From the outside, the guild building looked large but unremarkable. Stepping inside, the illusion shattered almost immediately.

  “Yeah… this is bigger on the inside,” Luke muttered.

  The interior was easily four times the building’s apparent size. Beyond the private meeting room they’d already used, several more lined the second level. In the back corner, the Arcane Jackpot glowed faintly, its pulsing light practically daring someone to test their luck.

  To the left, a cluster of tables and a bar formed a casual eating area where adventurers lounged, ate, and talked shop.

  “Bar and restaurant,” Christine guessed. “Somewhere to wait between jobs.”

  On the right side of the hall, vendor stalls displayed weapons and armor of varying quality.

  “This place is basically a mini shopping mall,” Jessie said, eyes wide.

  Along the wall near the entrance hung the mission board, while the back of the hall was dominated by the long counter where guild attendants waited to assist.

  They focused on Rank F quests, deliberately avoiding anything too ambitious. With their updated stats and abilities, Jessie and Luke pushed hard for a culling quest, arguing that the risk no longer felt overwhelming. After some discussion, Christine finally relented.

  At the counter, James asked, “Are we limited to one quest at a time?”

  The guild attendant nodded. “Officially, yes.”

  James glanced back at his family. “If we’re headed near areas where medicinal herbs grow, could we gather some while we’re out?”

  “We can’t assign multiple quests,” the attendant replied, “but if you bring back usable herbs or other items, we’ll compensate you for the time spent collecting them. Keep in mind that the guild manages the sale of all mana crystals as well.”

  James smiled. “Good to know.”

  James had already pulled a quest from the board, A sweep of the goblin zone.

  It wasn’t heroics driving the decision. It was practicality. The campsite was still out there, half-abandoned, and if anyone had left supplies behind, or worse, any other survivors. The place was likely being overlooked as worthless by even seasoned adventurers. To James, junk meant answers, and other survivors could be useful. Also if there were clues to how they’d ended up here, it made sense they’d be found where everything had gone wrong. And if there were still goblins skulking around? Between the dogs and the kids, it would be controlled, a manageable risk, about as safe as adventuring got.

  The family agreed. If they were going to pursue experience and coin, this was at least a less reckless option.

  While James and Christine worked out logistics with a guild attendant, pay and expected time frames, Mirelle made another appearance. She drifted over with the practiced ease of someone who made a habit of inserting herself where she wasn’t invited. A few pointed questions later, she pieced together their destination.

  “Oh,” she said, eyes lighting up. “If you’re heading back that way, would you mind taking Iona along? She’s eager, and it would be a good experience for her.”

  James and Christine exchanged a glance. No words were needed.

  “I’m sorry,” Christine said gently, but firmly. “We’re not looking to add anyone else to our group right now.”

  Mirelle’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flash of annoyance behind it. James felt it settle in his gut like a warning bell. Stats or not, he thought, that girl is trouble. Whatever Iona’s potential might be, they weren’t in a position to manage another variable.

  Across the large square room of the guild hall, Luke and Jessie had drifted toward the weapon and armor stalls. Most of what was on offer was plainly mass-produced, leather jerkins with uneven stitching, simple weapons, chipped and marred, many that had seen more practice dummies than battlefields. Functional, but uninspiring.

  “No high-end stuff,” Jessie muttered, hoping to find some enchanted holy weapon, lifting a shield and testing its weight.

  Luke nodded. “Makes sense. This place is for newbies.”

  A vendor overheard them and snorted. “Newbies don’t even get that most of the time,” he said. “Kids spend months running fetch quests just to afford their first blade. Half of ’em start with baskets and knives.”

  That gave Luke pause. Both he and Jessie glanced down at their own gear, clean, fitted, clearly above the baseline for fresh adventurers. “You kids got rich parents or something, come to slum it with the lessers?” asked a disgruntled looking adventurer who was behind his own stall trying to pawn off some excess gear.

  When James rejoined them, that unease followed him. The more he learned, the more the guild leader’s generosity stood out. Starting gear. Knowledge. The magic bag. None of it lined up with the “entry-level” reality they were now seeing.

  Who exactly are you, he wondered, fingers tightening unconsciously around the strap of the bag, and why did you give us all this?

  On the walk back to the RV, they paused at several market stalls. The produce was familiar enough to be comforting, apples and pears for a single copper each, bunches of carrots and onions for two, squat red tomatoes, leafy greens tied with twine, and small sacks of potatoes priced so cheaply James double-checked the signs. A handful of copper could feed a family for a full day if you knew how to cook.

