Much later, Leo leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face as he surveyed the transformed office. The chaotic stacks of paperwork had been tamed, now neatly arranged in corresponding piles on his shelves, desk, and drawers. A sense of order, almost alien in its novelty, filled the room.

  "She's a strange one, that woman," he murmured, shaking his head in bemused appreciation. Sarah had certainly left her mark, not just on the office, but on his thoughts. He'd hoped their meeting would have been more social, a chance to connect with her beyond the dry exchange of information. But she’d been all business, focused on her singular, peculiar quest.

  It was the why that gnawed at him. All she’d wanted was information about monsters. Information readily available from practically anyone in Grower. And the irony wasn't lost on Leo: she'd likely encountered a few on her way into town. So why come to him? And more importantly, why would a dying woman be so preoccupied with finding monsters? The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered.

  A sudden impulse seized him, a feeling like a persistent tug on the sleeve of his curiosity. He couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that there was more to this story, a hidden thread he desperately needed to unravel. "Maybe," he murmured to himself, a spark of intrigue igniting in his eyes, "maybe I'll go see what she's doing."

  He did, after all, know where she was headed. The thought struck Leo with a sudden, unsettling clarity: he didn't actually know where Sarah had been staying. He knew frustratingly little about the strange, yet undeniably captivating woman. She'd mentioned having somewhere to go, a place to stay, but had remained frustratingly vague about the specifics. Possibly, he suspected, deliberately so.

  Damn. A wave of anxiety washed over him. If I don't go, I might not see her again. The thought settled in his gut like a cold stone.

  Adding to the urgency was the grim knowledge Sarah had shared – the chilling revelation that her time was limited. The faint, almost imperceptible scent of mortality that clung to her had not escaped Leo's notice. A seasoned captain, he’d seen death too often not to recognize its subtle perfume. His heart ached for this enigmatic woman who had so unexpectedly captured his attention. As he rose from his chair, a wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He braced himself for the inevitable barrage of colorful, archaic phrases Sarah was prone to unleashing. He could already imagine the sharp reprimand for his unannounced arrival.

  I could just watch from afar, he mused, a flicker of practicality tempering his impulsive nature. Swoop in if she's in danger. I don't want her to get hurt. The thought offered a sliver of comfort. But if I wait for the right opportunity, then she can't get mad at me for saving her. It was a flimsy excuse, he knew, but it was enough to justify the growing need to see her.

  He moved towards the office door, his mind still wrestling with the dilemma. Before he could fully commit to a course of action, before he could definitively decide whether showing up was a brilliant or disastrous idea, his feet had already betrayed him. He found himself crouching behind a thick, leafy bush, peering through the branches. His eyes, trained to observe the smallest details on the vast ocean, were now focused intently on the woman he’d come to observe. He watched Sarah.

  ???????????

  Sarah left the guard house with a skip in her step and her hood pulled up against the crisp morning air. She was headed for the east gate, her destination a cluster of promising-looking woods just beyond the city walls. Her route took her past the tower, or rather, the charmingly ramshackle cottage that served as her inherited property. The queue snaking from its door was, as usual, impressive. Apparently, Necromancy, even of the slightly dodgy variety practiced by her predecessor, was good business.

  She popped in quickly to inform Ariel, her ever-efficient receptionist, of her plans. While there, another bag of silver was pressed into her hand. Sarah still marveled at the ease with which money seemed to come her way in this world. It was a far cry from the struggles of her previous life. Not that she was complaining.

  "Thanks, Ariel," she said, her smile genuinely warm, before heading back out into the bustling street. The sight of the queue still brought a thrill – a thrill of financial security. She pulled her hood down, the better to enjoy the vibrant market atmosphere, and treated herself to a couple of spiced pastries from a nearby vendor. Life was definitely good. Food in her mouth, food in her ring (she’d stashed a couple for later), and food waiting for her back at the tower. What more could a girl ask for?

  As she approached the east gate, however, a flutter of nervousness tickled her stomach. Even with her training, this was uncharted territory. Everything beyond those imposing stone arches was an unknown, a potential adventure, or a potential disaster. She joined the line of people waiting to exit, her earlier bravado replaced by a more cautious anticipation.

