8 - Adventurers Guild

Luna woke to softness.

Her body sank into the mattress, limbs cocooned by warm blankets.

For the first time since she had been dropped into this world, she hadn’t slept against cold stone, rough bark, or hard-packed dirt.

Instead, she was wrapped in the kind of comfort that reminded her of lazy weekends back in her old life—days where victory had been easy, sweets were stacked at her desk, and sleep had been a reward rather than a necessity.

Her eyes fluttered open, sunlight spilling in through a narrow window. She stretched like a cat, arms above her head, toes curling.

A pleased sigh escaped her lips. “Beds,” she murmured. “Beds are the greatest invention of all time.”

The room wasn’t grand. Plain walls, a wardrobe with one squeaky hinge, a single wooden chair beside a table. For its price, it was modest—almost shabby. But to Luna, it might as well have been a royal suite.

She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow for another moment, savoring the lingering warmth. It almost tempted her into staying put forever. But eventually, the world called.

With a reluctant groan, she pushed herself upright.

There was no bathroom in the room. No steaming tub. No bucket waiting for her convenience. Luna frowned, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ve got magic. Who needs plumbing anyway?”

She flicked her wrist, and water formed in the air, spiraling into a shimmering globe. She shaped it, flattened it, let it hover above her palms before letting it cascade gently over her.

The first splash hit her skin.

Cold.

Her body jolted, breath catching as goosebumps raced across her arms. “Haaah! Cold, cold, cold!” she squeaked, hopping in place.

The memory struck her—her very first attempt at washing up in this world, when she had conjured water without heating it. The shock had been the same then, freezing her spine with every drop.

This time, she remembered. With a pout, she conjured a second globe and whispered a thread of heat into it. The water warmed quickly, steam curling upward.

She stepped into the mist with a smug grin. “Much better.”

It wasn’t luxurious, but it was efficient. With a mix of water and air, she scrubbed herself down, drying off with a swirl of wind that left her hair rustling like silk ribbons.

When she was done, she twirled once in front of the wardrobe’s tarnished mirror. “Cute and deadly,” she declared to her reflection, smirking.

Her next task was the sack.

She dragged it onto the bed, the fabric straining against the weight of its contents.

Sitting cross-legged, Luna began emptying it in neat piles, glittering jewels, jagged mana stones, rune stones etched with faint glowing lines.

The jewels sparkled prettily in the morning light, their colors scattering faint rainbows across the wall.

Luna pursed her lips. “Pretty, but useless.” She had never been fond of accessories.

Trinkets didn’t interest her unless they came with practical benefits. Sweets were better. Jewels would be sold.

The mana stones drew her real attention. Each pulsed faintly, their glow steady and alive.

She knew what they were, at least from her experience with the game—monster cores, crystallized remnants of magical life force. In this world, they weren’t just trophies, they were fuel. Energy sources. Power.

She tapped one against her knuckle, listening to its faint hum.

“So these drop from monsters… and apparently they can be mined too.” Those mined versions, she remembered, had a different name, mana ore.

Rune stones, on the other hand, fascinated her most. She lifted one, tracing the carved sigils with her thumb.

Engraved runes meant stored magic—spells waiting to be released when fueled by mana. The possibilities made her grin.

“All right. Stones and runes get to stay. Jewels? Bye-bye.”

She packed everything neatly, tucking the important items into the inner pockets of her robe.

Dragging the sack over her shoulder again, Luna headed downstairs. The clerk was at the counter, scribbling into a ledger.

When her eyes lifted to Luna, there was that same curious flicker—the kind adults seemed to have when they saw her alone.

Luna noticed it instantly, but she didn’t bother to comment. She simply set the key on the counter and offered a grin. “Thanks for the comfy bed.”

The clerk blinked, then smiled faintly. “Of course. Travel safe, little miss.”

Luna smirked, adjusted her sack, and stepped back into the streets.

The city was alive.

Morning brought a rush of people, streets bustling with merchants setting up their stalls. The air carried the smells of frying dough, fresh bread, herbs, and—best of all—sweets.

