The First Town
Part 1: First Contact
RALF Vogan was a well-known adventurer in the area. It was no mean feat to become a Rank 2 adventurer, solo no less, when you couldn’t use magic and weren’t particularly good at building physical strength, either. Some of the lower-rank adventurers mocked him, saying he had used his looks to curry enough favor to rank up. But the upper-rank adventurers knew better. It simply wasn’t possible to become a second-rank adventurer that way.
Although Ralf was a step or even two behind his peers when it came to combat, he had other skills to make up for it, which was the real reason he was a Rank 2 adventurer. He was eloquent, quick-thinking, knowledgeable, perceptive, and always prepared, a dependable man who always had just enough tricks up his sleeve to stay alive.
Both his looks and build were well-defined—his trademarks were his golden, shoulder-length hair and kind eyes with a slight droop to them. And unlike other high-ranking adventurers, there was nothing violent about his aura, which may have explained his popularity with women.
As an adventurer, Ralf prioritized his routine. He believed it was responsible for who he was, so he refused to change it or march to the beat of anyone’s drum but his own. If he did, he knew it would be fatal. Having a way to switch back to his usual routine when he wasn’t out adventuring was, he thought, key to an adventurer’s longevity.
And his routine went like this: Finish a job, drink some liquor, and spend the night with a woman. Once he did that, he left town to enjoy a few quiet days of solace at his favorite lakeshore. Then, after recharging, he would once more go off in search of an adventuring party that needed him.
In fact, he’d completed a job for the guild just a few days earlier. He and his fellow adventurers had indulged merrily in drink, and then later in the night, he had indulged himself merrily with a woman. So here he was today, at the lakeshore, humming a tune as he carried out the last part of his usual routine.
It took him half a day’s walk through the forest to reach this stunning, secluded spot that few ever visited. A verdant clearing where the flora and fauna lived in peace, a pure land where neither humans, nor the undead, nor monsters approached. Ralf had always wondered if it might be under divine protection of some kind.
But today was a bit different from usual. For some reason, he felt restless, uneasy. Whenever he had this feeling, it was a sign of something new starting. And as someone who relied on his perception to detect danger and traps, Ralf never doubted his own sixth sense.
On the path to the lake, he abruptly stopped humming and slowed his pace. Through the thicket, he spied the lakeshore—and a figure by his usual open fire. If this space could be shared amicably, then great; if not, he’d have to do something about it.
The figure belonged to a woman, who looked completely out of place here. That was his first thought.
She was a beautiful, elegant dark elf. She wore loose clothing of a style Ralf had never seen before. He heard rustling sounds coming from the ash she searched through. And when her shoulders slumped and tears welled in her eyes, her expression still didn’t really change, which was probably why she still seemed so dignified.
Most elves lived on the Northern Continent, specifically in a region called the Elven Forest, which they hardly ever left. But dark elves didn’t live there. Ralf had heard they inhabited the southernmost edge of the Southern Continent.
Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined meeting one here.
The dark elf staggered to her feet and pointed the long, ash-covered stick in her hand at the lake. Ralf braced himself for whatever would come next, and just as quickly, goosebumps broke out all over his body. The sudden torrent of mana assaulted him so intensely it made him want to vomit. If the magic had been directed at him, he knew without a doubt that he’d have fled as fast as his feet could carry him.
Ralf wasn’t a mage, but years of experience had given him the ability to vaguely sense the flow of magical energy. When mana moved dramatically like it did now, it rushed over his skin, making all his hair stand on end, and giving him a small advantage over the other adventurers in terms of ability.
But then the woman muttered something and the pressure vanished. Ralf slowly reached toward the sword hanging from his waist, quietly, carefully unsheathing it. An incantation was necessary to activate a spell. If this beautiful dark elf meant to harm him, then he needed to fight back. He wasn’t the most skilled fighter, but he was still a Rank 2 adventurer, not some novice dumb enough to lose to a mage who caught him off guard. At this distance, he judged his odds were better if he attacked than if he ran.
When Ralf took a stealthy step out of the dense forest, the wave of mana slammed into him again. All his experience up to this point told him the worst thing he could do in this moment was to stop moving. He knew this, but his body stiffened on its own, then began to tremble. Approaching had been an error in judgment. Running away without looking back would have been the correct choice.
By the time he tried to do something about his opponent, his sixth sense was going haywire. It had surely been driven nuts by the storm of magical energy. The sword he gripped tightly in his hands shook as violently as his body as Ralf stood there, helpless.
The flames that scorched the lake, the air, and the sky weren’t particularly enormous, considering how much mana was flowing through them. But to Ralf, who could feel magical energy on his skin, the energy itself was frightening enough.
The elven beauty turned around slowly, as if she’d known he was there the whole time. Even as he found himself reflected in her crimson eyes, she remained expressionless. It was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen. But at the same time, the sight was also more beautiful, more enchanting, and more brilliant than he could have imagined.