The basement where the heist had once unfolded had changed. The dust, broken crates, and scattered coins were gone. In their place stood broken shelves lined with ledgers, a long table stacked with scrolls, and a single lamp burning with steady light. This was no longer a crime scene—it was Flowel’s private office.

  The heavy door creaked open.

  A familiar figure stepped inside. Flowel lifted his gaze. He remembered that face from before, though only in passing.

  “You’re not laughing anymore,” Flowel said dryly, lips curling.

  Balt—the man once called the smiling man—bowed low, though his hands trembled as if resisting the urge to clench into fists.

  “I heard…” Balt began, voice uncertain, “that you are planning to move against those students.”

  Flowel’s expression darkened immediately. The lamplight cast hard shadows across his face. Few people in the organization knew his true identity. Fewer still dared speak of it aloud.

  He leaned back in his chair, voice edged with quiet threat. “Where did you hear about me?”

  Balt stepped back, as if bracing for a strike. “Someone named Ara.”

  “Tch. That woman again.” Flowel exhaled through his nose, irritation flaring. “I don’t owe her any longer. The debt has been paid.”

  His eyes sharpened. “So tell me, Balt, the smiling man… Or should I say Balt, the sad man?”

  Balt’s jaw tightened. “My whole team. Dead, or rotting in the cells. Because of two students. I want to avenge them.”

  Flowel’s grin widened, sharp and cold. “I heard you lost badly.”

  His fingers drummed on the table, “Why should I waste resources on a man who couldn’t even handle students? I don’t need you. I’ll take care of them myself.”

  The words struck harder than a blade. Balt opened his mouth, closed it again. He wanted to shout, to insist that the girl with the red eyes hadn’t even unleashed her full power—that even Flowel, a top executive, might find her a challenge. But the weight of the room, the suffocating pressure Flowel exuded, kept him silent.

  He turned to leave. His shoulders hunched, fists clenched. At the door, he paused. Without looking back, he muttered under his breath:

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  The door closed with a dull thud.

  For a long moment, Flowel said nothing. Then, ever so faintly, he chuckled.

  ….

  After several hours in Duke Stark’s carriage, the trio finally rolled into the central district. The streets here bustled with far more noise and life than the quiet village roads they’d left behind. Leo had already split from them earlier, citing important business that couldn’t wait.

  Still, the weight of unease clung to them. They should have hurried here sooner. Whoever had been watching them back in the orphanage might already be moving pieces on some unseen board.

  The trio stopped before the humongous building of the Adventurers’ Guild, a fortress of stone and oak beams. Its tall doors bore claw marks from years past—scars of monsters dragged here by triumphant hunters. Even from outside, voices and laughter rumbled, mingling with the faint clink of mugs.

  “State your business,” a guard said, his voice curt. His eyes scanned them with the suspicion reserved for those too young to belong.

  Kana stepped forward. “We’re here to hire someone who specializes in barriers.”

  The man’s gaze narrowed, as though weighing her words against her age. “You have a coin, right?”

  Kana opened her mouth, but Suri crossed her arms first, lips curling. “We have. More than you do.”

  The guard barked a laugh, shaking his head before swinging the door open. “Brat’s got teeth. Go on in.”

  Inside, the air was thick with warmth, pipe smoke, and the faint tang of steel polish. Adventurers lounged at long tables, some eating, some arm-wrestling, others boasting loud enough for everyone to hear. The sight of weapons—swords, staves, even a chained war-axe—was so casual here it almost seemed part of the decoration.

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  The trio made their way toward the reception desk where a middle-aged woman sat slouched behind stacks of parchment. She yawned wide, clearly unimpressed by the clamor around her.

  “Yes?” she asked lazily, not bothering to straighten.

  Kana clasped her hands politely. “We’re here to check the progress of a quest we posted. Well… technically it was posted by our friend, Toby.”

  The woman’s eyes flickered with faint recognition. “Ah, Toby mentioned you a lot.” She waved toward an empty rectangular table by the wall. “Have a seat there.”

  Suri eyed the vacant table, lips pressing into a pout. “They should serve food here. I’m starving.”

