Auren sat back on the park bench, letting the late afternoon sun warm the collar of his shirt. He had wandered the town for the better part of an hour, ducking into alleys, peeking into shop doors, and sketching mental maps.

The marketplaces clustered near the square, a compact jumble of stalls selling everything from salted fish to glittering glass beads. The smithy stood nearby, steady and rhythmic—iron singing against iron through an open window.

He had already marked a few alchemical shops by their reed chimneys and the sticky-sweet scent of simmering potions. Somewhere along the third lane, he'd passed a tiny storefront filled with cages of yapping, chirping creatures labeled monster pets. A small town, yes, but full of life and corners to get lost in.

"Not bad for a small town," Auren murmured, chewing thoughtfully on a barbecue skewer.

The meat was salty and slightly charred; the smoke curled around his lips and tasted faintly of pine. He set the stick between his fingers and scanned the square again, quietly counting the inns.

A good bed, a cheap meal, and a quiet corner to study travel routes—simple needs, but comforting.

"Now, we just need a good place to rest tonight."

He rose, rolling his shoulders as the bench creaked beneath him. Then, without warning, his senses went taut. Instinct—old, sharp, and merciless—snapped awake inside him.

He rolled forward just as an arrow hissed through the space where he'd been sitting.

Landing in a crouch, Auren's heart thudded hard. The arrow quivered in the wooden post behind him, close enough to have shaved a hair from his neck.

He blinked once, slow and amused.

"Guess someone really doesn't like me, huh?"

For a breath, he let his eyes change.

The world sharpened—edges crisp, sounds clear. His irises glinted faintly, like an eagle catching sunlight. Around him, the chaos of town rearranged into priorities: the clink of a pot, a child's cry, the faint whisper of a bowstring.

Thunk!

Another arrow whistled past.

"Shit."

High above, hidden among the trees, Blas perched like a hawk. He blended into the branches, his form draped in leaves and shadow until he was little more than a darker blur against the sky.

He drew another arrow, eyes cold and focused.

"If only he didn't move—I could've nailed him twice already," Blas muttered, pulling the string back.

Three arrows sang out in quick succession.

Auren threw a smoke grenade.

Poof!

A thick cloud erupted, swallowing the spot where he had been standing. The smoke smelled of burnt pine and damp earth, cloaking him from sight. The arrows vanished into the black fog like flies into a storm—missing their mark completely.

"Hmph, trying to run? You think you can escape Blas the Head Hunter?" Blas sneered, eyes glowing faintly as another skill activated.

[HEAT DETECTION]

The world bled into outlines of warmth. The square appeared as a lattice of glowing shapes—then, there! Behind a bush, a bright, kneeling form.

"Hehe, got you."

He notched three more arrows and unleashed his next skill.

[TRIPLE SHOT]

Three twangs echoed through the square.

But Auren's mana pulsed hot—his energy spiked like a forge catching fire. For a split second, his heat signature flared blindingly bright.

'Huh?'

ZZZT—KABOOOOM!

A roaring blast answered the arrows. Not a bolt of magic—but a bazooka shell, tearing the air apart as it met the arrows midflight. The shockwave devoured them and kept going, a thunderhead made of fire and steel.

"Shit!" Blas's calm cracked. He moved fast, activating another skill—

[NIMBLE FEET]

He leapt from branch to branch, but the explosion tore through wood, blasting bark and splinters in every direction. A branch splintered under him; he fell, hitting the ground hard. Shrapnel bit into his leg. Blood welled up, dark and hot.

Smoke curled around him, the air reeking of ash and iron.

Auren stepped forward through the haze, bazooka steady, his expression unreadable.

He took aim again. The next shot wasn't rage—it was precision.

ZZZT—KABOOOOM!

The archer barely rolled aside, the explosion throwing him across the dirt. He tumbled through mud, groaning, face scraped raw.

"Holy crap!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"What was that explosion!?"

The blast echoed through the narrow streets.

Panic rippled across the square. Townsfolk and adventurers poured out from inns and workshops. Soldiers rushed in, halberds raised, confusion thick in their eyes.

