10.

  Noobs

  Thorin led the twenty-four recruits out of town, the group a mix of young and old, men and women, all drawn by the promise of strength, knowledge, and perhaps even a job class. The march was slow, with some of the younger ones struggling to keep up.

  “This lot’s already wheezing, Thorin,” Vorn muttered under the cloak. “Maybe you should’ve set up a hospice instead of a guild.”

  Thorin ignored him. They were green, untrained. But that would change.

  As they arrived at the mine, Thorin wasted no time. He grabbed a stick and dragged a line through the dirt. Then another. And another. Within minutes, he had marked out the foundation of the tower. A second, larger area was designated for the palisade wall.

  The recruits exchanged glances. A few looked skeptical.

  A burly young man, Wallace, the butcher’s son, finally broke the silence. “Uh… why are we building a tower?”

  Thorin didn’t stop marking. “Because if you want a class, you need strength. And if you want strength, you need training. This?” He gestured around. “This is training that does real work.”

  Gary nodded. “So… labor builds our stats?”

  Thorin pointed at him. “Exactly. Regular workouts are good, but if you mix them with work that forces you to move weight, forces endurance, you get even better results. Stronger, faster, tougher.”

  Vorn chuckled. “And if they die in the process, less mouths to feed.”

  Thorin ignored him. It was time to start.

  He divided the group into teams:

  Wallace, Garrett, Hugo were assigned to dig the foundation.

  Clara and Mervin handled lifting and moving dirt.

  Gary, Elaine, and Jonas cut trees, hauling them back with Marthe, Oswald, and Roderic.

  Lance, Finn, and Becca handled quarrying, cutting stone into usable blocks.

  Callum, Hugo, and Royce hiked the stone to the build site.

  Everyone else—Bran, Samara, Victor, Ingrid, Owen, Sable, and Duncan—ran supplies, sharpened tools, or helped rotate teams.

  “Every hour, we switch tasks,” Thorin explained. “Every third hour, everyone runs around the perimeter.”

  The recruits stared.

  That… sounds rough,” Becca muttered.

  Thorin smirked. “So does getting killed by monsters.”

  They got to work.

  As the first hour passed, something unexpected happened.

  A sudden, bright white message appeared in front of each recruit.

  SYSTEM MESSAGE:

  Through rigorous physical exertion, you have temporarily exceeded your body's limits. Stat growth accelerated!

  +1 Strength

  +1 Stamina

  +1 Dexterity

  +1 Agility

  The recruits stared, wide-eyed.

  Wallace, the butcher’s son, was the first to break the silence. “I… just got stronger?”

  Marthe looked at her shaking hands. “I—I got the same message.”

  Gary’s grin widened. “It’s working.”

  Thorin crossed his arms, nodding. “Told you.”

  Vorn let out a mock gasp. “Oh no, they’re getting stronger. Soon they might actually be useful.”

  The realization hit hard. This wasn’t just hard work—it was efficient training

  Thorin leaned against a rock, arms crossed. “Job classes don’t just appear because you hit a certain level,” he said. “The system recognizes what you do. If you swing a sword for years, you’ll probably get a sword-based class. If you use a bow, you might get a ranger-type class. It’s about habits, experience, and action.”

  Becca, still tossing dirt, “So this is just making us stronger for fights?”

  “Exactly. Higher stats mean better combat performance. Strength lets you hit harder. Dexterity lets you move faster. Stamina lets you fight longer. Every bit counts.”

  Marthe adjusted her grip on a log. “And fighting gives EXP. Which gives levels.”

  “And levels give classes,” Oswald finished.

  Thorin grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”

  And the second hour?

  The difference was noticeable.

  Where at first, they had struggled, now their movements felt smoother. The strain was still there, but the weight didn’t seem as overwhelming.

  Wallace tossed a shovel of dirt higher than before.

  Elaine’s swings against a tree were sharper.

  Oswald and Roderic, hauling logs, were moving faster.