  The previous day, they’d only seen ready-to-eat fare, but it was becoming clear the market shifted with the day. Morning vendors catered to daily necessities, raw ingredients for those with time to prepare meals, while, as the hours wore on, stalls gradually gave way to hot food and pre-made dishes for people coming back from long days of work.

  “Almost like home,” James muttered. “Fast food, saves you time, costs you three times as much.”

  Mixed in among them were stranger offerings. Pale blue tubers that faintly hummed with mana. Spiral-shaped gourds etched with natural runes. A vendor hawked thick slabs of meat, crimson and marbled, claiming it came from a “ridge lizard” brought down by an adventuring party two days prior.

  That conversation opened another door. James learned that the guild only required proof of a kill for rewards, ears, cores, identifying claws. What happened to the rest of the carcass was up to the adventurer. Vendors were more than happy to buy meat, hides, bones, herbs, roots, anything the guild didn’t want to bother storing, but typically humanoid meat was not high in value, mixed race though the city was, no one liked the idea of eating things with a familiar face.

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  Oh, James thought, mental gears spinning. There’s money here. Between the RV’s storage, the magic bag, and a bit of planning, he could see a path forming. Use the hunting grounds, bring fresh to processors, he could handle the transport. Someone had to have left a trailer at the campsite, he was almost sure of it, and if he could track one down, that problem solved itself.

  Then there was the fuel issue. They had roughly three hundred miles of operational range before the RV’s reserves dipped into dangerous territory. That would evaporate quickly if they kept shuttling between city, campsites, and hunting zones. Mana crystals, whatever they were, were now a priority. James continued to run mental models and numbers as they made their way through town.

  As they passed along the outer roads, James took note of the animals around them. Horses were everywhere, used by peasants and merchants alike. But there were other mounts as well, towering birds with hooked beaks and oversized saddle harnesses, larger than ostriches, and squat reptilian beasts that looked like someone had crossed a horse with a lizard and forgotten to stop halfway through.

  One rider passed them in gleaming armor atop a scaled mount that radiated excess and impracticality. A showpiece, James decided. Probably some noble’s kid peacocking for attention. He deliberately avoided the rider’s gaze and kept moving, but knowing he and the group were being watched as they made their way past.

  “No, we can’t get one,” James said flatly, catching Christine eyeing one of the birds tied to a nearby stall. She scowled at him. “You’re the one who made me leave my bird at home.” “Because an RV is such a great place for a parrot in the mountains,” he shot back, “we can keep our eyes out,” he said reluctantly, knowing he would lose that fight if it came up again.

  They were just guiding the RV toward the gate when they encountered the procession.

  A wagon train rolled toward the city, covered wagons pulled by a mix of beasts, some familiar, some not. A few of the wagons were brightly painted, curved and enclosed, reminding James inexplicably of old-world traveling homes. Vardos, the word surfaced unbidden from some forgotten memory. He couldn’t remember where he’d learned it, some forgotten YouTube video left playing while he gamed, he figured.

  At the head of the caravan rolled something stranger still, a wheeled vehicle moving under its own power. No animals. No visible draft mechanism. It wasn’t sleek like a car, nor bulky like the RV, its design followed a logic of its own, like someone understood the idea of a car but didn’t have a working model to prototype, then built it to be like a tiny home.

  The caravan rolled past them, traders waving casually as they went. One of the lead drivers lingered a moment, giving the RV a long, appraising look, then the road opened ahead.

  The RV rumbled forward, leaving Thalindor behind as trees closed in around the path. The woods thickened quickly, shadows stretching longer between the trunks. They made decent time, despite the road clearly not being designed for something this large. The suspension complained now and then, off-road handling just a bit rougher than it should have been. It was built for campgrounds and paved roads, James reminded himself. Upgrading the suspension and figuring out fuel were both climbing higher on his priority list while he watched the fuel gauge drop.

  Once they turned onto the same overgrown route that had led them out of the camp before, the road deteriorated fast. Brush scraped along the sides, thick roots buckled the ground beneath the tires, and branches loomed low overhead. Near the campsite, James caught movement through the trees and found a clearing just wide enough to park.

  Everyone piled out quickly, forming a loose ring around the RV’s door. Despite their eagerness, only James and the dogs had real combat experience, limited though it was, from their first and second days in this world.

  They moved cautiously into the camp. Burned-out campers littered the clearing, their frames blackened and warped. A few cabins stood farther out, roofs caved in, walls sagging. It looked like weeks and months had passed since anyone had been here, not days.

