Nick groaned but dutifully picked himself up again. The fight was even shorter, given how many handicaps were on him.

His mother eventually relented and released him from punishment, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t taking every chance to tire him out to prevent any further mischief.

It was only because her methods invariably ended up advancing Nick’s path that he didn’t complain more strenuously. His personal studies had netted him one stat point in INT and one in WIS, which felt right given how hard he poured over the diary’s spells, but the surprise of the week was the additional stat in CON.

That, more than anything else he had done, finally pushed his mother over the line, and she returned to her caring, if dogged self.

His brother, who had taken a week longer than him to earn a single additional stat despite his more physically oriented class, was very jealous of his success and became more gleeful than ever when it was time to spar. Luckily, Nick was spared from excessive defeats, or he might have started to push the odds in his own favor with magic.

Kid or not, he could only tolerate losing so much. He had decided to keep what he could do hidden, but that didn’t mean he’d let himself be humiliated.

Nick and Devon finally stopped their sparring session as the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling it was time to clean up. Sweat dripped down Nick’s forehead, and his arms ached from holding the wooden sword for far too long. Devon twirled his own weapon lazily before tossing it aside with a grin. He had won the last spar and so wouldn’t have to put the training field back in order. As always, he was eager to get out of chores.

“I’ll see you later, squirt,” he called over his shoulder, already halfway to the washroom’s door.

Nick rolled his eyes as his brother disappeared, leaving him to put away the training equipment. His father, Eugene, strode into the yard just as Nick was putting the rake in the shed. His spars with Devon were getting more violent, and though they were also becoming stronger, the yard was still the same. Every day, he needed more time to get it back into a semblance of order.

Even after a long day at the wall, Eugene wouldn’t have been out of place at a model shoot in Nick’s old life. His shirt clung to his well-muscled frame, and his movements were fluid and powerful, not betraying an ounce of fatigue. Despite being in his thirties, with a teenager and a tween, he carried himself like a man still in the prime of youth. His hair had a single, prominent lock of gray, but that only added to his presence.

Nick watched his father for a moment, struck again by how different he seemed compared to the other men in Floria. Most of the villagers respected Eugene, not just because of his rank—he was, after all, the highest-ranking man in town despite not having noble blood—but because of his skill. Nick had seen his parents casually spar a few times, and it was clear his father could easily hold his own against his mother, a renowned retired adventurer. Nothing like the dregs that scoured the Green Ocean’s outer edges.

Eugene caught him staring and smiled. “Tired already, Nicholas?” he teased, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’ve still got energy left, don’t you?”

Nick chuckled, trying not to wince at the weight of his father’s hand. “Plenty,” he lied. “I was just thinking… You’re pretty strong, right? Probably the strongest in Floria since you’re the Captain.”

Eugene raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s a funny thing to say. Strength has little to do with titles, Nicholas. I have seen many nobles with inflated levels and little ability to wield their skills.” He began unstrapping his gear, setting it down neatly in the corner of the yard.

Nick hesitated, then decided to take his chance. “Do you know a man named Arthur? An adventurer?”

His father paused, glancing at Nick with surprise. “Where’d you hear that name?”

Nick fumbled for an answer, already regretting asking so directly. “Uh, a kid at the temple. His dad’s an adventurer, and he mentioned him. I was just curious—wondering if he was stronger than you, since we were talking about who was the best fighter in town.”

Eugene studied Nick for a moment as if weighing whether to press further. Fortunately, he didn’t. “Arthur’s not just strong. He’s a B-rank adventurer, which is by far the highest we’ve got out here. And he’s achieved his Prestige. I’m not comparable to that yet, but give me another decade, and I might get there.”

Nick blinked. “Prestige?”

His father nodded, leaning back against the fence. “It’s what happens when someone reaches Level 100. Not many people get there, but they can evolve their class into something greater when they do. It’s rare; not everyone can do it, even if they reach the level. Sometimes, you need rare materials, or you need to have achieved certain feats. Some even say you need a god’s blessing. But when it happens, it makes you incredibly powerful. Heads above everyone else.”

Nick’s mind buzzed with questions, but he forced himself to concentrate. “Are there a lot of people like him? With Prestige?”

“It’s more common in the cities,” Eugene said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ll find a couple hundred in a large place, maybe even a thousand in the capital. Out here? Arthur’s the only one I know of, though some are close and most of our elders aren’t… Well, Floria has a reason for not having many Prestiged citizens. Still, he’s fought some of the forest’s worst monsters.”

Nick swallowed. He still had trouble with how outright magical some things were in this world. And how everyone took them as a fact of life. “I guess if getting to level 100 leads to a prestige, level 200 might get you a second one?”

Eugene let out a hearty laugh, ruffling Nick’s hair. “You’ve got a good imagination, I’ll give you that. Prestige is already a rare feat. I’ll get there one day, and that’s considered incredible. Anything beyond that… who knows?”

Nick grinned, though his mind was still racing. If Arthur was a B-rank adventurer, and he had Prestiged, then Floria had someone incredibly powerful in its midst.

And that man was worried.