The raccoon monster lay still, the tall grass whispering around its body.
Liam stared at it for a moment longer, then at the trio of adventurers who now flanked him like accidental bodyguards. One of them, a tall man with a faint scar on his jaw, kept glancing at the fading rune circle etched into the earth.
"You sure you've never trained?" he asked again.
Liam dusted his sleeves like a noble brushing off politics. "Absolutely certain. If I had trained, I'd be registered, wearing armour, and charging a fee per rescue. Which I didn't. So I'm clearly underpaid."
The woman in the group let out a sharp laugh. "Alright, come on, kid. We'll walk you back to your village. You've had a rough morning."
Liam walked between them, glancing up. "You're adventurers, right?"
"Yep," said the youngest, a wiry guy with too many knives. "Silver rank, all three of us."
"Silver," Liam echoed. "Is that... valuable?"
The woman grinned. "In the adventurer world, it's second from the bottom."
Liam blinked. "So you're bragging about being slightly better than beginners?"
Scar-jaw chuckled. "You're sharp. I like that."
She continued, "There are six ranks. Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Adamantite, and... Mithril."
Liam repeated the names under his breath. "Sounds awfully... shiny."
"That's because adventurers are shiny," said Knife-boy, puffing his chest. "We're the only reason villages like yours still exist. Monsters outnumber people out here."
"But you're not, like, soldiers?"
"We're not tied to anyone," Scar-jaw said. "Most regions don't have kings or anything. Folks govern themselves. So we freelance. We take quests, clear out monster nests, escort caravans, that kind of thing. Paid by the job. It's the only real fixed profession in the world."
"That's very inefficient," Liam muttered. "No central regulation? No mandatory patrol schedules? No standard pricing?"
Knife-boy whispered to the woman, "What is this kid?"
"I thought adventurers were stronger," Liam said, eyes scanning their worn boots and dusty gear "and rich".
The youngest snorted. "We are. But not all at once. Every adventurer starts as Bronze rank. That's the entry point."
"And each rank up—" the eldest interrupted, "—doesn't make you stronger. Not magically, anyway. Your potential stays the same. The ranks are earned through merit—missions completed, monsters handled, work well done. Rank just lets you take on better jobs... and get paid more."
Liam furrowed his brow. "So people hit a wall eventually?"
"Exactly," the second one said. "You can't train your way into a Silver rank if your magic just isn't strong enough. That ceiling is set at birth. Some make it to Platinum. A rare few hit Adamantite."
"And Mithril?" Liam asked.
The three shared a glance.
"There are only two Mithril adventurers alive today," said the eldest. "And no one's sure if they're human or something else."
Liam tilted his head. "Then the system is flawed."
"Flawed?" the youngest echoed, incredulous.
"If merit is rewarded but potential is capped, then it's a hierarchy built on incomplete fairness," Liam said, matter-of-factly.
There was a pause.
"…He's five, right?" the youngest whispered to the others.
The oldest just muttered, "I don't get paid enough to argue philosophy with toddlers."
They all started walking again.
Liam followed behind them, mumbling to himself, "And that's exactly how weak systems stay unchallenged."
The youngest flinched. "Okay, nope. I'm not talking to it anymore."
......
The village gate creaked open.
It wasn't much of a gate—just some old logs roped together with thick vines—but it stood as the border between the quiet village and the wild world beyond it. Past that gate were monsters, endless forests, and the kind of stories adults told in hushed voices.
Liam stepped through first, followed by three strangers in leather armor. They wore long cloaks, carried weapons, and walked like people used to danger.
Adventurers.
The villagers didn't get many visitors, let alone ones who looked this serious.
Liam glanced back at them, curious. "You're really going in?"
One of them, a tall man with a bow across his back, gave a nod. "That's right. We'll find the village chief ourselves. You've helped enough."
Another, a woman with sharp eyes and long dark hair tied back in a braid, added, "You should head home, kid. We've got this."
Liam frowned slightly. He wasn't finished asking questions. But he gave a small shrug.
"Try not to cause trouble," he said as he turned to leave. "This village doesn't have real laws, but you'll find the gossip hits harder than any jail sentence."
That got a few quiet chuckles from the group. Then Liam walked off, his small feet kicking up dust, heading toward the familiar sound of clanging metal at the blacksmith's shop.
The moment he disappeared around a corner, the laughter faded. The mood shifted.
The adventurers looked around. The village was plain but busy. Children ran barefoot between houses, women carried baskets filled with herbs or laundry, and men repaired tools or sat outside carving wood. Everyone had something to do. But now, many of them had stopped to stare.
