Later, Emilia brought new clothes—a simple outfit suited for a novice adventurer, free of heavy armor or excessive embellishments. She looked at him and said:
"The clothes you're wearing are fine, but clothing often reflects much about the person wearing it—not just their actions. These adventurer's garments will give a good impression of you as someone eager to enter the field."
Ace understood what she meant. People often fail to recognize someone's true worth, so creating a first impression through outward appearance is something one can use to shape initial perceptions. Such considerations are always important when applying for a position anywhere. Though there is a fundamental difference between applying for a job and registering as a beginner adventurer, there's no harm in presenting oneself appropriately. Ace thanked Emilia for providing him with a different set of clothes and changed into the new outfit. Emilia then appeared visibly proud of her tailoring skills, her expression reflecting satisfaction.
After that, the two left the house. Ace took nothing with him except the dagger hanging from his belt. After she locked the door, he asked her if accompanying him would interfere with her work. She reassured him there was no need to worry, as she always chose the day after her shopping trip to be her day off.
And so, the two of them set off toward the Adventurers' Guild. Emilia led the way. At that moment, Ace noticed something different about her steps. She seemed somewhat hesitant—an uncertainty that hadn't been present the previous day, when she had walked the path with obvious energy. He realized it wasn't just fatigue or distraction. The place they were headed likely held old memories, ones she perhaps didn't wish to recall—or maybe she feared confronting them. He remained silent, despite wanting to ask if she was alright, or even offer to go alone.
Still, he respected her decision, knowing she was no longer a small child in need of protection or special emotional consideration, but rather a young woman with a mature resolve. After a brief walk, they arrived at a large building with three floors, vastly different in appearance from the surrounding structures. Its design was a blend of simplicity and grandeur—its walls made of solid stone, reinforced with sturdy timber. The building looked like a piece of adventuring history, a silent witness to countless tales.
In front of the door, Emilia closed her eyes and placed her hands over her chest. She inhaled as deeply as she could, as if summoning courage from within. When she opened her eyes, she exhaled slowly, and her gaze shone with renewed determination. She looked at Ace and gave a slight nod, signaling him to walk with her. He didn't need much convincing, especially as he saw that spark in her eyes—one that only deepened his admiration for her.
Upon entering, they were greeted by a vast hall filled with noise and chatter. The wooden walls reflected the lights, and the floorboards bore the marks of many footsteps. On the left side, a large bar stretched out, resembling a small tavern, its tables scattered with wooden plates and cups filled with various drinks.
Adventurers crowded around the tables, engaged in loud conversations, roaring with laughter, and passionately recounting their stories—each one trying to be the hero of a tale not easily forgotten. In one corner, an old man with a white beard sat talking to a group of young men and women, who listened with fascination—some smiling in disbelief, others laughing as if half of what he said was impossible.
On the other side, a small child was enthusiastically speaking to a large bearded man, waving his little hands in animated gestures while the man watched with amused interest, nodding thoughtfully.
At the center of the hall stood a long desk made of dark wood, its surface polished to a shine that reflected the light from the ceiling and wall lamps. Behind it, a group of women in uniform sat, their hands swiftly moving between papers and typewriters, the rhythmic tapping blending with the scent of ink and paper—a fragrance that told stories of contracts between the guild and its adventurers. Their strict, professional demeanor starkly contrasted with the chaos of the adventurers around them.
To the right, a massive board covered nearly the entire wall, filled with hundreds of paper notices. The papers were a curious mix—some new with vibrant colors, others aged and weathered. In front of the board, a group of adventurers gathered, some cautiously examining the notices, others whispering among themselves. A few reached out to pull a request from the board before heading to the staff desk to complete the necessary paperwork. At that moment, Ace's curious gaze lingered on the board, prompting Emilia to softly explain:
"That's the quest board. Adventurers choose missions based on their skills and rank, then take the request to the staff for processing."
After saying that, the two walked toward the long desk. Suddenly, a loud voice rang out, calling Emilia's name with surprise and clarity, as if it had been waiting for her return for a very long time. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The hall fell into sudden silence—conversations, shouts, and laughter all ceased. Even the hands reaching for papers stopped midair. Everyone paused their food and drink. It was as though a shockwave of silence had erupted throughout the room.
