"Stop with the brooding; it doesn't suit you," my father chuckles as he finds my silent nature amusing.

"I'm pissed."

"Of course you're pissed. That doesn't mean you should let what I said or happened to you eat you alive from the inside. Or you will always find yourself always angry." I stopped walking and watched my father walk past me. "Instead, find ways to improve yourself. You're still doing what I told you to do with your magic, yes?"

"Of course I am," I groan annoyingly. "It's the only thing you taught me relating to magic. Or even allow!" I raise my voice at him.

Magic exists, and I couldn't even use it. All because my father doesn't teach me anything else but channeling.

Easier said than done, however. I was humiliated by a stupid lizard. I was so close to completing my training, only for it to be squandered, and then I fell over embarrassingly, trying to stand up to him. I'm only glad that Barren didn't have to see that.

Trying to be all good and cheery isn't something I could just do now, especially with my father's training. At least teach me something about magic besides channeling.

Channeling is a magic skill widespread throughout the world of Kalos. It's the basic of the basic. Everyone can do it. It's just pouring magic into parts of one's body or items that allow one to enhance one's physical abilities or to enchant items with special effects if one knows how.

But all he teaches me is channeling throughout my whole body. I want to know why. Is that what he does all the time? Is that how his bow works? Is my father planning on granting me his bow?

My body shivered in excitement at that thought. I could already see myself wielding that bow. Wait, he doesn't teach me how to use bows; he teaches me how to use a sword.

My father turns around at me and smiles. "One day, you'll find out why. And when you do, you like what you learn."

He proceeds to wave at the guards standing at the gate. We knew everyone in the city to some extent. Everyone had to know us. They had to. Ever since my father came to Hearthglen, the farmlands and Zarmen Forest have been cleared of any dangerous monsters that could cause problems, which has helped out merchants, businessmen, and noblemen alike.

I tagged behind my father as he approached a building that resembled a brick mansion, its structure stretching long with two four-story towers at either end, giving it a grandiose appearance. A staircase at the building's front leads up to a second-floor patio, acting as a bridge to the main entrance. This patio extends over the building's rooftop, supported by beams lining the edges of the walkway. Small wooden steps carve a pathway through the patio, directing toward a door that boasts an air of elegance. Below, at the back of the building, our carriage is being unloaded, its presence momentarily ignored by the grandeur above. Flanking the entrance, a flag sways gently, adorned with a symbol of three interlocking triangles, their free sides extending into blades—a heraldic emblem representing the Guild House.

"Stay here," my father said abruptly.

He never lets me inside to see the guild. He always says it is full of lowlifes and thugs. I agree because of what I usually see walking by and because I know about its origins.

The guild, specifically the Adventurers Guild, was formed in Asgard. Drakelene is an enemy of Asgard. Guilds run through all the continents, countries, and kingdoms. Due to Drakelene's animosity toward Asgard, only a few adventurers travel through Drakelene. Plus, any money from the guild in Drakelene is heavily taxed.

Sighing heavily at the thought of my family being poor due to our affiliation with the guild. We do make money from other places, though. Only the monster parts—teeth, hide, horns, and sometimes organs like eyes—are sold at the guild for crafting materials. The body, mainly parts that can be eaten, is sent to the butchery. That's where most of our money comes from, since it's not taxed.

We also get all sorts of herbs and whatnot in the forest, so we spend time collecting coins from other sources, like the alchemists.

It's not much, but we get by. I still remember my father staying in the forest all day as he left me with one of his trusted friends, Aunt Silfe.

Leaning against a pillar that holds up the second floor's patio, I waited patiently. I looked up at the sky, seeing that it was the afternoon. We spent half the day hunting. Sure, my father did all the work, but my main job was to capture the raptor for training and also due to its good price at the market—killing two birds with one stone—or that's what my father says.

As I waited there, I heard the sound of jingling coins and felt a sudden pain in the back of my head. Wincing as I rubbed the little lump forming, I noticed a small brown bag on the ground containing coins. As I extended my arm to pick it up, I heard my father laughing at me.

"Left yourself open again."

Father approaches me as I toss the bag at him. "I was distracted. How much did we make?"

Glaring at him as he lifted his finger up, wearing one big smirk that I wanted to slap off. "Close to a single silver plate. Better than last time."

I sighed out loud at him in disbelief. Could he be any more of a child? A single silver plate isn't much. It takes 100 bronze coins to make a plate, 10 bronze plates to make a single silver coin, 100 silver coins to make a plate, and 10 to make a gold coin. The most we ever got from our hunts was close to two silver plates. That's not even considering the tax.

"Ok." I paused for a moment. "How much do we have after tax?" I had to remind my father. If I didn't, he would go off saying how much money we got, like we had won a bet with a wealthy noble.

His smirking face immediately faded to a look of disgust and disappointment, cringing at the thought of how much he really got. He always does this, always ignoring stuff like this.

The last time we went on a hunt, he forgot his bow. I had to hunt everything by myself, and it was a very long day. My sword even broke, so I had to use my bare hands.

"Two silver coins," he said depressingly.

Two? Two? That's outrageous.

They never took that much. Did they increase the taxes again? What benefit does it give them? I understand that Drakelene isn't allied with Asgard, but the guild was designed for adventurers to collaborate and conquer dungeons or kill high-class monsters at any given time. Or bandits, or, even worse, breeder-class monsters. I can't seem to fathom why Drakelene is so hard on the guild. Especially when the guild helps out every country and kingdom on every continent. So, increasing taxes on adventurers doesn't make sense.

