Once inside the city, Joel allowed himself a few minutes to simply… look. Myrrial had a peculiar charm: it wasn't so different from Velthara, the world where he had grown up, but here the buildings seemed to embrace the trees, not the other way around. The walls blended with moss-covered trunks, the streets were shaded under branches heavy with leaves, and even the rooftops seemed invaded by nature. It was as if the city had decided that fighting the forest was a waste of time and had chosen to marry it instead.

  Joel knew from his reading that in this world, nature wasn't an ornament, but a vital element of everyday life. He had heard of entire cities built on the branches of titanic trees, and although it seemed like a poetic exaggeration, it was also said that imperial capitals were crossed by rivers of light… an image as absurd as it was fascinating.

  After strolling around for a while and sampling the local cuisine at one of the many street stalls, he decided it was time to solve an urgent problem: he didn't have any ID. And in the future, when he tried to enter a larger city, that was the equivalent of having a target painted on his forehead.

  His solution was simple: the merchant's guild. The offices weren't difficult to find and turned out to be more imposing than he'd expected. As soon as he walked through the door, a couple of glances fell on him, not because he looked like a promising merchant, but because they immediately recognized him as a Level 4 mage. The treatment he received exceeded all expectations: excessive courtesy, professional smiles, and a deference that bordered on the theatrical. What he didn't know at the time was that it wasn't uncommon for merchants to hire mages... but for a mage, and a Level 4 one at that, to decide to become a merchant... that was certainly surprising.

  Joel improvised an elaborate story, peppered with half-truths and outright lies, about how he'd ended up "exploring the trade" on his own. And, as with everything he'd done in this world lately, the real driving force behind the operation was bribes. Money well placed, hands well greased, and in less than an hour he had a legitimate business ID in his hands.

  The ease with which he had achieved it left him reflecting.

  “If this continues… I'm going to end up believing that in this world you can fix absolutely everything with money.”

  After getting his new ID—a piece of cardboard as valuable as a life preserver in the middle of the desert—Joel headed to the markets. He sold his wares at such a low price that any serious merchant would have cried… but he wasn't going to waste the day pretending to be an honest vegetable vendor.

  From there, he stopped by several shops, browsing through useless merchandise until he found a decent map of the region. According to the yellowed piece of paper, he was still in the Duchy of Bresmitz, but so close to the border with the kingdom of Mitrohr to the north that he could smell the change in the people's accents.

  Scanning the important cities marked in faded ink, one name jumped out at him: Irtrea. He knew one of the Dawn Cult agents must be there, as he remembered the city from the emergency list he had to memorize before participating in the mission. There were other cities listed on the map, but Irtrea was the closest, so it immediately became the target.

  Of course, to maintain the charade of a traveling merchant, he needed more than a map and a suspicious smile. So he mingled with experienced merchants, bought information like someone buying ripe fruit—quickly, cheaply, and without too many questions—and loaded his wagon with goods that, at least in theory, would sell well in Irtrea.

  He was ready to go… until his memory reminded him of what happened on the way to this city, and he couldn't help but think of the worst again. Roads riddled with trouble, bandits with more hunger than manners, and now, a border in between. Aware that his luck wasn't eternal, he remembered the advice of the merchants' guild when he created his identity: "If you want to avoid trouble on complicated routes or those you don't know well, hire a couple of guards… it's better to pay a little than to risk losing everything… even your life."

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  The Adventurers' Guild was, in Myrrial, as ubiquitous as taverns or market gossip. Its fame stemmed not from clever marketing, but from the world's harsh geography: forests so dense they seemed to swallow the light, mountains infested with creatures with more teeth than necessary, and many trade routes where the word "tranquil" was a cruel joke. There, the guild's services were as varied as they were necessary: from hunting beasts that could chew a horse whole, to gathering impossible ingredients in places where sensible people wouldn't set foot, to escorting goods along roads that, technically, still appeared on maps.

