The morning passed quietly, the noon even quieter. Icariel delivered orders—meals, drinks, warm bread with bitter syrup—his movements precise, mechanical. The sun was dying in the sky when the last customers filtered in. The inn's hum fell into stillness.
In the back, Icariel washed dishes, the metal basin biting cold against his fingers, the heat of the stove kissing one side of his face like a cruel contrast. Alna, humming softly, rearranged dried herbs and cracked bottles behind the front counter. Peace.
Then the door slammed open like a crack of thunder.
Three figures stepped in.
They weren't locals. Their boots were too clean. Their cloaks shimmered in deep black and deep blue, stitched with the jagged emblem of the Dungeon Recovery Guild. Strangers. Dangerous ones.
And the fourth figure came after—the red-eyed girl. The wolf-cloaked shadow from the night before.
Icariel froze. Tension slithered through his spine.
One of them, tall and broad, entered like a storm wearing human skin. He didn't need to speak. His presence carved silence into the room. Three silver stars glittered on the breast of his cloak.
He sat in the center of the inn. The two remaining patrons shrank into their seats like prey.
Alna, calm despite the tension, approached him. "Hello, sir. What can I get you?"
The man ignored her.
Icariel's vision pierced deeper. The man's chest glowed with four blue circles—mage cores—nested like layered vortexes inside his heart
A mage.Four circles.Each one pulsed cold blue around his heart. Advanced class.
The red-eyed girl—also a mage.
The others… Awakened. Superhumans.
"Stay still," the voice cautioned. "They don't know who you are."
Icariel nodded, drying a cup with steady fingers.
Then the mage's gaze landed on him.
"You," the man barked. "Come here."
Icariel didn't move. He glanced to Alna first.
"He's just a help boy," she interjected gently. "You can tell me—"
"I wasn't talking to you," the commander growled. Disrespect, not even cloaked. No honor for the elderly. No care.
He gestured sharply. "Come. Stand before me."
Icariel obeyed.
"Yes, sir?"
"How long have you been around Lissus?"
"Not long, sir."
"Where did you come from?"
"Beyond the north. Sir."
"Why?"
"My village burned. Monsters. I came looking for somewhere safer."
The man nodded absently. Then turned to the girl.
"Erea. Is it him?"
The red-eyed girl's gaze bore into Icariel. Her pupils were knives. Her mind searched for ghosts.
"Stay calm," the voice warned. "If they find out—prepare."
Erea finally exhaled. "It's not him. Same hair, maybe. But… no. It's not him."
The commander snorted. "Didn't think so. I used Spirit Zone. He's a loser. Barely any mana."
Icariel remained still.
"But I'll do one last check," the man said, rising. He moved toward Icariel, hand outstretched to place it on his head.
Alna stepped forward.
"Sir, that's enough."
Alna's voice cut through the air.
"He's my worker. Whatever your suspicions are, you're disturbing my business, and you don't have authority to come in here treating people like this. You've made us uncomfortable. Please leave."
She didn't finish.
The man's jaw tensed. Then—
The sound of flesh against flesh cracked through the inn.
He slapped her.
The old woman fell.
Silence.
Erea didn't move. But something behind her gaze twitched, uncertain.
The other two grinned like jackals.
Icariel moved instantly, catching Alna before she hit the floor. "Are you okay?"
The commander's voice returned, cold and cruel. "You don't understand the importance. Someone closed a dungeon alone. Alone. That's impossible. Dangerous. Power like that must be monitored. Tracked."
He turned his venom on Alna. "You dare question us? You demand documents? You're just a brittle old bone, getting in the way."
He sneered at Icariel. "And you. That's quite a stare for a coward. But what can you do?"
Icariel clenched his fist.
Did nothing.
Yet the heat rising in his chest was no longer the stove's.
"I'll ask one last time," Commander Olm sneered. "Did you see anyone suspicious last night? A boy with dark hair?"
Icariel met his gaze. Calm. Voice flat.
