The Rusty Tankard Inn had never felt more like a cage. The damp stone of my room seemed to press in, each crack a potential scrying conduit. The Corrupted Dungeon Core Fragment sat wrapped in oilcloth under my bed, humming a sub-audible frequency that only my heightened [Analysis Mode] could perceive. It was a beacon. A liability. And the only tangible link to a power structure I understood.
<< FRAGMENT ANALYSIS (ONGOING) >>
Corruption Matrix: 34% stable. Leak rate: 0.01 mana units/hour.
Containment Suggestion: Lead-lined casing OR harmonic nullification field. Materials unavailable.
Alternative: Consume corrupt mana to stabilize fragment. Risk of personality assimilation: 87%.
"Not an option," I muttered. Turning into a beast-driven dungeon core was a lateral move at best.
A new, more immediate alert flashed.
<< GUILD NOTICE: MANDATORY DEBRIEF >>
All F-Rank adventurers who accepted sewer-related quests in the last 48 hours are required to report to Guildmaster Talon for a "safety consultation." Azure Scroll representatives will be present.
Non-compliance will result in license suspension.
They were casting a net. A logical, bureaucratic net. Arion was not just a powerful mage; he was a thinker. He'd shifted from magical pursuit to systemic investigation. More troublesome.
I needed a persona. Kael, the F-Rank adventurer, had to be flawless.
I spent an hour practicing micro-expressions in the polished metal mirror. Widening the eyes slightly (fatigue, residual fear). A slight tremble in the hands (adrenaline crash). The posture of someone who'd seen something unsettling but not world-ending. I contaminated my boots with extra sewer sludge and tore a strap on my pack. Authenticity in detail was paramount.
The Guild Hall was tense. A dozen other F-Ranks, including Lira and Bran, milled nervously by the quest board. The usual din was hushed. Two figures stood on the dais usually reserved for Guildmaster Talon: Arion in his blue robes, and Seris, a stark monolith of polished silver in the rustic hall. Her gaze was a physical weight, sweeping over us like a searchlight.
Guildmaster Talon, a burly ex-adventurer with a scar across his bald head, looked uncharacteristically grim. "Listen up! These here are honored guests from the Azure Scroll and the Dawnhammer Order. There's been a… magical hazard incident in the sewer system. They just want to ask a few questions to ensure your safety and the city's. You'll be called one by one. Cooperate fully."
The "interview" room was a storage closet hastily cleared of sacks of flour. Arion sat behind a small table, a crystal orb pulsing softly before him. Seris stood against the wall, arms crossed, saying nothing. Her presence was the question.
"Kael, is it?" Arion's voice was deceptively gentle. "Please, sit. This is just a formality. Place your hand on the orb. It will simply verify you haven't been exposed to dangerous levels of corrupt mana."
A lie. The orb was a high-grade soul resonator. It wouldn't just detect corruption; it would map the basic contours of one's magical signature. It was a census tool.
I let my hand shake slightly as I placed it on the cool crystal. I focused every ounce of my administrative will on the seals within me: Final Boss Template, Dungeon Core Mechanics. I imagined them as black iron vaults, sunk deep in a starless sea. My surface thoughts I let flow freely: the stench, the big rats, the unsettling green light, the desire for five coppers a tail.
The orb glowed a steady, uneventful blue.
"No significant corruption," Arion noted, a hint of disappointment in his academic tone. "Tell me, in your own words, what you saw down there."
I launched into a rehearsed account: the rats, the fighting, the winding tunnels. I emphasized getting turned around, the disorientation. I offered the ten rat tails from my pack as proof of my limited, successful foray. I was the picture of a lucky beginner.
"Did you see anything… unusual? Not just rats. A strange glow? A feeling of pressure? Perhaps a peculiar stone?" Arion's eyes were sharp, probing.
I frowned,演技 (performance) aiming for confused recollection. "A stone? It was all stone and brick, sir. And… the water glowed green from the moss. Was there supposed to be something else?" I let a sliver of anxious greed show. "Is there… extra reward for finding something?"
Seris's lip twitched, almost imperceptibly. The expression of a warrior dismissing a civilian's venal nature. Perfect.
Arion studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "No. No extra reward. Just be aware, adventurer, that some magical artifacts are dangerous to the untrained. If you see anything, report it immediately. Your life may depend on it."
"I will, sir. Thank you, sir."
I was dismissed. As I reached for the door, Arion spoke again, casually. "One more thing. Your class is listed as 'Adventurer.' Quite generic. Yet your Guild assessment noted unusual tactical insight against the training golem. Where did you learn that?"
The trap. Not magical, but biographical.
I turned, letting a touch of defensive pride color my voice. "My father was a caravan guard. He taught me that every creature, every thing, has a weak point. You just have to look for it." A half-truth woven from Kael's actual memories. "The golem… it moved like a man with a stiff leg. I just… saw it."
Arion nodded slowly, his scholarly curiosity seemingly satisfied. "Practical wisdom. You may go."
Outside, I leaned against the wall, simulating relieved exhaustion. The act was draining. Lira bounded over.
"What did they ask you? Bran said they grilled him for ten minutes about every crack in the wall he saw!"
"Same. They're looking for a magic rock." I shrugged, feeding the gossip mill exactly what it needed. "Probably some noble lost a fancy gem down a drain."
She laughed, the tension breaking. "Typical! Hey, since we're cleared, some of us are heading to the Nightingale Tavern to celebrate surviving our first week. Come on! You look like you need a drink."
Social interaction. An inefficient use of time. But necessary camouflage. "One drink," I conceded.