Many adventurers stood up abruptly, eyes wide and mouths agape, balanced between smiles and disbelief. In a blink, dozens of adventurers surrounded the pair, their voices overlapping with enthusiastic greetings. Emilia's presence wasn't just another guest—it was the return of someone deeply missed; someone whose presence evoked the memory of lost souls.
"Emilia!" one of them called out excitedly, while another laughed and said, "We haven't seen you here in years!"
They remembered her well—the little girl who used to visit the guild occasionally, walking with tiny steps beside her parents, her eyes filled with both innocence and determination. She faced seasoned adventurers without fear and spoke with a confidence uncharacteristic of her age.
To them, she wasn't just a child—she was a living reminder of her parents, who were both respected and loved among the guild members. They had never expected her to return, now fully grown, with the same bold spirit in her eyes. Amid all the excitement, Emilia maintained her composure, trying to contain the flood of attention.
Suddenly, as if winds had shifted the room's mood, their joyful expressions turned cautious—some even suspicious—when they noticed the young man standing beside their beloved Emilia. His presence seemed to upset the balance of the moment. Silence returned as they stared at him with wary eyes, until a gruff voice broke through from a broad-shouldered man with furrowed brows:
"Who are you, boy?"
Emilia felt a flicker of concern, but she masked it behind a confident smile and quickly answered:
"He's a traveler. He wants to register as a new adventurer."
A short pause followed, during which the adventurer's exchanged looks. Then, laughter erupted—some quiet, others loud—but all carried the same tone: pure mockery. Emilia's cheeks flushed with anger, her fists clenching as she raised her voice, sharper than usual:
"I'm not joking! I'm being serious!"
Still, her words did nothing to stop the laughter. In fact, they only provoked a new wave of snide smiles and biting remarks. One tall man with a scruffy beard looked Ace up and down before muttering dismissively:
"Just a common traveler. Doesn't look strong or skilled. And he wants to be an adventurer?"
Another chuckled as he pointed to the simple dagger at Ace's waist:
"What's that little knife for? Cutting bread?"
Amid the ridicule, a muscular man stepped forward, larger than the rest, his face marked by scars. His voice was rough as he spoke, but what stood out most was how he placed his heavy hand on Ace's shoulder, pressing down as if to deliver a message: You don't belong here.
"Listen, kid," he said in a low, warning tone. "You'd better find another line of work if you want to stay alive. Adventuring isn't for reckless dreams or childish hobbies—it's a world full of danger."
Ace didn't respond. He took a slow breath, absorbing the situation. He understood exactly how they saw him—just an ordinary young man, without scars to prove his past or muscles to show strength. Compared to them—men and women shaped by hardship—he seemed completely out of place.
Even so, he wasn't about to let himself be looked down on or treated as worthless. He had his own reasons for choosing this path, even if only temporarily. Reasons that required him to find a job—one that paid well, regardless of the risks.
He lifted his head, his eyes glowing with unmistakable resolve. He didn't offer explanations or seek approval. Slowly, he raised his hand and firmly removed the man's hand from his shoulder, then looked him in the eye with a cold stare, and said quietly, but firmly:
"Please, don't meddle in what doesn't concern you."
A wave of shock swept across the room—not from the words themselves, but what happened next. Suddenly, the large man dropped to his knees, his face contorted in pain, clutching his wrist as if trying to pull the pain out of it. A pained cry escaped his throat, silencing the room once again. The jeering expressions vanished, replaced by stunned disbelief. Everyone stood frozen, like statues unable to comprehend what had just occurred.
How could a man of such strength fall so easily? How had a mocking warning turned into such an unexpected scene?
Ace's expression remained neutral, but deep inside, he felt a flicker of silent surprise. He wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. He hadn't used much force—certainly not enough to injure anyone. Yet the result was undeniable. He paused, thinking, and realized he might have used more strength than intended.
The man stood slowly, breathing heavily, his eyes narrowing with rage. His hand trembled, then rose into the air, ready to strike. He shouted:
"How dare you?!"
Emilia screamed, reaching out in an attempt to stop him, but his fury had blinded him. He heard nothing but the echo of humiliation.
