Before long, I turned rich?

As Ren passed through the gate, two more guards stepped forward from the inner courtyard, their hands resting lazily on the hilts of their swords. Their eyes scanned him with a mixture of curiosity and caution—understandable, given the imposing wolf-head hood shadowing his face.

“Where you headed, stranger?” one asked, his voice firm but not unkind.

Ren was about to answer confidently—then faltered. “Uh… I’m looking for an inn,” he said, then paused, a cold realization tightening in his gut. “Wait… Seraphina—how do I pay for one? I don’t have a single coin on me. I don’t even know what the currency is.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, Seraphina’s voice responded calmly in his mind. “This world’s currency is comprised of three main denominations: copper coins, silver coins, and gold coins. One silver is equal to one hundred copper. One gold equals one hundred silver.”

Ren nodded slowly. “Right. Got it. So… how do I get money?”

The guards exchanged puzzled glances as Ren appeared to be having a full conversation with himself. One of them leaned toward the other and muttered, “He’s talking to no one. You think the cloak’s cursed?”

“Would explain the whole ‘wolf-head-eating-his-skull’ thing,” the other replied.

Seraphina, meanwhile, answered with perfect clarity. “Currency is earned through quests, trade, and resource exchange. Selling materials, completing guild contracts, or even bounty hunts are viable sources of income.”

Ren glanced at the guards and gave an awkward half-smile. “I’m not crazy, by the way. Just… connected.”

One guard raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are, Arclight.”

Ren cleared his throat and asked if the town had a guild, and whether they could recommend an inn.

The soldiers exchanged glances but nodded. One pointed down the cobbled street. “Guildhall’s straight ahead. Big oak building with crossed swords on the sign. As for an inn, try the Stonecup—just off Market Row. Prices are fair, and the beds don’t bite.”

“Thanks,” Ren said with a nod. “I’ll start at the guild.”

He turned down the street, the clink of his bone buckles and cloak-fur brushing the wind as he walked.

The guild building wasn’t hard to find. It stood taller than most structures, wood-framed and stone-rooted, with wide windows that spilled warm light into the street. Above the double doors was the emblem: two crossed swords beneath a crescent moon. Just like the guard had said.

Ren stepped forward and pushed the heavy door open.

The noise hit him first.

Voices. Laughter. Stories shared over mugs of ale. Clinks of plates and cutlery. The smell of roasted meat and woodsmoke. Inside, the hall was filled with long tables where adventurers in mismatched armor gathered in clusters, swapping tales, bragging about kills, laughing like old friends.

At the far end stood a long wooden counter staffed by uniformed attendants—mostly women, each sharp-eyed, polite, and clearly accustomed to managing chaos.

Ren took a step in and blinked.

“This really is a game,” he muttered.

Then—

A scream rang out.

“VARYTH!!! IT’S THE ALPHA!!! WHAT IS THE ALPHA DOING HERE?!”

“GET YOUR WEAPONS!!! PREPARE TO ATTACK!!”

The tension in the room was immediate.

Dozens of adventurers had risen from their seats, chairs knocked over, tankards spilled across tables. Steel rang out as weapons were drawn—blades, spears, even a few crackling spell circles lit the air. The chaotic energy swirled around Ren, all eyes locked on him like he was a walking disaster.

“VARYTH! It’s the Alpha!”

“Get your blades ready! Mages, fan out!”

Ren raised both hands—well, one hand and the other gripping his sheathed Moon Fang—trying to look as unthreatening as someone cloaked in the skull of a legendary beast could manage.

“Wait! Wait—it’s not what it looks like!”

He was ignored.

A particularly jumpy dwarf launched a throwing axe that thunked into the wooden wall just beside Ren’s head. The room tensed again, ready for combat.

“Everyone stand down!”

The commanding voice cut through the room like a blade.

