Despite the Adventurers' Guild and the Halven mages attempting to close the dungeon, Pan Klein's shop did its best to run as if it were a normal day.
Roland sat at the side counter with an open ledger, fixing the entries from the morning's sales,mostly checking whether the prices Edgar had written down actually matched what had been agreed with customers. Meanwhile Edgar drifted between the shelves, putting cores and weapons back where they belonged, muttering under his breath about the quality of the latest delivery. He had a habit of talking more to merchandise than to people.
The bell above the door rang in a way that didn't match ordinary foot traffic. The door opened decisively,no hesitation,like whoever came in didn't need to double-check they were in the right place.
Edgar turned first. Roland only lifted his eyes from the ledger long enough to register a man standing in the doorway: neatly dressed without being flashy, travel cloak marked by road dust, a plain metal badge of the Merchants' Guild clipped to his belt. No ornamentation. A clear signal he wasn't here for fabric for a new dress.
"I'm looking for Master Klein," the man said calmly, in the tone of someone who didn't expect refusal or delay.
"He's in the back," Edgar replied, setting down a beam. "I'll call him."
Pan Klein appeared a moment later, after Edgar called for him, wiping his hands on his apron. The instant he saw the visitor, his face brightened in a way that had nothing to do with customer politeness.
"Marek," he said, genuinely pleased. "I thought you got stuck on the western routes."
"I was," Marek replied with a faint smile. "And I've confirmed it's not worth going back there any more than necessary."
Klein and Marek clasped hands,brief, merchantlike, no extra gestures. The grip was firm but not warm, as if both of them knew everything important between them had been settled a long time ago.
"How are the roads?" Klein asked, leaning back slightly and gesturing at the open space by the counter.
"Worse up north," Marek said, sliding his cloak off his shoulders. "After the last rains, wagons bog down more often, and escorts are charging more for the risk than usual."
"Nothing new," Klein grunted. "Ever since the Stone Road stopped being guarded the way it used to be, every wagon goes through on its own responsibility."
Marek nodded, as if confirming a calculation he'd already done.
"Core shipments from the third sector are up by a fifth. Same quality."
"Which means worse," Klein said flatly.
"Variable," Marek corrected. "Some batches are decent. But more and more, you have to reject goods on the spot. Too many losses, not enough discipline in the teams."
Roland kept writing numbers without looking up, but he stored every word away. Conversations like this didn't drift into pricing for no reason.
"My last delivery was uneven," Klein said. "Good cores, but packed badly. Two cracked before I even priced them."
"It's been reported," Marek replied. "Not the first time. Central is starting to look at it more closely."
A short silence followed,both men weighing how much they could say before the conversation stopped being "private."
"Also," Marek added, "I heard a Beast-rank dungeon manifested near your city."
"It did. A few days ago," Klein said. "But House Halven sent three mages, and the Adventurers' Guild is involved. They should manage."
"Hmph." Marek snorted at the mention of the Houses. "You know damn well how the Houses treat ordinary people,especially us merchants. Nothing good ever comes from it. And if I had to bet, they'll only make problems for the adventurers."
Klein gave a weak smile as Marek's irritation sharpened. Most merchants hated the noble houses for their ruthlessness, stinginess, and the sheer nerve they brought to negotiations.
After a few deep breaths to calm himself, Marek reached into his bag. His tone shifted,more businesslike now, though the edge never fully left.
"Alright. Screw the mages too. I'm here on official business," he said. "Things have been moving at central lately. The Guild Leader made a few decisions, and you can't exactly call them minor adjustments."
Klein raised an eyebrow. Roland didn't lift his eyes from the ledger, but he felt the shop go a little quieter.
"Big enough that branches are mobilizing?" Klein asked.
"Big enough that the main branches are calling in their people," Marek confirmed. "Everyone's to be informed of what's been decided."
He pulled out a letter and set it on the counter. The paper was thick, the red wax seal stamped with the mark of the Dungeon Faction,the branch Pan Klein belonged to. Anyone involved in the dungeon-spoils market would recognize it.
"The details are inside," Marek added.
Klein nodded, taking the letter without hurry.
"I understand."
"It's a good change," Marek said after a beat, as if tossing it out casually. "At least for those who think long-term and want to finally bite back at those damned Houses."
"Marek, calm down," Klein replied, trying to rein him in. "If someone hears you talking like that, you'll buy yourself trouble."
Marek snorted and headed for the door anyway.
Their goodbye was brief. When the messenger left and the bell fell silent, the shop slipped back into its usual rhythm.
For a while, that rhythm meant Roland correcting entries in the ledger, Edgar hauling bundles of material back to the proper shelves, and Pan Klein standing behind the counter with the letter in hand,still not opening it, as if the mere fact that the Dungeon Faction's seal had arrived was enough for the moment, and there was no need to hurry what was coming either way.
At last, the paper rustled softly as Klein unfolded the letter and scanned it,slowly, carefully, the way a man reads official Guild correspondence when he's learned that what matters isn't only what's written, but what's left unsaid on purpose. Roland couldn't see the words, but from Klein's expression alone he knew this wasn't a routine notice or a polite invitation.
