[Jack's POV]
The streets of Raventhorn were already stirring when I stepped through the city gates. The morning sun cast long, golden rays through narrow alleys, warming the cobbled paths and setting the rooftops aglow.
It was just past 8:30 a.m., and the air was thick with the scent of bread and stone dust.
I kept my hood down as I walked, not that I had anything to hide—just didn't feel like being recognized today. A few vendors waved or nodded as I passed. Familiar faces. Familiar roads.
I turned down a street and made my way to the Blue Horse Smithy.
As I got closer, I saw that the chimneys were already smoking.
'Good. She's open,' I thought.
I stepped through the reinforced wooden door, and the warmth of the forge wrapped around me instantly. Sparks danced across the air, and the clang of metal echoed from the back.
"Winona?" I called out.
The dwarven blacksmith in question stepped out from behind a large anvil, her sleeves rolled up and soot smudging her cheek. "Ah, Jack! You're early. Wasn't expecting ya until noon."
I shrugged. "Got called in earlier than expected."
She huffed. "Lucky for you, I had a cancellation. Your order's done."
She turned, stepped into the back, and returned a moment later carrying a wrapped bundle—long, narrow, heavy.
I opened it slightly and saw the glint of polished steel.
"Three rods," she said. "Dense core. Reinforced. They'll hold up to whatever enchantment you throw on them."
I nodded, satisfied, and slid them into my ring.
"Thanks," I said, offering a small smile.
She gave a nod. "You take care of yourself out there."
"I always do."
I stepped back out into the city and made my way toward the Adventurer's Guild.
The guild was already half-full when I arrived. The main hall buzzed with early-rising adventurers—some checking the quest board, others trading stories over breakfast.
I approached the front desk.
The receptionist, a tall elf woman with a neat braid, looked up and smiled. "Good morning. How can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Guildmaster Zareth. I got a letter telling me he wanted to see me."
Her eyes flickered with recognition. She nodded once. "Of course. Please wait a moment."
She turned and disappeared through a side door.
I moved to the wall and leaned against it, arms folded. The stone was cool against my back, grounding.
While I waited, I listened.
It wasn't hard. Adventurers don't whisper—especially not in the morning.
"…my grandma and little brother. Found 'em on the northern trail. Safe side of the woods, right? But they vanished a few days ago. Only found 'em yesterday." The man's voice was hoarse with grief. "Gran must've hit her head on a rock… but my brother—he was cut open. Chest torn apart. Like—like something dug in. With a dagger."
Another voice chimed in. "I found a bandit camp—two orcs, dead. So were the prisoners. Elven girls. Same thing. Chests cut open."
"Bandits don't do that," a third muttered. "Found a hunter couple three days back. Same kind of wounds. Daggers. Not clean either."
I kept still, listening.
They didn't seem to notice the connection, but I did.
Multiple scenes.
Same pattern.
Bodies. Daggers. Torn chests.
'Too messy for a cult. Too consistent for random murderers.'
My jaw tightened. 'Could it be…?'
I glanced toward the forest outside the city through one of the high windows. 'Next time I'm free, I need to investigate. It could give me a clue.'
A moment later, the receptionist returned. "You can go up now."
I nodded, pushed off the wall, and climbed the stairs to the Guildmaster's office.
The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
Zareth sat at his desk, silver spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. His dark hair was pulled back today, and deep lines marked his brow. He looked up as I entered and gave a tired smile.
I stepped in, closed the door, and immediately felt the hum of a silence spell settle into place.
Nothing outside this room could hear us.
"Morning," I said. "Everything alright?"
Zareth sighed and leaned back in his chair. "That depends on your definition of 'alright.' We've had reports of goblins spotted near the city. Just beyond the western farms."
I grimaced. "The city's probably safe… but the outer villages..."
He nodded. "Exactly. We're trying to track if they've set up camp, but haven't had results yet."
I folded my arms. "I'm guessing that isn't the reason you called me in early?"
