"Fafnir actually used a combat skill!"
The surrounding spectators cried out in surprise.
"How boring!"
Raylin sidestepped the attack with a sliding step, while simultaneously thrusting forward with his wooden sword.
[Combat Skill—Charge!]
A tremendous force slammed directly into Fafnir, sending the large man's body flying like a sandbag.
But Raylin's attack wasn't finished. He seemed to transform into a whirlwind, staying close to Fafnir in midair.
Crack! Crunch! The teeth-grinding sound of bones shattering echoed. When Fafnir finally fell, his limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, and he had already passed out cold.
"So? Did I pass?"
Raylin looked at the dazed referee.
"Oh! I declare, Ray has passed the assessment!" Only then did the referee seem to snap out of a dream and make the announcement, sending the entire crowd of onlookers into an uproar.
Raylin ignored all of this and walked straight to the window ledge.
The crowd parted automatically to make way—a mark of respect for the strong.
"Heh heh... It's rare for me to misjudge someone! Kid? Interested in studying here for a while?"
The old man asked with a grin.
"No need, I have urgent business!" Raylin had seen through the old man long ago. A warrior of over tenth-tier strength was considered decent here, but out on the open seas, high-tier warriors killed by his hand numbered nearly a dozen.
"All right! Youth these days..."
With a look of mild disappointment, the old man tossed a copper badge plated with silver to Raylin, along with a rolled-up sheepskin parchment.
"Take it. Your warrior badge and certificate. The processing fee is two silver groats!!!"
The price was somewhat inflated — it looked deliberate on their part — but given how quickly they'd handled it, Raylin paid up without complaint and walked out.
"Hello! Are you here to post a quest or claim a reward?"
After leaving the Warrior's Guild, Raylin went straight to the Mercenary Guild next door. The girl behind the counter flashed a professional smile.
"I'd like to register as a mercenary!"
Raylin stated his purpose directly.
"For mercenary registration, please go to window three!" The application process was quite simple — all you needed was proof of a profession. After seeing Raylin's fifth-rank warrior badge, the person in charge at window three cheerfully issued him a mercenary certificate.
Since he was only a rookie, Raylin had no choice but to become the lowest-ranked copper-tier mercencer. He'd need to complete several quests before he could be promoted.
Still, having both a mercenary certificate and a professional license meant he could at least enter any major city from now on.
For Raylin, who was pursuing the path to godhood, fixating on climbing the mercenary ranks would be nothing short of a joke.
"Now that I've got all the credentials I need on the road, the next step is the royal capital of Danbres. Should I enter the Mage's Guild to study, or head straight to another country... I've heard that Moon City in the Northern Territories possesses extremely comprehensive magical knowledge. The city lord is even a chosen of the Goddess of the
High-level magical knowledge in this world was strictly classified. If Raylin wanted to obtain it, he would need to join a major power and earn their recognition.
Of course, he could also just ignore all that and focus on raising his mage rank first, but his combat ability in that case would be truly pathetic.
A high-rank mage who only knew a handful of spells would absolutely be a laughingstock among peers of the same level.
"Come to think of it, the various tiers of wizard spell templates from the
Deep in Raylin's mind, there was another idea — to localize the path of the Wizard directly within the World of Gods. After all, the way of the Wizard was inherently a tolerant path of pursuing truth, with strong adaptability toward many different power systems.
Developing a localized version of the Wizard for the World of Gods — one that could even cast spells without relying on the Weave — was something he felt fairly confident about.
But the computational load required would be enormous. The Chip currently had most of its processing power devoted to analyzing the Weave, with absolutely no spare capacity to simulate this kind of scenario. Raylin had no choice but to reluctantly shelve the idea for now.
"Researching Weaveless spellcasting would absolutely be considered heresy in the World of Gods. I'm afraid I can only begin tackling this after reaching the Legendary realm..."
Raylin stroked his chin. "Still, if I could get my hands on materials related to this — even incomplete ones — it would significantly speed up the Chip's deduction process... During the previous Twilight of the
With these idle thoughts drifting through his mind, Raylin walked directly into the quest hall of the Mercenary Guild.
Several massive fireplaces burned with roaring charcoal fires, warming the entire hall until it was comfortably toasty.
Numerous mercenaries were gathered in dozens of small circles — some still drinking and carousing, others staring at the enormous quest board in the center of the hall, occasionally discussing something among themselves.
The strong scent of rum, mingled with the aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread, kept wafting around Raylin's nose.
"Advanced Quest: Clear Out the Ogres! Only Gold-ranked mercenary teams may accept this quest!"
