The late morning sun cast its golden glow over the sprawling cityscape, bathing the towering structures of the Guild District in a hazy shimmer. A steady hum of hover vehicles filled the streets, punctuated by the occasional roar of an engine or the distant chatter of merchants hawking their wares.
Denwen—no, Ren—stepped off his hover bike, watching as the sleek black vehicle shimmered before condensing into interlocking metal bands that coiled around his wrist like serpent bracelets. His face, hidden beneath a subtle shift in bone structure and a different shade of his usually dark eyes, bore no resemblance to the boy who had fought alongside Roy and Mellissa days ago.
He exhaled, pulling out his phone. A message notification blinked at him. Garric Ironveil—First Captain.
His fingers hovered over the screen before he opened it. A formal request for a dungeon raid. He scoffed. So, they called me again. Didn't expect that.
The logical part of his mind urged him to decline, to simply focus on refining the monster cores he'd gathered from his previous battles. He didn't need to rely on a party full of scamming veterans who only cared about maximizing their profits. But then, a different thought settled in his mind—one heavier than the first.
I need to prove a point.
Clenching his jaw, he swiped the message aside and stepped forward, pushing open the heavy guild doors.
---
The interior of the Guild Hall buzzed with activity. Adventurers of various ranks huddled around mission boards, discussing bounties and dungeon clearings. A few well-equipped teams stood by the request counters, negotiating rewards. The smell of parchment, steel, and the faint scent of polish filled the air.
Denwen's arrival didn't go unnoticed. His last mission had drawn some attention, and while most adventurers dismissed him as another nameless recruit, there were a few whispers.
At the far end of the hall, a familiar figure stood waiting.
"Hey, kid! Long time no see," Garric Ironveil greeted him, arms crossed over his broad chest. His full plate armor gleamed even in the dim light, the imposing sight of his tower shield slung across his back making him look more fortress than man.
Denwen stopped in front of him, expression unmoved. "Please, Garric. You and I both know we're not happy to see each other. Just tell me about the mission."
Garric sighed, shaking his head. "Still as blunt as ever. Fine."
Behind him, the rest of the team loitered, not bothering to hide their cold reception. Kaelin Thornforge, the swordsman, was the only one to acknowledge him. He nodded, offering a small smirk.
"Ren, right? Heard about what happened in the village," Kaelin said. "Impressive work. Did that Rank 3 disaster drop any skill books?"
Denwen's expression remained neutral. "Wouldn't know. I wasn't there at the end of the fight."
Kaelin frowned slightly but said nothing more.
Garric clapped his hands together, drawing attention back to himself. "Alright, listen up. We've got a Rank 2 Bladed Tiger dungeon. The plan is simple—clear it completely. Robots will handle the mining while we wipe out the disasters."
Denwen tilted his head. "I'm not going to be a porter this time."
A moment of silence stretched between them before Dain Korrin, the brawler, scoffed. His muscular frame, built from years of hand-to-hand combat, tensed as he turned toward Denwen.
"We already have a brawler," Dain said, arms crossed. "That's more than enough for a Rank 2 dungeon."
Denwen's expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. "Then I'd rather leave than be your errand boy again."
Elara Valeheart, the healer, stepped forward with a calm voice. "Ren, you have to understand that every role is important on a team. Even small contributions matter."
Denwen barely spared her a glance before scanning the group. He could see it—the silent agreement, the refusal to let him take a greater cut of the profits. They would rather keep him at the bottom than acknowledge his worth.
No point arguing.
He turned on his heels to leave.
A sigh from behind.
"Wait."
Denwen stopped, glancing back as Garric rubbed his temple. "Fine. You'll fight as a brawler this time."
Denwen narrowed his eyes. "Then I want a proper contract."
A pause. The other members exchanged glances, some frowning in irritation. Garric hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.
"Alright, kid." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a formal contract.
Denwen took it, scanning every clause, ensuring no loopholes existed before channeling his mana into the document to sign it.
The deal was sealed.
Garric observed all this as he noted that the once naïve kid was no longer naïve.
---
Elsewhere, in the heart of the noble district, inside the grand estate of Duke Vaelthorne, tension thickened the air.
The Duke's office, a room lined with dark mahogany and illuminated by golden chandeliers, felt stifling despite its vastness. A massive desk stood in the center, littered with documents, maps, and classified reports. Behind it, a figure turned his chair away from the window, revealing a face that bore an uncanny resemblance to Roy—only hardened, matured, and edged with an authority that left no room for defiance.
Duke Lucien Vaelthorne Clifford.
Seated across from him, Garrick lounged carelessly, his legs propped up on the desk, arms folded behind his head. The contrast between them was stark—where Lucien was the embodiment of discipline and control, Garrick was the exact opposite, exuding nothing but nonchalance.
By his side, Corbin shook his head in exasperation.
"Garrick, when will you learn manners?" Lucien asked, his voice a measured calm that barely concealed irritation.
Garrick smirked, adjusting his position slightly but making no move to sit properly. "Come on, bro. Drop the act. You saw how well Roy performed the other day. Cut him some slack."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "How I deal with my family is none of your business." His tone dropped a degree colder. "Right now, we have a situation that requires your attention. So I'd appreciate it if you stopped playing the fool and took this seriously."
A tense silence settled over the room. Slowly, Garrick lowered his feet from the desk, his smirk fading.
Lucien leaned forward. "Our spy in Emberfall has sent us vital intel. He did not survive, but the information reached us regardless."
Garrick's expression turned grim. Corbin tensed beside him.
Lucien's fingers drummed against the desk. "You are to take your full unit and investigate the situation in Doitand. If necessary, eliminate any threats."
A heavy silence followed.
Garrick sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Fine. I'll take care of it."
Lucien nodded. "Treat this as your highest priority."
And with that, the meeting was over.