Kellen stopped about a hundred yards from the gate, leaning against a tree. The walk from the forest had taken most of the morning, and he'd spent it cycling the Sol-Wisp. Summon. Focus. Let it drain his stamina until his legs felt like wet rope. Dismiss. Wait. Repeat.
The system was brutal but functional.
[SOL-WISP SUMMONED] (-5 MP)
Mana: 85/120
He focused on the golden light hovering beside him. The flow began immediately. One mana every five seconds. Twelve per minute. His stamina drained at the same rate, but he could maintain it longer now. The headache was still there, but he'd developed a tolerance for it. Like learning to ignore a screaming toddler.
Eight minutes. That was his current record before the stamina drain forced him to dismiss it.
+96 MP (181/120)
MANA CAPPED
-96 STAMINA (4/100)
[SUMMON DISMISSED]
The Sol-Wisp faded. Kellen sagged against the tree, breath coming in ragged gasps. His legs trembled. His vision swam.
But his mana bar read 120/120.
He waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen. His stamina crept back up. Not to full, but enough.
STAMINA: 67/100
Mana: 120/120
Full mana. Diminished stamina. The trade-off was brutal, but it worked.
Kellen pushed off the tree and joined the mid-morning flow through the western gate. Merchants hauling carts stacked with grain sacks. Laborers covered in quarry dust. A woman leading three goats that looked more intelligent than half the people in line. Nobody gave him a second glance.
The guard at the gate waved him through without looking up from his ledger.
Inside, Kelidor sprawled like a city that had grown too fast and given up on planning halfway through. Timber-frame buildings leaned against each other for support. The main thoroughfare was packed dirt worn smooth by decades of foot traffic. The air smelled of woodsmoke, livestock, and something frying that might have been meat or maybe just a crime.
Kellen's first priority was information. Specifically, the kind of information that told him whether his 30 Silver Marks made him "temporarily inconvenienced" or "completely screwed."
He stopped at a food stall where a woman was ladling something brown and chunky into wooden bowls.
"How much for a bowl?" he asked.
"One Silver, two Copper." She didn't look up from her ladle.
He moved on. A baker's stall displayed round loaves stacked in neat pyramids. The sign read: 20 Copper Marks per loaf.
At a tavern, a chalkboard by the door advertised: Rooms: 5 Silver/night. Meals: 1-2 Silver.
Kellen did the math. One decent meal and a safe bed would cost him 7 Silver. He had 30. That meant four nights if he ate once a day, or two nights if he wanted to eat like someone who planned to stay conscious.
And he still needed to reach the Anchor. Which meant supplies. Which meant not spending everything on a warm bed.
First things first, he thought, glancing down at his leg.
The rat bite had closed into an ugly purple-black line across his calf. The skin around it was hot to the touch, radiating heat even through his torn pant leg. He could walk, but every step sent a spike of hot, stabbing pain through the muscle.
He asked a street vendor for directions to the nearest healer.
The man pointed down a side street.
The clinic smelled like herbs and antiseptic. An older woman with steel-gray hair tied back in a severe bun sat at a workbench, grinding something in a mortar with the focused intensity of someone performing surgery.
Kellen stood in the doorway for a solid ten seconds.
She didn't look up.
He cleared his throat.
Nothing.
"Excuse me..."
"I'm busy." Her voice had the warmth of a tax notice.
"I have a..."
"I don't care." She kept grinding. "This needs to be done in the next three minutes or it oxidizes and becomes useless. So unless you're actively bleeding out on my floor, you can wait."
Kellen glanced down at his leg. The infected rat bite throbbed. "I have a rat bite."
The grinding stopped. She looked up for the first time, eyes narrowing. "A rat bite."
"Yes."
"Uh-huh." She went back to grinding. "Look, son, I'm not going to drop everything I'm doing because you and your partner had a lover's quarrel."
Kellen blinked. "I'm sorry, are you saying I got injured having sex with a rat?"
"That or it was a prop. Either way..." She sprinkled something into the mortar, gave it three more aggressive grinds, then abruptly stopped and set the pestle down with a decisive clink. "You can wait until I'm... done." She stood, wiping her hands on her robes. "Which I am. Finally. Show me."
Kellen pulled up his pant leg, still processing the implications of her accusation.
She knelt, inspecting the wound with clinical detachment. Her fingers pressed around the infected tissue. "Infected. You let this sit overnight?"
"Yesterday was complicated."
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"I'm sure it was." She stood. "Five Silver Marks. Basic light magic. I'll have it mended in under a minute."
