Paul's grin widened into that familiar, defiant smile of a man who knew more than he was saying,and took clear pleasure in it. He leaned back more comfortably in his chair and looked at Klein through half-lidded eyes.
"Let me guess," he said, tapping a finger against the tabletop. "You got a letter from the guild too. That's why you're here,not because you missed my charming personality."
Klein didn't deny it. He simply nodded slowly, setting his cup aside. At that point, the conversation had stopped being social.
"Then you're not the only one," Paul went on. "From what I've managed to pull together from leaks,and you know this city, someone always talks,it seems Aurelian has started making some very serious moves."
Klein frowned more deeply than he'd intended.
"Aurelian," he repeated slowly. "You mean that Aurelian?"
Paul nodded without hesitation.
"That very one," he confirmed. "The Kingdom's greatest bulwark against the dungeons. The man because of whom neighboring kingdoms,even Eldren and Kaelvar,prefer to pretend we don't exist, despite their mages being, on average, stronger than ours."
He snorted with contempt.
"And that's exactly what drives me insane," he added. "Instead of using that advantage, our noble houses keep acting like a pack of arrogant trash, tearing at each other for influence as if the world ended at their coats of arms."
He fell silent for a moment and took a deeper breath. When he looked at Klein again, his expression had turned serious.
"Apparently, Aurelian wants to found a Magic Academy," he said. "And the Trade Guild is involved."
Klein's eyes widened despite himself. That single sentence upended far too many arrangements he thought he understood.
"An academy," he repeated. "How did the king agree to that? It would only strengthen the noble houses,give them an even greater advantage over the Crown. How was something like this allowed?"
Paul smiled again, this time without a trace of mockery,more like someone who had been waiting for exactly that reaction.
"You'll learn the details in three days," he said calmly. "At the faction meeting. Everything will be laid out plainly there,along with the exact contract the Trade Guild has signed with Aurelius."
Klein leaned back in his chair, falling silent. In his mind, scenarios began lining up one after another, each more unsettling than the last. Not a single one promised calm times,for the guild, or for the world he knew.
***
The journey ended without fanfare and without anything that could be called comforting. When the caravan finally slowed and came to a stop on a reinforced square, Otto didn't see city walls or gates bearing heraldry. Instead, there stood a single vast complex of buildings, spread across the land like something that had grown over decades, unconcerned with urban planning.
The main structure was massive and heavy, built from pale stone that didn't shine but radiated durability. Around it rose additional wings, halls, towers, and low auxiliary buildings, connected by arcades and covered walkways. The whole place looked less like a headquarters and more like a self-contained city,which, in practice, was exactly what the central structure of the Adventurers' Guild was.
The caravan came to a complete halt. Drivers jumped down from their seats, and one by one the adventurers followed, straightening sore backs and surveying the surroundings with the same trained calm of people who knew this place was neither safe nor hostile,just functional.
Otto dismounted last. He stood still for a moment, staring at the complex ahead. Even after all these years and all these journeys, the place still made an impression,not through grandeur, but through the sheer scale of the organization behind it.
"Otto?" a woman's voice called.
He turned to see a woman standing a few steps away. She was dressed simply but neatly, the guild signet visible on her chest. No weapon. No escort. Like someone who had nothing to prove.
"Yes," he replied, nodding. "I'm reporting to guild headquarters as ordered."
He hesitated briefly, then added formally, as protocol demanded.
"Otto, head of the Adventurers' Guild branch in the city of Raven."
She nodded, as if that was exactly what she'd expected, and went straight to the point,no congratulations, no unnecessary words.
"The meeting begins in two days," she said. "We're still waiting on ten leaders from other divisions. Until then, you and your people can be housed here."
She gestured to the side.
"The western wing is prepared to accommodate your group."
She turned and raised her voice, calling over one of the staff. A younger woman appeared almost immediately,tense, but clearly well prepared.
"Take them to the western wing," she instructed curtly.
The woman nodded and led the way. Otto signaled his people to follow, not bothering to look back at the caravan. Other staff were already handling it,unloading crates and collecting documents with the same routine efficiency practiced here for years.