At the far end of the hall, a woman stepped forward from behind the counter. She was tall, clad in sleek navy armor with a silver trim, her chest plate emblazoned with the same crossed-swords emblem as the guild’s sign. Her short, deep-red hair framed sharp eyes that scanned Ren from top to bottom.

“He’s not the Alpha,” she said calmly, her voice carrying authority. “He’s wearing it.”

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A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. Swords slowly lowered. A few chairs were picked back up. One person muttered, “Damn near gave me a heart attack…”

Ren exhaled. “Thank you,” he said, though he still kept his hands up.

The red-haired woman approached, arms folded. She nodded once at the wolf pelt.

“That’s Varyth, isn’t it? Alpha of the Silver Howl.”

“Yeah,” Ren said, lowering his hands. “I, uh… had a rough couple of days.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You soloed it?”

“I had traps. Terrain. Planning. And luck. A lot of luck.”

For a beat, she just studied him. Then, with a slight grin, she extended a hand.

“I’m Commander Elara Vance, guildmaster here in Newvale. And you just walked in wearing a boss-tier beast’s skull on your head like a hat. You’ll have to forgive the reaction.”

Ren shook her hand. “Ren Arclight. Sorry for the theatrics.”

She turned to the rest of the guild. “Alright, you lot. Show’s over. Back to your drinks unless you want to pay to fix the walls.”

As the clamor died down and conversations resumed, Ren let his shoulders finally drop. A half-full mug was handed to him by an older adventurer who grinned and said, “That was the most exciting entrance we’ve seen in months.”

He took a cautious sip and turned back to Elara. “I came to register, sell materials, maybe find a place to stay.”

“Materials from a named Alpha?” Her eyes lit up slightly. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Come with me.”

She led him to the long wooden counter at the front of the hall, where several receptionists worked behind thick stacks of parchment, ledgers, and arcane record-plates. A woman with light lavender hair, tied in a tight bun, greeted him with a quill already in hand.

“New registrant?” she asked with a practiced, professional tone.

“He just killed Varyth,” Elara said casually.

The receptionist blinked. Then blinked again. “…Oh.”

Ren handed over the Moon Fangs, the Alpha Beast Core, Silverhide scraps he didn’t use, and a few bones he’d salvaged. When the guild assessed the materials, the mood shifted again.

“Moon Fangs. Legendary tier,” the lavender-haired woman whispered, writing in hurried script. “Estimated value per fang… wait…”

Ren leaned in. “What?”

She looked up. “You’re very wealthy now.”

“How wealthy?”

Elara chuckled. “Enough to buy a small inn. Or hire a team of B-rank adventurers for a month.”

Ren stared. “I was just hoping to afford a bed.”

“Well, you can afford an entire building with beds now,” Elara said, flipping through a ledger. “But first—registration.”

Ren was handed a simple form—a parchment embedded with faint runes. As he filled out his name and skill focus, the ink glowed softly, reacting to his mana signature.

“Once we submit this,” said the receptionist, “you’ll be issued a Guild Tag. Bronze Rank to start, but given your feat… we may be able to expedite promotion.”

“And the selling?”

Elara gestured. “We’ll handle the materials, appraise them, and credit your account here in Newvale. You’ll receive a receipt and access to local vendors with guild discounts. As of now, you’re officially one of us.”

Ren exhaled slowly, his shoulders finally relaxing. He looked around the hall again—at the adventurers now chatting over their meals, the mission boards with posted quests, the scent of grilled meat and aged wood—and felt it click.

For the first time since awakening in this world, he felt like he’d arrived somewhere real.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Feels like… I’m finally off the tutorial island.”

Elara smirked. “Then welcome to the game, Arclight. Things only get more dangerous from here.”

----------------------------------------

The receptionist handed back the itemized report. The total valuation made Ren’s eyebrows twitch.

Alpha Beast Core (Epic): 850 gold

Silverhide Scraps (Rare): 120 gold

Miscellaneous Bones and Glands: 42 gold

Moon Fangs (Legendary): Undisclosed – Owner Opted to Retain

He stared at the top figure. Eight hundred fifty gold. For a single item.

