Drachenfest is a place where medieval charm collides with the pulse of magic. Its streets are paved with uneven cobblestones, worn smooth by time and travelers, while the buildings—reminiscent of old Germanic settlements—boast timber-framed facades, overhanging balconies, and steep, tiled roofs crafted to withstand heavy rains and snowstorms. Towering wooden gates greet every newcomer, carved with vivid scenes of legendary battles. Above them, the wrought-iron emblem of Drachenfest hangs proudly: a shield bearing the etched form of a dragon mid-roar.
Encircling the city is a massive fortified wall, reinforced with embedded magical crystals that ignite with energy in times of danger. Watchmen are stationed above the gates, using arcane instruments to assess the threat levels of those who arrive—no one enters unnoticed.
At the heart of the city lies a grand plaza, ringed by bustling shops, rowdy taverns, and the halls of various guilds. Towering above them all is the Mercenaries' Guild—an imposing stone citadel crowned with a magical spire that glows day and night, casting its watchful light across the square. From this fortress, warriors, mages, and scouts are hired for the most perilous of missions.
In Drachenfest, magic is not a luxury; it is woven into daily life. The very lifeblood of this world flows through crystals—a universal source of arcane energy embedded within every creature. These crystals power magical devices, though each holds only a finite reserve of energy and must be replaced when depleted. The rarer and larger the crystal, the longer it sustains its magic.
The streetlamps glow thanks to these crystals, flickering to life at dusk—though their glow dims with time and must be replenished. The city's water system runs through crystal-powered channels, which too will fail if not regularly maintained. Even the fortifications rely on enchanted artifacts that siphon power from crystals.
Teleportation portals exist, but only function when fed fresh crystals, making them a rare and costly luxury.
Crystals are categorized by color, size, and energy potential—each trait determining how powerful and long-lasting they are. This has made Drachenfest a magnet for monster hunters, who flood the city to sell their loot. A thriving Crystal Market has grown within the walls, where auctions attract collectors and adventurers alike. Specialized craftsmen have even mastered the art of extracting residual magic from worn-out stones, giving old crystals new life.
But it's not just the magic or architecture that defines Drachenfest—it's its people. The city is a vibrant crossroads of races:
Humans, the most numerous, work as mercenaries, merchants, and craftsmen.
Dwarves and gnomes craft weapons, construct buildings, and forge enchanted relics.
Elves are often scholars, healers, and spellcasters, valued for their grace and wisdom.
Succubi and Incubi, a mysterious demonkin race with dark skin and glowing veins, deal in alchemy, poisons, and assassination.
Orcs, brutal and proud, dominate the arenas as warriors and gladiators.
Beastfolk, tribal and agile, thrive as traders, scouts, and smugglers.
Ruling over this maelstrom of culture and ambition is Ragnar Claymore, a beastman of awe-inspiring strength and latent magical power. Once a legendary warrior and brilliant tactician, Ragnar has transformed Drachenfest into a bastion of hard-won order. His law is simple and absolute:
No conflict within the city walls.
Break this rule, and you'll face death—or exile.
Outside the walls? Do as you will. Assassins, spies, and outlaws may plot their shadows freely, but any blood spilled must fall beyond the city's borders. Within Drachenfest, peace is sacred—and ruthlessly enforced.
In Drachenfest, taxes are non-negotiable. The marketplace, the trade routes, the hiring of swords and spells—all fall under the careful eye of the Drachenfest Council.
The city guard is an elite force drawn from the strongest warriors of every race. In case of unrest or attack, they are authorized to neutralize threats without warning. No trials. No delays.
Drachenfest is a city that never sleeps.
By day, the streets are alive with clanging metal and the hiss of steam. Merchants hawk weapons, enchanted relics, potions, and rare materials. Blacksmiths labor in glowing forges, alchemists mutter to their brews in smoke-filled labs, and monster hunters arrive to trade trophies for gold or glory.
