"Well, now that you know what I am," I said, my voice steady despite the lingering nerves, "I have so many questions."

  Sid stopped walking and turned to look at me. His expression was calm but unreadable, his sharp eyes studying me like he was measuring how serious I was.

  After a long moment, he crossed his arms and said, "If you get into the guild, you’ll be assigned a mentor."

  "Okay…" I said slowly, not entirely sure where he was going with this.

  "I will personally take on that role," Sid continued. His tone wasn’t warm—it wasn’t exactly cold either. It was matter-of-fact, like he was stating a decision he’d already made. "If you make it in, I’ll answer any questions you want. About this world, about outlanders, about anything."

  I blinked, caught off guard. "Wait… seriously?"

  He nodded. "But only if you pass," he said firmly, holding my gaze. "The guild doesn’t hand out favors, and I’m not wasting my time on someone who won’t pull their weight."

  That last part stung a bit, but I swallowed my pride and nodded. "Alright. Deal."

  Sid smirked faintly, turning back to the path. "Good. Let’s see if you can survive this first."

  As I followed him, my mind churned with even more questions. He’d answered so little, but now he’d dangled something in front of me—something I desperately needed: clarity. If I wanted answers, I had to prove myself.

  I gripped the hilt of my sword tighter and quickened my pace to match his. Whatever this quest was, I was going to see it through.

  We continued down the winding forest path, Sid walking ahead in silence. I stayed a few steps behind, still gripping the hilt of my sword. The tension in the air was heavier than before—his sudden interrogation about where I was from had left me on edge, and the way he’d just brushed off my questions made it worse.

  The trees grew denser, their shadows stretching long across the path. The noise of the forest seemed to fade, the cheerful chirping of birds replaced by an eerie quiet. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched, though Sid didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

  Suddenly, Sid stopped and raised a hand.

  “What is it?” I asked, my voice low.

  “Quiet,” he said, scanning the trees.

  I froze, my hand tightening on the hilt of my sword. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, without a word, Sid slipped off the path and vanished into the shadows.

  “Sid?” I whispered harshly, turning to where he’d been. There was no response, no sign of him.

  Panic prickled at the back of my neck. Where the hell is he going? Before I could decide whether to follow him, a sharp whistle pierced the air.

  I barely had time to react before the first bandit stepped out from behind a tree, his crooked grin revealing teeth that hadn’t seen a brush in years.

  “Well, well,” he said, his voice rough and mocking. “What do we have here?”

  Another figure appeared to my right, then another to my left. Three of them. Each armed—two with swords, and one with a notched bow aimed squarely at me.

  I felt my stomach drop. My hand instinctively went to the hilt of my sword, but I didn’t draw it. Not yet.

  “You’re a little far from town, aren’t you, friend?” the leader said, stepping closer. His armor was mismatched and worn, leather patched together with strips of metal. His sword was rusty, but it looked sharp enough to do the job. “What’s in the pouch?”

  "Nothing worth your time," I said, trying to sound calm. My pulse was pounding in my ears.

  “Oh, I’ll be the judge of that.” He took another step forward. “How about you drop that sword and hand it over? Maybe we won’t gut you right here.”

  I glanced around, my mind racing. They had me surrounded, and the bowman had me dead to rights if I made a move. This wasn’t a fight I could win outright.

  But I’d read enough fantasy novels to know one thing: bandits like this weren’t disciplined. They were opportunists, relying on intimidation and brute force. If I could throw them off, make them overcommit, I might stand a chance.

  The leader stepped closer, his sword hanging loosely at his side. “Last chance, pup. Drop it.”

  Instead of backing down, I shifted my weight slightly, my eyes locking on his. “You’re not very smart, are you?” I said, letting the words drip with mockery.

  His grin faltered. “What did you say?”

  “I said you’re not very smart.” My voice was steady now, the fear in my chest replaced by something sharper. “You’ve got three men for a single target. And you think I’m alone?”