Yet Ace didn't move. He didn't raise his hands to defend himself. He simply closed his eyes, as if accepting the blow. The punch landed hard against his cheek, echoing through the room. Everyone expected him to fall—to stumble back. But the outcome defied every expectation.
He stood firm. His body didn't budge an inch. Only his head tilted slightly from the blow. His expression remained unchanged—no sign of pain or retreat. As if the punch were no more than a passing breeze.
Silence fell once again. Faces shifted from shock to confusion. The man who had thrown the punch now looked unsettled, the rage in his eyes replaced by a disoriented awe. He stared at his fist for a few seconds before letting out a stifled groan. He staggered back, clutching his trembling hand, and collapsed violently to the floor, writhing and squeezing his palm as if it burned from within.
His lips quivered as he shouted:
"What the hell are you? Are you made of steel or what?!"
His words echoed across the crowded hall as gasps rippled through the onlookers. Whispers began to rise. Amid the chaos, Emilia stepped toward Ace, her wide eyes reflecting a blend of worry and awe. She approached slowly and asked in a trembling voice:
"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"
Ace quietly raised his hand, motioning with a simple gesture as if to tell her there was no need to worry. There wasn't the slightest trace of pain on his face—no expression, no wince that might suggest he had just taken a heavy punch. Emilia studied him for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Deep inside, she couldn't find any logical explanation. How could someone take a hit like that without flinching? The question wasn't hers alone; it lingered silently in the minds of everyone around her.
Even so, this wasn't the time for answers. Without further thought, the young girl gently took his hand and pulled him away, trying to lead him out of sight before things grew more complicated. They made their way to the staff office, passing by a group of women who had been silently observing the scene, their surprised expressions poorly masked behind professional smiles.
They approached one of the staff members—a young woman, likely in her early twenties, with a bright face and intelligent brown eyes. Her wavy brown hair flowed softly over her shoulders, adding a touch of natural elegance to her presence. The two stopped in front of her as she offered them a small smile that couldn't quite hide the curiosity flickering in her eyes. She nodded slightly and spoke with a professional tone, her voice controlled and composed:
"Welcome to the Trust Adventurers Guild. How may I assist you?"
"We'd like to register a new adventurer," Emilia replied.
The clerk turned her gaze to the young man, studying him as if trying to read a page written in a foreign script. Her face betrayed no surprise or confusion, but her observant eyes suggested she was silently assessing him, testing his suitability. He didn't look like any rookie adventurer she had seen before. His appearance didn't project strength or the experience typically required to break into this field.
"We're always happy to welcome new members! The registration form fee is only 300 silver coins," the clerk said, her tone still professional. But to Ace, the words landed like a weight—his eyes widened in disbelief, a reaction he couldn't hide. Though he wasn't well-versed in local currency, even his basic instincts told him that was an excessive amount for a simple registration.
Questions raced through his mind. Was the high price a test of commitment? Or was it just a strict policy of the guild to filter out the unqualified? He'd expected a fee, yes—but not one so steep it could block entry entirely. Before he could decide what to do, Emilia reached into her purse and pulled out three gold coins, placing them on the desk with a graceful motion. The soft chime of metal snapped Ace out of his thoughts.
He turned toward her; his mind tangled between embarrassment and irritation. He hadn't expected her to step in—at least not so quickly. It was as if she'd anticipated this moment all along. Leaning closer, he whispered tensely:
"You didn't tell me the registration fee was that high!"
Emilia turned to him, her usual smile still painted on her face, and replied in a quiet voice:
"And what difference would it have made if I had? You don't have the money, do you?"
She gave him a subtle wink he couldn't quite interpret. Her words were straightforward, but they carried no cruelty or condescension. Ace felt cornered by her logic and had no good response. Emilia placed her hands on her hips and added with casual confidence:
"Don't worry about it. It's just a bit of help. You can pay me back after completing a few missions."
There was no arrogance in her voice, no trace of superiority—just calm certainty, as if the amount spent wasn't worth stressing over. Ace felt a strange mix of gratitude and confusion. Since setting foot in town, she hadn't hesitated to support him. He wondered whether her kindness was pure or if there was something else behind her warm smile.