Feeling upset about it, knowing very well that politics and guild stuff are out of my league. 

The only guild-related news I ever heard was about a goblin breeder running around a few years ago. I don't know much about breeders, but I know everyone takes them seriously. I still recall my father telling me that breeder-class monsters are way more dangerous than any kind of monster, regardless of rank. They can create armies of their own kind in a few days. I don't know how, but they themselves are the worst, or that's what my father says.

The last breeder class created an army of ruthless and powerful goblins that laid siege to the kingdom of Liane. Asgard assisted with the war. I even heard about a so-called God of War being born.

His stories and accomplishments spread throughout Kalos. He was said to be a one-man army, fearlessly charging into battle, impaling his enemies with their own weapons that once pieced his own flesh. He was known as the Immortal God of War. There were even rumors that he had slain the Wolf King, although I didn't quite understand the significance of that. What made the king of an ancestral species of dogs so special? But then again, these were all just rumors that I had heard.

I think his name was Arkus or something. Arkus, the God of War.

Looking at my father, he placed his hand on my back, bringing me back to the present as he walked me down the sidewalk. "Come on, Will. The receptionist said our loot should be getting loaded and ready to be sent to Cryken's Butcher Shop."

We continued walking down the sidewalk and ran into many people. Everyone we passed greeted my father, including a few merchants and nobles. I couldn't help but notice some attractive girls among them.

My father, however, smacks my head whenever I look at girls. Always saying, "You're too young to be looking for a lady," or "You're not ready."

I'm 16. What does he mean, I'm not ready?

As I was about to look at a woman, a young nobleman appeared before me. He was slightly shorter than me and had a girlish voice, suggesting he was around twelve. He had black hair styled in a bowl cut and a chubby face with squinty black eyes. He wore a fancy red silky velvet shirt with a white kilt on the left side of his waist. He also wore soft black pants that matched the style of his shirt and three golden bracelets with a red dragon scale on his hand. I then noticed a small creature next to him that caught my attention.

Right next to him was a little dark navy blue dragon, the size of a dog, standing right next to his hip. Its small body was a clear sign that it was still a baby. However, it only had two legs, using its wings to support its walking. Its eyes were dark black. Horns were short and dull at the point but covered the lining of its skull as small, protruding spikes followed down its body to the base of its tail. Its webbed wings were long, like a bat's wings. But much longer due to its body size. I could tell that its wings may surpass Elrid's when it matures more.

"Well, look who we have here?" said the young nobleman, toning a cocky voice as he petted his dragon.

"You must be Lord Dimmal's boy," my father interjected. I scoffed silently. My father knew I hated people who considered themselves high and mighty. Sure, my father always told me to treat everyone with respect, but something about cocky, entitled people just made me so mad. "Donald, was it?"

Donald Aster. He is the youngest son of Dragon Lord Dimmal Aster. I was friends with Lord Dimmal's eldest son, Bide. Aunt Silfe looked after us both when both of our parents went away.

The boy spat on the ground, "That's Sir Donald to you. After all, I am now an esteemed Dragon Rider." Grinning with confidence, Donald's dragon squealed us along with a sharp hissing noise. "Feel free to bow before me."

Rocks fell off the rooftops as another dragon appeared, grabbing our attention. It was huge. One wing almost covered a whole building. It was, however, not as big as Elrid. It looked almost identical to Donald's dragon. Donning sharp blue scales, its horns sharpen to the point, with golden ornaments ringing around each horn. One clear difference between Donald's dragon and this one was the long scar down its right eye. Its eye was fine, but the scar is there, and it ain't fading soon.

Shocked to see it peaking over the rooftops, I figured it was resting up there. Conveniently, the buildings and the roof were designed to handle the weight of most dragons. Anything close to a Matriarch, you were asking for a miracle.

Most dragons tend to leave cracks on most of the buildings; luckily, we have magic to help with the damage.

"That's enough, Donald."

We all looked at the blue dragon as a knight dropped off its neck, landing before us. He stood up straight, his long navy blue hair waving in the soft breeze. His sharp face gave a strong impression, and his black eyes displayed his every intent. Staring at the knight, he stood almost the same height as my father. His armor was spectacular, donning a long navy zipped-up tunic with leather armor padding on the sides of his chest. His shoulder plating, which covers his entire shoulder and upper arm, was bright silver, curving away from the body along with gauntlets that covered the forearm and the top of his hand, wrapping around his palm. A few leather belts were strapped down to his waist, with bags and pockets sewn into the belt itself on the side to avoid misplacements or distractions. His pants also had leather padding, except around the shins and boots, which sported a nice silver touch as his shoulder plates did. Dangling off the belt was his one-handed, long sword, ready to be pulled.

If only I could see his sword's beauty. 

"Good afternoon, Lord Dimmal," my father told the knight.

Bide often spoke about his father, but I never got the chance to meet him. Lord Dimmal was renowned for his role as a scout. He and his dragon were known for flying fast and deep, despite his dragon's size, into enemy territory, regardless of whether it was plagued by Blight or not. In fact, I even heard that he killed a Blight Rider when he was just a Dragon Rider.

"Afternoon, Mr. Hunter," Lord Dimmal replied, bowing with such elegance that I was surprised a noble like him even showed us.

"Father! Don't show such grace before them," Donald protested.