11.

  Oathbound

  As Thorin walked through the early morning streets of Oakhollow after breakfast, he chewed over a question that had been nagging at him for a while. The spell scrolls, the ones he had used to learn Cure Minor Wounds and Imbue Fire. Burned away when he used them, but before that, he had seen the writing. Runes, symbols, something that taught the spell.

  Could he replicate that?

  “Hey, Vorn,” he muttered. “You think I could write out the runes from those spell scrolls?”

  Vorn, still concealed under the cloak, gave a nonchalant hum. “You? Write magic? You’re barely keeping it together writing that adventurer’s guide.”

  Thorin ignored the jab. “I remember the way the text glowed before the scroll disintegrated. If I can write it out, maybe the mages or healers can use it?”

  Vorn was quiet for a moment, then said, “Maybe. But do you even know how spell scrolls work?”

  “…No,” Thorin admitted.

  “Then you’d just be guessing,” Vorn scoffed. “And guessing with magic tends to get things blown up, set on fire, or turned into an abomination that screams in agony before it collapses into ash. Fun to watch, but not helpful.”

  Thorin frowned. “If I had more scrolls, I could compare them and see if there’s a pattern.”

  “Sure,” Vorn mused. “Or you could find someone who actually knows how scrolls work instead of trying to reverse-engineer something you saw for three seconds.”

  Thorin exhaled. Vorn had a point. Maybe writing out what he remembered would help, but he needed to find a real mage or scholar to explain the mechanics.

  Still, he’d try later—no harm in seeing if he could recall the symbols. If nothing else, it would be another research avenue.

  By the time he reached the town gates, his mind was already racing through possibilities.

  At the town gate, Thorin found the initiates already gathered, buzzing with excitement. Some looked more eager than others, but all were present, ready to continue their training. Thorin crossed his arms and surveyed the group. "Alright, before we head out, I want you to split into groups by your main focus. This will help tailor your training." The group hesitated for a moment before people started stepping toward their chosen fields. The first group to fully form was the crafters, who would focus on gathering, refining, and building:

  Lance – A broad-shouldered young man, eager to learn smithing.

  Petra – A sharp-eyed woman who wanted to specialize in leatherwork and tailoring.

  Duncan – Wide eyed, inquisitive, and short in stature but a drive to be a master alchemist.

  Callum – A quick-fingered youth who wanted to specialize in fine crafting like fletching and bow-making

  Royce – A quiet but sturdy man with a little experience carving wood.

  Finn – A strong, no-nonsense worker who preferred quarrying and stonecutting.

  The couriers grouped next, their goal being high endurance and speed to transport messages and goods across towns:

  Gary G. – The youngest, but with an undeniable drive, wanting to be a trailblazer.

  Ingrid – A fast runner with a faster wit, eager to explore beyond Oakhollow.

  Garrett – A quiet but dependable man.

  Roderic – A lean, long-legged runner.

  The healers and mages followed, drawn to spellcasting and support roles:

  Clara – The most confident, already attempting basic healing methods.

  Jonas – The broad-shouldered, deep-voiced man who had chosen the healer path, despite his size.

  Bran – A studious, soft-spoken type, curious about the depths of magic.

  Hugo – A practical thinker, focused on how magic could be applied in combat.

  Next came the tanks and front-line fighters, those who wanted to stand in the thick of battle:

  Becca – The fiercest of the bunch, determined to be a full-fledged tank.

  Giselle – Cool-headed, preferring an axe.

  Victor – Focused and methodical, aiming for a heavy tank role.

  Wallace – A calm, steady presence, built like a boulder.

  Mervin – Already accustomed to wielding a mace, though rough in skill.

  Owen – The youngest in this group, determination burning in his eyes.

  Lastly, the ranged and support fighters—those who relied on accuracy, agility, or tactics:

  Oswald – A stout man with steady hands.

  Elaine – A sharp-eyed woman with a desire to make her comrades better.

  Sable – More focused on tactics, already thinking about battlefield positioning.

  Marthe – Average in appearance with an eagerness to help.

  Samara – The odd one out, wanting to fight hand-to-hand, but Thorin realized her needed stats were similar to those of the ranged fighters—agility, endurance, and precision.