  They rounded the side of one camper and spotted a lone goblin, hammering a crude wooden club against a discarded spare tire with manic focus.

  James silently ordered the dogs to stay back and defend. “Now or never,” he started. “Remember, we need to,” The goblin noticed them. Luke’s dagger flew before James could finish the sentence. It hit true, then bounced off the goblin’s skull hilt-first and clattered to the dirt. Luke stared. “What? That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

  “Knowing how something works and actually doing it are two different things,” James said dryly. Nikki sighed, stepped forward, and loosed an arrow. It struck the goblin cleanly between the eyes just as it began to charge. “I didn’t miss,” she said, sticking tongue out at her brother. “Fine, you didn’t,” James replied. “Now listen. We work together. No one wanders off. Don’t get too far from someone else. If these things are anything like games or anime, they make up for being weak with numbers.”

  As if on cue, three more goblins rounded the corner of a nearby cabin, drawn by the new noise. “Jessie, front line,” James ordered. “Shield up. Nikki and Luke, take her flanks. Wait until they focus on her, then move.” “We’ve played enough games to know how this works.” “In theory,” Luke added, retrieving his dagger as he fell back into position. James tightened his grip on his staff. Theory was fine. Now they’d see how practice went.

  Their first real fight was far from perfect. They moved like three individuals sharing the same battlefield, not a team. The first goblin barreled into Jessie before she was fully braced, the impact slamming into her shield and nearly knocking her off her feet. It hit harder than she expected, reminding her that small didn’t mean weak.

  Luke rushed forward to cover her, dagger flashing, confidence outrunning caution. He ducked one swing only to take a sharp crack to the ribs from a second goblin’s club. He staggered sideways with a hiss, air rushing from his lungs.

  Nikki reacted on instinct, stepping in too close. She started to lash out with a kick before remembering, too late, that she wasn’t meant to be in the melee. Yellowed teeth snapped inches from her ankle. She jerked back, heart hammering, fumbling for her bow instead.

  It was messy. Loud. Uncoordinated. James took a step forward, but Christine caught his arm. “They need to learn,” she said quietly. He hesitated, eyes tracking every stumble, every near miss. “They wanted this. If we jump in too soon,” she continued, “they never will.” He didn’t like it. Not even a little. Every instinct screamed to end it, to cross the clearing in seconds and make sure no one got hurt. He would have too, had he not seen the blood dripping from his wife’s other clutched fist; she was scared too.

  But this world didn’t care about instincts. If it was going to treat their children like adults, send monsters at them without apology, then they, as parents, had to adjust too. James forced himself to stay back. The dogs stood at their side, tense but obedient, waiting for a command that didn’t come.

  Up ahead, Jessie recovered first. She planted her feet and raised her shield properly this time, absorbing the next blow instead of meeting it off-balance. Her axe came around in a short, brutal arc, not wide and flashy, but tight, forcing one goblin to retreat.

  “Left!” Nikki called, finally finding her footing. She drew, aimed, and released. The arrow struck the second goblin in the shoulder, not fatal, but enough to stagger it. Luke saw the stumble. Instead of charging headlong, he circled. Low. Fast. He slipped inside the goblin’s reach and drove a dagger into its side before darting back out of range.

  Jessie advanced behind her shield, pressing the first goblin. Nikki nocked another arrow, this time waiting for movement instead of panicking. Luke feinted right, drawing attention. The third arrow took the distracted goblin through the throat.

  Three separate fighters became one.

  Jessie locked one in place.

  Luke harried and redirected.

  Nikki punished openings.

  A distraction became an opening.

  An opening became a strike.

  A strike became a finishing blow.

  After a few more frantic exchanges, the last goblin fell. Silence settled over the clearing, broken only by the kids’ uneven breathing. James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This hadn’t been make-or-break, but it could have been.

  Out here, in this world, the difference between chasing glory and harvesting herbs for coin was measured in moments like that. “Did we learn anything?” he asked, trying not to sound condescending. The three of them nodded in unison. “Stick together,” Jessie said. “Create openings,” Luke added. “Wait for the right shot,” Nikki finished.

  James gave a small nod. “Work together,” he said. “Win together. It's not a game, safe instead of dead, got it.” The three kids nodded as a group. “The hard lesson is over, we all work together now,” he said, looking around at his family. The dogs nodded their heads to the side like they were confused, but he got the impression they understood as well.