By evening, the taverns fill with adventurers, mercenaries, and wandering mages. Bards sing tales of blood and fire, beastfolk dance wildly to the rhythm of musical instruments, and the succubi demons gamble in the shadows with stakes high enough to cost a soul.
And when night falls, the streets whisper darker names. Smugglers trade in silence, information brokers sell secrets like spice, and shadow guilds leave their marks where no lantern dares burn.
Drachenfest plays by its own rules—and any who enter must play along or perish.
Landmarks:
The Magic Arena – Where warriors, mages, and monsters clash before roaring crowds.
The Mercenaries' Guild – The city's beating heart for contracts, both noble and bloody.
The Crystal Market – A chaos of colors and energy, where magic is bought, sold, or stolen.
The Underground – Beneath Drachenfest lie tunnels and dens where smugglers and secret orders rule unseen.
Ragnar Claymore's Fortress – The citadel of the city's ruler, a place only the chosen may enter.
Drachenfest is a city of endless chances and razor-edged risks. Here, anyone can carve their fate—if they learn how to survive within its walls.
Kano Rom and the elven mage Belatras followed a winding road leading to the city's towering gates. Massive wooden panels reinforced with steel glinted in the daylight, their surfaces etched with scenes of ancient battles—ghosts of a time when Drachenfest did not yet welcome all. Above the gates loomed a watchtower, where alert guards peered down with sharp eyes.
One such guard, a broad-shouldered man with a short beard and calm, calculating eyes, stepped forward, spear in hand.
"Name and purpose?" His voice was deep, with a rasp like gravel underfoot.
Belatras smiled, waving casually. "Easy there, friend. I'm a regular. This one's with me."
The guard squinted at Kano, sizing him up in a single glance.
"With you, huh? Alright. But hear me—trouble isn't tolerated here." He rapped his spear once against the ground, then stepped aside. "Welcome to Drachenfest."
Kano shot a sidelong glance at the mage. "You sure we didn't forget some sort of magical handshake to get through?"
Belatras chuckled. "If they ever kick me out, it'll be the biggest celebration this place has seen in years."
They crossed the threshold into the city.
Kano breathed in the scent of Drachenfest—forge smoke, roasting meat from street vendors, and the damp stone of cobbles still slick from last night's rain. The streets teemed with life: dwarves argued over prices, orcs hauled crates like they weighed nothing, and elves strode by with quiet intensity, avoiding the chaos with habitual grace.
Seeing that Belatras had a clear destination in mind, Kano asked, "Where are we headed?"
The elf didn't slow. "To the Crooked Shield. Got unfinished business there. You'll want to see it."
The Crooked Shield Tavern nestled in a quiet corner near the market. Its weathered sign bore a shield cracked down the middle, held together by mismatched patches as if stitched by a drunk. The windows were small and barred, the door groaned in protest as it opened, like an old man sick of visitors.
Inside, the tavern was dim, thick with the scent of old wood, spilled ale, and pipe smoke. Flickering candles cast feeble light across mostly empty tables. In the corner, a pair of drunkards nursed warm, stale mugs, their eyes sunken, their words reduced to grunts and mumbles.
Behind the bar stood the owner—a stocky man with a sly, predatory expression. Candlelight gleamed off his bald head, and his long nose and narrow eyes made him look like a fox constantly on the hunt for easy prey. His left leg was a wooden peg that tapped loudly with each movement. In his right hand, he spun a rag with theatrical flair, polishing an already-clean countertop that never quite seemed clean.
As the newcomers stepped inside, his eyes locked onto them.
"Well? Guests… or familiar debtor?" he rasped, grinning like even his teeth were mocking them. Belatras leaned against the bar with a smirk. "I сoming back for what's mine is the trend now."
The barkeep's grin widened. "Ah, Belatras… back again. What is it this time? More ale on credit?"
