The forest was behind them, but Peter still felt like he was being watched.
It had been a long, quiet morning. Reia walked ahead, alert but relaxed, her ears occasionally flicking at ambient sounds. Peter followed at a slow pace, exhaustion still clinging to his muscles. His body was sore, but he no longer felt like he was going to fall apart. That had to count for something.
He paused to glance over his shoulder. Trees stretched behind them, dark and dense. The moment the treeline faded from view, something loosened in his chest. He hadn't even realized how tense he was until now.
"Is it always that dangerous in there?" he asked, catching up to Reia.
"That was one of the deeper sectors," she replied without turning. "Normally, people avoid it."
Peter let out a dry laugh. "We didn't really have the luxury of choosing our route, did we?"
"No. But you're still alive, so consider it a success."
"That's one way to look at it."
The land ahead opened into rolling plains. It was oddly peaceful, with blue sky overhead, scattered clouds, and the sound of wind rustling through the grass. After what they'd endured, the stillness felt unreal. It was like the world had been paused without warning.
Peter sat up and took a slow breath. The air was clean. Crisp, even. He couldn't remember the last time he'd breathed without tasting exhaust fumes or the hum of electricity in the background. There were no cars, no sirens, no buzzing streetlights. Just sky, wind, and distant birds. It was strange, almost too perfect, like stepping into a painting. He wasn't sure he trusted it yet.
He chuckled to himself. Even in paradise, he was waiting for something to go wrong.
They stopped at a small rise to take a break. Reia crouched beside a patch of tall grass and took out a waterskin. Peter flopped onto the ground, limbs splayed.
"Ugh. My feet are going on strike," he muttered. "Let me know when the rebellion is over."
Reia offered him the waterskin without a word. He drank gratefully, then stared up at the sky for a while.
Is this an indirect kiss? Ah, my anime tendencies are coming out.
Peter chuckled, but winced slightly from the pain. Something had changed in him. He could feel it in his body, in the way he moved, and the way he recovered. Those black flames hadn't just been a fluke. And those strange mist-like trails from the monsters they killed, whatever they were, they were affecting him. Strengthening him.
But why only him?
"Reia," he said, sitting up, "can I ask you something weird?"
She raised a brow. "Weirder than usual?"
"Do people in this world have... I don't know, some kind of system that shows their strength or abilities? Like a status screen?"
She frowned. "A what?"
"You know, a magic window or something. Shows your level, stats, abilities, maybe even your health or... I don't know, something like that."
Reia looked at him for a moment. "That's not exactly how things work here. You will know soon enough."
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. I figured. It's just... back home, people always imagine stuff like that. Makes things easier to understand, I guess."
Reia tilted her head slightly. "Your home sounds like a strange place."
He smiled. "Yeah. It kind of is."
She didn't press him further, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her expression.
"There is a method to evaluate someone's potential," she said, her voice more measured now. "But it's not something most people have access to. And it's not something you can carry around with you. There are artifacts that allow one to see their potential."
"So there is something," Peter said, sitting forward. "Just not something you carry around in your head."
"No. And you shouldn't put too much faith in it. Real strength isn't measured by numbers."
Peter exhaled, half amused. "Would be nice if it was."
Reia stood. "We should keep moving."
He pushed himself upright and brushed off his pants. "Still not ruling out the possibility I hit my head somewhere back there."
They resumed walking. The terrain changed gradually. The grass grew shorter, the dirt grew firmer underfoot. A few distant birds circled overhead, and small insects buzzed around Peter's legs. Everything felt sharper out here, more vivid. Or maybe just more real. It lacked the filters of glass and concrete and car exhaust. For the first time since arriving, he realized just how suffocated his old world had felt.
As the sun began to sink toward the west, they crested a ridge, and Peter stopped in his tracks.
"There it is," Reia said.
In the distance, nestled between two low hills, was a town. High wooden walls surrounded it, reinforced in places with stone supports and watch towers. From this distance, Peter could make out smoke rising from chimneys, the movement of people near the gate, and the bustle of life.
He swallowed.
It wasn't much, not compared to the cities he was used to. But it was civilization.
"I thought I'd feel more excited," he said quietly. "But now that it's actually in front of me, I just... I don't know what to expect."
"You should be," Reia replied. "New faces always get attention, especially dressed like that."
Peter squinted at the walls again. "So, what's the plan? We just walk up and hope they let us in?"
"I'm known here," Reia said. "That should be enough."
"Known how?"
She didn't answer at first. "Some humans here don't mind Beastkin. Some treat us fairly. But not all."
Peter glanced at her ears and tail. "They're going to treat you differently because of that?"
"Some will." She glanced back at him. "But it's you I'm more concerned about."
"Me? I'm human."
"You don't look like one from around here. Your clothes are strange. You're unregistered. And you're walking in beside a Beastkin."
Peter sighed. "Perfect."
As they drew closer, the scale of the town came into sharper focus. The walls were mostly wood, though some parts had rough stone reinforcements along the base. The gate was open, though flanked by two guards in chainmail with short spears in hand. One wore a leather cap, the other had a thick wool scarf wrapped under his helmet.