  That made him pause. The bowman’s grip on his string wavered slightly, his eyes darting to the shadows behind me. The third bandit looked around, his confidence suddenly shaken.

  I pressed the advantage, stepping forward. “You don’t think someone like me would come out here without backup, do you? If you’re planning on looting me, you’re going to have to deal with them too.”

  The leader’s eyes narrowed, his confidence faltering. He turned his head slightly, as if expecting someone to leap out of the trees.

  That was all the opening I needed.

  With a sharp movement, I drew my sword and lunged at him. The blade was heavier than I expected, and my swing wasn’t clean, but it was enough. He barely got his weapon up in time to block, the force of the impact knocking him off balance.

  The bowman loosed his arrow, but it went wide, striking a tree as I ducked low. I closed the gap between me and the leader, driving my shoulder into his chest. He stumbled back, tripping over a root and crashing to the ground.

  The third bandit charged, his blade coming down in a wide arc. I sidestepped, my foot catching his ankle and sending him sprawling. His sword clattered to the ground, and I kicked it away before he could reach for it.

  The leader was back on his feet, his face twisted in anger. He came at me with a wild swing, but it was sloppy—driven by rage, not skill. I ducked under it and drove the pommel of my sword into his ribs. He grunted, doubling over.

  The bowman started to draw another arrow, but his hands were shaking now. “Screw this,” he muttered, turning and bolting into the trees.

  The leader groaned, clutching his side as he dropped his weapon. “Alright, alright! Enough!”

  I stood over him, my chest heaving, the bronze sword heavy in my hand. My shoulder and arm throbbed from where his blade had grazed me, but I was still standing.

  Just as the tension started to drain from my body, Sid stepped out from the shadows. He moved casually, as if he’d been watching the whole time.

  “Well,” he said, his tone dry. “That was… something.”

  I glared at him, sweat dripping down my face. “You were here the whole time?”

  Sid shrugged. “Had to see how you’d handle yourself.”

  “I almost got killed!”

  “But you didn’t,” he said simply. He gestured to the downed bandits. “And you didn’t just survive—you outsmarted them. You read the situation, used their weaknesses against them. Not bad for someone who barely knows how to hold a sword.”

  I frowned, still catching my breath. “You think that was impressive?”

  Sid smirked faintly. “I think you’ve got potential. You’re not skilled yet, but intuition like that? You can’t teach it.”

  He reached down, pulling a small coin pouch from the leader’s belt. “Consider this your first real lesson. Out here, it’s not about being the strongest. It’s about being the smartest. And right now, you’ve got just enough to survive.”

  He tossed the pouch to me, and I caught it clumsily, my arms still shaky.

  “Come on,” Sid said, sheathing his sword. “Let’s get you patched up. You passed, Ranger. But don’t get cocky—you’ve got a long way to go.”

  I stared at him for a moment, then nodded, slipping the pouch into my belt. My body ached, and I knew the cuts would sting later, but I felt something new. Pride.

  Not because I’d fought well—because I hadn’t. But because I’d fought smart. And in this world, that seemed to matter more than anything.

  I followed Sid back toward the path, clutching my sword tightly. The pain and exhaustion didn’t matter. I’d survived. And for the first time, I felt like I might actually belong here.

  The walk back was much calmer than the journey out, but my mind was anything but. I was exhausted, bleeding, and aching all over, but the questions in my head wouldn’t let me rest. I had to know more—about this world, the system, the guild, everything.

  Sid walked ahead, calm and unbothered, his posture as relaxed as if we’d just gone on a stroll rather than a dangerous test involving bandits. The guy clearly knew what he was doing, but he didn’t exactly seem like the chatty type. Still, I decided to risk it.

  "Hey, Sid," I said, trying not to sound too nervous.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Hm?" he grunted without turning around.

  "I’ve got a lot of questions," I said. "About… everything."

  He gave a faint sigh but didn’t tell me to shut up. That was progress.