He leaned in, eyeing the elf from head to toe, his gaze drifting to the mage's weathered cloak, clearly on the lookout for anything worth pawning.
"No, no. I'm here for my staff. The one I left as a... let's call it a temporary deposit," Belatras said with a sly grin.
The tavernkeeper squinted, eyes gleaming with mock innocence.
"Staff, huh? You know how much booze that 'deposit' has covered since then? If anything, I'd say I'm still short!"
Kano, watching from the side, couldn't resist.
"Is there a fee for every breath taken in this place too? That would explain the look of sheer greed on your face."
The barkeep burst into laughter, though a spark of irritation flashed in his eyes.
"You've got a sharp tongue for a newcomer. Keep it up, and you'll be paying rent just for standing. You want the staff? Settle the debt."
After a brief exchange of banter and what passed for a negotiation—mostly Belatras being his charming, exasperating self—the staff was returned. Reluctantly. The innkeeper glared as if the loss pained him personally.
As they stepped out into the morning streets, Belatras muttered,
"Well... at least I left a mark, to find my staff. Even in a hole like that."
The city stirred with its usual chaotic rhythm as Kano and Belatras made their way through winding streets and bustling crowds. They finally stopped before a set of towering doors, carved with arcane symbols—symbols that bore a strange resemblance to the one etched onto Kano's hand.
The doors were colossal, tall enough that even a giant could walk through them unbowed. With a long, groaning creak, they opened to reveal the astonishing expanse within.
The first-floor hall was cathedral-like in size. Voices echoed through the vast chamber, bouncing off stone walls and impossibly high ceilings. The central space was alive with motion: elves in elegant robes, beastkin traders bargaining with gnomes, human mercenaries sharpening weapons, even a few orcs flexing muscles thick as tree trunks. The tension was palpable—clinks of armor, hushed negotiations, and the sharp hiss of blades being honed in a corner.
Above, the second and third floors formed a ring of balconies overlooking the main hall. Behind glass panels, meeting rooms glowed with magical lamps, where adventurers and merchants spoke in hushed, calculated tones. To one side, an arched gateway led to the coliseum. Even from here, the clash of steel and barked commands of trainers drifted in.
Kano clutched a red helmet in his hands— the paint gleaming like fresh blood. It felt heavier than it should have. Occasionally, the weight seemed to grow, as if the helmet resisted him... but he chalked it up to fatigue.
Belatras smiled.
"Good thing you came with me. You wouldn't have even gotten past the door on your own."
Kano just nodded, his grip tightening. This world was terrifying… and mesmerizing.
They approached the front counter, behind which sat an orcish woman—tall, powerful, and striking. Her figure was a sculpted mix of strength and dangerous curves, impossible to ignore. Her skin held a deep forest-green hue, and her long black hair was tied into a sleek ponytail. Gold earrings swayed gently as she moved. A tight black corset emphasized her narrow waist and generous hips, while a short leather skirt completed the look. She was both warrior and temptress, and her deep neckline drew attention without effort—but her sharp, intelligent gaze warned: she knew her worth.
Kano froze, heat rising in his cheeks. He tried to focus on anything else—anything—but failed miserably.
"A newcomer?" she asked, her voice low and husky, with a teasing lilt. She tilted her head, eyeing him slowly, gaze lingering on the helmet in his hands and the crimson flush on his face.
"Y-yeah," Kano managed to whisper, eyes darting to the floor. He'd never even spoken to a woman like her before. Every muscle in his body tensed as his thoughts spiraled: "Why is she looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong? Is this normal? Stop thinking! Stop!"
Belatras, enjoying every second, snapped his fingers playfully.
"This is my friend," he said smoothly. "Just arrived. Wants to join the ranks."
The orc woman smiled, revealing sharp but immaculate teeth. She leaned forward on the counter, drawing ever so slightly closer—Kano held his breath.
"'Join the ranks,' huh?" she mused, narrowing her eyes. "That means I'm supposed to trust you with my life on the battlefield?"