  When her turn came, she stepped beneath the archway and faced the gatekeeper. He was a formidable figure, clad in the standard city guard plate armor, a jagged scar bisecting his right eye. "Reason for leaving?" he asked, his tone polite but firm.

  Do I really need a reason? Sarah thought, a flicker of paranoia crossing her mind. Is this some tyrannical city where the overlord demands to know everyone's comings and goings? She pushed the thought aside. "Hi," she began, trying for a casual tone, "I'm going out to… Fight monsters. Is that okay?" The words sounded lame even to her own ears. Her carefully constructed confidence had crumbled at the first hurdle.

  "Guild card," the gatekeeper replied, his gaze unwavering. He’d clearly processed hundreds of people like her, his words honed to their essential meaning.

  "Guild card?" Sarah echoed, feeling a blush creep up her neck. She wasn't a bumpkin, but her knowledge of the intricacies of Cirian daily life was woefully lacking. Leo had shown her the various guild halls in town, but had neglected to mention the crucial detail of needing a membership card to simply leave the city.

  "If you're not registered with a guild," the gatekeeper explained patiently, "it costs a bronze coin to leave and the same to return. Guild members pass freely. Can you afford the price?" His words sent a shiver down Sarah’s spine. They echoed a similar question from Solus, a chilling memory. The price he’d demanded, however, had been far steeper than bronze coins.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  "I…I can pay," she stammered, "but I only have silver."

  "I can make change from my pouch. Can you receive it?" The question seemed odd, but Sarah nodded. Of course she could receive change. What was he getting at? "Yeah, sure," she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

  She handed over a small silver coin, and the gatekeeper efficiently counted out the change, placing the bronze coins in her outstretched hand. Sarah pocketed them, vowing to investigate joining a guild on her next trip into the city. For now, adventure beckoned. It was a new world, after all, full of wonders and dangers she couldn’t even imagine. Even with her training, everything beyond the city walls would be a learning experience. A potentially terrifying, but hopefully exhilarating, learning experience. She took a deep breath, stepped through the gate, and into the unknown.

  The forested area she had read about in one of books no longer remained. The entire area had been chopped down and uprooted for Grower's development. Instead, farmland and open plains covered all her eyes could see. Only a few choice trees remained and that was mainly for the fruit they provided.

  The woodland Sarah had envisioned, a tapestry of emerald and ochre woven beneath a canopy of ancient trees, was conspicuously absent. The map etched in her mind, a product of outdated books and whispered folklore, was proving to be a cruel illusion. The once familiar landmarks, the whispering willows by the creek, the gnarled oak said to be older than the village itself, had vanished, swallowed by the relentless march of progress. The information gleaned from those dusty tomes had become tragically obsolete, a stark reminder of the ever-shifting landscape.

  "Good job I went to see Leo," she muttered to herself, the dry rasp of her voice a counterpoint to the chirping insects and the rustling of unseen creatures in the tall grasses that now dominated the area. Leo, with his pragmatic approach and intimate knowledge of the local terrain, had been her saving grace. He'd painted a vivid picture of what to expect, a picture that was far removed from the romanticized image in her head.

  Following the rutted track that served as a road, Sarah maintained a vigilant watch, her senses heightened, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the worn sword at her side. Years of training had ingrained in her the importance of situational awareness. Enemy combatants, whether human or beast, could materialize at any moment, from any place, and complacency could be a death sentence. Leo's words echoed in her mind: "Low-level adventurers deal with the farmland threats. That's their bread and butter."

  The farmland missions, Leo had explained, were a mixed bag. Sometimes it was a simple matter of pest control – rabbits decimating a farmer's lettuce crop, moles tunneling through prized potato fields, or foxes preying on unwary chickens. Other times, the stakes were higher: wolves driven by hunger venturing too close to the village, their mournful howls a chilling prelude to a night raid. And then there were the goblin sightings, always unsettling, their unpredictable nature and penchant for mischief making them a constant source of anxiety for the villagers.

  Anything beyond these mundane menaces, Leo had emphasized, was above her pay grade. Anything that required specialized skills or a higher level of combat prowess was best left to the seasoned adventurers, the veterans who patrolled the more dangerous territories. Sarah, with her meager level 3 status, knew her limitations.