Edgar caught it almost immediately. He knew his father too well to miss the slightest change in posture. He set down the core he'd been straightening and leaned on the counter, making it clear this was about more than prices and delivery dates.
"Alright," Edgar said at last. "What did they come up with this time up top?"
Klein didn't answer right away. He finished reading, finger moving over the last lines, then folded the letter with the same deliberate neatness he reserved for documents that mattered. Only then did he look up.
"Three main factions have received new directives directly from the Guild Leader," he said evenly. "Capital, Logistics, and Dungeons are to align under one course of action. All major branches and decision-making members have been summoned to informational meetings."
Edgar frowned.
"Everyone?"
"Everyone with real influence," Klein confirmed. "No exceptions."
Roland wrote another line in the ledger, but his hand slowed. Even someone who didn't formally belong to the Guild could tell this wasn't casual. You didn't summon the key people of the Dungeon Faction without a reason.
"When?" Edgar asked.
"First day of next month," Klein said. "Dungeon Faction headquarters."
Edgar exhaled slowly.
"That has to be big."
Klein nodded, palms resting on the counter.
"The Guild Leader isn't a man who acts on impulse," he said. "For most of his tenure, his job is to not touch what works, and to keep the three factions from pulling in different directions. If he's made a move that forces everyone to align… then it concerns the entire Guild, not one market or one city."
"Or one dungeon," Edgar added.
"Exactly," Klein said. "The Dungeon Faction doesn't call all its key people together over contract tweaks or purchase-rate changes. Those get handled locally."
For a moment they fell silent. In the shop, the only sounds were the quiet flip of ledger pages and the distant noise of the street,moving along in its own rhythm, completely unaware that somewhere above it, decisions had already been made that would soon ripple into prices, supply, and who could afford to take risks.
"You have any guesses?" Edgar asked finally.
Klein glanced aside as if weighing several possibilities at once,shifts with the Noble Houses, trouble on the main trade routes, or something far larger that would demand the entire Guild move in sync. After a moment, he shook his head.
"Not enough data," he said honestly. "If the Leader decided the information has to be delivered in person, then he doesn't want rumors or speculation. Which usually means it's easy to misunderstand."
He sighed and rubbed his temple.
"I'll tell you one thing," he added quietly. "I'm too old for sudden course changes. Trade likes stability. And I like knowing what to expect tomorrow."
Edgar smiled briefly, without humor.
"And yet you always end up right in the middle of moments like this."
"Because someone has to," Klein said. "But there's no point chewing on it now. Until we hear details, every theory is wasted time."
He folded the letter and slid it into the drawer beneath the counter,the same one where he kept the most important documents.
"Back to work," he said in a tone that shut down further discussion. "The dungeon, the Leader, and the big decisions aren't going anywhere. And those cores won't count themselves."
Edgar nodded and returned to the shelves. Roland bent over the ledger again, correcting line after line. The shop looked like an ordinary workplace once more,except a quiet sense lingered over everything, that this calm was temporary, and that the first day of next month would bring changes none of them were fully ready for.
***
The corridor ended abruptly,no gradual narrowing, no warning,like the dungeon had deliberately let them keep running under the illusion it was just another stretch, and then opened up into a vast chamber where the heat wasn't merely present but crushing. The air stood still, heavy with dust, ash, and a weight of energy that had been pooling there for a long time.
Ahead of them rose a gate.
Not something built by hands, not in any human sense. It looked like it had grown with the dungeon itself,massive stone fused with lava that slid slowly down its surface like living veins. Cracks in the black rock pulsed with ember-light, as if behind it beat the heart of the whole place,steady and patient, waiting for someone to come closer.
Caelan stopped a few steps from the gate and tilted his head up, openly pleased. His breathing was heavier now than it had been at the start, and a thin sheen of sweat had appeared on his brow,something even his aura and magical protection couldn't fully hide. Even for him, the pace he'd forced had a cost.
"Easy," he said at last, turning to his brothers as if the entire run had been nothing but a warm-up before something interesting.
Dorian stood nearby, hands on his knees for a fraction too long to pass as indifference, while Lysand flexed his fingers, leftover energy still trembling through them. Both nodded without comment. Neither of them wanted to be the first to admit the tempo had been brutal even for them.
"No delays," Caelan added, satisfaction sharpening his tone. "No rotations. Exactly like I said."
Only then did he look back.
Seven adventurers were several meters behind, scattered messily along the corridor wall. Some sat on the ground with their backs against heated stone. Others knelt, bracing themselves on their hands. All of them breathed hard and uneven, like every inhale was a fight. Their clothing and exposed skin showed marks,burns, scorch smears, small cuts their protective items had barely managed to dull.
Rethan stood a little apart, leaning on a sword he'd driven into the rock. His head was lowered for a moment like he was gathering breath, but when he lifted it, his eyes were sharp and hard. Even like this, he kept evaluating the space, the gate, and whatever might be waiting beyond it.
Caelan's mouth twisted into a crooked smile.
"You see?" he said, jerking his chin toward the men gasping against the wall. "That's the difference between a litlle man and a mage."
He took a few steps toward Rethan, boots scraping against cooled slag.
"I told you we'd reach the boss without any rotations,without all your caution and backline babysitting," he continued. "And we did."
The words hung in the air, heavier than the heat.