"I... I..." Kano coughed, desperately trying to find words while not staring at her cleavage.
Just say something intelligent, anything... please!
Belatras jumped in, saving him from further humiliation.
"Let's be honest. I wouldn't trust him with my laundry, let alone my life. But hey—none of us had many choices when we started out, did we?"
The orc grunted, a trace of amusement tugging at her lips. She slid a parchment across the counter, along with a quill of strange design.
"Fill this out. You want to be an adventurer, first you answer a few questions."
Kano took the quill, noticing his hand was slightly trembling. The parchment shimmered with golden script, the characters shifting and morphing every time he blinked. They looked oddly familiar—like the ones etched on the guild doors.
"What language is this?" he asked, eyes narrowed in concentration.
Belatras leaned in, studying the parchment before smiling.
"The magical language of contracts. It adapts to the one who holds it. Just touch it with the quill—then you'll understand."
Kano nodded, took a deep breath, and touched the parchment.
The glyphs swirled, then resolved themselves into words he could read—words that carried weight.
The guild was waiting.
He inhaled again—and began to read aloud:
"I, Kano Rom, swear to uphold the rules of the Guild, to protect the lives of my companions, and to fulfill the duties of an adventurer…"
He paused. A warmth spread from the quill up his arm, gentle and strange.
He swallowed. And signed.
Elgot clapped a hand on Kano's shoulder.
"But later you'll need to sign a new contract — this one's more like a trial. Congratulations, adventurer. As a rookie, you've got two options: prove yourself in the coliseum… or we go celebrate your registration at the bar. Personally, I vote for the second."
He was already half-turned to drag Kano away when the orc woman's voice cut through the air like a blade:
"And what about the talent assessment?"
Elgot froze. He gave her a sideways glance, then looked back at Kano. A silent monologue bloomed behind his eyes: "Talent? In this kid? He's hopeless! A lost cause! Then again… the universe does love a joke. Who knows, maybe he'll surprise us."
With a resigned sigh, he turned back toward the counter and returned with Kano in tow.
The orc set a curious object before them—a magical board, carved from polished wood in the shape of a rhombus. In its center, a crystal was embedded, glowing softly with dormant power. Scattered across its surface were shimmering letters that shifted and pulsed with color, reacting to whoever stood before it.
"This, kid," the orc explained with a smirk, "is a talent board. It measures how strong you really are. The triangle in the middle will gauge your mana. The glowing letters around it will rank you. See here: S, A, B, C, and so on. The top tier is SS. To reach that, you'd need more than a million mana. Honestly, I don't think anyone's ever even come close."
She winked at him, her voice dropping playfully.
"So… ready to find out what's inside you?"
Kano swallowed hard and looked at Elgot, who gave a subtle hand wave that clearly meant "get on with it."
With trembling fingers, Kano reached for the crystal, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Go on, little guy," the orc said, her voice half-mocking, half-encouraging. "Worst-case scenario, you score an F and end up washing dishes in a tavern."
Kano took another breath, clenched his jaw—and touched the crystal.
The light in the room wavered.
He placed both hands on the board, closed his eyes, and summoned every ounce of courage he had. His thoughts raced like a storm, but one rose above the chaos:
"Universe… if you're listening, please. I don't want to be weak. I want… I need to be strong."
And then—everything changed.
The floor beneath their feet shuddered, as if the earth itself responded. High above, chandeliers swayed, casting flickering red light across the massive hall. The magical board began to tremble. The triangle in its center lit up and began sliding rapidly across the glowing letters—too quickly to follow, never settling on one for more than a heartbeat.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Silence fell like a hammer.
Every eye in the guild hall turned to them.
Elves, humans, gnomes, beastfolk—everyone froze, watching the spectacle unfold.
Kano stood utterly still, hands pressed to the board. His face was calm… but his fingers were white-knuckled with tension.
