Arthur opened his eyes.
The room was still. A basin of water sat quietly by the table.
He rose without a word, tied his hair back, dipped the cloth, and washed his face.
The cold water grounded him, though the weight on his chest never left.
Downstairs, the inn was calm. Morning patrons milled about, some speaking softly, others focused on their meals.
Arthur stood at the top of the stairs, bow and quiver slung over his back, longsword at his hip, and a dagger strapped across his chest.
At a corner table, Erickson sat alone. One plate sat untouched in front of him.
He sat. Arthur ate. For a while, neither spoke.
Then Arthur said, "There's been a slight change of plans."
Erickson met his gaze. "What changes?"
"Well, for starters, we didn't really have a plan. We improvised the escape. Mary will head to her mother's family, the Forks."
Erickson nodded. "The Count's territory."
"Yes. Her mother earned the title Countess during the war thirteen years ago. Married my father, Duke Thorne Vargris, after. Jane Fork, her aunt, was once a baroness, but she now governs in her father's stead. No sons, and the Count is aging. The Forks' bloodline is matrilineal now."
Count Fork. They control land to the east, granted after the war. Mary's aunt, Baroness Jane Fork, governs the land. She'll be safe there.
'In my past life, I didn't trust Jane at first. Rumors painted her as bitter toward her younger sister's rise. But that turned out to be a facade. She was a doting sister. And even more of a doting aunt.'
He drank from the cup. "Funny how both mother and daughter were treated. Nobility politics are dumb."
Erickson leaned back. "Do you believe she'll be safe this time?"
"I do. Safer than by my side. Especially with Jackson and Sherry by her side."
A silence settled before Arthur glanced sideways. "So... Father sent you?"
Erickson gave a slow nod. "He told me not to tell you."
Arthur offered a faint smile. "Typical."
Erickson had once come from the slums, but that wasn't spoken of here. He had earned his place through blood, steel, and loyalty. Duke Thorne Vargris personally raised him into knighthood. And when the attempt on Arthur and Mary's lives came, silent orders were given.
"Young Master," Erickson stood.
"There's somewhere we need to go."
"Oh?" Arthur looked at him. Not confused, more like he already knew who Erickson meant.
Erickson had always found that unsettling.
Arthur never stood out among the Duke's children, yet something about him had always felt strange.
Not in power, or presence, but something beneath the surface.
Something that made Erickson, a seasoned knight who had stood before kings and monsters, feel small when the boy stood before him.
Not ominous. Just… uncanny.
The Neutral Ground
The town of Whitecave sat at the southern edge of the Vargris Dukedom, where paved roads gave way to the wild, ancient stretch of Blake Forest.
Though technically under House Vargris's territory, Whitecave wasn't governed by nobles. It had its own mayor, its own laws, and its own way of doing things.
Even the empire gave it space. If anyone caused trouble here, the mayor had full authority to deal with them, noble or peasant.
Locals called it the "Come and Go" town, a place where people passed through or disappeared.
Nobles had another name for it.
Barbarian's Town.
They stopped before a big building in town, a four-story structure of wood and stone, iron-braced and solid.
A sign hung above the door, worn but steady:
The Whitecave Guild
Inside, the place was alive with sound.
Adventurers filled the hall. Some leaned over maps and contracts, others laughed over drinks or crowded around the quest board.
Arthur scanned the crowd.
Elves, tall, quiet, and long-eared. Every single one of them looked flawless, almost unreal. Their expressions were hard to read, like carved stone. Known for their bond with nature, elves favored magic and ranged combat, and rarely spoke more than they needed to.
Dwarves were the opposite, short, broad, and bearded. Many still wore forge aprons or armor patched with soot. They were the best at building things. And they could drink anyone under the table.
Then there were the Therians.
At a glance, they looked human. But a second look revealed what set them apart, furred ears, tails, clawed fingers, or bestial eyes. They were a race between races, some with human blood, others with elf or dwarf lineage.
What bound them together was their beast heritage, whether feline, canine, or avian.
Each type carried the instincts and strengths of their counterpart.
"Wait here," Erickson said. "I've got something to do."
He stepped forward, approaching the guild's front desk.
A young female elf greeted him, nervous, fidgety. She was short for her kind, around Arthur's height. Blonde hair with a greenish shimmer, golden eyes behind clear glasses. She wore the standard guild uniform: dark gray vest, white shirt, skirt, and heels. Her beauty was striking, even by elven standards.