  And then—

  SYSTEM MESSAGE:

  +1 Strength

  +1 Stamina

  +1 Dexterity

  +1 Agility

  By the third hour,

  Becca gasped. “It happened again!”

  Mervin flexed his arm. “I feel faster.”

  Jonas clenched his fists. “I feel like I can go longer.”

  Thorin grinned. “That’s the point.”

  Vorn chuckled. “Guess you won’t all die after all.”

  The recruits exchanged excited, almost disbelieving glances.

  This wasn’t just some crazy drill.

  It was real.

  They were getting stronger.

  They were changing.

  And for the first time, they truly understood—

  This wasn’t just training.

  This was the path to power.

  By the end of the day, no one quit. They were panting, sweating, sore… but still standing.

  The return run to Oak hollow was a different beast than the exhausting trek to the mine that morning.

  At first, the recruits had stumbled and straggled, their bodies unused to the grueling exertion. But now?

  Now they ran as a cohesive group.

  Their footfalls fell into a steady rhythm, breaths coming in sync as they instinctively matched each other’s pace.

  Wallace called out, “Is it just me, or does this feel way easier than before?”

  Elaine grinned. “Not just you. My legs don’t feel like they’re about to fall off this time.”

  Mervin, still sweating but no longer gasping for air, nodded. “It’s those stat gains. We got stronger—all of us.”

  The realization rippled through the group.

  Just a few hours of systematic training had already made a tangible difference.

  Oswald tested his speed, briefly pulling ahead before settling back into formation. “I could never run this long before.”

  Roderic, usually quiet, finally spoke. “This… this is real. If we keep doing this, we’ll be monsters.”

  Thorin, running at the front with an easy stride, smirked. “That’s the idea.”

  Vorn, still hidden beneath Thorin’s cloak, muttered, “You know, I almost feel bad for whatever poor idiot ends up on the other end of these fools once they get actual weapons.”

  The recruits grinned among themselves.

  They weren’t just training.

  They were becoming something more.

  By the time they reached Oak hollow, they weren’t a disorganized bunch of eager hopefuls.

  They were the beginnings of a force.

  As they entered the town, people turned to stare.

  A full group of sweating, grinning men and women ran into town with purpose, their energy infectious.

  Thorin didn’t waste time. He led them straight to the inn, pushing open the doors and motioning for them to file in.

  The innkeeper, surprised by the sudden rowdy influx, raised an eyebrow. “What’s this, then?”

  Thorin smirked. “A proper meal for the newest recruits of the Adventurers’ Guild.” He tossed down coin onto the counter. “Feed ‘em. Ale too.”

  The recruits cheered.

  Gary slapped Jonas on the back. “Hell yeah!”

  Becca beamed. “I’ve never trained hard enough to earn a meal before.”

  As steaming plates of roasted meat, fresh bread, and seasoned potatoes were placed before them, the recruits dug in with ravenous hunger.

  Marthe raised her tankard. “To the Adventurers’ Guild!”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  A resounding chorus of cheers followed.

  Tonight wasn’t just about eating.

  It was a celebration.

  A marker of the first step toward something bigger.

  As the plates were cleared and tankards emptied, the recruits settled into a more focused discussion. The buzz of excitement still lingered, but now it shifted toward what came next.

  Thorin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright, now that you all got a taste of what real training feels like, let’s talk about tomorrow.”

  The table quieted as everyone listened.

  “We’re gonna push harder,” Thorin continued. “More strength work, more endurance drills, and we’re gonna start splitting training to focus on where each of you want to go.”

  A ripple of interest ran through the group.

  Gary, the young, wiry recruit who had stepped up first, grinned. “I want to be a courier. Fast as hell, sharp eyes, someone who can get messages and goods between towns.”

  Thorin nodded. “That means speed, agility, and stamina. We’ll push your running, your carrying capacity, and throw in some evasion drills.”

  Becca, who had taken to training with unshakable determination, slammed a fist on the table. “I want to be a tank. I don’t care how hard it is, I want to be able to take a hit and keep going.”

