Chapter 129
The day at the Royal Academy drew to a close much like any other—lectures concluded, training grounds emptied, and the sun dipped behind the towering spires of the capital. Students dispersed in small groups, their chatter fading into the cool evening air. Yet, for Daniel, this night would not end with the comfort of the Academy's secure walls. As the gates closed behind him, he stepped into the dimly lit streets beyond, his mind fixed on a singular purpose: to register with the Royal Guild and, in doing so, test the resolve and limits of those shadowy figures who had marked him for death.
Unbeknownst to most, his movements had already drawn the attention of certain watchful eyes. Among them was Spymaster Veylan, a man whose name alone stirred unease in the hearts of lesser men. Serving directly under Grandmaster Eledran, the High Commander of the Royal Guild, Veylan was not one to take chances. He had witnessed firsthand Daniel's uncanny strength during the chaos of the three infernal demons' summoning, an event where Daniel, alongside the white-haired lady and the Duchess herself, had struck down horrors that should have laid waste to the capital.
Since that day, Veylan's interest in the young man had only deepened. Now, as Daniel's boots carried him farther from the Academy's sanctity, the Spymaster's network of spies moved in quiet precision, trailing his every step from the shadows. Their orders were simple: observe, report, and above all, discover the true reason behind his sudden interest in the Royal Guild. Yet the answer to that question, even Veylan suspected, would be far from simple.
Outside the looming silhouette of the Guild Tower, Daniel stood before the broad stone archway that marked the Royal Guild's main hall. The interior hummed with the low murmur of merchants, adventurers, and armored guild veterans going about their business. Having already been recognized as a registered player, Daniel now took the next step, officially applying to become a resident hunter.
The process was simple on paper but carried deeper implications. As a resident hunter, his name would be etched into the Guild's ledgers, granting him broader operational freedom within the capital and its surrounding territories. It would also signal to both allies and enemies that he was no longer a passive figure hiding behind academy walls but an active player on the city's political and martial stage. This was precisely the kind of bait he intended to throw at the Duchess's rivals, those who had already placed him in their sights.
Meanwhile, back within the Royal Academy's marble corridors, Melgil walked briskly toward Daniel's dormitory. She carried herself with a strange mix of composure and restless anticipation, her steps echoing faintly against the polished floor. She had hoped to find him there, perhaps to speak with him privately about matters left unsaid after the day's lessons. Yet, upon opening the door to his quarters, she found the room empty, the bed untouched since morning. She lingered for a moment, her fingers brushing over the desk where a few of his scattered notes lay.
What she didn't know, what no one within the Academy save the watchful spies could see, was that Daniel had deliberately stepped into the heart of the Guild District not simply to expand his status but to stir the waters. Every move was calculated to draw out the eyes and ears of the Duchess's enemies, to test their reactions, and perhaps force them to reveal themselves. For Daniel, this was no idle excursion; it was the opening move of a dangerous game, and he intended to play it on his own terms.
Daniel had no intention of drawing open attention to himself. His steps were unhurried, his expression calm, as if he were simply another young man enjoying the capital's lively streets. Merchants called out their wares from colorful stalls, street performers entertained passing crowds, and people of every race and station went about their daily routines—beastkin couriers darting between carriages, dwarven craftsmen hauling crates of tools, and robed scholars lost in heated debates. On the surface, it was a scene of ordinary life.
Yet Daniel's eyes, sharp and calculating beneath that calm façade, were not admiring the scenery. He could feel it, faint ripples in the air, subtle distortions in the flow of mana that most would overlook. The signatures were all too familiar. These were not random pickpockets or idle onlookers; their mana frequency was almost identical to the shadowed figures he had sensed during the Riverton attack. Even more telling, the subtle hum of their concealment techniques matched those who had stalked him at Dreswick Castle. Different location, different day, but the same invisible hunters.
He let his gaze wander lazily from storefront to storefront, feigning indifference, all while tracing the shifting positions of the watchers in the crowd. Whether they served the duchess's enemies or another faction entirely, Daniel could not yet say, but one thing was certain: they had not given up. And now, here in the heart of the capital, the game between predator and prey was beginning again.