The triangle kept moving. It passed C… then B… A… S…
And then hit SS—and shot beyond it, spinning so fast it vanished in a blur of light.
And then, suddenly, Kano collapsed.
He dropped like a puppet with cut strings, falling beside the counter. The crystal froze, glowing faintly. The display stabilized—and showed a final mana reading:
100.
Laughter erupted like thunder.
The orc woman blinked in shock, then quickly dropped to her knees beside him. She gently cradled his head in her lap and, with a smooth motion, pulled a tiny vial from the depths of her corset. She uncorked it and tipped the glowing potion into his mouth.
Moments later, Kano's eyes fluttered open—only to be met with the very prominent, very close view of her heaving chest.
His face turned crimson.
"Wha… where am I?" he mumbled, still dazed, barely able to focus through the haze of embarrassment.
The orc smiled softly, running her hand through his hair like a mother soothing a frightened child.
"You're fine, sweetheart. Just fainted. Rest a bit."
Around them, the laughter rolled on.
"Pathetic!" someone called out.
"Even slimes have more mana!" shouted another.
The mocking echoed off the stone walls, a chorus of jeers that made the air itself seem heavier.
But one person wasn't laughing.
Elgot stood apart, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His expression was calm—but his mind was anything but.
What the hell just happened?
The triangle never even comes close to the high ranks… and this time it went beyond SS. Then the final mana reading? A pitiful 100? That's not just strange—it's impossible.
He stared at Kano's limp form, brow furrowed.
He's a weakling. That much is obvious. But he found the helmet. And right under my nose, no less…
Maybe… just maybe… there's more to this boy than meets the eye. Unless, of course, he dies from sheer dumb luck first.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden stir of movement.
Footsteps echoed from the upper level, deliberate and firm. Moments later, a figure emerged at the balustrade of the third floor—drawing every gaze in the hall like a spell.
Lenor Vilerian had arrived.
Draped in a deep emerald cloak embroidered with gold, his presence radiated authority. Tall, elegant, and poised, Lenor rested his hands on the railing, scanning the scene below with calm, penetrating eyes. His long white hair was tied into a high tail, his expression unreadable yet unmistakably in control.
The Guildmaster.
An elf of exceptional refinement and sharper intellect, Lenor Vilerian was known throughout the continent. His eyes—green as forest—seemed to peer into the very soul of anyone who dared look too long. He was the closest ally of Ragnar Claymore, and it was their alliance that had turned Drachenfest's guild into a continental powerhouse.
Lenor's voice was cool, but the force behind it was undeniable.
"What happened here?"
Instant silence. Laughter died mid-breath. Even the drunkards straightened up. Everyone looked to the Guildmaster, waiting to see how he would judge the scene.
Lenor raised a hand and pointed first at Elgot, then at the orc woman and Kano.
"You three. My office. Now."
No room for debate.
Elgot sighed. The orc woman raised an eyebrow. Kano… stared at the floor, cheeks burning.
Together, they ascended in silence.
Lenor's office was vast, but somehow cosy. Sunlight poured through towering windows, revealing a panoramic view of Drachenfest. In the center stood a massive oak desk, strewn with maps, glowing crystals, and documents arranged in near-military order.
Lenor took his seat and motioned for the others to sit. He steepled his fingers and exhaled slowly.
"Let's begin."
He turned to Elgot.
"I could list your achievements, but let's instead talk about your debts. You owe every barkeep in the city. Your drinking has become legendary. And you waste more time than any man in this guild. Am I forgetting anything?"
Elgot opened his mouth, but Lenor cut him off with a single raised hand.
"Save it. I'm offering a deal. Help this boy reach at least mid-tier rank, and I'll clear all your debts personally. I'll even share a bottle of my private vintage. Tempted?"
A glimmer of mischief sparked in Elgot's eyes. He pictured that bottle of wine already half-emptied on his table.