Luna wandered, letting herself be swept along by the rhythm of the city.

She found clothing shops displaying dresses of fine silk, cloaks lined with fur, boots polished to a shine.

She paused at one window, imagining herself draped in a grand, flowing robe—then snorted. “Too flashy. I’d spill syrup on it anyway.”

Sweet shops dotted the streets, each one threatening to drain her coin pouch. She gave in, of course, buying wrapped candies and sugar-dusted pastries. Every bite was followed by a muffled hum of delight.

At the marketplace, vendors called out prices for vegetables, meats, tools, charms. Luna wandered between them, eyes darting, curious. She didn’t buy much—except, of course, more sweets.

By the time she reached a park at the edge of the district, her cheeks were puffed with candy.

The park was quiet, dotted with benches and flowering trees. Children played near a fountain, their laughter bubbling like the water itself.

Luna plopped onto a bench, legs swinging, a lollipop in her mouth. She let herself relax, watching the bustle of the city from afar.

This is nice.

Her mind wandered. She had wealth now, more than enough to buy sweets for weeks. She had a bed when she wanted it.

But she knew herself well enough—wandering aimlessly would bore her. She craved action, adventure, challenge.

Her thoughts turned to guilds. She had passed a merchant guild earlier, and another building that looked more like a trade association. Both were interesting, but not what she needed.

No, what she wanted was an adventurers guild. A place to test herself. A place to earn travel, recognition, maybe even new spells. Most importantly—it could grant her an official license. Identification.

She twirled the candy stick between her fingers. “Yeah. An adventurers guild. That’s next.”

Decision made, she hopped off the bench, sack swinging against her side, and set off to search.

It didn’t take long to find. The building stood tall, dominating its street, its size rivaling even noble estates. Its walls were carved stone, its gates high-arched, banners fluttering proudly in the breeze.

Luna stopped dead in her tracks.

“…That’s the adventurers guild?”

She stared up at the structure, dumbfounded. In the games she’d played, adventurers guilds were cozy at best—wooden lodges with beer-stained counters and rowdy fighters slouched in chairs. This? This looked like a castle.

Her lips parted into a half-grin, half-disbelieving gape. “Are you kidding me? This looks more like a royal palace than a guild.”

Suspicion prickled at her. Maybe she’d misread the sign. Maybe this was the merchants guild instead. But no—the crest etched above the doors clearly marked it as the Adventurers Guild.

Still shaking her head, she strode forward, caramel stick still dangling from her mouth.

If the outside was impressive, the inside was worse.

Luna stepped into a world of luxury. The floors were marble, polished to a mirror sheen.

Chandeliers sparkled above, crystals refracting the light into rainbows. Plush chairs lined the lobby, where adventurers—if they could even be called that—sat dressed not in ragged armor but tailored uniforms, crisp coats, gleaming boots.

It didn’t look like an adventurers lounge. It looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel.

Luna froze mid-step, eyes wide. “…What the hell?”

Everywhere she looked, she saw order, refinement, professionalism. There were no drunken brawls. No smell of stale beer. No broken tables. Instead, there was quiet conversation, the turning of pages, the clink of tea cups.

Her expectations crumbled.

“This… this is not what a guild is supposed to look like.”

She became aware of eyes turning toward her. Heads lifted, conversations quieted.

But the weight of their gaze wasn’t oppressive. It wasn’t hostile. It was curious.

She was small, young-looking, dressed in a robe too big for her frame. She carried a sack nearly half her size. To them, she must have looked strange—an oddity strolling into their pristine hall like a lost kitten.

Luna smirked, letting the attention roll off her like water. If anything, she enjoyed it. Swagger came naturally, even when unintentional.

She walked to the counter with a bounce in her step, candy stick still dangling from her lips.

The receptionist stood behind a polished oak desk, her uniform immaculate, her smile practiced and welcoming.

Luna propped her elbow on the counter, peering up. “This is the adventurers guild?”

The woman blinked, then chuckled softly, her voice smooth and kind. “Yes, it is. Welcome.”