  "Fine," he said, still walking. "Ask. I’ll answer what I can."

  "Okay," I said quickly, taking advantage of the opportunity. "Does everyone have a quest log? And, you know, health bars and stuff?"

  "Yes," he said simply. "Everyone who’s part of the system does. Your quest log, health bar, stamina bar—it’s all normal."

  "So… everyone in this world has those things?"

  "Pretty much," he replied. "Though some people pay less attention to them. Farmers, shopkeepers—they don’t need to worry about stamina bars when they’re tilling fields or counting coins. But mercenaries, adventurers, and guild members? We use them all the time. Part of the job."

  I nodded, though it was still strange to think of this as "normal."

  "What about races?" I asked. "You asked me if I was Imperial, Slate, or Con. What did you mean?"

  Sid glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "You don’t know?"

  I shook my head.

  He sighed again, slowing his pace slightly. "Everyone is human," he said. "But there are seven major groups. Each has their own culture, territories, and way of doing things."

  "Okay," I said, pressing him for more. "So what are they?"

  "You’re in the Empire," he said, gesturing vaguely around him. "Imperials rule this land, though not everyone here’s Imperial. I’m Imperial, by the way. To the north, you’ve got the Con—their kingdom’s colder, harsher. To the south, you’ll find the Slate. Tough people. Stubborn too."

  I thought back to his earlier question and nodded. "So, Imperial, Con, and Slate. That’s three. What about the others?"

  Sid shrugged. "The other four are scattered. Nomads, smaller groups, harder to pin down. You don’t run into them as often unless you’re traveling far. But you’ll hear about them sooner or later."

  I nodded again, processing the information. Seven groups, all human. It was simpler than I’d expected, but it still raised more questions than it answered.

  "What about being part of the guild?" I asked. "What does it mean, exactly?"

  Sid chuckled. "It means you’re not on your own. The guild provides resources, training, and jobs. In return, you take quests, share a cut of your earnings, and don’t make a mess of their name."

  "Sounds fair," I said.

  "It is," he agreed. "The guild’s not perfect, but it’s better than wandering around on your own. You’ll live longer, at least."

  I hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at me since our earlier conversation. "What are outlanders?"

  Sid stopped walking for a moment, turning to look at me. His eyes were sharp, as if he was trying to decide how much to tell me.

  "You, for starters," he said.

  "Yeah, I got that," I said. "But what are we? Why does it matter?"

  Sid sighed and started walking again. "Outlanders come from other worlds. We don’t know how or why, but every so often, someone like you shows up—someone who wasn’t born here. The system accepts you, gives you a class, but… you’re different."

  "Different how?"

  "You don’t fit into the rules the same way," he said. "The system works for you, but it doesn’t recognize where you came from. Some people think outlanders are a threat. Others think you’re chosen by the gods. Me? I think you’re just unlucky."

  I frowned, unsure how to respond to that.

  "And before you ask," he added, "no, there’s no way back. At least, none that anyone’s found."

  The weight of his words settled over me, but I pushed it aside. "Alright," I said. "Last question—for now. How do you gain skills and abilities?"

  Sid smirked faintly. "By using them."

  "Using them?" I repeated, confused.

  "Skills come with practice," he said. "If you use a sword, you’ll get better at using a sword. Same with bows, axes, whatever. It’s the same for abilities. Being a Ranger doesn’t mean you’re tied to a bow. Rangers are about survival—tracking, night vision, things that keep you alive in the wild. You practice, you survive, you grow. Simple as that."

  "What about spells? Healing?"

  "No spells for Rangers," Sid said. "And healing? That’s done with potions or time. Unless you’ve got a healer in your party, don’t count on magic saving your ass."

  I let out a slow breath, nodding to myself. It wasn’t the most comforting answer, but at least it was clear.

  Sid glanced back at me again, his smirk widening. "We’ll go over stats later. For now, focus on staying alive."