Daniel adjusted the strap of his satchel and slowed his pace, weaving through the bustle of the capital as if he were merely searching for a good place to eat. In reality, every turn he took was measured, each pause deliberate. He wanted to see how disciplined his shadows were.
Crossing a small stone bridge that arched over one of the city's narrow canals, he passed a group of laughing guild recruits clad in mismatched armor, their chatter spilling into the air. He used them as cover, slipping into a side street lined with herbalists and scroll vendors. A glance in the reflection of a shop's glass pane revealed the faint shimmer of mana in the crowd behind himthere they were, still keeping their distance, but never losing him.
He decided to press further. With an almost idle air, Daniel strolled toward the Guild District, its streets broader and cleaner, patrolled by guards in the Royal Guild's blue-and-silver crest. Here, foot traffic thinned, and the presence of the watchers became harder to mask. That was the point. He wanted them to feel the pressure of being exposed.
At last, the shadow of the Royal Guild Tower rose ahead, its spire cutting into the evening sky. Daniel stopped briefly at a fountain in the plaza, letting his fingers trail in the cool water as he scanned the reflections on its rippling surface. A faint distortion flickered at the far edge of the square, one of them had moved closer.
With a faint smile that could be mistaken for absent-mindedness, Daniel turned and made for the tower's entrance. The heavy oak doors stood open, revealing the vaulted hall beyond, lit by chandeliers and filled with the quiet hum of activity. He stepped inside without hesitation, curious to see if his uninvited company would dare follow him into the heart of the Royal Guild's domain, where concealment came with far greater risks.
At the foot of the royal guild build, the watchers faltered. For most, the threshold marked a line they dared not cross; this was Royal Guild territory, a place where the wrong move could see an intruder branded a criminal or worse. Concealment spells were harder to maintain under the building's wards, and once inside, every corridor was watched by men and women trained to notice even the smallest irregularity.
From their vantage in the plaza, the spies exchanged brief, wordless signals. They could not simply storm in after him, not without drawing attention from the very people they were sworn to avoid. Yet one among them, a lean figure cloaked in dark ash-grey leathers, lingered longer than the rest. This one knew the stakes. Daniel Rothchester, young lord and unpredictable element, had just walked directly into their own base of operations, the Royal Guild itself. If he had come to uncover something, to speak to someone, or to expose their presence, it could unravel months of careful planning.
The cloaked spy's jaw tightened beneath his mask. He had no choice. While the others melted back into the crowd, he drifted toward the tower with the slow, measured steps of a man pretending to belong. His hands stayed loose at his sides, his breathing steady, though beneath the calm was the sharp focus of someone walking a knife's edge. Crossing the threshold, he immediately felt the prickle of the Guild's defensive wards along his skin.
Inside, the noise of the city faded, replaced by the deep, resonant quiet of the Guild's great hall. Tall windows let in the amber light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Daniel was already a few paces ahead, moving with the relaxed confidence of someone entirely at ease in his surroundings. The spy followed at a safe distance, careful to blend with the flow of adventurers and scribes moving between counters and notice boards.
If Daniel noticed him, he gave no sign. But the young lord's slow, deliberate path deeper into the Guild made the spy's pulse quicken. He had stepped into hostile territory to shadow a man who might very well know he was being hunted, and here, one misstep could turn the hunter into prey.
To the spy's surprise, Daniel did not seek out any private audience, sealed chamber, or gilded office reserved for nobles. Instead, he walked straight past the velvet-rope section where titled patrons were greeted with bows and escorted to the upper floors. His path led him instead to the far side of the great hall, where the hunter registration counter stood beneath a row of bronze-framed notice boards plastered with bounty slips and quest postings.
A modest line had formed: mercenaries in dented armor, leather-clad trackers smelling faintly of the wild, and fresh-faced hopefuls clutching the paperwork of their first application. Without hesitation, Daniel stepped into place at the very end of the queue. He neither announced his name nor flashed the signet ring of House Rothchester. No demands for priority. No raised voice expecting deference.
The Guild clerk, a harried woman with ink stains on her fingers, glanced up as he approached, her eyes flickering briefly over his well-tailored coat before moving on without recognition. Daniel only offered a polite nod, content to wait his turn like any other applicant.