Blas stumbled to his feet, blood pooling in his boot. His breath came ragged; the numbness in his leg spread fast.

'Not good,' he thought. The advantage was gone, and now every step hurt like debt being collected.

Auren advanced, silent and steady, smoke curling behind him. The bazooka gleamed black with soot.

He could have ended it right there—pulled the trigger and erased the man—but the sound of approaching soldiers made him hesitate.

Killing a known adventurer in public would spark questions, and questions brought trouble.

He exhaled, lowering the weapon.

Click.

A barrel pressed to Blas's back.

Auren stood behind him, calm and composed, his voice low and almost polite.

"You tried to kill me without hesitation. So tell me—are you prepared to die the same way?"

Blas froze.

Every instinct screamed to run, but his wounded legs refused. His bravado drained out like air from a punctured flask.

But Auren didn't shoot. He didn't want blood and make his stay even more trouble some. He just want to give him a message.

After all, mercy stung worse than a wound.

By the time the soldiers reached them, a crowd had gathered, buzzing with speculation.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

"Is that Blas of the Blue Bound?"

"Wait—isn't that Herbon, the new adventurer applicant? "

Two guards stepped in, professional and brisk. They separated the two, read the scene with practiced detachment, and marched them both to the guardhouse.

"You two have some explaining to do."

...

The interrogation room was bare—one bench, one candle flickering in a tin holder. The questioning was straightforward and dull.

Blas cracked first, admitting he'd fired the first shot out of jealousy and hate. Auren explained he had simply defended himself. Notes were taken, names recorded, and the guards looked mostly tired rather than impressed.

But what made them really confused whas how a level 25 Herbalist was able to beat the Blue Bound's archer. After all, there is almost twenty level gap between them.

Soon Alyssa and Essel arrived. Their faces were filled with trouble. Essel on the other hand quickly started healing Blas's wound.,

The air shifted. Alyssa's presence drew silence the way lightning draws breath. She crossed her arms, eyes hard enough to cut.

"Blas," she said coldly, "I can't believe you'd do something this reckless. We've talked about this."

Blas lowered his head like a child caught stealing. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to test him, to see if he really was—"

"Enough," she snapped. "No excuses. You've disappointed me too much lately. and because of that, I am tempted of letting you go."

Her words struck harder than any weapon. The room went still. Blas's jaw dropped. He started to speak, but Auren cut in.

"I don't think that's necessary."

All eyes turned to him. He stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back, his voice even.

"The way I see it, he just wanted to test me. Sure, his method was wrong—but his intent wasn't malice. If he wanted to measure me, fine. Let the results speak for themselves."

The room held its breath. Alyssa glanced at Essel, then at Blas, whose face had softened into shame.

Auren stepped closer.

"So tell me, Mr. Blas," he said evenly,

"is this humble herbalist welcome in the Blue Bound?"

The words hit Blas deeper than he expected. He remembered the smoke, the blast, and the sheer precision of the man who had just spared him. His pride wavered.

"I… I admit it. I was wrong. You're strong—and worthy of joining the Blue Bound."

Auren smiled faintly.

"Thank you. Now if you will excuse me." He inclined his head, then turned for the door. He is too tired to talk about this and just wanted to get over it.

At the threshold, he looked back. The midnight light caught his hair like gold.

"I'll see you tomorrow after my exam," he said softly before giving Blas a cold look.

"Until then… don't try me again. I might not keep you alive next time."

It wasn't anger—it was a promise.

Then he walked out.

Outside, the town slowly returned to rhythm.

Market cries rose again. The smithy sang. Children chased a coin across the square as though explosions weren't part of their afternoon.

Auren walked toward the inns with a lighter step. His mental map had a new mark—Blue Bound, and beside it, Alyssa.

He'd earned respect, bruised but real. In a town like this, that mattered more than fame.

Somewhere under his ring, the bazooka rested quietly.

He exhaled, smiling faintly.

Tomorrow would bring his exam. Tonight—maybe a bed, maybe a beer.

The world, unpredictable as ever, still gave him space to breathe between the chaos.

And for now, that was enough.

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