Peter followed Orban around the back of the Guild Hall to the training grounds. They were larger than he expected, wide, packed earth bordered by weathered fencing. It was still early, so the grounds were empty. Orban used the quiet to lecture him on the basics of being an adventurer.
"The divination crystal showed you your strengths, right? It's a magical conduit. Reads your physical and mental condition and presents it in a way your mind understands. That's why everyone sees it differently. Without it, we wouldn't have a standard to measure ourselves against monsters. Adventurers don't usually share their results unless they really trust their team, so keep that in mind. But when you're trying to form a party, you'll want to let others know what you're good at."
His explanation dragged on, but Peter paid close attention. He needed every edge he could get.
Before long, the other new recruits began to arrive, six in total. They were probably more skilled than he was. In this world, people started training young. For them, this would be a review course. For Peter, it was survival.
Apparently, he'd shown up at a rare moment. The Guild usually only saw a handful of fresh recruits a year. To have seven at once was considered a miracle. He was the odd one out, but what about the rest of them?
"Alright," Orban barked. "Line up. Time for introductions."
The first to speak was a woman in her early twenties, tall, confident, and well-equipped. She carried herself with the poise of someone who had already seen real combat.
"I'm Tris. Short for Trissenia. I specialize in archery, but I can handle myself in close quarters too."
Peter studied her carefully. She didn't look like someone who needed to prove anything. Calm, collected, experienced. And a bow-user too, rangers were always useful. He made a mental note to remember that as he wondered why she wasn't already an adventurer.
Next was a short man with a grim expression and silent steps. His eyes were sharp, his movements quiet. "Dreg. Rogue." That was all he said. Most of his face was hidden beneath a hood, but Peter got the impression he was older than the others, aside from himself.
The rest of the group looked younger, likely mid to late teens. A confident swordsman named Orthus. A wiry kid named Arin who wielded a short spear. A boy called Idren, who identified as a druid. And finally, a quiet girl named Aessa, clearly a mage and too shy to meet anyone's eyes for more than a second.
Peter was easily the oldest in the group. It stung, even if only a little, until he reminded himself that he was immortal now. Eventually, they'd all pass him by in age, while he stayed the same. The thought made him snort quietly, earning a glare from Orban.
When his turn came, Peter stepped forward with a stiff smile. "Name's Peter. I just started learning the sword, so take it easy on me."
Some of the others glanced at him. Judging by their expressions, none of them seemed especially impressed. Most were teenagers, and here he was, an adult beginner. He felt like a college freshman who'd accidentally wandered into a high school gym class.
"Alright," Orban called out. "Time to see what you can actually do."
He began pairing them off for practice matches, his voice firm and commanding. "You'll fight in pairs. This is to get you used to each other and to show what you can do. You'll be working together during training, and possibly afterward, if you decide to form parties. Use the practice weapons. Magic is allowed, but keep it to first and second-tier spells. Defensive magic is exempt."
He pointed at two of the younger boys. "Orthus. Arin. You're up."
The two stepped into the center of the yard, Orthus with a wooden sword, Arin with a short spear. Their stances were well honed, better than Peter expected from kids their age. When Orban gave the signal, they lunged into action. Their weapons clacked as they exchanged fast, practiced blows.
Peter watched closely. Arin was agile, spinning his spear to deflect incoming strikes. Orthus moved with purpose, blocking and parrying with smooth footwork. Eventually, Arin managed to knock Orthus's sword out of his hand and delivered a clean strike to his gut. Orthus doubled over, groaning, but recovered quickly and accepted Arin's hand when it was offered.
"Next," Orban said, eyes scanning the line. Then he pointed. "Tris. You're with Peter."
Of course. Not one of the cocky kids who had smirked during introductions. No, I'm facing the calm, seasoned ranger.
Tris looked to be around his age, maybe a little younger, but she carried herself like someone with field experience. Her gaze flicked toward him, cool and focused. Peter could tell she was sizing him up.