  Thorin gave an approving nod as he looked over the groups. "This will help us a lot going forward."

  Vorn chuckled under the cloak. "So, what’s the next step, boss?"

  Thorin stood before the assembled initiates, his expression hardening as he barked out the next command.

  "Form up in blocks! Fighters with fighters, crafters with crafters— and listen up!"** His voice cut through the morning air. "Your task is simple. Run to the mine site as fast as you can. Push yourselves. I want you moving like your lives depend on it!"

  Some initiates nodded, shifting their stances, while others adjusted their gear in preparation.

  Then, Thorin turned his gaze to the couriers. "You four are different." Gary, Ingrid, Garrett, and Roderic perked up, eyes locked on him. "You don't run with them."

  The rest of the recruits turned, confused. The couriers exchanged glances.

  "You're waiting here." Thorin continued. "Once everyone is out of sight, you count—out loud—from 'one one thousand' to 'one hundred one thousand.' At that point, you run. And I mean RUN. I want you to push so hard that your lungs burn. No pacing, no holding back. It's an all-or-nothing sprint to the mine. Your only goal—catch and pass the main group before they reach the finish."

  There was a moment of silence, then the couriers' expressions shifted from confusion to realization. They had to run harder, faster, and smarter than anyone else.

  Then, a surprised gasp.

  "I just got a notification!" Gary exclaimed.

  The others did too, their eyes going wide as they pulled up their menus.

  "Run, Forrest!"

  Quest Received: Outrun the Others!

  Rewards: ???

  Thorin didn’t even pause to acknowledge it. He simply grinned. "MOVE! Make the couriers earn it!"

  The entire group exploded forward.

  Boots pounded against dirt as bodies surged ahead, pushing their limits. Breath came heavy and fast as initiates threw their weight forward, racing toward the mine with everything they had.

  Behind them, Gary, Ingrid, Garrett, and Roderic stood still, gripping their thighs in anticipation, their pulses already racing before they even started moving.

  ...

  ...

  The main group disappeared over the first hill.

  Gary swallowed hard. "One… one thousand…"

  The others followed suit.

  They kept counting.

  Fifty one thousand…

  Their fingers twitched.

  Seventy-one thousand…

  Their legs tensed.

  Ninety-one thousand…

  Sweat beaded on their foreheads.

  "One hundred one thousand!"

  The four exploded off the starting line.

  ...

  ...

  As the main group ran, the initiates could feel their bodies straining against their limits. Their lungs burned, their muscles ached, but they didn’t stop. Thorin wouldn’t let them.

  He was at the front, leading by example, pushing himself just as hard as them. "Dig deep!" he bellowed. "You want to be warriors? You want to be stronger? You want to survive out there? THEN RUN!"

  The sound of pounding feet and labored breathing filled the air as the group surged forward. Some gritted their teeth, others focused their eyes on the horizon, determination taking hold.

  "Those couriers are coming," Thorin reminded them. "If they want those cushy, non-dangerous roles, then they’re gonna have to work for it! And if YOU don’t want to get shown up, you’d better MOVE!"

  That got a few laughs through the exhaustion, but it also lit a fire in them.

  They pushed harder.

  Then—just as the mine site crested into view— they heard it.

  A rhythmic, rapid pounding of footsteps behind them, different from their own.

  Someone turned their head and cursed. "They're here!"

  The couriers were overtaking them.

  In a perfect line, Gary, Ingrid, Garrett, and Roderic exploded past the struggling group like a streak of wind, eyes locked ahead, arms pumping furiously. They weren’t pacing themselves—they were sprinting like their lives depended on it.

  Thorin grinned. "Hell yeah!"

  The rest of the group groaned and tried to speed up, but the couriers were gone, kicking up dust as they crashed through the finish line, coming to a hard stop near the tower foundation.

  They were gasping for breath, sweat pouring down their faces—but they were laughing, laughing through their exhaustion, exhilarated by the sheer effort.

  Then came the exclamations— "Quest complete!"

  The four of them checked their notifications, and their eyes went wide.

  "I got +2 to Stamina and Agility!" Garrett shouted.

