The gate between floors felt like stepping through cold oil. One moment Adonis was still in Phantom Valley, the next moment, the world snapped sideways and he appeared in Floor 5.
The Hollow Quarter.
The sight of The Hollow Quarter is still the same: dirty, flickering mana-lamps that never lit up very well and never quite reached the corners. He kept his head low, covering his crimson hair with his hood.
An abandoned house waited at the end of an alley. A bright light shining behind the cracked front window. Adonis paused just outside the door. He took a deep breath and slightly pushed open the door with his hand. Inside the house smelled of expensive cigar smoke layered over mildew and old blood.
In front of adonis is Baron David Vossgard Eustass, he sat in the only chair worth sitting on—a high-backed thing upholstered in threadbare crimson velvet. He wore a yellow-striped suit with bold black-and-gold lines stretched tight across a powerful chest and thick shoulders. Over the suit hung a long military greatcoat, dark bottle-green, the kind that had once meant rank and violence in wars most people on Floor 5 had only heard rumors about. The epaulets were bare now, but the coat still carried itself. The Baron was in his mid-forties. Black Hair, black Beard trimmed sharp. Pale gray eyes that smiled even when the mouth didn't. He looked up from the thin black cigar between his fingers and regarded Adonis the way a man regards livestock he's already priced.
At his right shoulder stood the butler. He was old, older than the Baron, tall and thin to the point of severity. Black suit pressed to perfection. White gloves immaculate. Face carved from something colder than stone. He stood there like a lifeless statue almost unnoticeable, Adonis barely noticed he was there,barely heard him breathe. He simply stood there like a drawn blade waiting to be used.
"You're late," the Baron said. The voice was smooth, educated, accustomed to being obeyed.
"Valley's bigger than the map shows," Adonis answered.
A soft chuckle rolled out of the Baron's throat. "And here you are with my flower."
Adonis didn't answer.
He opened his inventory interface. The Phantom's Bloom appeared in his right hand. He extended his arm with the flower on his hand.
The butler moved.
One moment he stood beside the Baron. The next he stood directly in front of Adonis, his gloved hand hold the stem with the precision of surgical steel. He took the flower and stepped back to his original position.
The Baron leaned forward, inspecting the bloom with genuine pleasure. "Exquisite. Not a torn vein, not a single bruised petal. You really are quite competent, boy."
Adonis waited. The silence grew heavy.
Finally the Baron sighed—a sound more theatrical than tired—and made a small gesture with two fingers. A transaction window materialized between them.
[Transaction Initiated]
[500 Tower Points]
Adonis stared at the number.
"Five hundred?" His voice came out low, controlled.
The Baron raised one eyebrow in mild surprise, as though the reaction was both expected and faintly amusing. "Is there a problem?"
"I was told one thousand."
"You were told nothing of the sort." The Baron's tone remained gentle, almost paternal. "You assumed. A common mistake among the unaffiliated."
Adonis felt the muscles along his jaw lock.
"The contract was clear. Retrieve the Phantom's Bloom from Floor 10. Return it here. And I receive a payment of one thousand Tower Points."
"And you accepted that contract without mentioning a rather critical detail." The Baron tapped ash from his cigar onto the floorboards. "You have no guild. No sponsor. No affiliation whatsoever."
"You knew that when you offered the job."
"Of course I did." Another slow smile. "Which is precisely why I'm being generous. Taking and completing guild-restricted contracts without proper affiliation is illegal on Floors 3 and above. The penalty varies—fines, forced labor... or, depending on the mood of the magistrate, a short walk to the gallows."
"I could have you detained right now. I could have my associate here cut open your throat and leave you in the canal for the rats. Instead I'm transferring five hundred Tower Points and allowing you to leave this room with your life. Gratitude would be appropriate."
Heat climbed Adonis's neck like fire in dry grass.
"Gratitude," he repeated.
The Baron's smile widened. "Yes. Gratitude. Or…" He tilted his head. "What exactly do you plan to do if I decide five hundred is too much generosity? If I decide to give you nothing at all?"
Adonis felt the anger crest, sharp and blinding.
He took one step forward. Steel kissed the side of his neck.
He froze.
The butler hadn't visibly moved. Yet the edge of a dagger now rested feather-light against Adonis's carotid artery. The metal was cold.
"Know your place," the butler said. Voice low. Flat. Utterly devoid of malice or mercy. Simply a statement of fact.