From his position in the flow of people, the spy studied this unexpected behavior with narrowed eyes. Why would a young lord, one who could have an entire retinue handle such matters, stand shoulder to shoulder with sellswords and farmers' sons? Was this humility? A calculated gesture to mask his true intentions? Or simply another layer in a plan the spy could not yet discern?
Daniel stood in the slow-moving queue, the low murmur of conversation and the shuffle of boots filling the great hall. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, but his senses were anything but idle. Subtle ripples of mana told him the spy who had dared follow him inside was still there, shifting position every few moments, never too close, never too far.
It was exactly what Daniel wanted.
By standing in line with the common folk, he forced his shadow into an uncomfortable position—if the spy loitered too long near the registration area, Guild staff might question his presence. If he withdrew too far, Daniel could slip away in the crowd. The young lord's apparent humility was nothing more than a stage, and the longer the game went on, the more likely the spy would make a mistake and reveal himself.
But then, something happened that Daniel had not accounted for.
From the entrance of the great hall, a man in a dark, tailored coat slipped in with the casual ease of someone entirely at home in the Guild's domain. His movements were unhurried, his gaze calm yet piercing as it swept the hall. There was no need for disguise—his presence alone was enough to command quiet respect from those who recognized him.
Spymaster Veylan.
Daniel's eyes didn't flicker, but his mind sharpened. He had felt this man's gaze before—during the chaos when the three infernal demons were unleashed. Veylan had been there, watching, assessing, as Daniel, the white-haired lady, and the Duchess herself brought down the horrors that should have slaughtered dozens.
Now the Spymaster walked the length of the registration floor, blending effortlessly among the adventurers and scribes. His attention seemed casual, but when his gaze landed on Daniel standing in line, waiting like any common applicant—something in his expression tightened ever so slightly.
Veylan slowed, taking in the sight as if weighing what he saw against what he knew. Why would the young Lord Rothchester, who had stood against an infernal demon and lived, be here—unannounced, unguarded, and without the privileges his title afforded? The answer eluded him, and that uncertainty gnawed at his instinct.
From the corner of his eye, Daniel caught the faint shift of the spy he had been toying with earlier. Now that his superior had arrived, the man's composure wavered. The pieces on the board had changed, and Daniel could feel the game tightening around him.
Veylan did not approach like a man on official business. Instead, he stepped into the queue behind Daniel with the quiet patience of someone accustomed to waiting his turn. A plain, well-fitted traveling coat hid the fine stitching of his usual attire, and a dark, half-face mask concealed the lower half of his features. The mask itself bore a faint shimmer in the light—an enchantment, subtle but purposeful, muting traces of his mana signature and blurring the fine details of his face to any casual glance.
To anyone watching, he was just another man here to register.
Daniel, without turning, noted the shift in air behind him, the measured breathing, the faint scent of parchment and oil, and the unmistakable stillness of someone more accustomed to watching than speaking. He didn't react, keeping his gaze on the counter ahead.
Veylan, for his part, assumed the young lord had no idea who stood a pace behind him. That assumption suited him. A face-to-face conversation, without titles or politics weighing on the air, would allow him to pry for answers far more easily than a formal inquiry.
After a moment, Veylan's voice broke the ambient murmur of the hall, low and conversational.
"Not often you see someone your age at the registration hall in the middle of the day," he remarked lightly, as if commenting on the weather. "Most come early, before the lines build."
Daniel tilted his head slightly, offering a faint smile without looking back. "Some things are worth waiting for," he replied, his tone equally casual.
"True enough," Veylan said, his gaze resting on the young man's posture, the deliberate calm in his movements. "So, what brings you here this afternoon? First registration?"
The question was posed as idle curiosity, but Veylan's eyes, hidden behind the mask's faint sheen, were sharp—watching for hesitation, for the smallest crack in the answer. To him, Daniel's reason for being here, in this place, at this time, was a puzzle worth solving.
Daniel's reply came evenly, almost lazily, yet there was a weight to his words. "Just broadening my horizons." He left it at that, letting the silence stretch, as if daring the masked stranger to press further.