  "Same here!" Ingrid added. "And a trait—'Runner'!"

  "We all got it," Gary confirmed. "And a skill—'Sprint Boost.' What the hell?!"

  They looked at each other, then at Thorin, realization dawning.

  The rest of the group arrived moments later, panting and staggering as they reached the mine site. Despite their exhaustion, they couldn’t help but cheer and congratulate the couriers, some clapping them on the back, others groaning about getting beaten.

  "Damn, you guys flew past us." Victor grumbled, shaking his head.

  "You looked like maniacs," Becca added. "But I gotta admit, that was impressive."

  Oswald smirked. "Guess you earned those cushy roles, huh?"

  Gary just grinned, still catching his breath. "Hell yeah, we did."

  As the group recovered from their hard run, scattered remarks filled the air.

  "I got +1 Agility," Oswald said, stretching his legs.

  "Same here," Becca confirmed. "Guess pushing that hard really worked."

  "Hell of a way to start the morning," Royce added with a smirk, shaking out his arms.

  Thorin gave them a few moments to catch their breath, then clapped his hands. "Alright, break’s over. You’re here to train, not stand around admiring your own sweat stains."

  That earned a few groans, but they straightened up, awaiting orders.

  Thorin turned to the couriers. "You four—get back to digging the moat, but don’t just dump the dirt. I want you aiming where you toss it. Work on your control. If you’re running messages for the AG, you’re gonna need good dexterity to avoid obstacles and keep your footing on rough terrain."

  Then, Thorin addressed the group. "What are your levels at?"

  The responses came back quickly:

  Most were level three, a few were level two, a handful had reached level four.

  A few of the level threes looked at each other in realization.

  "I actually leveled up once since we started training yesterday," Duncan noted.

  "Yeah, same," Ingrid added. "Guess all that running and lifting paid off."

  Thorin nodded. "Good but listen up—the system has a soft cap on stat growth. You get full gains until your stat reaches five times your level. That means at level two, your cap is ten points in a stat. At level four, it’s twenty.

  He paused, letting it sink in.

  "Once you hit that soft cap, gains drop to +0.10 per increase. If you want to keep improving past that, you’ll need to level up."

  A few of them muttered to themselves, absorbing the information. Some looked determined, realizing they had a lot of work ahead of them.

  Thorin didn’t waste time. "Crafters—Lance, Petra, Duncan, Callum, Royce, Finn—you’re on tree-cutting duty. We need logs for the pike wall. Get to it."

  The six nodded and jogged off toward the tree line, already discussing how best to split the work.

  "Fighter and tank group—Becca, Giselle, Victor, Wallace, Mervin, Owen—your job is to carry those logs back and mount them into the ground for the wall. Lifting and hauling will build your strength and stamina. Two hours of that, then you pair off and spar to work on your combat skills."

  The tank and fighter group exchanged glances, already sizing up potential sparring partners.

  "Ranged and support—Oswald, Elaine, Sable, Marthe, Samara—you’re going to be throwing small stones at specific logs on the pike wall. Precision over power. And when the fighter and tank group is in view, start aiming at their chest and arms."

  "Wait, what?" Victor asked, blinking.

  "Getting pelted with small stones will build your constitution," Thorin explained with a smirk. "You’re gonna take hits in real fights. Might as well get used to it now."

  Oswald chuckled. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

  "Healers and mages—Clara, Jonas, Bran, Hugo—first, run around the site for an hour. Stamina’s important for you, too. After that, you’re going to practice reading, writing, and math in the soft dirt."

  Hugo frowned. "Why math?"

  "Because you’re gonna be handling mana, and calculations—whatever magic or healing you do, intelligence will be important. Better to start now."

  Clara nodded. "That makes sense."

  With their tasks set, Thorin clapped his hands again. "Alright, you all know what to do. MOVE!"

  The group broke into action, scattering to their assigned tasks. The real training had begun.

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  Thorin sat down on a flat rock near the foundation of the tower, pulling out his crude writing implements—rough parchment and a piece of charcoal he’d fashioned into a makeshift pencil. Around him, the initiates toiled away, shouts and grunts filling the air as they worked through their training.

