I am Just an Average Tamer

The green haired, elf girl reached a silver-colored token—and snatched it from a hollowed log.

Then—

Hiss!

Her serpent hissed.

Danger.

She dove sideways just as a wall of thorny roots burst from the ground—an enchanted snare.

'Damn it.'

Cursing, she rolled and bolted deeper.

But as she ran, something shimmered in the air before her.

A flicker.

Then a gleam.

Her breath caught—

******

A girl moved carefully between the roots and low-hanging vines, her boots sinking slightly into the spongey terrain.

Her long ocean blue hair shimmered, flowing down her back in uneven waves.

Matching eyes. Her breaths came soft and shallow.

"Thistle," she whispered, and the small creature on her shoulder chirped in reply.

Thistle—a horned otter no bigger than a loaf of bread—stretched his neck forward, his sleek fur glistening with dew.

His short antler-nubs twitched as he sniffed the air. Sensing nothing dangerous, he curled back around her neck with a soft hum.

"I think… we go right," the girl murmured more to herself than him.

Her voice barely rose above the sound of rustling leaves. She moved again, carefully shifting her weight over a mossy ridge.

Then—

Snap!

Her foot sank too deep, and before she could react, the ground beneath her gave way with a crack of tensioned vines.

The moss peeled back, revealing a cleverly disguised pit.

Vines snatched her by the ankle and yanked her upside down into the air.

"Aah!" Her startled cry cut short as she swung midair, skirts fluttering and arms flailing.

Thistle squeaked in alarm, his claws scrabbling against her tunic as she dangled like a caught rabbit.

He leapt from her shoulder and clung to a nearby branch with his small paws, chirping furiously.

She hung there, breathless, hair falling like a curtain around her blushing face.

Her cheeks turned rosy with embarrassment even though no one was around to see.

"Ow," she muttered weakly, trying not to panic.

She twisted slightly, looking up—or rather, down—at the tangle of vines holding her by one ankle. Her braid had come loose.

"Thistle, d-do something… please."

The otter chirped and leapt down, scuttling toward the base of the trap with surprising dexterity.

His tiny fangs gritted as he began gnawing at the knot holding the vines in place.

She watched him work, fingers gripping the hem of her tunic to keep her balance. Her heart thudded in her ears, not just from the shock but the pressure.

This was the third trap she'd stumbled into.

The others she had barely avoided, but this one? She wasn't sure how long she'd be stuck if not for Thistle.

"C-come on…" she whispered.

With a determined squeal, Thistle gave one final chomp—and the knot snapped.

And. She dropped.

Thud!

"Ghk—!"

She landed hard on a bed of leaves and moss, groaning softly.

Her leg ached from the sudden jolt, and for a moment, she just lay there blinking up at the leafy sky. Then something cold and wet nuzzled her cheek.

Thistle, victorious, chirped proudly and licked her face.

"…You're the best," she said breathlessly, sitting up and hugging him close.

The otter purred in her arms.

Still cradling him, she winced.

---

Meanwhile...

In the observation chamber—a wide circular hall lined with enchanted crystal panels—dozens of flickering images hovered mid-air, each capturing a different participant's progress in the trial.

The soft hum of mana resonated throughout the room.

At one edge of the chamber, a screen with the image of a forest trap being triggered.

A flash of ocean-blue hair, a startled yelp, and then the sight of a girl dangling upside down from a vine snare.

A few chuckles echoed lightly in the room.

"Ah," said an older professor with a pointed beard and emerald robes, leaning forward.

"There goes the timid one. She's clever, that girl… but I'm not sure her nerves are cut out for the field."

Beside him, a woman in sleek, silver robes narrowed her eyes.

Professor Lysenna, head of the Beast Taming division, tilted her head slightly.

"Wait for it," she murmured.

On the screen, the small horned otter leapt into action—scuttling to the knot, gnawing with fierce urgency, and then snap—the girl fell, landed, and lay there stunned before hugging the creature with a soft smile.

"She didn't panic," Lysenna noted, her voice calm but impressed. "Despite the sudden trap and physical disorientation.

She recovered quickly, protected her bonded beast, and didn't waste energy screaming.

That's more than I can say for the last three who triggered the same mechanism."