Luna frowned, glancing around again. “It’s… better than I expected.”

The receptionist’s smile softened. “That is thanks to the King’s reforms. He believed adventurers deserved proper standing, not taverns and shacks. And so—this.” She gestured gracefully at the grand hall.

Luna whistled low. A guild elevated by royal favor. That explained the wealth. It also explained the professional vibe.

Her eyes glinted with interest. “Huh. Not bad.”

And with that, her curiosity deepened. This wasn’t just a place to get a license. It was a whole new stage to play on.

The receptionist tilted her head, her smile professional but curious. “And how may I help you today, young miss?”

Luna leaned casually against the counter, balancing on her toes to meet the woman’s eyes. She grinned, smug as ever. “I want to register.”

The receptionist blinked once. “Register?”

“As an adventurer,” Luna clarified, tilting her chin upward proudly. “Give me the card, the license, the whole thing. I’m here to join the guild.”

The woman’s smile faltered just slightly. Her eyes flicked over Luna’s frame—small, delicate, barely taller than the counter itself.

To her, it was like a child demanding to enlist in the army. She smoothed her expression quickly, but Luna caught it anyway.

“What?” Luna asked, frowning. “Why do you look like that?”

“Forgive me,” the receptionist said quickly. “It’s just… aren’t you perhaps a bit young for registration?”

Luna smirked. “Looks can be deceiving.”

The receptionist gave a polite laugh. “Of course. Still, may I ask what level you were assigned at your academy?”

Luna blinked. “My… what?”

“Your academy,” the woman repeated, tone patient, as though speaking to someone slow. “Where you trained. The level assigned to you upon graduation?”

Luna stared. “Graduation? Academy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The receptionist faltered. For a moment, her composure cracked. “You don’t…?”

“I didn’t come from any academy,” Luna said flatly.

The woman’s brows lifted. “No academy?”

“None.” Luna crossed her arms, her smirk deepening. “I don’t need one.”

The receptionist hesitated, studying her more carefully now. The fine stitching on her robe, the way she carried herself with a strange blend of innocence and confidence—it painted a picture.

A noble child. Homeschooled, tutored privately, never sent to the state academy.

That explained everything. Her young age, her confidence, her ignorance of the common system.

Likely, her family wanted her to gain merits early, to build reputation as an adventurer before she even came of age.

The receptionist’s smile returned, softer now, almost indulgent. “I see. That makes sense.”

Luna tilted her head. “What does?”

“Nothing,” the woman said smoothly. “If you wish to register, we can of course make arrangements. May I ask your level, then?”

Luna puffed her chest out, her grin turning mischievous. She had been waiting for this moment.

“Level eight,” she announced, loud and clear. “A high level eight.”

Her voice carried across the hall. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then came the murmurs.

“Did she say… eight?”

“No way. She looks twelve.”

“Level eight? That’s—impossible. Isn’t it?”

Luna reveled in it. The attention, the disbelief—it all made her grin stretch wider. She wasn’t even trying to show off, not really. But her natural swagger made it look effortless.

She leaned an elbow on the counter again, twirling a strand of her hair smugly. “Surprised? I get that a lot.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. It was heavy, oppressive, the kind of silence where every single person was making sure they had heard correctly.

Then came the murmurs.

“Eight?”

“Impossible.”

“She’s lying.”

Dozens of voices overlapped, some scoffing, some whispering, others clearly showing disbelief. Luna basked in it, her grin stretching smugly as she leaned an elbow against the polished wood of the counter.

She drummed her fingers idly, the picture of nonchalance, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bomb that shattered every expectation in the room.

The receptionist, usually calm and practiced, forgot herself. Her jaw slackened slightly. “Y–You said… Level eight?”

“High Level Eight,” Luna corrected smugly, raising her chin. “Make sure you write that down.”

The woman’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her fingers twitching slightly over the quill in her hand.

Around them, the whispers grew fevered.

“Does she even know what that means?”

“There are fewer than ten Level Nines alive right now.”

