Kael took a deep breath. The silence in the room stretched, until finally, a sigh escaped his lips. The sound was barely audible, but thick with exhaustion and impatience.
He looked up, fixing them on the Guild Master. His fingers tapped lightly on the leather of his bag, still stained with the Goblin Lord's blood.
"Whatever." His voice was firm, almost harsh. There was no hesitation, no beating around the bush. "Whether I'm a mage, a swordsman, an assassin, or whatever the hell it is."
The Master's eyes narrowed, but not in disapproval—in interest.
Kael continued, his voice lower now, but filled with an almost brutal sincerity:
"What matters is that the mission was accomplished. What mattered was the outco. That monster is dead. The village is safe." He gave the bag a gentle shove, making her already lifeless head spin a little, like a grotesque reminder. "That's what matters."
He straightened, his shoulders firm. The silence that followed was heavy, but Kael didn't bother filling it. The words had already been spoken, and they were enough.
"The rest... you deal with."
Without waiting for a response, Kael turned. The movent was smooth, almost lazy, but there was sothing definitive about it. Like soone who owed no one anything.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, relaxing his body as if he'd just left behind sothing too cumberso to carry. His footsteps echoed across the polished stone floor, reverberating through the circular room like a cold reminder.
The Guild Master watched him silently. Her ice-blue eyes followed his every move, and there was a rare blend in her expression: calculation, curiosity, and... restrained respect.
Kael reached the door. The guards, alert, opened it silently. Before crossing the threshold, he paused for a mont, his face still turned to the side, not looking directly at her.
"At the end of the day..." he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself, "...titles don't defeat monsters."
And he left.
The door closed behind him with a deep thud.
Silence lingered in the room after Kael left.
The Guild Master remained motionless, her fingers clasped together before her face, staring at the door that had just closed.
Her breathing was calm, but her eyes were constantly moving, as if turning over thoughts that couldn't be shared aloud.
The Goblin Lord's head remained on the table, grotesque, fetid, a reminder of what Kael had achieved alone.
A mage who didn't fight like a mage.
A warrior who cared nothing for titles.
A man who said "whatever" to what others thought.
This wasn't normal.
She leaned back in her chair slowly, her silvery strands of hair glinting in the bluish light of the torches. The room was plunged into a tense silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of wood and the magical hum that sustained the flas.
"...Enough." Her voice cut through the air like a soft blade.
From the darkest corner of the hall, a shadow seed to detach itself from the wall. A figure appeared silently, so discreet that even the guards at the door jumped.
The presence was almost invisible.
A female figure, covered in a black cloak that absorbed the surrounding light. Her footsteps made no sound, and the aura she carried was as cold as the touch of night.
"Did you call , Master?" The voice was low, soft, but firm.
The Master looked up and stared at her.
"Yes, Nyra."
The shadow approached, stopping before the table where the decapitated head lay. Her hooded eyes flashed as she saw the proof of victory.
"He did it alone?" There was restrained disbelief in her voice.
"He did," the Master replied bluntly. "And what concerns most is not what he killed... but how he did it."
Silence fell again, thick, until the Master leaned her elbows on the table and spoke with the clarity of soone who refused to be misunderstood:
"I want you to follow this boy."
Nyra inclined her head.
"Follow him...?" There was caution in her voice. "Or eliminate him?"
The Master's ice-blue eyes glinted.
"No."
The word sounded like a sentence.
She rose slowly from her chair, her dark blue robes fluttering slightly. Her steps were slow, but charged with authority. She walked to the hall window, where the city spread out below, illuminated by torches and moonlight.
"Nyra, you know who I am."
The shadow slightly drew its head back in respect.
"Yes, Master. You are Luthien of Orvendral, the Broken Chain. The founder of this guild." The only one who faced a throne and didn't kneel.
The Master smiled wistfully.
"And precisely for that reason... I will never use this guild for cowardly murders." She turned, staring firmly at Nyra. "Kael will not be touched."
The shadow remained motionless.
"Then why do you order to follow him?"
The Master stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the shadow, cold as ice.
"Because this boy is not normal."
Nyra remained silent. The Master continued.
"A mage doesn't cut off a Goblin Lord's head with a swordsman's precision. A boy doesn't cross a village of thousands of creatures alone and co out alive. And above all... soone who wields such power can't simply say 'whatever' and turn away as if the world were dust beneath their feet."
She narrowed her eyes, rembering the look Kael had given her.