Peter caught glimpses of people waiting outside the gate: a pair of merchants with a rickety wagon, a man in robes with a donkey, a mother holding her child's hand while speaking to a guard.
There were murmurs. Some of them turned and looked.
Peter instinctively tried to adjust his posture. He felt every eye on him. He didn't blame them. His clothes looked nothing like theirs. He might as well have walked out of a storybook in their eyes.
"I was happy to see that the people were human," Peter thought. "Not that I had anything against Beastkin, but part of me was worried I might be the only one."
"Let me do the talking," Reia said quietly. "And stay close."
They approached the gate as two guards stepped forward.
"You again," the taller guard said to Reia. "Who's this?"
"A traveler. I picked him up after a monster ambush. He helped me out of the forest."
The guard raised a brow. "Doesn't look like he's from anywhere nearby. Strange clothing."
"He's with me."
There was a pause. The second guard frowned. "You sure that's wise?"
"He's no threat."
Peter stayed quiet, doing exactly what Reia had instructed. His eyes scanned the guards' armor: chainmail, leather, iron buckles. Simple and functional. Nothing like the militarized police back home.
The guard on the left looked Peter up and down and shrugged, "Doesn't look dangerous to me and Reia wouldn't lie about that."
After a moment of silent weighing, the taller guard nodded. "Fine. He stays with you. If there's trouble, it's your responsibility. Still soft on Beastkin, huh, Eirick?"
Reia gave a short nod and stepped forward. Peter followed as the two guards lightly argued with each other over whether Eirick was in fact a Beastkin lover. Peter just shook his head and continued to follow Reia.
They passed under the gate. The wood creaked faintly overhead, and the guards' eyes followed them the entire way despite their playful bickering.
The scent of cooked meat, baked bread, and the faint odor of livestock hit Peter's nose all at once. There were sounds everywhere: carts rolling over cobblestone, voices haggling, the rhythmic clink of hammer on metal from a forge in the distance.
Stalls lined the main street, with vendors shouting over each other to attract attention. Wooden homes with overhanging signs leaned close to the road, their second floors jutting slightly outward. People bustled back and forth with baskets, tools, and buckets. Most wore tunics, cloaks, or armor. No one was dressed remotely like him.
Peter tried to keep his eyes forward, but his mind couldn't help analyzing the scene around him. The entire town had the feel of an early medieval settlement, maybe even earlier. The buildings were mostly wooden, with daub-and-wattle walls in some places. There were no signs of plumbing or visible infrastructure beyond what could be achieved with basic hand tools. It reminded him more of a frontier town during the late Dark Ages than anything approaching a Renaissance city.
Still, the layout was surprisingly efficient. Streets were narrow but purposeful, winding between clusters of homes and shops. There was even a modest drainage ditch running along the side of the main road. That detail, more than anything, gave him pause.
Romans had mastered drainage centuries ago. Their aqueducts and street designs had shaped entire empires. But when Rome fell, much of that knowledge had been lost. Europe had regressed for centuries before rediscovering it. Was this place in a similar state of rediscovery, or had it simply evolved differently?
The presence of the fountain suggested that clean water was at least somewhat accessible, though there were no visible sewers or bathhouses that he could see. It was functional, but crude. The kind of place where nobles probably bathed once a month and peasants didn't bathe at all unless it rained.
Even the armor the guards wore struck a familiar chord. Mail shirts, reinforced with leather and chain, just like 11th-century infantry. They carried spears instead of swords, which made sense. Spears were cheaper, easier to train with, and more effective in formation.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was on the set of a historical reenactment.
But this wasn't a reenactment. It was real. And he wasn't just watching it. He was part of it now.
As they turned the corner, a large wooden building came into view. It had thick shutters, heavy beams along the roof, and a carved sign that creaked gently in the breeze.
Peter's eyes lit up the moment he saw it.
A sword and a flame, etched into weathered wood.
Is that what I think it is?
His pace quickened before he stopped himself. It looked exactly like something straight out of an RPG. A proper adventurer's guild. The kind of place where heroes took on monster-hunting quests, gathered information, or just rested up at the tavern before heading back out into danger. It had the right vibe. Cozy, tough, practical.
He almost smiled.
For a second, he forgot how sore his legs were. He forgot how out of place he looked. The sight of it made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he was actually in one of those stories he used to love. This was the dream of any true RPG lover and Peter was no different.
And if he was, then this was the start of the next chapter.
"That's the adventurer's guild and we will be staying in that building over there," Reia said. "We'll rest there for the night, they have accommodations for guild members and their guests. We can talk to the receptionist tomorrow and see what we need to do to get you registered. It might take time though, so you will need to be patient. Of course, you will have to go through some training before they let you join, wouldn't want a new recruit dying on them on the first day."
Peter blinked. "Registered?"
"You won't be able to move freely in the kingdom without it."
He nodded slowly. There were still a thousand questions in his head. But for now, he was content to follow. With a bit of anxiety in his step, he followed after Reia.
He was finally in, but he couldn't help the feeling of being out of place.