At the very top of the quest board, a line of enormous text prominently displayed the ogre-clearing quest. The lavish rewards listed behind it made plenty of mercenaries drool, but hardly any dared to actually step forward.
"Hmm! I heard recently that a band of ogres migrated near the main road to the Royal Capital. They've already attacked several merchant caravans and travelers — no wonder the Guild is offering such generous pay!"
Listening to the whispered conversations of the surrounding mercenaries, Raylin gained a basic understanding of the quests here.
"An ogre tribe? No wonder it's an advanced quest!"
Raylin nodded to himself. The mercenary ranking system was simple — from the lowest Bronze, to Silver, and then to Gold. Gold-ranked mercenaries were already considered high-tier, possessing extremely rich experience, and they were often powerful class holders.
Above Gold rank, there were said to be two more tiers — Mithral and Adamantite — but those were essentially unheard of in a small city like Aimon.
A Gold-ranked mercenary team meant a formidable squad with a large number of Gold-ranked mercenaries. Only strength of that caliber could dare take on an ogre tribe.
Raylin then looked at the lower section of the quest board. Sure enough, behind the high-tier quest to clear an entire ogre tribe, there were numerous quests for clearing out stray ogres — ranging from low-level ogres all the way up to high-level ogre shamans. One needed to bring back their ears as proof, and the difficulty was considerably lower. Mercenaries kept stepping up to discuss and accept these quests.
"A large ogre tribe would have at least over two hundred members. The ogre shamans are bloodline bearers with quasi-spellcasting abilities, and on top of that, ogres themselves possess innate magic resistance..."
Raylin mused over this.
"At this level of difficulty, I couldn't break through on my own. Unless I took a detour — but that would consume a massive amount of time, and I'd have to pass through several dangerous zones. Those dangerous zones are no less threatening than an ogre tribe, and some even harbor sub-dragon species..."
"It looks like this time I should probably wait for some large mercenary company to complete the quest, or join up with a merchant caravan..."
Raylin continued to ponder. He was still planning to make his way to the Royal Capital. Even without using
"Besides, even if I'm planning to head north for further training, the Royal Capital of Danbres is a necessary stop along the way..."
Raylin sighed and walked over to what was clearly the Mercenary Guild's service counter. "I'll have a cup of apple cider. Also, are there any quests with the Royal Capital as a destination recently? Preferably ones for large teams — something safer!"
As he spoke, a silver coin materialized in Raylin's hand, tracing an enticing arc of light through the air.
"Are you heading to the Royal Capital in a hurry? No problem — a large merchant caravan is actually about to set out recently, all because that wretched ogre tribe has been recruiting manpower everywhere!"
The waiter's eyes locked onto the glimmering coin in Raylin's hand, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He agreed immediately. Locals like him always had richer, more detailed intelligence to offer.
After setting a time with the waiter, Raylin walked straight out through the front doors of the Mercenary Guild.
The streets of Aimon City looked thoroughly desolate at first glance — whether from the double blow of the decline in sea trade and the ogre threat, he couldn't tell.
Raylin was gazing at the many shuttered storefronts, idly wondering whether he should head back to the inn for a session of meditation, when a gray-robed figure planted itself directly in his path.
"Sir, please whip me — as hard as you can!"
Standing before Raylin was a young woman dressed in a gray robe. She had fine features and wore simple, rough-spun hemp clothing; through the collar and past the cuffs, numerous scars were faintly visible.
At this moment she stood before Raylin with a look of eager anticipation, both hands clutching a leather whip studded with thorns — the small barbs on it looking thoroughly vicious.
Her face bore the holiness of a martyr, the unwavering resolve unique to a fanatic, and even a trace of longing.
"What is this… a trap?"
Raylin's gaze drifted past the madwoman to a little girl standing beside her. The child was holding a church collection box, and when she noticed his eyes landing on her, she deliberately shook the box, producing a crisp clinking of coins colliding inside.
Near the little girl's chest, Raylin spotted a peculiar holy emblem.
"So you're a priestess of the Weeping Goddess, the Lady of Scourging!"
Thankfully, Raylin's vast experience eventually paid off — he finally recognized who she was.
"Yes! Please assist me in my prayer rite, so that my soul may find redemption through suffering!"
The woman replied with a completely straight face, then forcibly shoved the leather whip into Raylin's hands.
"I… I… I…"
Raylin stood there with an utterly speechless expression, very much wanting to simply run away. The pedestrians around him, however, were completely unfazed — some even cast knowing smiles his way.