The Nightingale was a step up from the Rusty Tankard, filled with off-duty guards and D-Rank adventurers. I nursed a cheap ale, my senses extended. [Analysis Mode] tagged everyone: Guardsman (Level 12), Tipsy. Barmaid (Level 3), Stressed. Rogue (Level 19), Observing exits.
Then I saw him. Across the crowded room, sitting alone in a shadowy booth, was the silver-haired boy from the Awakening Ceremony. Sylas. Player. Otherworlder.
Our eyes met. His earlier smirk was gone, replaced by an intense, appraising look. He raised his tankard slightly in my direction, a silent acknowledgment. Then, he pointed two fingers subtly at his own eyes, then tilted them toward the ceiling.
The message was clear. I'm watching. And so are they.
He was referring to Arion and Seris. Did he know they were here? Was he a target too? Or was he a rival player scouting the competition?
Before I could process it, a commotion erupted at the bar. Bran, flushed with ale and bravado, was loudly recounting his "harrowing" sewer tale to a pair of uninterested D-Rankers. "…and then I saw it! A weird purple light! Probably a trapped spirit! I charged, but it vanished…"
My blood went cold. Fool. He was crafting a story, but he was painting a target on his back.
<< PROBABILITY CALCULATION >>
Bran's boasting has an 89% chance of reaching Arion's ears within 2 hours.
Result: Bran will be taken for "enhanced questioning."
Secondary Effect: Scrutiny on all in his social circle increases by 300%.
I had to leave. Now. Association with him was becoming a critical flaw.
I stood to slip out, but Lira grabbed my arm. "Leaving so soon? The fun's just starting!"
At that exact moment, the tavern door opened. Seris walked in.
She didn't need to armor. Her presence silenced the room. Her eyes, like chips of glacial ice, scanned the crowd and landed unerringly on the loudest source of noise: Bran. Then they swept to his table—to Lira, and to me, caught mid-departure.
She strode over, the crowd parting like wheat. "You. The one speaking of a 'purple light.' You will come with me. For your own safety."
Bran's bravado evaporated. "I-I was just telling a tale, ma'am! A story!"
"Stories have roots," Seris said, her voice leaving no room for argument. Her gaze flicked to Lira and me. "You two. You were with him today. You will also come. Now."
Lira looked terrified. I felt the cold, precise click of plans unraveling. Direct confrontation was inevitable now. But confrontation as what? A terrified F-Rank? Or something that could pique a deeper, more dangerous curiosity?
As Seris herded us out, I glanced back at Sylas's booth. It was empty. Only a half-full tankard remained, condensation tracing a slow, deliberate symbol on the wooden table—an "X" over a circle.
A warning. Or a proposition.
We were marched not to the Guild, but to a pristine, magically-sealed carriage parked in a side alley. Arion was waiting inside, the space magically enlarged to the size of a small room.
"Please, be seated," he said, his tone still polite but now edged with urgency. "Young Bran here has seen something. It is vital we compare all your accounts. Immediately."
The carriage door sealed shut with a sound of finality. We were now in their mobile interrogation cell. Bran was babbling, trying to recant his story. Lira was on the verge of tears.
Arion focused on me. "Kael, is it? Your friend suggests he saw a source of light you did not. Why would that be?"
All eyes were on me. The persona of the lucky beginner was crumbling. I needed a new layer. Something that would explain my unusual insight without revealing the abyss beneath.
I took a slow breath, letting the fear drain from my face, replaced by the weary focus of a junior analyst. I met Arion's gaze.
"Because he's looking for monsters," I said, my voice dropping its rural cadence, becoming flat and precise. "And I was looking at the tunnel."
Arion's eyebrows lifted. Seris leaned forward slightly.
"The light he saw," I continued, tapping the carriage wall, "was likely refracted glow-moss on seepage water, filtered through a crack in the brickwork from the foundry district above. The purple hue matches the spectral output of burning coal-slag impurities, which are common there. The 'vanishing' was him moving past the sightline. The rats were aggressive due to trace mana contamination from a minor ley-line fissure, likely caused by the recent earthquake. Not a spirit. Not an artifact. Geology and poor urban planning."
I delivered it like a report. The report of a low-level dungeon administrator assessing minor environmental anomalies.
The carriage was silent. Bran and Lira stared at me as if I'd sprouted a second head.
Arion's eyes were wide, not with suspicion, but with dawning, profound fascination. "Ley-line fissure… You can detect those?"
"I notice patterns," I said, reining the tone back slightly, adding a touch of defensive pride. "Weak points. In stone. In stories." I looked pointedly at Bran, who shrunk in his seat.
Seris's voice cut through, hard and direct. "Your assessment of the tactical weakness in the golem. Your analysis of the sewer's structural flaws. And now ley-line theory. That is not 'noticing patterns,' boy. That is specialized, advanced knowledge. Who taught you?"
This was the cliff's edge. One more step and the persona would shatter entirely.
I held her steel gaze. "No one taught me. I just… see the cracks in the world."
A faint, resonant ping echoed in the confined space. It came from Arion's robe. He pulled out a small, intricate compass. Its needle, which had been still, was now spinning wildly before locking and pointing…
Directly at me.
Not at my pack. Not at the fragment under my bed.
At me.
Arion's breath caught. "The resonance… it's not just on an object. It's… imbued." He looked from the compass to my face, a monumental theory crystallizing in his mind. "You didn't just find a fragment down there, did you? You interacted with it on a fundamental level. Your unique class… 'Nullifier'… it didn't just suppress other Paths. It absorbed the fragment's signature. You are, for all intents and purposes, a walking, talking dungeon relic."
Seris's hand went to her sword hilt. "A human anomaly. Containment protocol Alpha."
The game had changed again. I was no longer a suspect or a witness.
I was the specimen.