Kellen's stomach dropped. "Five Silver for a rat bite?"
"Five Silver to save your leg from necrosis, yes." She crossed her arms. "Or you can let it fester. Come back in a week for an amputation. I'll do that for free, but only if I get to keep the leg."
"Keep it? My leg? What a bargain."
"What'll it be? Leg or coin?"
"I'll pay the five Silver."
He pulled the coins from his pouch and handed them over. Five Silver Marks, gone in one transaction.
She pocketed them, then placed her palm over the wound. Golden light flared, warm and sharp. The pain spiked for one brilliant second before receding. The swelling diminished. The angry purple faded to pale pink. Clean skin knit together where the bite had been.
She pulled her hand back. "Done. Keep it clean."
"Thanks," Kellen muttered, pulling his pant leg down. "For what it's worth, it was from a battle. Not... the other thing."
"I don't care." She was already turning back to her workbench. "Now get away."
Kellen left.
He stepped back into the street with 25 Silver Marks and a leg that no longer felt like it was trying to kill him.
[VITAL STATISTICS]
Condition: Healthy (100%)
Stamina: 72/100
Mana: 120/120
He needed to think about the trip. The forest had been bad enough with full health and daylight. The road to the Anchor would be worse. More dangerous. More creatures. Less cover.
And his combat options were... limited.
The Sol-Wisp was useless in a fight. It regenerated mana, but it couldn't hurt anything.
The Stone Toad was his only real offensive summon. Fifteen mana to summon, decent weight, functioned well as a falling projectile... Toad dropping had worked against the rat, but it wasn't sustainable. Against anything faster than a stationary target? Against multiple enemies?
He was screwed.
The Glimmerling was a distraction at best. Six mana for a light show. Great for disorienting things, but terrible for actually putting them down.
And the Vine Creeper? Useful for slowing enemies down, maybe buying a few seconds. But it required mana he couldn't spare and only worked if he had time to set it up.
None of them were built for sustained combat. They were utility summons. Support tools. The kind of thing a real summoner would use to supplement their arsenal, not as the entire strategy.
I need help, he admitted. I need someone who can fight.
A mercenary. A guard. Someone with a sword, some armor, and enough experience to not die in the first thirty seconds of a real encounter.
I guess I know where to spend the rest of my silver.
The Guild Hall sat in the center of Kelidor like a fortress made of bureaucracy and low expectations. Stone foundation, timber upper floors, and a weather-worn sign that simply read: THE GUILD HALL.
Inside, the hall was packed. Adventurers clustered around tables, drinking, arguing, comparing scars. A massive bulletin board dominated the far wall, covered in parchment notices pinned with iron tacks.
Kellen approached the front desk where a bored-looking clerk sat behind a ledger.
"I need to hire someone," Kellen said. "Guard work. Travel to the Anchor."
The clerk didn't look up. "What's your budget?"
"Twenty-five silver marks."
Now the clerk looked up. Stared at him. "Twenty-five silver."
"Yes."
"For travel to the Anchor."
"Yes."
The clerk leaned back in his chair. "Son, a competent guard costs a hundred silver per day minimum. Non-negotiable."
Kellen's jaw tightened. "A hundred? The Anchor's only a few hours away. Can't you do a half-day rate?"
The clerk stared at him like he'd asked for a refund on yesterday's weather. "We don't do half-day rates. Day rate or nothing. You hire a guard, you pay for the full day. That's how it works."
"But..."
"Look, kid, you want cheap, go hire some drunk with a rusty sword from the alley. See how that works out for you." He gestured dismissively toward the door. "Otherwise, you need a hundred silver. You got twenty-five. You need more."
The clerk gestured lazily toward the bulletin board. "You could pick up a job yourself. Earn the coin you need. Assuming you're qualified for anything on that board, which..." He gave Kellen a slow, appraising look. "...seems unlikely."
Kellen turned and pushed through the crowd toward the board.
[BOUNTY NOTICE]
Mercenary Work Available - Caravan Guard Detail
Requirements: Combat Class, Level 5+
Payment: 200 Silver Marks per week
Level 5. He was Level 2. Rejected.
[APPRENTICE WANTED]
Alchemical Assistant Needed for Hazardous Material Handling
Requirements: Poison Resistance (Tier 1) or expendable anatomy
Payment: 15 Silver Marks per day
He liked his anatomy where it was. Rejected.
His eyes drifted to the largest poster. Fresh ink. Pinned over three older notices like it was shouting for attention.
[WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE]
TORIAN RAKKIS
Also Known As: "The Beast of Kelidor"
Crimes: Murder. Treason. Flight from Justice.
Reward: ~~50 Gold~~ ~~100 Gold~~ 500 GOLD MARKS upon proof of termination or capture
Requirements: NONE
Five hundred Gold Marks.
No requirements.
Kellen checked the time.
[QUEST: STABILIZE KELIDORIAN ANCHOR]
Time Remaining: 26h 02m
Twenty-six hours to reach the Anchor. Even if he could somehow take down a seven-foot Leonine warrior with a warhammer, which he absolutely could not, hunting him down would burn days he didn't have.
The math didn't work.
None of it worked.
I'm going alone, he decided. Maybe I'll bind an Umbral who can fight, along the way.
Kellen turned to leave.
"Looking for hired help, kid?"
He turned. A bearded man in his forties leaned against a support beam, arms crossed. He wore a worn leather vest over a faded tunic, and a longsword hung at his hip. His face was weathered, the kind of tan that came from years on the road.
"Maybe," Kellen said cautiously.
The man pushed off the beam and approached, hand extended. "Name's Mo. Couldn't help but overhear you asking about the board. You look like you're in a hurry."
Kellen didn't take the hand. "I am."
Mo dropped his hand, unbothered. "Fair enough. Where you headed?"
"South. To the Anchor."
Mo whistled low. "Long walk. Dangerous, too. Umbral activity's been picking up past the gates. Why would you want to go down there?"
"I'm going to stabilize the Anchor," Kellen said.
Mo's eyes widened with acknowledgment, "You're a summoner? How much are you willing to spend for an armed escort?"
"Twenty Silver, it's all I got," Kellen said.
Mo thought for a long beat. "You can't do any more than that? I'm not sure I want to risk dying over twenty silver."
"I understand," Kellen said. "Thanks anyway." He attempted to step around Mo, but the man blocked his path.
"Hold on," Mo said. "What about this, I get you to the anchor, but any treasure we find along the way is mine?"
Something nagged at the edge of Kellen's awareness. A faint prickling at the base of his skull.
Kellen hesitated.
Twenty Silver was most of what he had left. But there wasn't a lot of time, and if Mo could help...
I don't have time to be suspicious, he thought. I need help. Even if it costs me.
"Fine," Kellen said. "Twenty Silver. But I pay half now, half when we reach the gate."
Mo's grin widened. "Deal. Smart thinking." He clapped Kellen on the shoulder. "Come on, let's head to my place first. I need to grab the rest of my gear."
Mo led him through a maze of side streets, deeper into the residential quarter where the buildings leaned closer together and the smell of garbage overpowered the smell of food.
"So you're not part of the Guild?" Mo asked, making conversation.
"No. Up until yesterday I was an academy student."
"Ah. Well, you should fix that once you're done with this Anchor business. Guild's a good way to make steady coin and meet folks who know what they're doing." Mo stepped over a puddle that looked suspiciously sentient. "I'm Rank C myself. Been there for, oh, three years now."
"Is that good?"
Mo laughed. "Depends on who you ask. The ranks go F, D, C, B, A, and SS at the top. Most people start at F, work their way up to D pretty quick if they don't die. C is where things get... sticky."
"Sticky how?"
"Hard to move from C to B. There's lots of folks in C and not enough high-paying jobs in the city to go around. So you get stuck. I've been taking contracts outside Kelidor just to stay afloat." He shrugged. "My wife hates it. Says I'm never home. But what am I supposed to do? Guild fees don't pay themselves."
"You're married?"
"Eight years now. Two kids. Boy and a girl." Mo's expression softened for a moment. "That's why I jumped at your offer, honestly. Twenty silver's not much, but it's better than sitting around the Guild Hall waiting for scraps."
Something in Mo's tone felt genuine. The frustration. The exhaustion.
Kellen found himself relaxing slightly. He's just trying to make ends meet. Like everyone else.
"Just up here," Mo said, gesturing to a narrow alley between two timber-frame tenements.
Kellen stepped into the alley.
And immediately knew he'd fucked up.
Four men stepped out from alcoves and shadowed doorways, blocking both exits. Two behind him. Two ahead. All armed. One held a club. Another, a rusted shortsword. The third had a dagger. The fourth just cracked his knuckles.
Mo turned to face him, the friendly grin gone. Replaced by something cold and calculating.
I bet he doesn't even have a wife.