  She was a novice, a fledgling in a world teeming with perils. She was placing herself firmly alongside the low-level adventurers, perhaps even a step behind. The thought nagged at her, a tiny seed of doubt sprouting in the fertile ground of her ambition. She had much to prove, much to learn, and much to overcome before she could truly consider herself a force to be reckoned with. The vast, unfamiliar landscape stretching before her was a daunting reminder of the long and arduous road ahead.

  As Sarah walked down the well-trodden path, the familiar crunch of gravel beneath her feet a steady rhythm, the bushes beside her suddenly erupted in a flurry of rustling leaves. A jolt of adrenaline shot through her, every nerve ending snapping to attention. Instantly, the fine hairs on her arms and neck stood on end, a primal instinct kicking in.

  The Lance Corporal within her took over, her posture shifting from attentive stroll to focused readiness. The Staff of Death, usually a reassuring weight in her hand, felt conspicuously absent, leaving her feeling strangely vulnerable. She instinctively adopted a striking posture, weight balanced, muscles coiled, ready to maul anything that might spring out at her.

  What emerged from the quivering foliage, however, was what she would have, in other circumstances, called a small, white rabbit. Its nose twitched, its large eyes darted nervously, and it hopped a few inches before freezing, blending surprisingly well with the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Leo had mentioned them – a plague of fluffy pests. This whole area, he’d explained, was a patchwork of farms and fields, their bounty feeding the sprawling metropolis of Grower. The Adventurers Guild even had an open-ended contract on the rabbits, a constant struggle against their prolific breeding. Ears fetched a pittance, but the meat went to the butchers, a small incentive in a world where food was often scarce. “Guess this is as good a place as any,” she muttered to herself, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

  Despite her readiness, a wave of uncertainty washed over Sarah. “I didn't anticipate this,” she thought, a flicker of annoyance at her own lack of foresight. Here she was, a Necromancer, wielder of potent, if somewhat morbid, magic, facing a… Rabbit. And feeling foolish. She had no weapons, no offensive magic beyond the ability to enhance her own physical form. “I should have bought a bow or something,” she lamented. The thought of clubbing the creature to death with her staff felt unnecessarily brutal.

  Azrael's voice, calm and reassuring, echoed in the back of her mind. [Master. You should not need to enhance your body with skills. You should be more than capable of dealing with that creature.]

  Sarah hesitated. Are you sure? Rabbits are pretty fast where I'm from, you know?

  [I do not know about the rabbits of your origin, but I think you are underestimating yourself a little. Magic is a powerful tool when you utilise what you have correctly.]

  The voice had a point. She had used her enhanced strength and reflexes to break through the tower’s magically reinforced floor. She had even used skills that were honed for combat, hadn't she? Why not apply them here? It felt… Silly, somehow, focusing such power on a small, timid creature. But, as the saying went, practice made perfect.

  A slow breath in, a slow breath out. “Hmm. Ok, let’s give this a try,” she decided, shifting her stance slightly, focusing her will. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the flow of mana within her, the subtle hum of power that vibrated just beneath her skin. She imagined it surging outwards, reinforcing her muscles, sharpening her senses, turning her into something… More.

  Sarah's breath hitched as the twin enchantments, (Form of the Necromancer) and (Necrotic Body), surged to life. Her mana, tinged with an unnatural chill, coursed through her clothing, the fabric seeming to writhe as it absorbed the potent energy she supplied. A visible aura, like a heat shimmer in reverse, radiated from her, the air around her crackling with energy.

  Her stats doubled in an instant, a terrifying surge of power that made her feel both exhilarated and profoundly wrong. Her MP, the wellspring of her magic, began to drain at an alarming rate, the sensation like a physical wound.

  Wisdom, Intelligence, and Dexterity, already formidable, spiked another twenty percent, pushing her beyond her normal limits. The increase was so rapid, so intense, it felt like her very being was being stretched thin. Sarah knew the moment her foot lifted from the ground, she'd made a terrible mistake.

  Baby steps were aptly named for a reason.