Seraphina’s voice whispered in his mind, amused, “Currency equivalency: one gold equals one hundred silver, one silver equals one hundred copper. You currently possess wealth equivalent to a merchant caravan’s seasonal profits.”

He blinked. “So... I’m rich.”

“Correct.”

He chose to keep the Moon Fangs, declining their appraisal. Even as the receptionist explained that most legendary materials fetched more on the open market, Ren shook his head. The weight of them in his pack, their latent mana, their bond to the battle—they weren’t commodities. They were his.

Instead, he signed over the Alpha Core and the remaining loot. A gold-stamped receipt was added to his newly registered account. When it was done, his guild tag gleamed faint bronze at his side—proof of status and reward access.

Elara raised an eyebrow as she watched him pocket the Moon Fangs. “Going to forge them into something?”

“Yeah,” Ren said. “Daggers. Custom-made.”

She gestured toward the rear door. “You’ll want the south forge district. Ask for Master Ferrin—he’s grumpy, smokes like a chimney, but he’s a damn genius with edgecraft.”

Ren thanked her, adjusted the wolf pelt across his shoulders, and made his way out of the guildhall, stepping into the cool evening air.

----------------------------------------

Newvale’s forge district was easy to find.

Follow the smoke.

Hammering rang in the distance like a war drum. Sparks danced in the dusk sky. Stone chimneys crowned squat buildings, their walls blackened with soot, their windows glowing orange.

Ren followed the noise down a narrow alley, past a shop with mechanical crossbows in its windows and another with enchanted pickaxes humming faintly.

Then he saw it: “Ferrin’s Flameworks.”

It wasn’t flashy—just a wide, open-air smithy built into the side of a stone slope, with steel beams supporting a slanted roof and dozens of tools hung from pegs like weapons on a war wall. Anvil stations lined the outer area, each one charred and pitted from heavy use.

And there, in the center, was Ferrin.

A broad-shouldered dwarf with sun-leathered skin and a beard thick as a forge brush. He wore sleeveless armor, iron-braced gloves, and a perpetually furrowed brow. A thick cigar glowed between his lips.

As Ren approached, the dwarf didn’t look up.

“Unless you’ve brought steel, silver, or silence, walk on.”

Ren stepped forward and unwrapped the Moon Fangs from the cloth bundle at his hip.

“I brought these.”

The clang of hammer on steel stopped.

Ferrin’s eyes flicked toward the curved fangs. The cigar drooped from his mouth.

“...Well now,” he muttered. He set down his tools and leaned forward, grabbing one of the fangs with thick tongs and holding it up to the firelight.

“Mana-conductive… silver-blue sheen… adaptive density? Hells.” He looked up sharply. “Where’d you get these?”

“From the mouth of Varyth, Alpha of the Silver Howl.”

Ferrin blinked. Then barked a single, gruff laugh. “Either you’ve got a death wish or a damn good story. Probably both.”

Ren grinned. “Mostly traps and luck.”

“Good enough.” Ferrin turned the fang over, muttering under his breath as he examined its curvature. “You want daggers, I assume? Twin blades?”

“Lightweight. Fast. Able to hold elemental infusions.”

“Good. These’ll take to spellweaving like silk to dye.” Ferrin snapped his fingers at a nearby apprentice. “Prepare the grindplates. And don’t use the steel press this time—I’ll do the edge shaping myself.”

The apprentice scurried off.

Ferrin gestured to a nearby stool. “Sit. You’re staying through the whole process. If I’m going to make blades that’ll spill your blood as much as your enemy’s, you’re going to know every step.”

Ren took his seat, watching as Ferrin set the fangs into a suspension mold and began heating them slowly, chanting soft runes under his breath.

The forge roared.

Sparks flew.

And for the first time since his arrival in this world, Ren felt something more than danger or survival.

He felt creation.