Chương 4: CHAPTER 3: THE ANATOMY OF A GUILD TOKEN

The Adventurers' and Trade Guild of Mizugaon operated less like a fantasy tavern and more like a bustling, multi-tiered government hospital during a morning OPD rush. The air inside the timber-and-stone structure smelled of old parchment, polished iron, and cheap high-potency potions that reeked suspiciously like diluted menthol.

Mercenaries in mismatched iron spaulders jostled past merchants trading manifests, while a magically updated wooden bulletin board on the far wall hummed with low-grade mana, constantly shifting to list fresh monster bounties and escort requests.

"Keep your head down, Shin," Kenji muttered, steering me through the crowd toward a row of polished oak reception counters.

"The guild clerks here handle thousands of vagrants a week. Act polite, let them scan you, and we'll get your temporary identity token before the city patrol starts snooping." I nodded, adjusting my posture to look slightly hunched and overwhelmed. I pulled at the collar of my shortened, knee-length hemp Yukata, shifting the rope sash uncomfortably to play the part of a clueless peasant.

The crossed Dhoti-style trousers beneath it felt light, and the tight cloth Kyahan bandages wrapping my calves were still caked with dry mud from the outer woods. Underneath my timid facade, however, my surgeon's brain was actively logging the biological data of the crowd.

'Male in his mid-thirties, heavy limping— chronic meniscus tear from improper weight distribution during a sword strike. Female, early twenties, pale sclera and mild jaundice—likely low-grade poison toxicity from a dungeon raid that standard low-tier antivenom failed to clear.' It was a goldmine of untreated clinical pathology. In a world relying on magic that simply forced tissue to slam back together, chronic under-the-surface structural damage was rampant.

"Next," a crisp, utterly bored voice called out. The receptionist behind the counter was a sharp-eyed young woman wearing a high-collared, traditional linen tunic trimmed with brass buttons. Her desk was organized with terrifying bureaucratic precision: stacks of blank copper plates, inkwells, and a silver-rimmed version of the appraisal orb I had seen at the city gates.

"A temporary vagrant registration and identification card for the boy, ma'am," Kenji said, placing a small leather pouch onto the counter. Inside, a few dozen Copper Mon —flat circular discs with a sharp square puncture in the center—clinked against each other.

"His name is Shin. Traveling apprentice. Lost his master and his papers to an Ironhide Calamity Boar out on the Eastern trail."

"An... an Ironhide Calamity Boar?!" the receptionist gasped, her bureaucratic posture instantly shattering. Her sharp voice cracked loudly enough to freeze conversations across the nearest counters.

"Relax, ma'am— Commander Leon happened to be passing through the trail," Kenji interjected smoothly, raising a placating hand.

"Slayed the beast before it could turn us into paste." At the mention of Leon, the clerk's shocked expression melted into starry-eyed reverence, her cheeks flushing slightly as she adjusted her collar before pulling her ledger back toward her.

"Apprentice to what?" she asked, her quill hovering.

"Alchemist? Blacksmith? Carter?"

"Herbalist, ma'am," I interjected softly, keeping my voice meek. That caught her attention. Her quill paused, and she finally raised her sharp gaze to evaluate me. In a world where frontline combatants died daily of preventable hemorrhage, anyone associated with medicine— even a dirt-poor apprentice —was a notable asset.

"A healer's apprentice without a church sponsor?" She raised an eyebrow, sliding the heavy silver-rimmed appraisal orb toward me.

"Place your right hand on the sensor. If you have active mana circuits tuned to restoration, the guild stone will register your basic categorization. Don't resist the resonance flow."' System,' I commanded internally, my consciousness diving deep into my chest cavity where my baseline-adjusted pool of mana circulated.

'Maintain the camouflage protocol. Throttle my apparent output to the bare minimum required for a common triage assistant.' [SYSTEM: CAMOUFLAGE PROTOCOL ENGAGED] [MANA OUTPUT RESTRICTED TO: 12% OF BASELINE] The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. [SSS-RANK STATUS: HIDDEN] The moment my palm touched the cold glass surface, an invasive thrum of magical energy crept up my radial nerve, attempting to map the architecture of my soul.

I kept my breathing steady, maintaining a normal sinus rhythm as the orb pulsed with a pale green light. A line of glowing text manifested on the parchment screen built into the receptionist's desk.

"Name: Shin," she read aloud, her expression returning to standard bureaucratic indifference.

"Mana Capacity: F-Rank (Low). Specialty: Basic Biological Coagulation. No formal incantation matrix detected. Well, it's not a magical healing class, but a functional anatomical skill is enough for a standard Bronze Trade Token."

"That token gives you legal residence in the outer sectors for ninety days," she stated smoothly, snapping the copper plate into a metal groove.

"To upgrade to a permanent Silver or Gold tier, you must either complete twenty official guild commissions or pass a formal evaluation by a certified High Priest."

"And what about quests?" I asked, tilting my head to play the curious, naive rookie.

"Can an F-Rank apprentice take commissions outside the city walls?" The receptionist let out a soft, administrative sigh.

"The system is strict, boy. Quests are strictly gated by your individual token rank—F-Rank up to S-Rank. As an F-Rank, you are legally restricted to low-risk civilian chores inside the safe zones. Gathering common herbs, cleaning stables, sorting warehouse manifests. If you try to cross the frontier gates to hunt even a C-Rank Calamity Boar on your own, the guards will arrest you for suicide prevention." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"Unless, of course, you form a Registered Party."