Still, thinking that way felt unfair to her character. She had done nothing but offer sincere help. When their quiet exchange ended, the clerk, who had been silently watching them, reached out to collect the coins with calm poise. She then opened a drawer and slowly pulled out a beautifully crafted form.
She placed it gently on the desk, aligning its corners with practiced precision. The paper was a work of art, lined with intricate tables and engraved text that looked almost etched into the surface. At the top, the guild's golden emblem gleamed like a royal seal, catching the light with a sharp shimmer.
The clerk then picked up a striking crimson pen, more a piece of craftsmanship than a tool. It shimmered with a pearlescent finish and was topped with a multicolored feather, as though plucked from a rare bird. She twirled the pen between her fingers, then looked up at the young man and asked in a soft, yet serious tone:
"Alright, under whose name shall I file this application?"
Emilia answered, "Ace."
The clerk smiled slightly and began writing the name. The glossy black ink flowed smoothly, etching the letters onto the fine paper. But suddenly, her hand stopped. She looked up slowly, her eyes narrowing with intrigue, and asked in a calm voice:
"Excuse me, and the surname?"
Emilia's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Surname?"
The clerk nodded and explained:
"Yes, a family name or personal title is required for registration. It's a core part of an adventurer's identity."
The young girl hesitated—clearly unaware of that detail. She turned to Ace, her eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation, as if the answer would reveal more than just a name. Ace fell silent, as though the question had peeled back a part of him, he wasn't ready to share. After a brief pause, he made up his mind and answered with quiet hesitation:
"Farland. My name is Ace Farland."
The moment he spoke, a hush fell over the room. The clerk repeated the name softly, tasting the shape of it, trying to understand it. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, before she asked cautiously:
"I've never heard that name before. Are you a foreigner, sir?"
Emilia held her breath, while Ace remained silent for a moment, then replied calmly:
"Yes."
Another silence followed. The clerk picked up her pen again, smiling politely as she resumed writing—as though acknowledging that no matter how unusual the name, it would soon be just another entry in the registry. Meanwhile, Emilia couldn't suppress her mischievous grin. She placed a small hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, leaning slightly toward Ace and nudging him gently with her elbow as she whispered:
"I didn't know you had such a cool surname!"
Ace froze for a second, then turned away, feigning annoyance—but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him. He raised an eyebrow, trying to appear stern, but his voice came out quieter than expected:
"Sh-shut up!"
Behind the desk, the clerk looked up from her paper but said nothing, hiding a fleeting sense of amusement behind her professional demeanor. This kind of lighthearted exchange was rare at the registration desk, where applicants usually arrived with grim faces and heavy moods.
She returned to her work, carefully filling in the remaining blanks with her elegant handwriting, just as graceful as the first letters. She noted every physical detail that might help identify the applicant should he ever be found as an unrecognizable corpse: Height: average. Build: balanced. Eyes: brown-ish. Hair: black with hints of brown in some strands. She paused, then asked in a cool, formal tone laced with quiet interest:
"What is your reason for becoming an adventurer, sir?"
Ace didn't hesitate; the answer seemed to come naturally:
"I just need to earn some money."
His words were brief—almost shallow—but they carried a stark honesty, reflecting a reality where there was no room for lofty dreams or noble ambitions. His voice was steady, lacking any attempt to justify or embellish his goal.
Usually, the clerks paid little attention to applicants' motivations. For them, the question was just another formality in the process. Yet, the clerk couldn't help but glance at Emilia—a brief look, but one filled with silent inquiry about the nature of her connection to this young man, who seemed to treat adventuring not as a calling, but as a means to a simple end.
Emilia showed no disappointment. She didn't object or appear surprised—even though she had always held the profession in high regard. The clerk scribbled down his answer, then stamped the form with the guild's official seal—its emblem etched with precision. She looked up and nodded calmly:
"You may now proceed to the upper floor to complete your registration process."
Ace reached for the form, its delicate feel contrasting with the weight of what was written on it. He glanced at Emilia before the two of them headed toward the stairs. He didn't need to turn around to feel the stares boring into his back. But he ignored them all—like a passing breeze that left no mark behind.