Otto walked at the back of the group, feeling a familiar tension settle in. He knew the two quiet days before the meeting would be worse than the meeting itself. It was in moments like these that speculation, rumors, and unspoken decisions took shape.
As they moved down the corridor toward the western wing, Otto passed groups of people whose cloaks, armor markings, and manner of movement alone made it clear they'd come from different cities and different corners of the kingdom. Each carried their own experiences, losses, and reasons why this gathering mattered.
Then, as they turned into a wider corridor where foot traffic was heavier and voices blended into a low, constant murmur, Otto suddenly slowed. A few meters ahead stood a man he hadn't seen in years,but whose silhouette was unmistakable.
He was older now, clearly. His body was carved with scars,some old and pale, others darker, as if they'd never fully healed. A thick neck, massive shoulders, and the posture of someone who looked dangerous even unarmed, as if he were always ready to strike. His hair was short and graying, his beard trimmed carelessly, his eyes sharp and alert despite his age.
When their gazes met, a wide, genuine smile spread across the man's face.
"By the gods… Otto?" he called out, stepping toward him. "I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me."
Otto stopped and grinned just as broadly, feeling the strain of the journey ease,if only for a moment.
"You old bastard," he replied. "Vethan still hasn't managed to kill you?"
The man barked out a laugh.
"They tried. A few times," he said. "Apparently, I'm still too stubborn."
Otto glanced at the woman leading his group, then at his people.
"Take them ahead," he told her calmly. "I'll join you in a moment. I need to talk with Olivier."
She looked like she wanted to say something,maybe remind him of procedures or schedules,but after a brief hesitation, she simply nodded and led the rest of the adventurers onward, leaving the two of them in the corridor as the crowd slowly thinned.
"How are things on your end?" Olivier asked as they moved aside so they wouldn't block the passage. "I've heard all sorts of things, but rumors in places like this are worth about as much as mud on your boots."
Otto snorted heavily.
"If you heard anything about the Halvens, you probably got only half the truth," he said. "A Beast-rank dungeon. A raid led by people who had no business commanding. Six dead captains that no one wants to talk about, because it's easier to sell the public a fairy tale about three miraculous young mages."
Olivier's face hardened.
"That's exactly what bothered me," he admitted. "Three mages, all under twenty. One raid, boss goes down. It smelled wrong from the start."
He nodded slowly.
"Hearing it from you just confirms it wasn't only my suspicion."
They walked in silence for a moment, until Olivier sighed and changed the subject, as if unwilling to dig further into someone else's tragedy.
"It hasn't been easy on my side either," he said. "House Valcoren has been trying to push their hands where they don't belong again, pulling more and more dungeons under their influence. We've been drowning in work."
Olivier shook his head sadly.
"The only thing I thank the gods for is that we have a temple," he added. "Without it, the death toll would be much higher."
Otto looked at him with clear envy,one he didn't bother to hide.
"I know," he muttered. "My people have to travel for days to get proper healing. Sometimes they don't make it at all."
The man from Vethan looked at him with understanding, then clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
Olivier fell quiet for a moment, as if weighing whether to ask the question outright or wait a bit longer. In the end, he let out a heavy sigh and spoke plainly.
"Tell me one thing," he said. "Do you have any idea why they dragged all of us here?"
Otto lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture that said more than a long explanation ever could.
"Honestly?" he replied. "Not much. We're stuck on the far southern edge of the country. News from the capital arrives late,or not at all,and when it does, it's filtered through rumors and other people's interests."
He shook his head.
"What I know about what's really happened in the world over the past few weeks comes from campfire talk and letters written in painfully careful language. That's not enough to understand why every leader was suddenly summoned at once."
Olivier looked up at the high vaulted ceiling, as if the answer might be hidden somewhere among the stone beams. Then he exhaled in a long, tired sigh.
"I'm genuinely curious," he said aloud. "Because to gather all of us here, something must have happened that can't be swept under the rug, or covered up with another heroic story."
Otto looked at him calmly, without trying to reassure or frighten him.
"We'll find out in two days," he said. "And something tells me none of us will leave this place with the same view of the world we arrived with."