"I saw someone. Not last night, but early this morning. Two figures. Cloaks up. I thought they were thieves at first."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
The man grunted. Turned to his soldiers. "Check the southern side. If he lied—drag him back here."
He leaned in close to Icariel now.
"I don't like being lied to."
"I don't like you hitting people." Icariel's voice was calm. Too calm. His eyes didn't blink.
"Especially old women."
Alna tugged on his sleeve weakly—warning him to stop.
Olm grinned. "Tough words… for a coward."
Icariel smiled. "Then don't test how far the coward breaks."
The air thickened between them.
Something wordless passed.
And for a moment—Olm looked unsure.
Even Erea eyes narrowed
Then he straightened. "One last thing."
"Yes?"
"I heard them talking. The cloaked ones. Something about dungeon raiding today. Maybe you can catch them there."
Olm grinned. "If you're right—I'll reward you. Might even apologize."
His thoughts raced. "If I catch him… I'll earn another promotion. And some of the best women too."
He turned. "Come, Erea."
The door slammed shut behind them.
Silence.
Icariel helped Alna to her feet. "You should sit."
"I'm fine," she muttered. "He hits like a fool."
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
She looked at him. "No. I'm sorry you had to lie for me. They'll come back."
Icariel was quiet. His face changed.
Something in him… cracked.
"Come back?" he repeated. His voice sounded strange. Harder.
He thought of the slap. The woman who gave him a job. A roof. A place in this city where everyone refused him.
He hadn't earned what she'd done for him. Not yet.
But now…
But maybe now—he could start.
To earn it.
"They'll come back?" he said again.
Then he smiled.
"I doubt that."
Alna's eyes widened.
"Who knows?" Icariel said softly. "The one who closed that dungeon might take care of them."
Alna blinked.
Her eyes widened. She didn't understand what he meant—or why he had said it with such finality.
Something about him felt… strange.
Not dangerous.
Not mad.
But changed.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Icariel took a breath. Composed himself.
Then answered, calm as stone:
"If he shows up again tonight like last time… and they try to stop him... he might fight back."
Alna hesitated, eyes searching his face.
"Oh," she finally said, voice soft. "I see what you mean."
She looked away.
Folded her arms.
"Still… Icariel, the Dungeon Recovery Guild is everywhere. All over the continent. Even in the Cities of Breath. Picking a fight with them is… it's not something people do."
"I understand."
He did.
But it didn't matter.
The boy had already made up his mind.
He walked outside, sat on the edge of the wooden porch where rain tapped softly on the roof.
Then, in silence, he asked the voice:
"Voice. I can take them, right?"
A breathless stillness.
Then the answer came.
"You already know the answer. Yes."
Icariel clenched his fists.
His pulse beat slower—not faster.
"Fine then," he said."I'll beat the shit out of them tonight. No matter what. And then I'll enter the next dungeon."
The voice shifted—deep, ageless, cold as falling ash.
"Your emotions will make you dull. Be careful, Icariel."
"What are you saying?" he snapped."I'm not supposed to act? After they slapped her for no reason?"
"No. I am saying—this is the cruel world. The one you named, after Elena's death. The one where your kindness broke, and your eyes opened."
A pause.
"Many things like this will happen again. You don't expect to fight every monster wearing a human face, do you?"
The words struck hard. But Icariel didn't flinch.
His voice, quiet and sharp, cut through the rain.
"Voice. What's with you? I already told you."
"I never wanted things for free. I want to earn my food. I want to earn everything I've been given. Even kindness."
His fists trembled—not in fear, but conviction.
"That's why I'm acting. I've changed—but not that much. Don't worry."
His voice hardened.
"I'll preserve my life. Always. But those scum?"His eyes burned."They're not even a danger to my life. So I'll beat them."
Silence followed.
Then—
The voice finally answered, slow and deliberate.
"So be it, Icariel. But remember this: the creed you live by — 'you must earn what you've been given' — will one day lose its place. Because in this world, effort does not always earn redemption. And some debts… only demand blood.