"A party?"

"Yes. The Guild allows lower-ranked support classes to tag along on higher-tier frontier expeditions under a Weighted Averaging System. If an F-Rank healer registers an official party bond with a seasoned veteran—say, a C-Rank or B-Rank combatant—the system dynamically recalculates the party's overall rating. It allows you to enter restricted monster territories legally, provided your frontline combatant signs a biological liability waiver protecting the Guild if you get eaten."

She tapped the copper plate one final time, sliding it across the wood toward my fingers.

"But let's be realistic, Shin. Combatants are arrogant. A high-tier vanguard or a certified mage isn't going to drag an unmarked apprentice into a dangerous dungeon out of charity. Find a crew willing to carry your weight, or stick to sorting dried roots in the apothecary basement. Move along."

"Thank you for the guidance, ma'am," I bowed humbly, pocketing the heavy copper token. As we turned away from the counter, Kenji let out a relieved sigh, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my clavicle.

"Well, look at you! An official guild member, Shin. Come on, let's grab some hot udon from the stalls outside. My treat. Consider it your first payment for keeping my lungs inside my body." Before we could take three steps toward the double exit doors, a violent commotion erupted from the back of the hall.

"Clear the aisle! Out of the way, damn it! Where is the resident alchemist?!" A battle-hardened mercenary clad in cracked steel plate armor kicked the inner doors open, carrying a younger woman in his arms. Her leather armor was shredded, but there was no blood. Instead, her bare arms and neck were covered in thick, pulsing, silver-colored veins that looked like liquid mercury beneath her skin. She was convulsing, her teeth grinding together as a thin trail of white foam escaped her lips.

"That's... that's Jax!" someone in the crowd whispered.

"The leader of The Iron Aegis! They're the 3rd ranked party in town!"

"If they got wrecked, what the hell did they face in the wild?" another adventurer muttered, scrambling backward to create a wide radius around the arriving party. Two low-tier guild alchemists rushed out from a side room, holding staves tipped with glowing crystals. The lead alchemist took one look at the silver veins pulsing near the girl's carotid artery and took a step back, his face turning pale.

"Her mana circuits have crystallized," the alchemist declared, his voice trembling as he raised his staff defensively.

"The corruption has already breached her core. Standard purification magic will shatter her internal pathways and kill her instantly. There's nothing we can do. Take her to the isolation ward to let the infection burn out."

"Isolation ward?! She'll die there in an hour!" Jax roared, his eyes bloodshot with despair.

"She's my sister, Kiran! I have five hundred Silver Rupa coins right here! Someone save her!" The receptionist behind the desk slammed her ledger shut, her voice tight.

"Jax, be reasonable! It's the Iron-Vein Rot. Our low-level healers don't have the incantation tier to cleanse localized crystallization. If the legendary Solar Vanguard party or the Asura Blade were here, their High Priests might have saved her with a three-verse restoration incantation. But both of those top parties are deep inside the Level 30 Blackwood Dungeon! There is no one in Mizugaon who can match that casting power right now!" The room fell into a quiet silence. Nobody moved.

In this world, when magic declared a disease terminal and the elite parties were away, people simply accepted it as fate. But as I stared at the convulsing girl from the edge of the crowd, my vision shifted. My SSS-Rank passive tracking kicked in, layering a translucent, neon-blue surgical HUD over her entire body.

[SYSTEM: DIAGNOSTIC SCAN COMPLETE] TARGET: Female, Age 19 (Kiran, Iron Aegis Vanguard Support) PATHOLOGY: Severe Biomechanical Thrombosis (Fantasy Classification: Iron-Vein Rot) CONDITION: Acute cellular occlusion. A foreign, high-density metallic mana parasite is actively binding to her hemoglobin, blocking oxygen transport and causing widespread localized vascular necrosis.

TIME TO CARDIOVASCULAR COLLAPSE: 08 Minutes, 42 Seconds'A metallic parasite mimicking a coronary thrombosis,' my mind analyzed instantly, the cold, clinical focus of a chief ER surgeon wiping away my timid act.

'Standard magic fails because it targets the mana system, which just feeds the parasite. But a physical micro-extraction? A literal mechanical bypass of the blocked vessels to flush the metal out?' It was a complex, life-or-death vascular surgery. And I didn't have a sterile operating theater, scalpel, or clamps. I looked at the weeping leader of the town's 3rd best party, then at the helpless alchemists, and finally at the copper token in my hand. If I stayed silent, she would be dead before the sun set.

If I stepped forward, I would blow my low-profile disguise on hour one. I took a deep breath, slipping my hand into my herbalist pouch to grip a set of clean steel sewing needles I had scavenged from Daichi's cart.

'Screw the vacation,' I thought, a sharp smirk forming on my face as I stepped out from the crowd.

'A doctor doesn't let a patient die on his watch.'

"Lay her flat on the table," my voice cut through the silent hall, no longer sounding like a stuttering apprentice, but carrying the commanding authority of a senior medical consultant.

"And someone fetch me a bottle of high-proof liquor, a clean dagger, and three bowls of boiling water. Right now."