The Adventurer’s Guild Hall was a cacophony of chaos and bravado, a cavernous space of weathered wooden beams and flickering lanterns that cast dancing shadows over a sea of armored bodies. The air was thick with the scent of ale, sweat, and old parchment, a heady brew that made Liza’s nose wrinkle as she stepped through the heavy oak doors. Her boots scuffed nervously against the stone floor, her fingers clutching the crumpled application form as though it were a shield against the intimidating world she’d just stumbled into. At Level 1, she was a speck of dust in a storm of seasoned warriors, her plain leather tunic and unscarred dagger marking her as fresh meat.
She swallowed hard, her hazel eyes darting around the hall. Mercenaries barked laughter over mugs of froth, their weapons gleaming with the wear of countless battles. A hulking barbarian slammed a fist on a table, sending tankards rattling, while a sly rogue twirled a dagger with practiced ease. And there, at the center of it all, behind a counter laden with scrolls and inkpots, stood Milaniel—the guild’s administrator and, as rumor had it, a woman who could cut you down with a word sharper than any blade.
Milaniel was a vision of authority, her crimson hair cascading over one shoulder in a cascade of fiery waves, her emerald eyes glinting with a mischief that bordered on malice. Her tight black corset and leather skirt hugged her curves with an unapologetic boldness, and the way she leaned on the counter—chin propped on one hand, lips curled in a saccharine smile—made it clear she owned this place, body and soul. As Liza approached, trembling like a leaf in a gale, Milaniel’s gaze locked onto her with the precision of a predator spotting prey.
“Well, well, well,” Milaniel purred, her voice a velvet drawl laced with amusement. “What do we have here? A little lamb wandering into the wolf den? Come closer, darling. Let me get a good look at you.”
Liza’s cheeks flushed a furious red as she shuffled forward, her form crumpling even further under the weight of that stare. “I-I’m Liza,” she stammered, thrusting the application forward like an offering. “I’m here to register as an adventurer. I’ve filled out everything, I think. I hope. I mean, I tried—”
“Oh, hush now,” Milaniel interrupted, snatching the paper with a flick of her manicured nails. She held it up to the light, squinting dramatically as though deciphering ancient runes. “Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve made of this. Name: Liza. Age: Barely old enough to hold a sword, by the looks of it. Skills… oh, bless your heart, you’ve written ‘good at running.’ Sweetie, that’s not a skill, that’s survival instinct.”
Liza’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, her hands twisting nervously at her sides. “I-I thought it might be useful! You know, for… escaping danger?”
Milaniel let out a bark of laughter, loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby adventurers. “Escaping danger? Darling, you’re in the wrong line of work if you think running’s gonna save your pretty little hide. You’ve got to face the beast head-on—or at least stab it in the back when it’s not looking.” She winked, her grin widening as she scanned the rest of the form. “No prior experience, no notable kills, no… oh, wait a minute.” Her tone dipped into mock horror. “No photograph? How am I supposed to process this without a proper visual record? Guild rules, you know.”
“I-I didn’t know I needed one!” Liza squeaked, her voice climbing an octave. “I can go get one, or draw something, or—”
“No need for that,” Milaniel cut in, her smile turning positively wicked. Before Liza could react, the administrator reached across the counter with the speed of a striking viper, her fingers hooking into the neckline of Liza’s tunic. With a swift yank, she tugged the fabric down, exposing Liza’s chest to the cool air of the hall. A flash of light erupted as Milaniel activated a small magical crystal, capturing the scandalous image with a snap.
Liza yelped, her arms flailing to cover herself as she stumbled back, her face burning hotter than a forge. “What—what are you doing?!” she shrieked, yanking her tunic back into place with trembling hands.
Milaniel cackled, waving the crystal with a flourish before slotting it into a slot on her desk. A moment later, a small card materialized, complete with Liza’s mortifying photograph plastered across it. “Standard procedure, love,” she said, her tone dripping with false innocence. “We need a clear identifier for the records. And trust me, no one’s forgetting those anytime soon.” She slid the F-rank adventurer card across the counter, her smirk never wavering. “Welcome to the guild, newbie.”
Liza stared at the card in horror, her hands shaking as she snatched it up and tried to hide the image against her chest. “This is—this is indecent! You can’t just—there has to be some kind of rule against this!”
“Rule?” Milaniel echoed, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Sweetheart, I *am* the rules around here. If you’re gonna survive in this cutthroat world, you’d better toughen up. A little skin ain’t gonna kill you—though a goblin might if you keep blushing like that. They’ll think you’re a ripe tomato, ready for the picking.”
Liza’s protests died in her throat, reduced to incoherent sputters as Milaniel leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell you what, lamb. Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll point you toward the quest board over there.” She gestured lazily to the massive bulletin board plastered with parchment notices. “Pick something easy to start—wouldn’t want you breaking on your first day. And if you’re feeling extra helpless, I’ve got a special newbie training package. Only fifty gold pieces. A steal, really, for a greenhorn like you.”
“Fifty gold?!” Liza gasped, her eyes widening to saucers. “I don’t even have five! That’s robbery!”
Milaniel shrugged, her grin unrepentant. “Call it an investment in your future. Or don’t. I’m not your mother. Now shoo—go make yourself useful before I decide to charge you for breathing guild air.”
Mortified beyond words, Liza clutched her card tighter and shuffled toward the quest board, her ears burning as she caught the snickers of a few nearby adventurers who’d glimpsed her humiliating photo. She could feel their eyes on her, their whispered jabs cutting through the din of the hall. “Look at the newbie’s card—already showing off her assets!” one chuckled. “Bet she won’t last a week,” another muttered.
Her jaw tightened, embarrassment warring with a flicker of defiance as she reached the board. The notices loomed before her, each one a daunting challenge for someone of her meager skill. Rabbit meat for a tavern cook—simple enough, if she could catch the critters. Mapping an F-rank dungeon—risky, but doable with caution. Gathering healing herbs—boring, but safe. Her fingers traced the edges of the parchment, her mind racing as she tried to ignore the laughter behind her.
She wasn’t just some blushing fool to be mocked. She’d come here to prove herself, to carve her name into the annals of adventure, no matter how bare her start. And if that meant starting with rabbits or herbs, so be it. She’d show Milaniel—and everyone else—that she wasn’t just a lamb for the slaughter.
With a shaky breath, Liza squared her shoulders, her determination hardening like steel. This was only the beginning. And she’d be damned if she let a little humiliation stop her from rising.
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