  Vorn, still hidden beneath Thorin’s cloak, watched from the shadows, his sharp eyes tracking every movement with thinly veiled amusement. "Look at you, all scholarly. Never thought I'd see the day."

  Thorin ignored him and focused on the task at hand—copying the spell scrolls he had used to learn Cure Minor Wounds and Imbue Fire. He remembered the symbols, the structure of the writing, and how the magic had been infused into them.

  His first attempt looked... wrong.

  The second? Still wrong.

  The third? Barely legible.

  Vorn gave a snorting chuckle. "Is this supposed to be magical script or some cave goblin’s attempt at finger painting?"

  Thorin grit his teeth and tried again. He wasn't a scribe, but he was stubborn. He carefully traced out the symbols as best as he could remember, trying to feel the magic behind them, rather than just copying shapes.

  Then, suddenly—

  [Crafting Skill +1]

  A notification popped into his vision.

  Thorin exhaled, setting the parchment down. "There it is."

  Vorn gave an eye roll.

  Now that he had the process figured out, the work went faster. He methodically crafted copies of the Cure Minor Wounds scrolls for the healers and Imbue Fire for the mage and support initiates.

  By the time he finished, his hands were stained with charcoal, but he had several complete scrolls laid out before him. He sat back, stretching out his arms as he surveyed his work.

  "That should do it," he muttered, satisfied.

  As the sun climbed higher, the initiates training under Thorin’s system began to settle into their tasks. The healers and mage group had spent the last hour running laps around the worksite before sitting down in a cleared patch of dirt to practice reading, writing, and arithmetic.

  At first, they worked through simple equations, but soon, they began to challenge each other with increasingly difficult problems. Bran took to the challenge eagerly, scrawling out a problem for Jonas to solve, who then countered with an even harder one for Clara. Even Hugo, the quietest of the group, was soon deep in thought, trying to outdo his peers.

  Thorin watched from a distance with a small smirk. The way they were pushing themselves was a good sign—they had the drive to improve, which meant they had the potential to grow into something much more than just novice spellcasters.

  Once they finished, Thorin called them over.

  "Alright, time for something different. You're going to learn your first spells."

  That immediately got their attention. The group hurried over, forming a loose half-circle around Thorin, their expressions ranging from excitement to apprehension.

  He held up the scrolls he had copied earlier—one for Cure Minor Wounds and one for Imbue Fire.

  "You saw me writing these earlier, but unlike the ones I learned from, these aren’t enchanted. That means they won’t vanish after use, and since this is a first attempt I am not sure when or if you will lear the spell.

  Jonas furrowed his brow. "So, if they aren’t magical, how do we learn from them?"

  Thorin tapped the scroll. "The symbols here represent magical concepts—motion, energy, focus. You need to understand not just what they mean, but how they fit together. It’s like learning to read, but for magic."

  Hugo, hesitant, asked, "And... what if we can’t get it?"

  Thorin shrugged. "Then you keep trying. Just like with writing, math, or swinging a weapon, repetition builds skill. Now, let's start with Cure Minor Wounds."

  He laid the scroll flat on a smooth rock so they could all see.

  "This here represents channeling your mana. This part tells it where to go—usually to the wounds of whoever you're targeting. And this? This shapes the effect to focus on healing rather than raw energy."

  He went through the explanation step by step, making sure they grasped each concept before moving on.

  The initiates tried to replicate what he described, closing their eyes, murmuring the incantation, and attempting to feel the magic inside them. The first few attempts yielded nothing. Some managed to channel a tiny bit of energy, but it fizzled out before taking form.

  Vorn, ever the observer, muttered under Thorin’s cloak, "It’s like watching baby birds try to fly. All that effort just to flop around on the ground."

  Thorin ignored him and kept guiding them, correcting their forms, their focus, and their intent.

  Then, after nearly an hour of struggle—

  A soft glow emanated from Jonas’ hands.

  The others immediately gasped as he opened his eyes in shock. The glow flickered but held.

  [Spell Learned: Cure Minor Wounds]

  Jonas beamed. "I did it!"

  Moments later, Clara managed the same feat, then Bran.

  As they each succeeded, a new notification appeared before them:

  [Intelligence +1]

  They exchanged excited looks, feeling the subtle shift in their mental clarity and mana pool grow.

