Inside the Slave Trade Guild, a thick, suffocating tension filled the small, dimly lit room.
The chamber was buried deep beneath layers of stone and reinforced walls, far removed from the noise of the town above.
Flickering lantern light cast long, distorted shadows across the cold stone floor, making the hooded figures standing within appear like specters rather than living n.
A group clad entirely in black hooded robes stood frozen in place, speaking only in hushed voices, as though even the walls themselves might betray them.
Gilbert stood at the center of the room.
His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders stiff, his brow tightly furrowed.
His gaze moved slowly across the faces of his trusted subordinates, lingering on each expression of unease, fear, and uncertainty.
"We’ve underestimated him..." Gilbert whispered at last.
His voice was low, barely louder than a breath, yet it carried enough weight to silence the room completely.
The n around him nodded grimly.
No one dared refute the statent.
Many rookies spent months, sotis even years just to reach Level 10.
Countless awakeners stagnated there for the rest of their lives, unable to break past that invisible wall no matter how hard they struggled.
Yet Thoren had done it in re days.
Not only that, he had challenged high-level awakeners far beyond his supposed limits and slaughtered them as if they were nothing more than ordinary, defenseless humans.
That alone was enough to instill terror.
But what frightened them most was not his strength.
It was his ruthlessness.
"Boss..." one of the n finally spoke, his voice trembling despite his attempt to suppress it. "What should we do?"
Before Gilbert could answer, another hooded figure stepped forward.
"I think the boy might be onto us."
The room stiffened instantly.
"Impossible!" Gilbert snapped, shaking his head sharply. "No one knows of our existence except our allies. And even then, no one knows the location of our hideout."
His voice carried confidence perhaps too much.
"He might be suspicious," Gilbert continued, forcing calm into his tone, "since he was the target. But he would never find out who was truly behind it."
Yet as soon as the words left his mouth, another voice cut in.
"But have you forgotten about the team that was sent after him?" the man said quietly. "They never ca back."
Gilbert stiffened.
"He’s a necromancer," the man continued. "He might have ways, unnatural ways to make the dead speak."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Gilbert opened his mouth to refute the claim, but no words ca out.
For the first ti since this eting began, doubt crept into his eyes.
Given what Thoren had displayed so far, treating him like an ordinary awakener would be suicide.
The boy commanded undead legions, manipulated bones like clay, and showed no hesitation when it ca to cruelty.
The realization that Thoren might already be aware of their operations sent a cold shiver down Gilbert’s spine.
Previously, he would never have paid much attention to a rookie necromancer.
Such individuals usually died before they could pose a real threat.
But now...
Now Thoren had beco a na spoken only in whispers.
A force that even powerful guilds tread carefully around.
Silence swallowed the room.
Every man stood lost in his own thoughts, each imagining the sa dreadful future, one where that silver-haired necromancer turned his gaze toward them.
This was the first ti the Slave Trade Guild had been pushed into such a passive position.
For years, their operations had run smoothly.
Their prey was captured without fail, their routes hidden, their influence spreading quietly beneath the Federation’s blind eye.
They were hunters.
Not the hunted.
The suffocating silence stretched endlessly.
If it had been any other awakener, they might have tried to negotiate, offering gold, resources, or influence to bury the matter.
But Thoren was different.
They had all seen the reports.
They had heard the descriptions of how he broke his enemies slowly and deliberately.
Just thinking about his deep blue eyes, cold and rciless, made their stomachs churn.
If they fell into his hands, they already knew what awaited them.
They would rather commit suicide than be captured by that monster.
Finally, one of the n broke the silence.
"Why don’t we involve the Federation Police?" he said carefully. "We’re in this together... aren’t we?"
The others looked at one another.
Then they nodded.
"Yes," another added. "Besides, we still have many of our leaders outside the town. If we send ssages now, they might return in ti to help us deal with him."
At those words, the tension in the room eased slightly.
A collective breath escaped them.
The pressure that ca with Thoren’s na had made them forget sothing crucial.
They were not alone.
They still had powerful awakeners scattered across different regions.
A look of realization dawned on Gilbert’s face.
He had been on edge ever since receiving the report detailing Thoren’s strenght, letting fear cloud his judgnt.
But now, his confidence slowly returned.
"You’re right," Gilbert said firmly. "We don’t need to fear him."
The n straightened unconsciously.
"We just need to stall until our leader returns from the uncharted territory," he continued. "With our secret hideout, even if we give him a month, he wouldn’t be able to find us."
Nods spread through the room.
The Slave Trade Guild’s hideout was one of the most concealed locations in the entire town.
No ordinary tracker could ever find it.
Their fear began to wash away, replaced by a dangerous sense of reassurance.
"Additionally," Gilbert added, a proud smile forming on his lips, "we can have the Silver Crest Guild monitor his movents."
"As long as we know where he is," he continued, "we can plan accordingly."
"That’s right," another voice chid in. "With the Federation Police applying pressure and the Silver Crest Guild watching him, we have nothing to worry about."
"Good," Gilbert said decisively. "That will be our plan."
He turned toward one of the n.
"Send a ssage to the Federation," he ordered. "They must increase the pressure on him if they don’t want all our secrets exposed."
"Contact the Silver Crest Guild. They must shadow him at all tis."
The n nodded and swiftly exited the dark chamber, their steps light and urgent.
Now that they had a plan, they no longer feared Thoren.
So they believed.
Yet while the Slave Trade Guild prepared to counter Thoren’s terror, panic had already taken root elsewhere.
Inside the Silver Crest Guild, chaos reigned.
"Guildmaster, what should we do?"
A woman stepped forward.
A bow was slung across her back, a full quiver resting against her hip. She was coldly beautiful, her posture straight and disciplined.
She was the Vice Guildmaster.
Around her, all the high-level awakeners of the guild were gathered, their gazes fixed on the man seated at the head of the room.
The Guildmaster lowered his head and shook it slowly.
"I don’t know," he admitted.
The words felt heavy.
He was only a Level 15 Vanguard, the strongest within the guild. But against Thoren and his undead legion?
They stood no chance.
’Why did I ever accept work from the Slave Trade Guild?’ he cursed inwardly.
Those bastards had dragged them into this nightmare.
"I regret it," he muttered under his breath.
"Why don’t we rally our allies and make a stand?" the Vice Guildmaster suggested, her eyes sharp. "With our combined forces, we don’t have to fear him."
The Guildmaster looked up.
"I agree," he said after a mont. "If we show fear, he’ll see us as weak."
His voice grew louder, firr.
"We must overco our fear and prove our strength."
He straightened.
"Rember...we still have many seniors on the higher floors. As long as he doesn’t want to make enemies of our guilds, he wouldn’t dare attack us."
Confidence filled his tone, instilling fragile morale into the room.
The guild mbers nodded.
That was right.
They still had powerful backers.
Why should they fear a re necromancer?
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