What the hell is she doing here?

  Viktor stared in disbelief at the woman who had somehow wormed her way to this table, and was now sitting right in front of him.

  It was lunchtime in the Guild’s mess hall, and he and Cire were sharing a meal with the usual suspects. Jeanne, Lucian, and Noi’ri. But there was one more person, someone he didn’t expect at all.

  Blondie.

  He turned to the boy mage, then to his gnoll companion, both of whom were acting as if this were perfectly normal.

  Hey, this is the same bitch who attacked you st week. She tried to kill you, didn’t she?

  None of it made any sense to him. Did they seriously forget what she had done? Why did they forgive her so easily? Even do-gooders should at least have some limits.

  You saved her in the dungeon, I get that. You did it out of honor, or pity, or whatever. But breaking bread with her? Why? Just why?

  On the other hand, the one seated before him now was a mere shadow of her former self. Long gone was the prideful, arrogant woman with a predator’s grin who tried to incinerate Noi’ri with her metallic birds. It had only been a day since her encounter with Sebekton, yet it looked like she had aged a decade. She looked small, shrunken. She trembled whenever someone spoke a bit too loud.

  There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, once carefully styled into two thick, bushy pigtails, was now a tangled mess. It hung around her face like cobwebs, unkempt and disheveled. The stench of sweat, blood, and filth clung to her. She probably hadn’t washed herself at all since her return from the dungeon.

  A broken doll. Brittle, fragile, empty, discarded. Maybe that was why they tolerated her. There was little reason to hold a grudge against someone who was this pathetic.

  Well, it was not like he looked much better.

  “Quinn, what’s wrong?” Jeanne asked, her eye full of concern. “You don’t look well. What happened?”

  “It seems he didn’t sleep at all st night,” Cire said. “I’ve asked, but he didn’t tell me why.”

  Viktor grunted. “I’m fine.”

  Souls. Essence. Dissipate. Condense. These words had been floating in his mind since yesterday, spinning and twisting in an endless cycle. Only the unexpected sight of the hollow shell of a woman sitting across the table had momentarily pulled him from those thoughts.

  “No, you’re not fine,” Cire said with a frown. “You look exhausted. And your cooking today is... terrible.”

  Viktor’s lips twitched. You’re the one to talk, “sister.”

  But yes, even he had to admit the food he had prepared today was a disaster.

  What a disgrace. How did it come to this?

  He had his pride, and what he hated the most was being criticized by someone with inferior skill in an area where he excelled.

  Gods’ pns be damned.

  He didn’t have time moping like this. The only thing that mattered was his ultimate goal. He was going to kill the descendants of his enemies and recim what was rightfully his. Everything else was irrelevant. He would forge his way forward, no matter who or what stood in his way.

  Bring it on, whoever you are.

  He spped his cheeks and rubbed his face. Everyone was surprised by the sudden action, but he didn’t care. He turned to Cire. “I’m fine now, really. I was just a bit tired.”

  The woman looked unconvinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Her face softened, and she nodded slowly. “Alright. But if you ever need to talk... just come find me.”

  “I will.” Viktor forced a smile, then he turned to Lucian. “I heard your party had some big battle yesterday. How did it go?”

  The broken doll squirmed at the question. Oh yes, of course that must be a painful topic for her. But who gave a damn about her anyway?

  “We didn’t do much, actually.” Lucian scratched his head as he gnced at Blondie, probably trying to find a way to tell the story without further traumatizing her. “The... the other party had done most of the work, so it was a breeze for us to get through the dungeon. When we reached the arena on the third floor, they were fighting the boss, the Crocodilian. Well, the battle was pretty much over by that point.”

  Jeanne sighed. “I can’t believe something like that happened right after I left.”

  She might have disliked Manfred and his group, but knowing that they had died a brutal death right after they parted ways probably still disturbed her.

  “So, she’s the only survivor?” Viktor asked the question to which he already knew the answer, while pointing at Blondie, who squirmed again.

  It was only now that he realized the bloody cw marks on Blondie’s face, marks she had inflicted on herself in hysteria after Redhead’s death, were no longer there. And her severed hand had already been reattached. It seemed they had found a skilled Emerald Mage. Probably a newcomer who had just arrived, among the fresh wave of adventurers making their way into the town.

  “Y-yes,” Lucian replied with a frown, probably thinking his actions were a bit insensitive. “Fortunately, we managed to save her. That Crocodilian was indeed very powerful. Noi’ri and I managed to injure him, but Noi’ri was also wounded in the process.”

  “He looks fine to me now. Has he healed?”

  “Yes,” the young mage said with a smug grin. “I fixed him.”

  You did what?

  Viktor had always assumed Lucian was a Cabalist of the Lidless Eye. No, not an assumption, a deduction. After all, the boy had demonstrated his mind control abilities multiple times in the dungeon. Now he was ciming to be a healer as well? While it wasn’t unheard of for mages to practice more than one discipline, it was a feat that someone his age could not possibly achieve.

  Besides, there was no indication that Lucian was affiliated with the Emerald Order, whose members were required to wear something that visibly denoted their identity: either a distinct robe or a green gemstone, in the form of a ring or amulet. The young mage had none of these. Nothing to show that he belonged to the Order. Sure, someone like Brunette might ignore the rules and ditch her duties, but Viktor couldn’t imagine Lucian ever acting that way.

  “I didn’t know that you were an Emerald Mage.”

  Lucian ughed. “I’m not. I am a member of the Brotherhood of the Verdant Shade.”

  The what now?