  After their success with Cure Minor Wounds, Thorin handed Hugo the Imbue Fire scroll. The process was much the same—frustration, trial, error, and eventually, success.

  "Interesting," Thorin muttered as he collected the scrolls, "they’re still intact."

  The initiates looked at him in confusion.

  "The ones I learned from disappeared after I used them. These didn’t."

  Vorn chuckled. "That’s because those were proper magical scrolls. These? These are just books with extra steps. Good for learning, but no one’s going to be casting from them on the fly."

  Thorin nodded, realizing what that meant. "This means we can keep teaching others. If we find more spell scrolls, I can copy them, and we can train even more mages and healers."

  The initiates were practically glowing with pride from their newfound abilities.

  Jonas clenched his fists. "This... this is amazing. We’ve barely started, and we’re already learning magic."

  With the healers now capable of using Cure Minor Wounds, Thorin wasted no time in putting them to work.

  "Alright, Jonas, Clara, Bran, Hugo—you’re not done yet. Go over to the tank group and start healing them until your MP runs dry. Then rest, recover, and do it again. The more you use magic, the better you’ll get at it."

  The four exchanged looks before hurrying over to where Becca, Giselle, Victor, Wallace, Mervin, and Owen were still working on mounting logs into the ground for the pike wall. The fighters were already bruised from the work and from sparring earlier, so they welcomed the attention.

  Jonas was the first to step forward, placing a hand on Becca’s arm. A warm glow spread over her skin as her bruises faded.

  Becca flexed her fingers, eyes wide. "That actually feels better. Do it again."

  Jonas grinned and did exactly that.

  The other healers followed suit, each cycling through the tank group, pouring their mana into small bursts of healing until they had nothing left to give.

  Thorin, watching the process, called over the support initiates—Oswald, Elaine, Sable, Marthe, and Samara.

  "Your turn."

  He went through the same process with them as he had with the healers, explaining the spell work and symbols on the scrolls, guiding them through the process of focusing their mana.

  At first, their results were just as frustrating as the healers’ first attempts. Vorn, still concealed under Thorin’s cloak, made his usual snide commentary.

  "Hah, support casters? More like support failures. Watching them is like watching an old man try to light a fire with wet wood."

  Thorin grunted. "You said the same about the healers and look how that turned out."

  Vorn scoffed. "Fair point. But at least they had a reason to learn fast. What motivation do these ones have?"

  The answer came in the form of Oswald finally managing to ignite a small flame in his palm. The moment he did, a system message popped up:

  [Spell Learned: Imbue Fire]

  [Intelligence +1]

  The others, seeing his success, doubled down, pushing harder to replicate the results. One by one, each of them succeeded, their faces lighting up as the system notifications rewarded them.

  Once they had all learned both Imbue Fire and Cure Minor Wounds, Thorin gave them the same directive.

  "Go help the healers burn through their MP, then rest and do it again. You'll need to be able to buff the fighters and patch them up if needed."

  Before the support initiates ran off to join the healers, Thorin stopped them with a raised hand.

  "Hold on a sec—any of you have any musical talent?"

  The group exchanged glances before Elaine hesitantly raised her hand. "I learned a few songs on the lute as a child. Nothing fancy, just old tunes my mother taught me."

  Thorin nodded. "Alright, try singing while the fighters train. Different songs, different tempos—see if any of them actually do something. Pay attention to what parts seem to have an effect. It could be the words, the rhythm, or even the emotions behind the tune."

  Samara's eyes widened. "Wait—you mean like a bard?"

  Thorin shrugged. "Yeah, exactly."

  "Everyone knows bard songs give status effects," Samara said, grinning. "Are we just now testing if that's real?"

  Elaine tapped her chin. "Well… I might actually remember one or two Bard songs that are useful."

  Thorin smirked. "Good. Try those first. But don’t stop there—experiment. Who knows? Maybe you’ll discover something new."

  Elaine nodded, her excitement growing. "Alright, I'll give it a shot."

  Vorn, still concealed, snorted. "Oh great, now we’re collecting bards. Next thing you know, we’ll be setting up a tavern."