  Joel knew well that the concept of an "Adventurers' Guild" existed in all four worlds. But it was in Myrrial where its influence was most felt, almost like a second army... albeit one that was less well paid and with worse discipline. Here, hiring mercenaries wasn't a luxury: it was a vital necessity for anyone who wanted to cross a forest and live to tell the tale. He even recalls that more than one guest at his house, when he was still selling sculptures, arrived escorted by adventurers rather than professional soldiers.

  Becoming an adventurer was one of the most coveted goals among civilian mages and retired soldiers. The guild not only guaranteed abundant work, but also opportunities for advancement… within very clear boundaries. The Empire, while not directly controlling the organization, kept a watchful eye and a short leash. Level 6 or 7 adventurers were rare, but one who reached level 8… well, that didn't happen. And it wouldn't happen as long as the Empire had a say.

  From what Joel had learned during his time with the Cult of the Dawn, the guild likely obtained its prized blood potions directly from the Empire. That explained the “cordial relationship” between the two parties: the guild knew who its strength depended on, and the Empire understood that, although they were a necessary evil, it was best to keep them well-fed… and under control.

  For him, a couple of guards would not only serve to ward off trouble along the way, but also to reinforce his new image as a respectable merchant… or at least a merchant with enough money to pay for escorts. After some consideration, he agreed it was the most sensible course of action for a journey lasting more than a week along a route known for its “moderate” number of incidents—in other words, a place where people disappeared with some regularity.

  He wasted no time heading to the headquarters of the city's adventurers' guild, a building as imposing as a town hall, but which, upon entering, turned out to be... a huge tavern. There were several service desks in different locations, and to one side, a wall covered in advertisements: countless sheets of paper pinned one on top of the other, forming a collage of rewards and various jobs.

  As soon as Joel walked in, several eyes fell on him. Some seemed to size him up; others, more sensitive to magic, tensed, and some even discreetly moved out of his way. Joel walked toward the first counter, but stopped halfway there. The place evoked a disconcerting familiarity in him, as if he had experienced something similar at some point, not once, but multiple times in different ways. It was a somewhat terrifying feeling, but it somehow ended up provoking a smile and the almost instinctive desire to become another adventurer. Something that fortunately was as fleeting as all the sensations that caused it.

  When he finally arrived at the counter, a middle-aged man with a professional expression greeted him with almost exaggerated courtesy and asked about his needs. Joel explained that he was looking for guards for a trip to the kingdom of Mitrohr, which drew a raised eyebrow from the manager. The man, in a diplomatic tone, informed him that they didn't have any adventurers strong enough to protect someone with his level of power.

  Joel couldn't help but laugh, albeit with a hint of embarrassment. He explained in more detail that he only needed guards for show, enough to deter any band of bandits with little magical ability and too much free time. The manager, understanding the idea, smiled as if he'd just heard a private joke and agreed to process the request. The job, in essence, was a simple escort mission, and quite safe, considering the employer hardly needed protection.

  He would just have to wait until the next day, when there would surely be candidates willing to "protect" the most ironically confident merchant in the region.

  He spent the night in a modest hotel, just enough to avoid suspicion… and so that the bed didn't creak with every shift. The next morning, with the taste of breakfast still in his mouth, he returned to the adventurers' guild.

  He didn't expect his request to cause a stir… but there it was: half the hall hovering around the quest board like flies over honey. The reward he'd offered was so juicy that even some of the city's famous teams were interested. Joel, from the doorway, watched them with a mixture of curiosity and caution. He didn't need braggarts or tavern heroes; he needed people who would get the job done without turning it into an epic.

  At first, the choice seemed complicated. Too many confident smiles, too many empty promises. Fortunately, a private chat with the quest manager narrowed down the options. Recommendation after recommendation, the filter narrowed until it was down to a small group: three adventurers seasoned in escort work, one Level 2 and two Level 1. All with their own horses, which saved time.

  The team consisted of two men and a woman: hard faces, practical gazes. Not a hint of romance about them, just the way Joel liked it. The paperwork was done without delay, there was a brief introduction, an exchange of handshakes, and by noon, they were riding down the road, leaving the bustle of the city behind.