  A few of the others chuckled at her intensity, but Thorin nodded approvingly. “Then you’re gonna be focusing on constitution, strength, and defense tactics. You’re gonna learn how to take a hit and not go down.”

  Jonas, the biggest of the bunch with thick arms and a steady temperament, spoke up next. “I wanna be a healer.”

  That got a few raised eyebrows.

  Wallace leaned in. “A healer? You look more like you should be swinging a Warhammer.”

  Jonas shrugged. “Big guys can be healers too. No one targets the tank, but they sure as hell go after the healer. I don’t want to go down just ‘cause I’m standing in the back.”

  Thorin grinned. “Smart. We’ll work on constitution, intelligence, and stamina for you. And once we get our hands on some proper spell scrolls, you’ll start learning the magic side of it.”

  Around the table, the other recruits started chiming in.

  Oswald wanted to be a scout, specializing in ranged combat and tracking.

  Mervin aimed for a frontliner, favoring raw strength and melee combat.

  Elaine and Marthe were both interested in support roles—not healers, but ones who could boost their allies with tactics and battlefield control.

  Wallace wanted to be a duelist, relying on agility and precision.

  Lance, and Petra were drawn to crafting, wanting to focus on smithing, and leatherworking.

  Garrett, Roderic, and Ingrid all saw the value in becoming couriers, traveling and carrying goods efficiently.

  Thorin listened, letting each recruit voice their goal before nodding.

  “Alright,” he said. “Tomorrow, training will be a repeat of today then, the day after training will split into teams. Your drills will be focused on building the stats you need to get stronger in the right direction.”

  There was a ripple of excitement through the group.

  “And the day after tomorrow,” Thorin continued, “we’ll start actual combat drills.”

  The room went silent.

  Becca’s grin widened. Jonas cracked his knuckles. Oswald sat up straighter.

  Thorin smirked. “Get cleaned up and lots of rest, tomorrow, we work.”

  After the long day of training, running, and organizing the Adventurers' Guild recruits, Thorin welcomed the trip to the bathhouse.

  The hot water helped ease the stiffness in his muscles, and as he scrubbed away the dirt and sweat, he let his mind wander over the day's events. The recruits had pushed past their limits, gaining real stat increases, and they were already thinking ahead about their roles. It was progress—good progress.

  Once he was clean, he returned to the inn, stepping into the small, rented room where Vorn was curled up under Thorin’s cloak in the corner. The wyrm’s golden eyes flickered open.

  “Figured you drowned,” Vorn said lazily. “I was about to start looting your stuff.”

  Thorin rolled his shoulders, joints cracking. “Would’ve been a waste of time. I’d just come back and take it back from you.”

  Vorn snorted. “Bold talk from someone who still smells vaguely like wet dog.”

  Ignoring him, Thorin sat on the small wooden table, pulling out a rough scrap of paper and a piece of crude graphite. He tapped it against the table, thinking.

  “The AG Manual.”

  They needed one. If he was going to make the Adventurers' Guild an actual force, he had to create a structured training system—one that recruits could follow without him standing over their shoulders every second.

  He sketched out the framework—daily physical training, combat drills, crafting work, and a progression path toward job classes. He listed out the basic stat gains from exercises and training regimens that targeted different specializations.

  But the longer he wrote, the more his hand tightened in frustration.

  “No printing press,” he muttered.

  Vorn glanced over. “The hell’s a printing press?”

  Thorin leaned back, exhaling. “Machine that can copy books—stamps ink onto pages. Speeds up how fast you can spread knowledge. Here? Everything has to be copied by hand, one page at a time.” He ran a hand over his face. “We’re gonna need one at the AG tower. If we’re training adventurers, we need standardized information, tactics, and guides. Can’t just rely on word-of-mouth.”

  Vorn’s tongue flicked out in thought. “So, you wanna make knowledge cheap and easy, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Thorin tapped the paper again. “Would take time to set up, but it’d be worth it.”

  He finished the rough outline of the AG manual and set the paper aside, stretching. Then he looked at Vorn.