  Thorin chuckled. "If we do, you’re tending bar."

  Vorn grumbled, but Thorin ignored him. Instead, he turned back to the supports.

  "Get to it. Let’s see if music really does make you stronger."

  Whistling at the couriers, Thorin raised a hand to stop them.

  "I've got a job for you.

  The four of them—Gary G., Ingrid, Garrett, and Roderic—perked up, eager for a new task.

  Thorin pulled out a handful of coins and divided them up. "Take this and run nonstop back to Oakhollow. Buy lunch—enough for everyone. Then bring it straight back as fast as you can. This is a guild quest. Got it?"

  The moment he finished speaking, the couriers’ eyes widened in unison.

  "Quest notification!" Gary G. shouted.

  Ingrid grinned. "We got a system prompt—'Expedited Delivery'! 75 XP reward per courier!"

  Garrett and Roderic whooped in excitement.

  Thorin smirked. "Good. Now get moving—make me regret not sending someone faster."

  The four didn't need to be told twice. In a burst of dust, they took off at a dead sprint, already racing to beat one another back to town.

  As the couriers disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust, Thorin turned toward the tanks and healers.

  "You lot, fetch the crafters. We're eating lunch here today, and after that, we've got important topics to cover."

  Becca, Giselle, Victor, Wallace, Mervin, and Owen jogged off toward the tree line, where Lance, Petra, Duncan, Callum, Royce, and Finn were still hard at work felling trees. Meanwhile, the healers—Clara, Jonas, Bran, and Hugo—called out for them to gather.

  As everyone gathered near the tower foundation, Thorin addressed the group.

  “Listen up. After we eat, the crafters will start working on gear. The rest of you will need to form parties.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “A party is more than just a group—it’s about covering each other’s weaknesses. A balanced team means better survival, better success, and better rewards. Think carefully about who you’d want to fight alongside.”

  Before he could continue, Clara stepped forward.

  "We’ve already talked about this," she said, gesturing toward Becca, Giselle, Marthe, and Sable. "The five of us want to adventure together as a party."

  Thorin crossed his arms, looking them over. "That’ll take care of a third of my work. Good thinking."

  Clara smirked. "We figured you’d say that."

  The rest of the recruits exchanged glances, clearly considering their own teams now that the topic was on the table.

  Thorin scanned the group. "Has anyone hit the soft cap on any of their stats yet?"

  A few hesitant glances passed around before two hands went up. One belonged to Victor, the other to Wallace.

  "Strength for me," Victor said. "Hit ten earlier today."

  "Mine’s Constitution," Wallace added. "Feels like I can take a hit better, but I can tell the gains slowed down."

  Thorin nodded in approval. "That’s good progress. You’ve pushed hard. But remember—your primary stats matter most, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should neglect the others. A strong fighter with no speed gets outmaneuvered. A tough tank with no endurance tires too fast. Work on rounding yourselves out before you level."

  The two nodded, clearly thinking it over, and a few others in the group exchanged determined looks.

  "Keep at it," Thorin said. "We’re just getting started."

  Thorin turned to the crafters. "This afternoon, you’ll start working on your crafting. I’ll help you get started, but you need to learn to make basic gear. Simple weapons, armor, tools—whatever we can use. You’re going to be the backbone of outfitting everyone here."

  Lance, Petra, Duncan, Callum, Royce, and Finn all nodded, glancing at each other with a mix of excitement and nerves.

  "Meanwhile," Thorin continued, "the rest of you will split into three parties and range out. Your job is to look for anything dangerous or edible to take down. Bring back whatever you can—meat, hides, bones, even plants or minerals. We need materials for the crafters to work with. Right now, you’ll have to make do with crude spears and clubs until they get something better made."

  There were some murmurs at that, but no outright complaints. They knew the deal.

  Just then, a cloud of dust kicked up at the edge of the site. The couriers sprinted into view, their faces flushed, grinning ear to ear. They skidded to a stop, Gary raising a clenched fist. "Quest complete!"

  Their menus flickered with notifications, and all four cheered as they read their 75 XP rewards.

  Thorin smirked. "Good work. Hope you didn’t drop my lunch."