They were each handed wooden swords. Peter gripped his with both hands, trying not to fumble or look too out of place. Tris looked relaxed. Unbothered. Dangerous.
They took their positions, about fifteen feet apart.
Peter exhaled, trying to recall everything Reia had taught him. His stance wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.
"Begin," Orban called.
At Orban's signal, Tris moved first.
She closed the distance with steady, measured steps, her stance low and precise. Peter shifted to meet her, raising his wooden sword defensively. Her first swing came fast, aimed high. He managed to block it, but the impact rattled his arms. Before he could adjust, her second strike came in low, catching him in the ribs.
He hissed through his teeth and stumbled back.
That's going to bruise.
She didn't press immediately. Instead, she held position, watching him with unreadable eyes.
She's testing me.
Peter tried to shake off the sting and refocus. He circled slightly, eyes locked on her footwork, waiting for an opening. Tris feinted left, then darted right. He didn't fall for it, stepping back and swinging in return, but she avoided it with minimal effort.
She was faster than him. Sharper. More experienced.
Figures.
She came in again, and he parried. This time, he managed to hold her off for a few exchanges, but her strikes were relentless. Every time he thought he had a window to retaliate, she was already two steps ahead.
If I don't change something, I'm just going to get chipped away.
He needed to test his Void flames. This was as good a time as any, Orban had said defensive magic was fair game. Peter pulled back, feigned a clumsy step, and began to draw on the cold power inside him.
The Void responded immediately, a chill blooming in his chest and flowing down his left arm.
But Tris wasn't waiting. She surged forward again and landed a clean hit on his upper arm. The sting snapped his concentration, and the magic faltered.
Damn it.
He gritted his teeth and tried again. This time, he pressed forward with a wide swing, not elegant, but enough to force Tris to disengage. That bought him the seconds he needed.
Black fire flickered to life around his left arm.
Tris hesitated, just for a heartbeat, and charged in anyway.
Her sword came down in a clean arc. Peter raised his flame-covered arm to intercept.
The wooden blade hit the Void flames, and instantly began to sizzle. The end of her sword melted on contact, eaten away by the black fire in a heartbeat.
Even Peter blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that.
Tris's eyes widened. She didn't stop moving, but she no longer had a weapon. Peter struck with the flat of his sword, landing a blow to her midsection.
She stumbled back, breath catching, but stayed upright.
Orban's voice rang out a second later. "Enough!"
Peter let the Void flames flicker out and stepped back, breathing hard.
The rest of the recruits were staring. Some with surprise. Others with thinly veiled wariness.
They thought he was dead weight. Now they weren't so sure.
Tris recovered quickly and walked back toward him, shaking out her arm. She looked more curious than angry.
"What the hell was that?" she asked, voice calm but direct.
Peter smirked. "Magic."
"I figured that much. What kind?"
He shrugged. "Not telling. It's a secret."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're really going to be like that?"
"Tell you what. If you agree to team up with me after training, maybe I'll let you in on it."
Tris crossed her arms, thinking that over. "You already have a party?"
"I will. Reia and I are forming one once I'm done here. Could use a ranger."
Her expression shifted slightly at the name. "Reia?"
"She's a friend. Already an adventurer. She introduced me to Orban."
Tris was quiet for a second. Then she nodded. "I'll think about it."
Peter smiled. That wasn't a no.
"Good fight," he added. "You nearly had me."
She rolled her eyes. "Please. If you'd started with that magic, I'd have been on the ground in five seconds."
Fair.
They walked back to the line together. Tris lingered a second longer beside him, her gaze flicking briefly to the place where the flames had been. Something in her eyes had shifted. Interest, maybe. Or calculation.
Peter noticed but said nothing.
With Peter and Tris returning to the line, Orban wasted no time.
"Next up, Aessa, Idren. Let's see what our mages can do."