She was the only elf working reception. The others were human.
"W-Welcome to the Whitecave Guild, how can I help you?" she asked, voice a little shaky.
"I'm here to meet the Guild Master," Erickson said calmly. "Is he in today?"
"The Guild Master...?" she blinked. "I-I'm not sure, let me check" she bowed and rushed off toward a group of her coworkers.
A black-haired woman in a ponytail looked up as the elf approached. She wore the same uniform and glasses, but something in her calm expression and posture suggested experience.
Probably the senior among them.
The woman sighed and walked over herself, letting the elf return to her station.
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't allow direct meetings with the Guild Master without an appointment," she explained professionally.
"I understand," Erickson nodded. "But if you could pass along a message... he'll want to hear it."
He leaned forward and whispered something into her ear.
She stiffened.
Her eyes flicked toward Arthur, still standing by the door.
Then back to Erickson.
Without another word, she turned and disappeared through the double doors behind the desk.
The elf receptionist looked confused, a little scared, watching the whole thing play out.
Less than a minute later, the woman returned. Her voice was steady.
"The Guild Master will see you now."
The receptionist led them through the bustling guild building, up a wide staircase that creaked slightly beneath Erickson's weight. Arthur followed silently, eyes scanning everything with quiet curiosity.
The second floor opened into a large administrative hall. Desks lined the space, each occupied by adventurers or guild staff scribbling away or reviewing papers. A few outsiders sat across from them, likely clients putting in quests or confirming contracts. Most of the workers were human or elves. Arthur didn't spot a single dwarf.
Too rowdy for paperwork, he thought.
The third floor was quieter. Sterile compared to the others. Crystals of varying colors sat embedded in large pillars. Magical instruments hummed softly. A few mages in guild robes were adjusting a sigil array on the wall.
It looked like a briefing chamber. Maybe a war room.
Arthur tilted his head. "I don't see a monster harvest department. Do you process that yourselves or work with an affiliate?"
The receptionist turned slightly over her shoulder. "Most F to D-ranked monster materials are handled in-house. We have an underground facility just beneath the guild. Goblins, dire wolves, great spiders... the usual. But for C-rank and above, especially delicate carcasses, we send them to partnered specialists. Mostly in the capital."
Arthur nodded.
Efficient.
They reached the fourth floor. The hallway stretched long and quiet, lined with polished wooden doors. Brass plaques labeled each: Vice Guild Master, Strategy Hall, Negotiation Room.
At the end stood a door larger than the rest, framed with ornate carvings.
The receptionist knocked twice.
A calm voice responded from within. "Come in."
She opened the door and bowed. "Guild Master, I brought the guests."
Arthur and Erickson stepped inside.
The room was modest in size but well-organized. A long red carpet with golden embroidery split the space in two. Twin couches faced each other, separated by a low marble table. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls, tomes, and relics. Magical items glowed faintly, a blue orb hovering in a silver ring, a cracked sword with runes pulsing faintly, the skull of an orc-like creature mounted above the table.
Behind a large desk at the far end stood a tall white-haired man in a flowing robe, his back to the door. Sunlight streamed through the massive arched glass window, casting him in a calm, pale glow.
He turned.
His face was lined with age, but not worn. A well-groomed beard, strong cheekbones, and sharp golden eyes with a circular grey pattern gave him a presence that demanded attention. His robe bore a gold and black emblem on the chest, shaped like a closed gate or seal.
Arthur blinked.
The resemblance was uncanny.
"Thanks, Erina," the man said, smiling at the receptionist. "Would you bring some tea for our guests? Milk and sugar on the side, please."
"Yes, Guild Master," she bowed and quietly stepped out.
"Please, sit."
Arthur and Erickson took their place on the couch to the right. The man sat across from them, folding his hands calmly.
"Been a while… Willy," he said, a small smirk on his lips.
Erickson grunted. "I told you not to call me that. Eve."
The man chuckled. "Hoho. It's Ivar, you dumb little brother."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, watching as Erickson scoffed.
"It's William to you, dumbass."
Arthur smiled faintly. This side of Erickson was rare.
"William, huh?"
"That's my first name. This here is Ivar. My older twin brother." William turned toward Arthur. "You don't seem surprised, young master."