  "Not a chance," Ingrid said, hefting a wrapped bundle.

  "Good. Now listen up. Your next task—you’ll be running relays between the three parties and the tower site. Constant updates on what’s happening, what’s found, and if there’s trouble. This, of course, is another AG quest."

  The couriers cheered again, clearly enjoying their rapid progress.

  Before breaking for food, Thorin turned to Samara, who was already wrapping her knuckles with a strip of cloth.

  "Good thinking," he said. "Until we can get you some cesti or tin knuckles, keep your hands wrapped. No sense breaking your fingers before you can throw a decent punch."

  She grinned, flexing her hands. "Don’t worry, boss. I’ll make do."

  With that, everyone settled down to eat, discussing their upcoming tasks between bites.

  As the last scraps of food disappeared and the group settled into a quiet satisfaction, Thorin rose to his feet, standing tall in the center of them. His gaze swept over their faces—young and old, hardened and fresh, all of them standing at the edge of something greater than themselves.

  “Listen up.” His voice cut through the murmurs, steady, strong, carrying weight.

  “We’re building something here—something that will outlast us. A guild, a force, a shield against the darkness. But if we’re to be more than just another band of adventurers, we need something greater than coin or contracts. We need a code. A purpose. A fire that will not go out.”

  They watched him, hanging on his words, the weight of the moment settling over them.

  “The world is cruel. Chaos and corruption thrive where good men and women stand aside. Monsters roam free. Bandits prey on the weak. The strong hoard power, leaving the rest to suffer. But that is not the way it has to be. That is not the way it will be.”

  He took a slow breath, letting the silence stretch, letting the fire build.

  “We will be the watchers on the wall, the ones who hold the line when no one else will. We will stand between civilization and the abyss, between order and ruin. We will protect those who cannot protect themselves, and we will strengthen those who would stand beside us. We will never turn away those in need, and we will never become the monsters we fight.”

  A murmur rippled through the group, low but growing, the kind of feeling that took root deep in the soul.

  Thorin’s voice hardened, his gaze sharp. “If you cannot uphold that, if you seek only glory, power, or coin, then walk away now. Because those who stand with the AG will stand for something greater. And we will not break.”

  Silence.

  Then, he clenched his fist over his chest, standing firm, unyielding.

  “So swear it with me. Not just as individuals, but as one.”

  His voice was iron, and when he spoke, it was not just words—it was an oath.

  “I swear—

  To be the shield against the storm.

  To stand when others falter.

  To defend the helpless, to strengthen the willing,

  To fight not for coin or power,

  But for the light that keeps the darkness at bay.

  I am the wall.

  I am the line.

  I will not break.”**

  For a heartbeat, there was only silence.

  Then, as one, the initiates rose, fists over their hearts, voices ringing out like a battle cry.

  "I swear—

  To be the shield against the storm.

  To stand when others falter.

  To defend the helpless, to strengthen the willing,

  To fight not for coin or power,

  But for the light that keeps the darkness at bay.

  I am the wall.

  I am the line.

  I will not break!”**

  The words echoed through the camp, carried on the wind like a promise to the world itself.

  As the last word of the oath rang out, a pulse rippled through the air—a feeling just on the edge of perception, like a distant thunderclap with no sound. Then, all at once, a white system message appeared before each of them, its stark text clear against the world.

  [System Notification]

  AG Oath Acknowledged, Witnessed, and Binding.

  A hushed silence fell over the group. Eyes widened, some glancing at each other, confirming they weren’t the only ones who saw it. A few shifted on their feet, feeling a weight settle on them—not a burden, but a presence.

  From beneath Thorin’s hood, Vorn let out a slow, considering hum. “…Well. That’s new.” His tone was caught between amusement and genuine intrigue.

  Thorin glanced down, catching the wyrm’s flickering golden eyes as he continued. “Never even heard of that happening before.”

  A few initiates swallowed hard, some murmuring, others clenching their fists like they could feel the words now woven into them.

  Thorin exhaled through his nose, steady, calm, resolved. Whatever had just happened, whatever unseen force had just acknowledged them, it didn’t change the path they’d chosen.

  It only confirmed it.

  And Thorin knew—this was the beginning of something real.