Daniel shifted his weight slightly, glancing over his shoulder just enough for his eyes to meet the faint shimmer of Veylan's enchanted mask. The young lord's gaze was calm, almost disinterested, but the precision of it carried an unspoken challenge.
"And you?" Daniel asked, his tone mild. "Most people don't strike up small talk in a registration line unless they're after something specific. Just here to broaden your own horizons as well… or is there another reason?"
It was subtle, but the shift in the conversation was deliberate. Veylan had intended to be the one steering it, drawing Daniel out with harmless questions. Now, with the roles reversed, he found himself under the same casual scrutiny he had meant to apply. A lesser man might have faltered, but Veylan only gave a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly.
"Perhaps," he replied smoothly, offering nothing concrete yet letting the answer hang in the air. "The Guild has its… attractions."
Before Daniel could press further, the line moved forward, and he stepped up to the counter. The clerk, quill in hand, was just reaching for the forms when a sharp voice cut through the low murmur of the hall.
"Step aside."
Both Daniel and the clerk turned to see a young man striding toward them with the kind of confidence that belonged to those who had never once been told 'no.' His robe embroidered in silver thread and marked with the sigil of the Mage Tower, spoke of both wealth and magical prestige. His dark hair was swept back with studied carelessness, and his eyes carried the faint gleam of someone used to being acknowledged before speaking.
Railan Aevryn.
Daniel recognized the family name immediately, House Aevryn, one of the prominent noble houses in the capital. This was Selene's older brother, and by the sound of his voice, he was already making use of his station.
"I'll be registering first," Railan declared, coming to stand directly beside Daniel. "Lesser noble of House Aevryn, apprentice to the Right Azure Archmage Aithlin Hasterient." The way he said the archmage's name was as if expecting the room to collectively gasp.
The clerk hesitated, glancing between the two men. Technically, the Guild did not prioritize by noble rank unless the Grandmaster himself ordered it but most clerks, when confronted with a noble's entitlement, simply yielded to avoid trouble.
Daniel's eyes didn't leave Railan's, the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Somewhere behind him, Veylan's interest sharpened, the situation taking an unexpected turn.
The clerk's quill hovered uncertainly over the parchment, her eyes flicking between the two men. Railan's presence radiated entitlement, the kind that demanded compliance without question. A lesser man might have stepped aside to avoid the confrontation, but Daniel remained exactly where he stood, his expression unchanging.
"I didn't realize the Royal Guild processed applicants based on impatience," Daniel said, his tone light, almost conversational. He didn't raise his voice, yet the words carried clearly enough for a few nearby in the line to hear. A subtle murmur stirred among them.
Railan's eyes narrowed. "You're holding up my time. You don't understand the importance of my work"
"On the contrary," Daniel interrupted smoothly, still not looking directly at the clerk. "I understand that the Guild works on order of arrival. And I've been standing here, waiting my turn, just like everyone else. If a man can't follow the simplest of procedures, I'd question whether he's ready for the responsibilities of a registered hunter."
The statement was deceptively mild, but the underlying barb was sharp enough to draw a faint ripple of amusement from a few of the mercenaries in line.
Railan straightened, his voice taking on the crisp tone of someone used to invoking their pedigree. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
Daniel turned his head then, meeting Railan's gaze directly for the first time. His smile was faint but steady. "Not particularly. Should I?"
The pause that followed was deliberate. Daniel knew the name, the face, and the rank, but to admit that now would risk revealing too much. Remaining an anonymous obstacle stripped Railan of the upper hand, forcing him to fight without the weight of social advantage.
Behind them, Veylan stood silent, watching the exchange with an intensity hidden behind his enchanted mask. He could see the layers in play, the restraint in Daniel's voice, the deliberate choice to keep his identity buried, and the way he had just turned a noble heir's bluster into a public test of composure.
The clerk cleared her throat, sensing the tension. "If the gentlemen could please… follow the order of the line," she said carefully, eyes darting between them.
Daniel didn't move, merely stepped forward as the line advanced, his place secured not by title, but by sheer refusal to yield. Railan, forced to either make a scene or wait his turn, stood rigid, the muscles in his jaw tight.