Zareth exhaled again, this time slower. "Yes. The Academy made a formal request yesterday. They want three S-Rank adventurers to assist with temporary instruction, so I have to go and meet with the headmaster this afternoon. So doing this now was the better option."
I tilted my head. "S-Ranks? Why?"
He rubbed his temple. "The Headmaster has become paranoid and wants some extra protection. She believes someone is trying to destroy the Academy… and summon a horde of demons."
I didn't laugh.
Because I couldn't.
My mind went back to the Hellhounds from the entrance exam.
'She might not be wrong,' I thought.
Zareth met my eyes. "I would normally write this off as superstition, but…"
"You would have seen something," I finished.
He nodded. "Exactly. But I can't say that. She's a follower of Sol. And I don't want to give her a reason to dig into me and my past."
My expression darkened.
'Sol…'
I shoved the memory away.
"So," I said, changing the subject, "What are you going to do about the three S-Ranks?"
"One's already inbound. The one sent to handle the Rook situation if he becomes dangerous."
I frowned. "Do you know who that one is?"
He shook his head. "No idea. The Guild is being cautious with this one, so it's probably a higher-ranking one. The other… is already nearby, though I'm not sure why."
"…Who?" I asked, confused.
he looked down at some papers on his desk and said "I doubt they would accept when they receive the offer. its not like they are a social type."
intreaged I asked again "who?"
He hesitated, then said it quietly. "The Dark Raven."
I stiffened, and I couldn't blame his hesitation. The Raven is an S-Rank, but they don't have the most positive and friendly reputation. Though that is more them being cold and uncaring about people rather than being corrupt or racist like Rook.
'I really hope he isn't here for me,' I thought, worried.
Out loud, I just muttered, "Great."
Zareth raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
"No," I said. "He is one I just don't want to have to deal with."
Zareth was clearly curious but thankfully didn't press.
"Who's the third?" I asked.
Zareth gave a weak smile. "Me."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're actually going to do it?"
He nodded. "I need to finish all my work for the next month to make it possible. But yes."
I leaned against the desk. "Well… that'll be interesting."
Zareth had been the Guildmaster of Raventhorn for decades. Publicly, he was in his fifties.
Privately? He was much, much older.
He is a devil—bound by a contract made with the Guild's founder to serve here for a century in total.
A problem this comes up with though is that since he doesn't age, every few decades, he had to vanish and return under a new identity, once enough time had passed for people to forget the old one, that is.
Only I knew that.
And I wasn't about to tell anyone else.
I rubbed my temples. "Well, I don't care what you do with the other S-Ranks. Just keep them off my back."
Zareth gave me a look but said nothing.
"Anyway, is what I asked you about ready?" I asked after a moment.
He nodded. "I had to make some adjustments, but it should work as you asked. Come on—I'll show you," he said before getting up and leading me into the hall and stopping at a door with a strange lock on it.
Zareth pulled a key from his jacket, inserted it, and turned it.
Click.
A strange pulse ran through the air, originating from Zareth—one I immediately recognized.
I smirked to myself.
'So this is his curse…' I thought.
We stepped inside.
The room was small—ten feet by ten feet. The air was dry. The walls were wood. There was a plain table, one chair, a toilet in the corner, and a bed with a barrel of fruit beside it and a few other essentials.
Zareth stepped in after me and closed the door.
As it shut, I heard him whisper something under his breath.
Whummm—
A ripple of power swept through the air.
[Curse of Isolation]
My senses—spiritual, magical, and otherwise—scanning the outside of the room, cut out instantly.
I couldn't feel the city.
I couldn't sense my spirits.
I couldn't even hear the murmur of people on the floor below.
Nothing.
Just this room.
I took a slow breath.
'I can't even tell if there's a world outside right now.'
I turned to Zareth.
He gave me a small, tired smile.
And for the first time in a long while…
…it felt like I had just walked into a trap.