  I couldn’t help but grin slightly despite the exhaustion creeping into my body. "Fair enough."

  The rest of the walk passed in relative silence, but my mind was racing with everything Sid had told me. There was so much I didn’t know, so much I still had to learn. But for the first time, I didn’t feel lost.

  I wasn’t just some clueless outlander anymore. I was Sigvard, a Level 1 Ranger. And even if this world wasn’t mine, I was determined to carve out a place for myself in it.

  Sid leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me as I stood there staring at the faint screen hovering in front of me. The glow of my stats lit my face as I mulled over how to assign the points I’d just earned. After a moment, he let out a low chuckle.

  "You look like you’re trying to solve a riddle," he said.

  "Because I kinda am," I replied. "I don’t want to screw this up."

  Sid straightened, stepping closer. "Let me make it easy for you," he said. "You’ve got five stats, right? Strength, Dexterity, Intelligence, Endurance, and Charisma. Each of them does different things, but it’s not rocket science. Here’s the rundown."

  I turned to face him, genuinely interested, as he began explaining.

  "Strength," he started, tapping his bicep for emphasis, "is pretty simple. It’s how much you can lift and carry. Swinging weapons, too. If you want to use heavier gear—like big swords, war hammers, or certain armor—you’ll need the strength to handle it. Carrying capacity, max weight, even how hard you can throw something. That’s all Strength."

  I nodded. That tracked.

  "Next, Dexterity," he said, flexing his fingers. "That’s your flexibility, your ability to move quickly and precisely. Dodging, falling, movement speed, that’s all Dexterity. Say you jump off a roof—Dexterity determines how far you can jump before you break something, but also how fast you can recover from a bad landing."

  "Alright," I said, processing.

  "Endurance," he continued, "is stamina. But here’s the important part: it’s not just about how much stamina you have, but how fast you lose it. Running, jumping, climbing—Endurance determines how many times you can do that stuff before you pass out. Say you’ve got high Dexterity—you can jump far—but if you’ve got low Endurance, you’ll be winded after one jump. You get me?"

  "Yeah," I said, a faint grin forming. "So Dexterity is how far I can jump, and Endurance is how many times I can jump without collapsing."

  "Exactly," he said, nodding approvingly.

  He moved on, gesturing vaguely at his head. "Intelligence is your brainpower. It’s not about knowing things instantly—you’re not going to suddenly learn how to build a crossbow just by raising your Intelligence. But it helps you retain what you do learn. Memory, problem-solving, strategy. It’s your ability to learn and hold onto information. Good for tactics, survival, and picking up skills faster."

  That one gave me pause. I’d assumed Intelligence was more of a magic-user thing, but the way Sid explained it made it sound useful for anyone trying to navigate the world.

  "And Charisma?" I asked, curious about the one stat he hadn’t covered yet.

  Sid scratched his chin, smirking faintly. "Charisma’s tricky," he admitted. "It’s basically how likable or influential you are. People trust you more easily if you’ve got high Charisma—at least, they’re more likely to want to follow you or agree with you. But it’s not a cheat code. If you’re rude or obnoxious, people can still hate you, even with high Charisma. It’s more about presence. Being able to lead."

  He gave me a pointed look. "For an outlander like you, Charisma might not be a bad idea. You’re going to need people to trust you if you want to survive."

  I frowned, thinking it over. "So Charisma’s not just for convincing people—it’s for relationships, too?"

  "Exactly," Sid said. "And don’t forget, all the stats have sub-stats tied to them. Strength includes things like carrying capacity and how much weight you can lift. Dexterity includes movement speed and reaction time. Charisma can affect how quickly you gain allies or how much people trust you off the bat."

  I stared at the hovering screen again, chewing my lip. "And if I don’t know what a stat does exactly?"

  Sid grinned, leaning back against the counter. "Focus on it. The system’ll give you a tooltip."

  I raised an eyebrow. "A tooltip?"