Arthur shrugged. A bit awkward. "Kinda guessed."
In truth, he already knew.
In his past life, he had learned much about Ivar and William Erickson. Orphans from the slums, survivors of cruelty and hunger. They had clawed their way out of nothing, relying only on each other.
William had the body and instincts of a warrior. Ivar, the mind and discipline of a scholar.
When Duke Thorne Vargris found them, he saw more than strays. He saw potential.
And he raised them into men. Into leaders.
Even now, they were different, but clearly cut from the same cloth.
Ivar studied Arthur a moment longer, then leaned back, fingers steepled.
"So... to what do I owe the visit?"
William glanced at Arthur, silently asking permission. Arthur gave a slight nod.
With that, William explained everything.
How they escaped. Where they fled. How they ended up here.
Ivar listened without interrupting, his eyes drifting back to Arthur from time to time.
When William finished, Ivar exhaled softly and stood.
He paced slowly, hands behind his back, eyes wandering across the trinkets on the walls.
"I would've given my life for the Duke," he said. "He pulled me and my brother out of the gutter. Maybe now's the time I repay that."
He stopped and turned toward Arthur.
"I can't leave the guild, not personally. But if there's anything I can do, just name it. If it's within my reach, I'll make it happen."
Arthur looked from William to Ivar. Then back to Ivar.
"My sister. Mary. She's staying with the Forks, under the Countess's protection. I trust them, mostly. But Mary's stubborn. She might try to come find me. That would be dangerous."
Ivar gave a small smile. "Then I'll look after her. That's the least I can do."
He paused. "So, what's your plan?"
"To be honest? I don't know." Arthur shrugged.
"What if you stay here for a bit?" Ivar said. "Figure things out. Do a few small quests to earn some coin for the road. I know you need it."
"That's dangerous," William cut in. "We don't know if the pursuers gave up. The young master still isn't ready to face them."
"No," Arthur said quietly. "We're going to do exactly that."
"I disagree," William said sharply. "It's my duty to protect you. That also means stopping you from doing reckless things."
Arthur looked down, then at the table. He took a breath.
"That's why I need to get stronger, William."
He turned to him with more weight in his eyes. William paused.
Not from the words, but from the way Arthur said his name.
Arthur had never called him that before.
"I can't run forever. Compared to what's coming, my brothers' goons are nothing."
William frowned. "What do you mean, what's coming?"
Arthur froze.
'Shit' he thought.
"I-I mean…"
William looked at him, suspicious. Ivar calmly sipped his tea.
"T-There might be a war, right? I heard some whispers. That a civil war might actually happen."
"Where did you hear that?" William asked.
Arthur raised both hands. "Come on, Erickson. We're staying at an inn. You hear things. It's not that strange."
William narrowed his eyes but didn't press further.
'This mouth is a problem,' Arthur thought.
"What the young master said might not be far off," Ivar said, setting his tea down. "The dispute over succession is heating up. The king is sick. The princes are restless. So are their supporters. Even if Duke Thorne stays neutral, that won't stop the war from reaching his children."
Arthur almost sighed with relief.
'Great support, Ivar.'
William rubbed his chin in thought. He didn't say anything at first. Then he let out a breath.
"Fine. But no adventurer business until things calm down. Understood?"
Arthur gave a small nod. He'd nearly said something stupid. Again.
Ivar was smiling faintly.
The conversation ended there. Arthur and William stood and walked toward the door.
Just as Arthur reached for the handle
"Wait," Ivar said. "I can't just do that for you without leaving you something."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a simple necklace.
A black cord, with an oval-shaped emerald at its center.
"One of my students made this. It's a paired artifact. You can send a message to the other wearer instantly. Or, if you need to, it can teleport you to them. But only once. The magic fades after that."
He placed it in Arthur's hand.
"I'll send someone to the Forks. They'll give the second necklace to your sister. Use it wisely."
Arthur looked down at the emerald, then up at him. "Thank you."
Ivar gave a nod. "Good luck, Arthur Vargris."
As they stepped out of the room, the air in the hallway felt heavier.
Not with dread. Just still.
The kind of stillness that came before a storm.
William said nothing, and Arthur didn't break the silence.
Another thread secured.
But the road ahead was still long.
It would take more than resolve to reach the end.