"And if I start today… can I sample that wine in advance?" he asked with a crooked grin.
Lenor chuckled.
"Dream on. Work first. Then reward. That clear enough?"
Elgot sighed—but nodded.
Then Lenor turned to the orc woman.
"And you. I know you're already overworked. But your new top priority is Kano. You'll provide him with all the information and resources he needs from the guild. Until he rises in rank, he's your responsibility."
The orc scowled.
"Unfair! I'm drowning in tasks already, and now I have to babysit this disaster?"
Lenor raised a hand. She went silent.
"If you do this, I'll raise your salary. If you don't…"
He let the sentence trail off. No need to finish it. She knew.
Then he leaned in, smile faint but sharp.
"This boy is your problem now. I don't care how you fix it—just deliver results."
The orc muttered something under her breath, but nodded in reluctant agreement.
Kano, who had been silent through it all, suddenly stood. His eyes were wide, his shoulders tight with shame.
"To hell with all of you!" he shouted, then spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the heavy door behind him.
Lenor watched him go, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Interesting boy. What do you think, Elgot?"
The mage rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I think you enjoy watching us suffer."
The orc just laughed, arms crossed.
"Well. This'll be fun."
Kano stormed down the stairs, fists clenched, doing everything he could not to cry. The moment he reached the main hall, he turned toward the exit—but footsteps caught up behind him.
"Hey, kid," Elgot called out, voice softer now. "Calm down. We're really trying to help."
Kano stopped abruptly and spun around. His eyes burned with anger.
"Help? You're only doing this because he made you! You don't care. None of you care! I'll do it alone!"
Elgot opened his mouth—but before he could reply, the guild doors creaked open.
A towering figure stepped through the guild's heavy doors—and silence followed in his wake.
He was a half-beast, over two meters tall, with broad shoulders and muscles that rippled visibly beneath his light armor. Dark gray hair framed a weather-worn face, angular and unforgiving. His long, pointed ears twitched ever so slightly, and the sleek, black tail swayed behind him like a predator sizing up its next move. A black cloak flowed behind him, and the finely crafted leather pants and boots with steel accents marked him as a seasoned hunter—deadly, disciplined, and unbothered by the stares he drew.
Without so much as glancing at Kano, he walked past him with the easy stride of someone who had nothing to prove. He stopped at the guild counter.
"Appraiser," he said, voice deep and commanding. "I have a trophy to assess."
From a glowing magical seal, he summoned his catch.
And the entire hall gasped.
The creature that appeared was monstrous—a colossal half-boar, half-rhinoceros hybrid, its body sprawled across the stone floor like a fallen fortress. It was the size of a small house, its hide scarred with ancient wounds, its tusks broken from too many battles. Even lifeless, the beast radiated power.
Conversations ceased. Even the clinking of mugs went silent.
Kano couldn't move.
He stood frozen, eyes wide, staring at the impossible carcass. His thoughts flashed back—two days of clawing through dense forest, hungry and hunted. Creatures like that had been out there. Watching. Waiting. He'd been that close to something like this and hadn't even realized it.
His breathing quickened.
A soft presence moved beside him—the orc woman. She stepped quietly to his side and gently took his hand, pressing it against her chest. Her voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for him.
"You want to be like him?"
Kano blinked. Her touch grounded him, but only for a heartbeat.
Emotion surged. Shame. Fear. Helplessness. And something deeper—frustration, buried too long.
His knees buckled.
He dropped to the floor, his body trembling as his hands clenched into fists. Tears welled up in his eyes and fell freely.
"No way... please… don't tell me I could've run into something like that out there..." he choked, lifting his gaze to the orc woman and Elgot. His voice cracked—barely a whisper now. "I wouldn't have lasted a second…"
He wasn't seeking pity. Just truth. Just something—anything—that would make this feel less impossible.
The hall, meanwhile, had already moved on. But for Kano, the weight of the world had just come crashing down.