The eastern city gate was bustling with activity as Richard arrived, his bike humming beneath him before quieting to a stop.
He parked it in a designated section by the wall, noticing the rows of trucks, vans, and armored cars rumbling out of the gate. Most likely headed for nearby rift zones or monster-infested sectors.
Hunters were everywhere.
They moved with purpose, some armed to the teeth in full combat gear, others in casual attire, slinging bags over their shoulders as if going on a camping trip.
A few stood near digital bulletin boards, handing out flashy holographic fliers.
"Looking for a tank-type! Grade 4 only! Decent pay, good food!" one man shouted, shoving a flier toward a passing swordswoman.
Richard ignored the commotion, eyes set on a small kiosk-like building by the entrance.
It looked more like a ticket booth than any formal structure, but his instincts told him to go here.
He stepped inside, where a short, bald man sat behind a scratched-up reception desk, tapping lazily at a keyboard.
The man's mana presence was laughably low, barely a flicker compared to what Richard had gotten used to sensing.
"Yeah? Name?" the man asked, not looking up.
Richard glanced at the crumpled note he'd pulled from his jacket pocket. Three names scribbled in messy ink: James, Paula, Layla.
"I'm here to join a party. Mission ID 403-Beta. I'm the last member. Should be three already waiting—James, Paula, Layla."
The man stopped typing and raised an eyebrow. He pressed a button on his headset mic and spoke into it flatly.
"Team 403-Beta, your final party member is here. Report to reception. That's reception one—yeah, the booth."
Richard crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, quietly amused.
This is a reception building? he thought, glancing at the faded posters peeling off the walls.
What a joke compared to the main hunter hubs in the central district.
Ten minutes passed before the door creaked open and three individuals entered.
The first was a man, late twenties by appearance, clad in full body armor that clanked slightly as he walked.
He had short black hair, black eyes, and a generic, almost forgettable face. A massive greatsword was strapped to his back, and the mana rolling off him was pitiful.
Not just low. Embarrassingly low.
Behind him came two women.
The taller of the pair wielded a long wooden staff. Her wine-colored hair was tied in a loose bun, and she had a scar running down her right cheek.
Her eyes were the same deep red, tired and unimpressed. She wore partial armor over a flexible bodysuit, curving to her feminine frame, and looked to be in her late twenties.
The last to enter was a much shorter girl—barely above five feet—carrying dual short swords strapped to her hips.
Blue hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a face that practically screamed mischief. She bounced into the room, grinning wide.
The armored man stepped forward and gave a confident nod.
"Yo! You the new guy?" he said, clapping a hand on Richard's shoulder without invitation. "Name's James. Just call me Big Bro James. Don't worry—I've got your back out there."
Richard stared blankly at the hand still on his shoulder.
James awkwardly pulled it back with a chuckle. "Heh. Sorry. Habit."
The woman with the staff sighed and gave a half-hearted wave. "Paula. Let's get this over with."
"Laylaaa~!" the shorter girl beamed, making a dramatic pose like she was on stage. "That's me! Hope you're fun to watch, new guy."
Richard raised an eyebrow.
What the hell did I just sign up for?
He gave a curt nod, folding his arms. "Alex."
"That's it?" James asked.
"That's it," Richard said flatly.
Layla leaned toward Paula. "Oooh, mysterious type."
Paula didn't even glance at her. "Hopefully, not the 'dies-in-the-first-fight' mysterious type."
"Tch," Richard scoffed. "If anyone's dying first, it's the guy who calls himself Big Bro."
James blinked. "Wait, what?"
"You've got less mana than a kindergarten conjurer," Richard said, stepping past them and heading toward the exit. "If you're not careful, I might have to carry your corpse back."
Paula smirked.
Layla laughed outright. "I like him."
"Hey, hey," James said, jogging to catch up, "I'm not just about mana, alright? I'm all heart. And grit."
"Grit's not going to stop a mana beast from ripping your arm off."
"That's why we're a team, right?" James grinned, undeterred. "One for all and all that?"
Richard ignored him and pulled out another piece of paper to check the mission briefing again. Four days, closing a rift nearby Eldrift forest.
No support.
It was just them.
He mounted his bike again as the others piled into a beat-up off-road vehicle nearby.
Layla took the wheel, humming a jaunty tune, while Paula settled in the back with her eyes already closed.
James leaned out the passenger side window and gave Richard a thumbs-up. "Try not to fall behind, rookie!"
'Rookie?' Richard narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
The engine of Layla's vehicle roared to life, and with a loud cheer, she drove off toward the outskirts.
Richard rolled his eyes, flicked down the visor on his helmet, and gunned the throttle.
'Haaa. This mission better be worth the headache.'