“She’s barely taller than the desk.”

“Level Eights are commanders of armies, archmages, dragon slayers.”

Luna’s ears caught every word, and her smirk deepened. She wasn’t exaggerating, after all. She wasn’t bluffing. She was Level 8. And their disbelief only sweetened her pride.

The receptionist finally found her voice, though it wavered. “Forgive me, young miss, but… are you aware what it means to claim such a level?”

“Of course I am.” Luna waved her hand lazily, brushing away the question. “It means I’m amazing.”

The woman leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice though the entire hall still strained to hear.

“Level ten is but a myth. Stories. Legends told to children. No one has ever reached it—not in recorded history. And Level nine… there are fewer than ten in the entire world.”

Luna’s smirk softened into a mischievous smile. “And I’m one step behind them. Amazing, isn’t it?”

The receptionist’s breath hitched. The hand holding her quill trembled faintly, and she quickly set it down, folding her fingers together instead.

“You understand why this claim… cannot simply be accepted.”

“Obviously,” Luna said, smugged. “What, you think I’m some kid bragging? Please.” She gave a little laugh, almost musical. “I don’t need to bluff.”

The murmurs swelled again.

“She has to prove it.”

“Yeah, otherwise she’s just a brat with an ego.”

“If she really is Level Eight, then even a flick of her finger could…”

The receptionist nodded slowly, trying to hold onto professionalism.

“Miss… Luna, was it? If you truly are what you say, then all that is required is proof. A demonstration of your capability. It is… unavoidable.”

Luna tilted her head, pretending to think about it. The pause only fueled the tension.

Adventurers leaned forward in their chairs. Scholars in fine robes peered over papers. Even the armored veterans by the far wall straightened, their eyes narrowing.

Finally, Luna’s grin returned, wider than ever. “Fine.”

She stepped back from the counter, her boots clicking softly on the marble floor. The crowd instinctively shifted, parting to give her space. Eyes followed her every move.

Luna stretched her fingers out casually, as if she were about to perform a parlor trick. She spotted a decorative vase near the wall—porcelain, painted with blue patterns, probably worth more than she cared to guess. Perfect.

She flicked her wrist.

The temperature in the room plummeted. Frost bloomed instantly across the vase, spreading in jagged veins until the entire thing was coated in crystalline ice.

The air itself seemed to glitter with motes of frozen mist, shimmering in the light of chandeliers.

Gasps rose throughout the hall.

“No chant…”

“No incantation…”

“That wasn’t normal freezing magic—”

“She barely moved…”

The vase remained intact, unbroken, but the frost coating it was so dense that tiny shards crackled off the surface. Luna lowered her hand casually, blowing a strand of hair from her face.

She smirked. “Satisfied?”

The silence that followed was deafening, heavier than before. Dozens of people stared at her, caught between disbelief and awe.

The receptionist herself had gone pale, her eyes wide, her lips trembling as she struggled to find words.

Luna crossed her arms smugly, humming under her breath as though she hadn’t just rewritten the expectations of everyone in the room.

“High. Level. Eight,” she repeated slowly, savoring the weight of each word.

The whispers surged again, louder this time, like a tide crashing against the walls.

“She didn’t even chant—”

“That level of control—”

“Her mana presence—it felt suffocating for a second.”

“She’s dangerous.”

“She’s… incredible.”

Some looked at her with admiration, others with wariness, still others with outright fear. But all of them watched her now, unable to look away.

The receptionist forced herself to breathe, to straighten her back, to regain some semblance of professionalism.

“In… in that case, young miss… we shall, of course, proceed with your registration. And on behalf of the guild—welcome.”

Her voice wavered slightly, but she held the smile, though it was strained at the edges.

Luna leaned one elbow on the counter again, her grin smug as ever. She tilted her head and winked. “Knew you’d come around.”

The hall erupted once more in whispers, and Luna basked in it—utterly at ease under their scrutiny, every bit the impossible prodigy she claimed to be.

Well, no one actually believed her claim to be a level 8, they just thought of her as a smug one of a kind genius.