  "Yeah. Like anything else in the system," Sid said. "But here’s the catch—it’s snarky. Real snarky. Sometimes the tooltips are helpful. Sometimes they’re just rude. You’ll see what I mean when you try it."

  Curious, I focused on Dexterity, willing the system to explain it to me. Sure enough, a faint chime sounded in my ears, and glowing text appeared in the corner of my vision.

  "Dexterity: For when you’d rather dodge than look cool with a broken nose. Increases movement speed, balance, and reaction time. Oh, and makes you slightly less clumsy, but don’t get cocky."

  I snorted. "Snarky is right."

  Sid chuckled. "Told you. Try it on another one."

  I focused on Strength next, and another tooltip appeared.

  "Strength: For when you think the solution to all life’s problems is to hit harder. Increases carrying capacity, weapon swing power, and your ability to throw things. Not bad if you like smashing stuff."

  "Yeah, that tracks," I said, rolling my eyes.

  Sid’s grin widened. "See? You’ll figure it out. But remember—you don’t need to max everything out right now. Stats don’t make you invincible. They just make you better at surviving."

  I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. It was a lot to think about, but for the first time, I felt like I was starting to understand the system.

  "Thanks," I said, giving him a small smile.

  "Don’t thank me yet," Sid replied. "You’ve got a long way to go, Ranger. But you’ve made it past the first hurdle. Now let’s see if you can keep up."

  With that, he turned back to the job board, leaving me to stare at my stats and think about my next move.

  The guild hall was quieter than usual when Sid called me over. The early morning light streamed through the windows, catching the dust in the air as guild members scattered about—some leaving on quests, others just getting in from a night of drinking or work. Sid was leaning against the counter near Jason, his arms crossed and his usual no-nonsense expression plastered across his face.

  “You called?” I asked, still a bit stiff from the fight with the bandits the day before. My wounds had healed, but the soreness lingered as a reminder of how outmatched I’d been.

  Sid gave me a quick once-over and nodded. “You’ve rested up enough. Time for something bigger.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Bigger than fighting off three bandits while you watched from the sidelines?”

  He smirked faintly but didn’t rise to the bait. “A real job this time. Not just a test.”

  I crossed my arms. “Alright, what’s the job?”

  Sid straightened, the casual ease in his stance giving way to something sharper. “There’s a trade route to the north that the Empire wants to reopen. It’s been closed for years because of skirmishes with the Con, but now there’s talk of a treaty. The Empire’s sending a representative to negotiate, and we’re escorting him.”

  I frowned. “We? I thought the guild doesn’t get involved in politics.”

  Sid nodded. “We don’t. But a job’s a job, and this one pays well. The guild doesn’t care what side you’re on as long as the coin’s good.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” I said. “Walk some diplomat to the Con and hope nothing tries to kill us on the way.”

  Sid chuckled, low and dry. “If you think it’s going to be that simple, you’re in for a surprise.”

  “Figured as much,” I muttered. “So why am I coming along? You could take this job without me.”

  “You’ve got potential,” Sid said, his tone matter-of-fact. “And you’re going to need experience if you want to survive out here. A long trip like this will give you time to learn. To practice.”

  “Practice what?”

  He gestured to the bronze sword at my hip. “That thing, for starters. You can barely swing it without tripping over yourself.”

  I scowled, but he ignored it, continuing. “Along the way, I’ll teach you. One-handed sword techniques, tracking, maybe some basic survival skills. By the time we’re halfway there, you’ll be able to do more than flail around like a kid with a stick.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said dryly.

  “You’re welcome,” he shot back.

  Jason, who had been listening silently from the counter, chimed in. “It’s a good opportunity for you, Sigvard. The north isn’t just dangerous—it’s different. The Con’s lands are harsher than the Empire’s, and the people are tougher for it. You’ll learn a lot on the road. If you survive, that is.”

  “Always the optimist,” I said, shaking my head.

  Sid pushed off the counter, adjusting the sword strapped to his side. “Pack your gear. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”