Adonis didn't swallow. Didn't breathe. The dagger felt like it could split him in half if he so much as twitched.
The Baron rose slowly. The military coat settled around him with a soft rustle. He walked past Adonis—close enough that the scent of cigar smoke and expensive cologne brushed against him—and paused at the doorway.
He didn't turn around.
"If our paths cross again," he said calmly, "I will execute you on the spot. No discussion. No second chance. Just a body in the gutter and perhaps a small finder's fee for whoever bothers to drag it away."
The door opened.
The Baron stepped through.
The butler withdrew the dagger and sheathed it, and followed his master. The door closed with a soft, final click. The room emptied of everything except the smell of smoke and the weight of what had just happened.
Adonis remained standing for several long seconds. Then his knees gave out. He dropped to the floor, back sliding down the wall until he sat with his forearms resting on his bent knees. His hands shook—not from fear, but from the sheer humiliation of being reduced to nothing in the space of a few sentences.
Weak.
Pathetic.
Those words kept looping in his mind.
"I'm done," he whispered to the empty house. "I'm done being nothing."
He opened his status window.
[Tower Points: 1,747]
[Current EXP: 1,240 / 1,850]
It's not enough.
He needed more power.
Adonis pushed himself upright. The anger hadn't cooled—it had hardened into something sharp and useful. He left the abandoned house without closing the door behind him.
The guild district sat at the eastern edge of Floor 5, The sign outside of the guild is crudely hammered which dangles by a single rusted chain, creaking whenever the wind finds its way down the street. The paint that spelled out "Iron Fang" in red letters is almost faded away; now only faint outlines remain, recognizable to people who already know what it's supposed to say. The front door hangs crooked on warped hinges, never quite closing properly. Inside of the room is dim even at midday. Three of the four tall windows are boarded over with mismatched planks.
The air hangs heavy with damp rot, ale, old sweat and the faint smell of blood that never quite washes out of the floorboards. At the far end of the room is the receptionist standing behind a wide desk that is scarred, wobbly and missing two legs that have been replaced with stacked broken crates.
It wasn't the most prestigious guild on the floor. It wasn't the richest. It didn't have the deepest connections to the upper floors. Even though the guild is trash at least it accepted unaffiliated adventurers and it doesn't ask probing questions about pasts no one wanted to remember. Few people loitered inside—some were drinking, others comparing scars, all of them were carrying the quiet alertness of people who expected violence at any moment.
Standing behind the desk is a muscular and athletic woman, she has long voluminous orange hair tied into a high ponytail, Her attire consists of a black, low-cut, cropped top that exposes her toned abdomen and arms, she wears a dark, baggy pants that taper at the ankles.
She looked up as Adonis approached. She fixed her gaze to his crimson hair, then to his eyes. She didn't comment on either.
"I'm hear to register" said Adonis
"Name" she asked
"Adonis"
"Combat record?"
He opened his red status window and slid the recent log toward her. [His status window is red but others see it as blue instead]
She studied and went through his combat records for several a while. One corner of her mouth twitched.
[Chimera Ghoul – Floor 10 – Solo Kill]
"Phantom Valley?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
She bent and leaned forward. "Either you're exceptionally good or exceptionally stupid. Since you're still breathing, I'll assume the former."
She leaned back and moved her fingers moved across her own interface.
[Guild Invitation: Iron Fang]
[Rank upon acceptance: Bronze]
Adonis stared at the window.
This was surrender, in a way. Joining the guild meant abiding by the rules. Ranks. Orders. People who could command him, judge him, punish him. It is also a tag beside his name that said he belonged to someone. That someone might think twice before trying to attack him.
He tapped Accept.
The window flashed green.
[Welcome to Iron Fang]
[Guild Tag applied]
[Rank: Bronze]
A small wolf-head icon appeared beside his name in the system. "You start at the bottom. You stay at the bottom until someone higher up decides you've earned otherwise. Your first assignment begins tomorrow at dawn. Meet me at the east gate. Don't be late."
Adonis nodded once and he left.
Adonis made his way into Hollow Quarter until he reached the Crooked Lantern—an inn where he currently sleeps in, the inn had once been respectable and was now merely surviving. Adonis went inside the inn, then he went inside a room on the third floor—narrow bed, cracked washbasin, a single window. It was filthy but it was enough.
Adonis sat on the thin mattress. The springs groaned. He laid back on the bed, closed his eyes and fell asleep.