Professor Lysenna didn't smile. "Thistle. A young horned river otter. Rarely found this far inland. The way it responded to immediate problem-solving behavior, emotional attunement… it's clearly well-bonded."

Across the room, another screen showed a burly swordsman smashing through vines with brute force.

"Perhaps not the strongest candidate," the Emerald professor said with a shrug.

"No," Lysenna replied. "But strength isn't everything. In a real exploration or relic recovery mission, it's the calm ones who survive the chaos. The ones who think, adapt, and trust their partners."

An older man in navy blue robes—Professor Gellad, from the Strategy and Tactical Studies department—spoke next.

"Her reaction suggests strong situational awareness and mental resilience. If she survives the rest of the trial, I'd like to request her profile for cross-discipline training."

Lysenna smirked faintly, one brow raised. "Already ahead of you."

Another man, bored-looking and swishing his wine, muttered, "She'll probably get herself eaten before this ends."

******

A boy with golden-blonde hair sat cross-legged atop a jagged boulder, his deep blue eyes glowing faintly.

One hand lazily spun a glinting token between his fingers.

The other rested on the rough hide of a long, coiled creature beside him—a Volcanic Serpent, its obsidian scales glowing faintly with ember veins pulsing along its length.

Below the rock, a trembling boy—no older than sixteen—staggered to his feet.

His clothes were tattered, half of it scorched, and the skin across his cheek was red and raw from burns.

Despite the pain, he locked eyes with the token above.

The blonde guy grinned. "Want this?" he asked, his tone mockingly generous. He held the token between two fingers and dangled it off the edge. "Come get it then."

The boy's jaw clenched.

His beast—an injured bark hound—lay unconscious nearby.

Still, he tried to rise.

Bad decision.

The Volcanic Serpent hissed, its tail arcing through the air like a whip.

SMACK!

The tail slammed against the injured boy's side, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a strangled grunt.

"Argh!"

A new burn stretched across his ribs, and he curled in on himself, groaning.

The blonde guy let out a breath of amusement, lips twisting into a cruel smile.

"Don't make promises your weak little limbs can't fulfill, brother."

He stood slowly, the token now spinning atop his thumb as he leaned forward.

"I'll be generous, yeah? Crawl away, and I won't let Nivex finish you off."

The boy groaned again but said nothing.

He clenched the soil in his fists, trying to push himself again.

That's when a sharp voice rang out from the trees behind the boulder.

"Picking on the weak, are we? Huh."

The blonde's smirk faltered. He turned slightly, his serpent raising its head with a low growl.

From between the trees stepped a tall figure. A girl—no older than seventeen, clad in sleek forest-toned gear with two short blades strapped across her back.

Her braid swung behind her like a whip, and her eyes—bright silver—glinted with mockery.

The blonde clicked his tongue. "Another bug crawling out of the weeds."

"You've got a fancy beast," she said, stepping into view and tilting her head. "But that ego's even uglier."

He narrowed his eyes. "And who the hell are you?"

"Just someone with two tokens," she shrugged, showing them briefly before tucking them away. "I don't need another… but you? You look like fun."

The blonde boy hopped down from the rock, and his serpent slithered beside him with a low hiss, embered fangs bared.

The forest fell quiet, the scent of burned wood lingering in the air.

Then the girl smirked.

"Shall we dance?"

"You've got guts," he said, voice smooth like oiled silk.

"Hope you've got skills to match."

The girl rolled her shoulders.

"You'll see soon enough."

Without another word—

Whoosh!

Her figure blurred, dashing to the side as two daggers flicked into her hands.

The blonde boy raised a brow, unamused, and gave a snap of his fingers.

A guttural hiss echoed, and his Volcanic Serpent, Nivex, shot forward, fangs gleaming, body leaving trails of smoke in the air.

But she was already moving—zigzagging through the terrain, using trees as cover, never stopping long enough to let the serpent lock on.

Her blades danced with glints of reflected light, slashing through vines and leaping over roots.

"Come on then," the boy murmured with a grin.

"Show me something fun."

He didn't move much. Just lifted his hand slightly—and Nivex reacted like a living extension of his will.

The serpent coiled and lashed, flames erupting in its wake, forcing the girl to vault into a roll, landing beside a half-burnt tree.

One dagger flew—

Clink!

Struck a rock where his shoulder had been moments before.

"Close," he called mockingly, "but not close enough."