The balance of power had shifted, and not in his favor.
Railan's lips pressed into a thin line, the glimmer of indignation in his eyes tempered only by the public nature of the exchange. He could feel the stares of the mercenaries, the faint smirks of onlookers who had enjoyed watching a noble's privilege meet resistance. To escalate now would not only risk embarrassment but also tarnish the polished image House Aevryn so carefully cultivated.
So, with a short, sharp breath, he stepped back half a pace—enough to signal that he would wait, but not so far as to appear submissive. His fingers flexed at his sides, curling into the faintest of fists before relaxing again. Outwardly, Railan's expression smoothed into something neutral. Inwardly, the insult burned like a brand. This nameless, well-spoken upstart had made him yield in front of commoners.
Fine, Railan thought, his gaze drilling into Daniel's back as the young man approached the counter. You've bought yourself a moment of pride. But I'll see to it that you regret it—and when I do, it will not be in a line where you can hide behind the Guild's rules.
A few places back, Veylan remained as still as carved stone, his concealed eyes tracking every twitch, every measured breath between the two young men. This was no ordinary exchange of egos; there was a precision in Daniel's responses that spoke of practiced control, a refusal to be drawn into another man's tempo. He had not only resisted Railan's provocation but had turned it back upon him with surgical precision—and all without revealing his noble identity.
Interesting, Veylan mused silently. A man who fights battles without drawing his sword.
He committed every nuance of the moment to memory: the way Daniel never once raised his voice, the way Railan's pride cracked under the weight of restraint, and the ripple of perception it caused among the crowd.
These were the kinds of details that mattered in his trade. And though Veylan had come here to uncover why Daniel Rothchester was registering as a hunter, he was beginning to see something far more valuable: the young lord's instinct for power plays and his refusal to yield ground, even in the smallest of arenas.
The line moved forward again, and Veylan allowed himself the faintest of smiles beneath the mask. Whatever game Daniel was playing, he was playing it well.
The clerk looked up as Daniel stepped to the counter, quill poised over a fresh sheet of parchment. "Name?" she asked briskly.
"Daniel," he replied simply. No surname. No titles. Just a name that could belong to anyone in the capital.
"Place of residence?"
"The Royal Academy," he answered, his tone casual, as though it were nothing more than a boarding arrangement. Technically true, but vague enough to avoid the weight his full identity would carry.
The clerk nodded, scratching the details onto the form. "Any previous combat or hunting experience?"
Daniel tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. "I've had some training. A few live encounters." He left it at that, letting the understatement hang. The truth—that he had faced down infernal demons and walked away alive,was buried beneath the easy cadence of his words.
She looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you have a preferred rank in mind? Most new applicants start low, but… if you have verifiable experience, we can adjust your starting position."
Daniel met her gaze without hesitation. "A rank that allows me to take higher-tier quests alone would be preferable. I work better without a team."
It was bold for a first-time registration, but his delivery carried just enough quiet confidence to suggest it wasn't arrogance; it was a matter-of-fact statement. The clerk studied him for a moment longer before scribbling something on the form.
Behind him, Veylan's attention sharpened. The boy wasn't hiding his capability entirely—just enough to make it difficult to pin down the scope of his skill. That was dangerous in its own way. Men who gave away too much were easy to predict; men who gave away nothing were far harder to control.
"You'll need to complete the combat assessment," the clerk said, sliding the form into a wooden tray. "Guild policy. You pass, you get your rank."
Daniel inclined his head. "Of course."
But as he stepped away from the counter toward the testing grounds, his mind was already calculating. He needed to perform well enough to secure the rank he wanted, yet not so well that the Guild, or anyone watching, could tie him to the feats he'd accomplished in Riverton or Dreswick. It was a fine line to walk, and he intended to walk it perfectly.
Veylan, moving up in the line behind him, was already considering how to observe the assessment without tipping his own hand. Whatever Daniel Rothchester was truly capable of, the Spymaster intended to see it for himself up close and personal. Veylan knew that the key to success was gathering information without revealing his own intentions, a skill he had honed over many years in the shadows. He watched Daniel carefully.