  Boris snorted. “When was the last time you weren’t hungry? This isn’t a tavern.”

  “I know,” Suri muttered, dragging her feet as she sat, “I’m just saying.”

  Kana shook her head with a faint smile, though inside she was restless. Their fate might well depend on who had answered Toby’s posting.

  After several minutes of waiting, the receptionist finally returned, her arms full of parchments. She shuffled them onto the table with a dull thwack.

  Meanwhile, Suri had produced a strip of dried jerky from her pocket—something she must have been hiding away since the village. She chewed happily, ignoring the odd looks from a few adventurers passing by.

  The receptionist cleared her throat, scanning the parchment. “You’re in luck. We received word that one man has already agreed to your request.”

  The trio leaned forward slightly.

  “His name is Monde,” she continued. “Affiliated with the church. Class: [Paladin]. He claims that one of his skills can recreate barriers normally erected by a [Mage]. The difference is his are tougher—imbued with what he calls ‘a god’s touch.’”

  Suri perked up, jerky still dangling from her mouth. “Sounds fancy.”

  The receptionist’s lips tugged downward. “Since you didn’t specify a price on the posting… the cost is a bit—”

  “Cost isn’t the problem,” Kana cut in sharply, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “What matters is the barrier itself. We’ll judge him by his skill.”

  The woman blinked, then nodded, scribbling something down. “Very well. We’ll notify him tonight, and send word when he can perform a demonstration. According to him, the larger the area, the longer it takes to establish the barrier. Preparation is extensive. But once activated… it should hold for a very long time.”

  Kana tapped the table thoughtfully, then asked, “Aside from him, has anyone else accepted?”

  “Not yet,” the receptionist replied, flipping through the remaining sheets. “The quest has only been up for a few days. If you want a wider pool, give it a week or two. Then we can provide a full list.”

  Boris leaned back, arms crossed. “A [Paladin], huh… Church guy or girl?. Not who I expected.”

  Suri swallowed the last of her jerky and grinned. “As long as the barrier holds.”

  Kana allowed herself a small smile, but her thoughts remained guarded. A [Paladin] with divine barriers might be useful… or it might bring more attention than they could afford.

  …..

  The sky was dimming fast, streaks of gray bleeding into the deepening blue. The air had turned sharp, cold enough that each breath the trio exhaled billowed in faint clouds of white.

  Leo had already gone, taking Todd with him before they even entered the adventurer’s guild, so the three walked the stone-paved road back toward the academy before the night curfew bell rang.

  The streets were busier than usual—perhaps people wanted to finish their errands before the cold worsened. Vendors were packing up their stalls, cloaks drawn tight, faces half-hidden in the gathering dusk.

  Then, as they cut through a narrow alley, they stopped.

  Something was there.

  At first glance it was nothing more than a figure—a scarecrow, perhaps. Its silhouette leaned unnaturally still in the shadow of the buildings, arms hanging limp, head cocked at an awkward angle. It reminded them of the ragged scarecrows they had once seen standing guard over fields back in Saltrain village.

  Kana and Suri took a quick glance then continued with their discussion about Duke’s Stark condition to enter the mid-low level dungeon.

  It was strange. Too strange. Scarecrows didn’t belong here, in the narrow veins of the central district. Yet there it stood, rooted in place.

  “Is someone playing a prank?” Boris muttered, frowning. He gave the figure a passing glance, then continued forward with a shrug. It reminded him of the cat made of bones suddenly jumping to him, only to find out that it was Roy’s prank.

  As they were getting closer, the figure stirred.

  Its limbs jerked, a twitch like a puppet on strings. Then it turned.

  The scarecrow was no longer just cloth and straw. Its body twisted with a sickening crack. A face surfaced beneath the shadow—human eyes, bloodshot and too wide, staring at them with an uncanny awareness. Its skin was leathered, stretched taut as if grafted on.

  The right hand was unmistakably human. Pale, scarred. But the left—

  The left was something else. A grotesque appendage, not of man at all. The claw of a dungeon beast, sinewed and scaled, tipped with jagged talons that scraped lightly against the wall as it flexed.

  The thing leaned forward, breathless, but its eyes gleamed, seeking for blood.