  “I’ve heard of it,” Jeanne chimed in. “The Brotherhood shares some roots with the Emerald Order, but it branched off on its own centuries ago. Am I right?” She gnced at Lucian, and the blond-haired boy nodded.

  “So, they’re new?” Viktor asked.

  “I wouldn’t say something founded two hundred years ago is new,” Jeanne said with a shrug. “But yes, it’s much younger than other magic institutions.”

  Anything less than three hundred years old is new to me.

  Now, it dawned on Viktor. His knowledge of the world was three centuries outdated. The political ndscape had shifted, obviously, but even magic itself had also evolved in ways that he hadn’t expected. The mages must have made several breakthroughs during the time he was busy being dead. And a new organization of spellcasters had emerged, one whose members could both heal and control minds. This was something that was worth further investigation. Were they simply able to cast two types of magic, or could they somehow combine them? Like his Thaumaturgy?

  “Did you heal her as well?” Viktor asked, his gaze flicking toward the slumping Blondie. He wanted to probe more about Lucian’s magical abilities.

  “Yes, I did. Alycia’s injuries were far worse than the ones Noi’ri suffered, but I can manage. However... while I could heal her body, I couldn’t do anything about her mind.”

  Well, Viktor could see that. The blonde was completely broken.

  “Honestly, we don’t know what we should do with her,” Lucian continued. “With her current state of mind, we just can’t leave her alone.”

  Apparently, instead of letting Blondie rest in a room somewhere and assigning someone to watch over her, Cedric’s merry little band had decided to drag her around with them wherever they went. That was an odd choice, but then again, they were a bunch of kids who had no experience handling a situation like this. The woman probably didn’t resist. She just obediently did whatever they asked her to do. In that case, someone should have had the sense to tell her to take a bath before parading her through the town while looking and smelling like shit.

  “So,” Viktor asked, “she’ll be with you two the entire day?”

  “No, we take turns looking after her. Noi’ri and I in the morning, and Cedric and Fiora will repce us in the afternoon.”

  “And the evening?”

  “Me.” Jeanne raised her hand.

  You’re in this too? Viktor rolled his eyes. Even though there was no real bad blood between them, when she was in the dungeon, Manfred’s women had shown her nothing but hostility.

  Jeanne chuckled as she saw the expression on his face. “What’s that reaction?”

  “I thought you, well, all three of you, should’ve hated her.”

  Lucian shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve forgiven her for what she did. But she doesn’t have anyone left, so we just feel abandoning her isn’t the right thing to do. And putting her mental state aside...” He lowered his voice, gncing at the adventurers at the other tables. “She has a lot of gold in her bag, probably what her party has found in the dungeon. If people find out, they could have bad intentions. They might try to rob her, or do worse.”

  I still don’t see why it should be you guys’ responsibility to babysit her.

  “Why don’t you just report to the Guild and have them deal with it?” Viktor said, gncing at Cire.

  His “sister” nodded. “Of course, it’s the Guild’s responsibility to support the adventurers. But we’re now overwhelmed with work.” She let out a deep sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “The Guild is still understaffed?” asked Jeanne.

  “We’re hiring more people, but the number of adventurers in the town keeps growing so fast that we can’t keep up.”

  “That doesn’t sound sustainable. What is the Guildmaster’s solution?”

  “He’s grabbing people left and right to bolster our numbers. Recruiting from anywhere he could find. He's also contacting other Guilds to ask for help. Speaking of which...” Cire paused. “The Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild in Iskora came to visit today.”

  “Iskora?” Everyone blinked in surprise.

  Viktor knew that name. It was a coastal city southwest of Daelin, sitting on the edge of the thick woods that spread across the Central Pins. A very important port in the trade network of the Inner Sea. The oil from the South passed through Iskora before being shipped up to Daelin, and from here, it was sent further north to fuel the Eternal Fme. The trade that flowed through that city made it one of the most influential and prosperous city-states among Daelin’s neighbors. Which meant the Guildmaster of Iskora must be a very powerful man. Someone of such caliber coming here in person was a big deal, no doubt.

  “Iskora was quite far away,” Lucian said. “Even a one-way trip could take weeks.”

  “He didn’t travel overnd,” Cire said. “He used a portal to get here.”

  Make sense, Viktor thought. Someone in such a position would certainly have one or two Riftwalkers in his service.

  “Do you know the purpose of this visit?” Jeanne asked.

  Cire shook her head. “I wasn’t told anything specific. Maybe he wants to invest.”

  A reasonable guess. After all, the dungeon business was very profitable. Daelin, being a small and poor town, cked the resources to fully capitalize on the opportunity and had to request outside help. So naturally, other big pyers would come in and try to get their slice of the pie.

  They chatted about Iskora and the visit as they finished their lunch. After the ptes were cleared, everyone stood up and made their way out of the mess hall. As they stepped into the reception area, they found Gideon standing near the entrance.

  And next to the Guildmaster of Daelin was an unfamiliar man, fat and richly dressed. Purple silk, embroidered with gold, stretched tightly over the man’s chest and stomach, gemstones of different colors glittering on every one of his pudgy fingers.

  That must be the Guildmaster in question then, Viktor thought. And the woman behind him was probably the Riftwalker who had brought him here from Iskora.

  She was young, her bck, glossy hair cut into a sharp, straight bob that framed her face and ended just above her shoulders. She turned as they walked out of the mess hall, her cold blue eyes fixed on them.

  No, on him.

  Their eyes locked.

  If there were a feeling akin to staring at Death itself, he was surely experiencing it at the moment.