The two stepped into the training yard, taking positions opposite one another. Aessa looked nervous, her grip tight and her shoulders tense. She barely glanced at Idren, who stood calmly, hands at his sides, expression unreadable.
They had no weapons. This match would be all magic.
"Begin."
Peter watched with interest. He hadn't seen many spellcasters in action yet.
Aessa moved first, her hands weaving quickly through practiced motions. Flame gathered around her palms, small, focused, before she launched a volley of fire projectiles across the field.
"Flame Arrows," Peter murmured. The speed and accuracy weren't bad.
Idren responded without a word. He lifted one hand and chanted under his breath. Vines erupted from the ground in front of him, forming a tangled wall that intercepted the incoming bolts. Fire met wood, and the vines crackled and burned, but they held. More surprisingly, they began to regrow.
Regenerative defense? Smart.
Both mages immediately began casting again. Aessa shifted her stance and switched elements, this time summoning slicing wind.
"Wind Blades!" someone called from the sideline.
The arcing blades tore across the yard, ripping through the regrown vines and shredding the barrier from its base. Idren barely reacted, already casting again.
Peter's eyes narrowed. The ground beneath Aessa suddenly shifted.
More vines burst from below her feet, snaking upward and coiling around her legs. She tried to leap back, but they caught her mid-step, climbing fast.
She raised a hand to cast, but couldn't. The vines had reached her arms.
In seconds, she was wrapped tightly from shoulder to boot, yanked off her feet and pinned to the ground.
"Match over," Orban barked. "Idren wins."
The vines loosened at once, retreating back into the soil. Aessa sat up slowly, brushing leaves off her clothes. Her face was flushed, but she didn't look angry, just disappointed.
She's braver than she seems, Peter thought. That would've freaked me out.
Idren offered her a hand. She took it without hesitation.
No one said anything, but Peter could tell the others were quietly impressed. It had been a clean, decisive victory. He filed that away, Idren wasn't flashy, but he was dangerous. Although those vines wouldn't mean much to his flames.
Somewhere during the match, Dreg had apparently sparred with one of the younger kids, but Peter had missed it. Training resumed not long after. Orban kept them moving, drills, footwork, more sparring, then running until their legs burned. And that was just the first day.
The following days blurred together, each one filled with exhausting repetition. Orban's training was rigorous, but nothing compared to what Peter had already endured with Reia. He still remembered those grueling days in the forest, barely able to stand. Compared to that, this felt almost manageable.
He focused hard on the sword, soaking in every bit of instruction. His body might not have been impressive yet, but with his high intelligence, he learned quickly. Every stance, every feint, every parry, it all settled into place faster than he expected.
At night, though, came the strangest part of his training.
Allein appeared in his dreams.
She never said how she was doing it, maybe she didn't even know, but it happened consistently. Some nights, she just watched. Other times, she'd speak, asking him endless questions about humanity.
Her perception of humans was... skewed. It was like she'd only heard of them in myths, and not the good kind. She asked if humans could actually feel emotions or if they only pretended. Whether they had rituals involving blood. If they consumed the dreams of others.
Peter tried to explain, but it was like talking to someone who'd grown up in a cave and only read half a book on modern life.
He started telling her about Earth. At first, just little things, music, cities, trains, phones. She didn't understand most of it, but she was curious. Unlike Reia, who had reacted with caution or even fear, Allein seemed fascinated. Amused, even.
Sometimes she'd sit beside him in the dream world while he relived old memories, childhood games, city lights, crowded streets. She never asked about his family, though. Somehow, she seemed to know not to.
It was a little unsettling, knowing she could just be there whenever he slept. Worse, she watched his dreams. Commented on them. Asked about things she shouldn't have known.
He started wondering if he should find a way to block her out. If that was even possible.
Still, there was a strange comfort in her presence. Not quite intimacy, but something like it. He once tried to get closer, just to see how she'd react. She pulled back immediately, eyes wide and unreadable. After that, he didn't push again.
And so the days passed, one after another.
Until, finally, the sixth day arrived.