"He fears nothing. Not . Not this guild."
Nyra crossed her arms beneath her cloak.
"That makes him dangerous."
"That makes him intriguing," Luthien corrected firmly. "But also dangerous, yes."
She returned to her chair, sitting calmly.
"I want you to discover who he is. Everything. His past, his connections, his true way of fighting. If there are lies, I want to know them. If there are secrets..." She paused, staring at the shadow, "...I want them uncovered."
Nyra hesitated.
"And if I discover he's a threat?"
Luthien rested her chin on her hands, her blue eyes sparkling in the light of the magical torches.
"Then tell . Just that."
"He won't be executed?"
"Not by ." Her voice was sharp. "If he hides who he is, that's no reason for to kill him." The world is full of masked n. The problem is when soone like him... refuses to even wear a mask.
Nyra fell silent.
"I want you to observe him," Luthien concluded firmly. "That's all."
The shadow inclined its head in respect.
"Understood."
She took a step back and, as if swallowed by the darkness itself, disappeared.
The hall fell silent.
The Master remained alone with the Goblin Lord's head.
For a long mont, she said nothing. She simply stared at the bloody trophy on her desk.
Then, slowly, she murmured to herself:
"Who are you, Kael...?"
...
The streets were plunged into a lazy silence as Kael crossed the city.
The weight of the now-empty bag still seed to hang from his fingers, even though he'd left it behind at the Guild. It wasn't the Goblin Lord's head that weighed him down now, but the conversation with the Master. Her gaze was still burned into his mory, cold and calculating.
He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
All he wanted right now was a quiet corner, a glass of water, maybe even the warmth of a fireplace.
The sign for Reven's tavern lood ahead, its letters weathered with age. A warm glow seeped through the windows, accompanied by the muffled sound of voices and laughter.
Kael pushed open the door.
The sll of ale, old wood, and smoke enveloped him like a rough embrace. The hall was busy, but not crowded—rcenaries and travelers scattered around the tables, so playing dice, others discussing hunts.
And right in the center, like a disaster in progress, were they.
Irelia, Alia, and Sylphie.
The three of them were slumped at a round table, surrounded by empty mugs, fallen bottles, and a platter that held nothing but licked bones.
Irelia, the most explosive, had her head propped up on her arms, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks flushed with alcohol. She drumd her fingers on the wood, humming sothing rhythmlessly.
Alia, the one who always sought to maintain composure, was slumped in her chair, her hair disheveled, trying to gesticulate with a piece of bread like a scepter.
And Sylphie…
Sylphie was lying on her back, her feet on the table, dangling them in the air like a child, giggling to herself every ti the ceiling spun before her eyes.
Kael stopped in the doorway. For a mont, he simply stood there, silent, watching the scene.
"…Why am I not surprised?" she murmured.
From the bar, Reven looked up, exhausted. The bartender—a middle-aged woman with dark hair tied in a tight bun—rested her chin in her palm, staring at the three disastrous custors as if contemplating an inevitable catastrophe.
When she saw Kael, she raised an eyebrow.
"Great," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Guess who's going to deal with this."
Kael sighed and walked over to the table.
As he approached, Alia was the first to react. She raised her piece of bread in the air, pointing it at him like a weapon.
"Ahhhhhh!" she cried, slurring her words. "Look who decided to show up! The... The... selfish one!"
Sylphie rolled with laughter.
"S-s-s-s-s-s!" she repeated, laughing until she was sobbing.
Irelia jerked her head up, her eyes narrowed.
"You…" She pointed her finger at him, an accusation so serious it lost its effect with the sob that followed. "You left… you didn't even look back."
Kael closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.
"You're drunk."
"We're not!" Alia snapped, so loudly that several heads turned. She slamd her hand on the table, but knocked over another bottle in the process. "We're just… we're just…" she trailed off, staring at the piece of bread in her hand. "…um… eating!"
Sylphie laughed even louder, until she choked.
Kael pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on the table. His eyes scanned the three of them, one by one.
They weren't just drunk. They were hurt.
Irelia was the one to break the silence.
"You always do that." Her voice was slurred, but full of sincerity. "Go away, disappear, fight alone. And we…" she bit her lip, trying not to cry, "…we're just left waiting."
Alia put down the bread and crossed her arms, huffing.
"As if we were useless."
Sylphie, still laughing, stamred,
"Selfish, selfish, selfish…"
Kael massaged his temples. He didn't know whether to laugh or sigh.
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