  “Think you can handle merging another bubble in your hoard?”

  Vorn’s golden eyes narrowed. “You want more loot?”

  “I want more resources.” Thorin met his gaze. “Building an Adventurers' Guild is gonna take more than muscle. We need supplies, tools—hell, maybe even books that can help us figure out what we’re missing.”

  Vorn stared at him for a long moment, then let out a deep sigh. “Fine. But if some horrible monstrosity crawls out of it, it’s your problem.”

  Thorin rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  As the DHS settled from the merge, Vorn squinted slightly, his gaze distant as he scrolled through his HUD inventory menu. His tongue flicked out in thought before he began listing off the new additions.

  “Well, let’s see… More silver coins—not a fortune, but you’re stacking up a nice pile.”

  Thorin nodded, already expecting that much.

  “Now, onto the ingots…” Vorn’s voice carried a lazy amusement, as if this was beneath his grand draconic stature. “Copper. Tin. Iron. Zinc. Basic, but useful. Enough here to keep your smiths busy for a while.”

  Thorin smirked. “Good. More raw materials mean better gear down the line.”

  Vorn tilted his head, flicking through more entries. “Huh. A few gemstones.” He listed them off

  Two garnets, one citrine. “Meh, common but decent trade goods.”

  A small, uncut sapphire. “Could be valuable if cut right.”

  A polished onyx. “Might have some magic uses. Or just look cool.”

  His gaze flicked over another section. “Ah, now this is more interesting—crafting materials.”

  Treated leather. “Looks like it was prepped for armor or gear.”

  Dried herbs. “Some common alchemical stuff. Few I don’t recognize.”

  Powdered quartz. “That might come in handy for enchanting.”

  Bone needles and sinew. “Primitive.” Vorn snorted. “But hey, someone might find a use for it.”

  Thorin crossed his arms, waiting. “That it?”

  Vorn paused. Then, his eyes flickered slightly, focusing on the next entry. He made an amused noise.

  “Well, well. Looks like you got some reading material.”

  A moment later, a weathered leather journal appeared in front of him, hovering in his inventory menu. With a mental command, Vorn pulled it from the hoard, materializing it into existence before flicking it over to Thorin with a casual head jerk.

  Thorin caught it and flipped it open. The rough handwriting filled the pages with detailed notes.

  “Some kind of hunter and part-time crafter,” he muttered. “Kept records on tracking, foraging, crafting… even some notes on small-game hunting.”

  Vorn yawned, unimpressed. “Anything actually useful?”

  Thorin read deeper, his expression shifting slightly. “Yeah. Training tips. Efficient techniques. Stuff that could help the recruits improve faster.” He tapped a section on leatherworking shortcuts and basic metal shaping.

  Vorn grinned. “So, what? You’re building an adventurer’s library now?”

  Thorin smirked. “I'll take what I can get, one step at a time.”

  Thorin flipped to the front of the journal, scanning for a name. Near the inside cover, a rough signature stood out, written in firm, practical strokes.

  “Edran Holloway,” he read aloud.

  Vorn snorted. “Never heard of him.”

  Thorin stored the journal, his thoughts already spinning. If this guy was just a hunter and part-time crafter, how much more knowledge was out there?

  He leaned back, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. His own job class choices had been based on what the system offered—but what about classes that weren’t listed?

  “What if,” he muttered, more to himself than to Vorn, “there are growth paths locked behind certain knowledge or training?”

  Vorn’s tail flicked under the cloak. “Wouldn’t surprise me. You’re already breaking conventions with this ‘organized training’ nonsense.”

  Thorin made a mental note: Keep an eye out for more logs, diaries, or journals. If even a simple hunter had left behind valuable insights, there had to be countless hidden techniques waiting to be uncovered.

  He exhaled sharply, pushing himself up. “I’ll need more research. More records. Even old logs might hold something useful.”

  Vorn smirked. “So, we’re looting books now? That’s a first.”

  Thorin chuckled. “If it gets us ahead, I don’t care what we have to loot.”