Before fully entering the city, Lily decided it would be better if they went in separately.
Mark didn’t object — in fact, he preferred it that way too, since it saved him from having to explain why he was traveling with a teenage girl.
So he simply said goodbye to her and waited half an hour before heading into the city on his own.
...
The walls of Thornhaven rose like giants of gray stone against the evening sky.
Mark studied them from the road, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension that was already starting to feel familiar.
’New city, new problems,’ Mark thought. ’Or maybe the sa problems in a different setting. Because the universe clearly has a very twisted sense of humor.’
"Master," Ely’s voice resonated in his mind. "Are you alright? Your heart rate is elevated. I can feel your anxiety through our link."
"I’m fine. Just... a little nervous."
"You have no reason to be. As long as I am by your side, nothing bad will happen to you. I will protect you with every fiber of my being."
The absolute certainty in Ely’s voice reminded Mark of one thing.
Ely was now nothing more than a legendary warrior reduced to an obsessive slave.
And yet, deep down, Mark preferred it that way.
"Thank you, Ely. Truly."
The city gates were guarded by soldiers who looked considerably more professional than the ones in Millbrook.
Polished armor glead under the fading sunlight, spears sharp enough to have clearly seen real combat, and eyes that assessed each visitor with calculated suspicion.
"Na and purpose," the guard said without even looking up.
"Mark. Adventurer. I’m here to register with the local guild."
"Rank?"
"F."
This ti the guard did look up, raising an eyebrow with a tired smirk.
"Another rookie..." he muttered wearily. "The guild’s in the Sword District, three streets north of the central square. Don’t cause trouble, kid. We’ve got enough of that from the real adventurers."
’Déjà vu,’ Mark thought as he passed through the gates, ignoring the implicit insult. ’Though I suppose technically he’s right. I’m a fraud. A very well-equipped fraud, but a fraud all the sa.’
Thornhaven was, indeed, much larger than Millbrook.
The streets buzzed with activity even at that hour: rchants closing their stalls amid shouts and curses, adventurers heading to the taverns with blood-stained armor and victorious grins, ordinary citizens hurrying ho before night fell completely.
And in the middle of all that crowd, Mark was invisible.
One face among many.
Exactly what he needed.
The Thornhaven Adventurers’ Guild occupied a three-story building that made the one in Millbrook look like an abandoned shack.
White marble columns flanked the entrance, carved with scenes of epic battles.
Inside, magical crystals cast a warm, steady light, and the floor was made of a polished material that reflected everything like a mirror.
’Definitely upgraded the décor budget. And apparently everything else too.’
Mark approached the counter, where a young woman with blue hair and pointed ears — an elf — greeted him with a professional smile.
"Welco to the Thornhaven Adventurers’ Guild," she said in a lodic voice. "How can I help you?"
"Registration transfer. I’m coming from Millbrook."
"Of course. Your tag, please."
Mark handed over the copper tag with the F engraved on it.
The elf examined it with delicate fingers, typed sothing into a crystal that functioned as a sort of magical terminal, and frowned in a way that made Mark’s stomach tighten.
"Hm. Interesting."
"Is there a problem?"
"Not exactly," the elf replied, now looking at him with renewed curiosity.
Her violet eyes studied him as if he were a particularly fascinating specin.
"It’s just that your record shows an... unusual number of completed dungeons for soone of your rank. Rank D and C dungeons cleared solo. And your class..."
"Necromancer," Mark finished calmly. "Yes, I know it’s not the most popular."
"Popular isn’t the word I’d use," she smiled, though sothing in her expression put Mark on edge. "Fascinating... We don’t see many necromancers around here. Most prefer to... stay away from large cities."
"I like danger."
"So it seems." She handed back the tag along with a new docunt sealed with the guild’s emblem. "Your transfer is complete. Welco to Thornhaven, Mark. I hope your stay is... productive."
Mark took the papers and stepped away from the counter, feeling the elf’s gaze boring into his back like a knife.
"Master," Ely said with genuine concern. "That woman probably knows more than she lets on."
"I know... but there’s nothing we can do about it right now. The best we can do is be more careful than ever and keep a low profile."
"Understood... But if she becos a threat..."
"We’ll deal with that when the ti cos."
Mark eventually found a cheap inn in the Market District — an establishnt called The Drunk Crow, which slled of stale beer, old sweat, and questionable life choices.
The wooden sign was so worn it was barely legible, and the door creaked as if in pain.
Perfect for soone who wanted to go unnoticed.
The room was small, with a bed that groaned with every movent as if protesting its own existence, and a window that looked out onto a dark alley where things probably happened that were better left uninvestigated.
Mark dropped onto the mattress, feeling the weight of the day finally catch up with him.
The springs complained under his weight but held, barely.
"Ely," Mark murmured. "Co out."
The shadow stirred and Ely erged with her usual grace, so refined she looked completely out of place in that miserable little room. In the dim light, her blue eyes glowed like lanterns and her white hair seed to absorb what little light crept in through the window.
"Yes, Master?"
"I need information on the dungeons in this region. Everything you know. Difficulty levels, monster types, rewards, specific dangers."
"Of course."
Ely sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that Mark could feel the cold radiating from her body.
That sensation struck him as strange — he didn’t rember Ely being that cold the last ti they had slept together, but his thoughts were cut short when she spoke again.
"The nearest dungeon is the Crypt of Whispers, classified as Rank C. It contains mainly lesser undead and so rather unpleasant magical traps. The next one is..."
Mark listened carefully as Ely recited information with encyclopedic precision.
But his mind was elsewhere.
’Thornhaven is bigger... which ans more eyes. I need to get stronger. Much stronger. And for that...’
"Ely," Mark said, interrupting. "Is there a high-level dungeon nearby? Sothing other adventurers avoid. Sothing dangerous."
Ely looked at him, and for a mont sothing resembling concern crossed her face.
"There is one... The Pit of the Forgotten. It’s Rank S, and they say no one who has entered has ever co out alive. The local adventurers call it the hero’s graveyard."
Mark smiled.
"Perfect. We’re going there tomorrow."
"Master... are you certain? Even I would have to be careful in a place like that."
"Absolutely."
Ely simply watched him with those blue eyes, and Mark did his best to project confidence... even though inside he felt exactly the opposite.
’No,’ Mark thought. ’I’m not certain of anything... but when have I ever been certain of anything since I arrived in this damned world?’
Mark lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to co.
’Tomorrow’s going to be a long day... I should rest while I can.’
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