And none of the stares were friendly.
"Alright," said Ryden, the oldest of the three, rubbing the back of his neck. "Time to find someone in charge."
"Think we should've kept the kid around?" Merys asked.
"No," Harlan said firmly. "This is our job."
They walked through the village, asking people if they knew who the chief was. At first, they tried to sound polite, even friendly. But it didn't help.
Some villagers just kept walking, ignoring them completely. Others paused only to give half-answers or shake their heads before muttering something under their breath. A few made their feelings clear.
One man looked them up and down, then spat near their boots. "We don't need sword-swingers here," he grumbled. "All you people do is take food and coin and leave us worse than before."
A woman clutching a basket of herbs said, "We've lived here without outsiders for years. We don't need your kind pretending to protect us."
Even the children had gone quiet.
The adventurers traded glances. None of them said it out loud, but it was clear: the villagers didn't trust them. Not even a little.
As they walked a little farther from the main road, Merys let out a sharp breath through her nose and muttered, "This is ridiculous."
Ryden glanced at her. "Something on your mind?"
She stopped walking, arms crossed. "We save their kid. We walk through their front gate peacefully. And they treat us like we're here to steal their goats."
Harlan, quiet until now, gave a dry smile. "Can't blame them too much. They probably have had their goats stolen by our kind."
Merys scowled. "I'm not our kind. I didn't claw my way through monster nests just to get lumped in with slavers and looters."
Ryden didn't speak right away. He let her vent, waiting for her to calm down a little before answering.
"We've seen it before," he said finally. "Small villages like this get hit the hardest. Not by monsters. By adventurers who show up, wave a few weapons around, and start calling themselves heroes."
"Then they ask for coin, women, shelter," Harlan added. "Some don't even bother asking."
Ryden nodded slowly. "So when people like us walk in? The villagers don't see help. They see the start of more trouble."
Merys looked away, lips pressed tight. "Still doesn't make it fair."
"No," Ryden agreed. "But fair doesn't matter when you're scared and tired and trying to protect your own. Prejudice comes easy when no one's ever proved it wrong."
They stood there for a quiet moment, listening to the wind whistle through crooked fences and old rooftops.
Then Ryden clapped his hands together once.
"Alright. Let's cover more ground. Harlan, you're with Merys. Start from the north edge and circle in. I'll check the south side."
"You sure?" Harlan asked. "We've been walking all day."
Ryden grinned. "I've got long legs. Besides, you two are prettier. Might get better answers."
Merys rolled her eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Fine," she said. "But if someone throws a potato at me, I'm quitting the guild."
"Make sure you catch it," Ryden called as they turned away. "Dinner's not going to cook itself."
By late afternoon, they met again at the village well.
Ryden was already there, leaning against the stones, chewing on a blade of grass like nothing had happened.
"Any luck?" Merys asked, brushing her hands on her pants.
Ryden nodded. "I found out who the chief is, finally someone who finally gave a straight answer. Chief's name is Eldric."
Harlan raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Ryden pointed toward the far edge of the village, where an old wooden house sat by itself. Its roof was patchy, leaning slightly to the side. A narrow chimney let out thin smoke.
"He lives up there. Place looks like it's one strong wind away from falling over."
Merys stared. "That's the chief?"
"He's not chief by power," Ryden explained. "People go to him when they don't know what else to do. I heard he tries to be fair, at least."
Harlan crossed his arms. "Doesn't sound like someone who's going to like what we have to say."
"We'll try in the morning," Ryden said. "He's old. No point knocking on his door at night."
Not far from where they stood, Liam was back at the blacksmith's forge. He sat on a wooden stool, legs swinging back and forth as the blacksmith hammered at a glowing iron horseshoe.
The clang of metal echoed through the air. Sparks flew in little bursts.
After a while, the blacksmith paused and looked down at the boy.
"You've got your grandfather's eyes," he said, not unkindly.
Liam raised an eyebrow. "That's not a compliment, is it?"
The blacksmith gave a crooked grin. "Not really. Just means you're about to tell me how I'm holding the hammer wrong."
Liam smiled but didn't deny it.
They sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the steady hammering on hot iron. Then, just for a moment, the blacksmith's gaze drifted toward the quiet house at the edge of the village—the one Ryden had pointed out.
He didn't say anything else. But something passed through his expression. Not worry, exactly. Something older than that.
A knowing.
A warning.
And maybe… a little bit of fear.