"STOP RIGHT THERE!!"
A sharp command rang out as a man stepped forward, his weapon drawn and his stance unyielding. His cloak fluttered slightly with the motion, revealing the distinct insignia of the adventurer guild Crimson Talon embroidered on his shoulder. Behind him, four more adventurers emerged from the dungeon entrance, spreading out with practiced precision to block the path.
Paul instinctively slowed, his eyes narrowing at the formation.
"I knew it..." he muttered with a sigh.
The lead Guardian's eyes scanned them coldly. He raised his sword, pointing it directly at Paul's group.
"Who are you!?" he barked. Then, shifting the blade to point at the dark stone arch of the dungeon behind him, he declared,
"This dungeon belongs to the Crimson Talon!! No one is allowed to enter!!"
Greta stepped forward, visibly irritated.
"What do you mean?" she snapped, striding to the front and reaching into her belt pouch. She pulled out a sealed parchment and shoved it forward.
"Look!! This is an official order from the Guild itself!"
The guard leaned slightly, glancing at the letter without taking it. His expression remained blank.
"...oh..." he said flatly. "No way. This is our dungeon now." He made a casual dismissive motion with his hand. "Get lost."
Greta's face twisted with fury.
"YOU—!"
But before she could do more, Paul lifted a hand, palm open in a subtle gesture to hold back.
"Enough," his eyes said without words.
With that, Greta could only grit her teeth and remain silent, retreating behind Paul who had already stepped forward, his expression unreadable but voice calm.
"Okay, we're going," Paul said evenly, his tone laced with suspicion. "But can you be responsible for your words?"
The lead guard hesitated for a moment, then lowered his weapon.
"...Yes," he replied simply, and his comrades followed his cue, sheathing their weapons one by one.
Paul's eyes narrowed slightly. He took a step closer.
"Can I see your adventurer card? Just to be sure."
The guard blinked, then shrugged and pulled out a worn leather wallet from his belt pouch. From it, he produced a metal-edged adventurer card and handed it over without a word.
Paul took the card, examining it briefly. Then, without saying anything, he glanced at Ranya.
Standing slightly behind him, Renya gave the faintest nod—subtle, but clear. Paul returned the card silently.
"Alright," he said at last, slipping the card back to the guard. "Let's go home."
He turned around with calm as he began the walk back toward the city. Greta followed with visible reluctance, and the others trailed behind, casting wary glances back at the dungeon's entrance.
As the group made their way back toward the city under the fading light, silence lingered for a while—until Greta, clearly still annoyed, broke it.
"Why don't we just go in?" she asked, arms folded across her chest, her voice tight with frustration. "We could've defeated them easily... if the Prince had given the order."
Renya and Kruger both nodded silently in agreement, their eyes still lingering on the path behind them.
Paul, walking at the front, didn't respond immediately. He touched his chin thoughtfully, his expression unreadable.
"That would be... troublesome for us," he finally said, his voice calm but tinged with hesitation. "Besides, we'll probably be in this city for about two weeks."
The group stopped in their tracks, stunned.
"Two weeks?" Renya asked in surprise, eyes wide. "What are you planning to do, Prince?"
Paul gave a lazy wave of his hand as he continued walking.
"Secret." His tone was light, almost playful.
Greta and Renya then sighed in unison, their shoulders dropping in resignation.
As they walked down the road, nearing the outskirts of the city, Paul broke the silence once more with his usual nonchalant tone.
"Greta, you report to the guild about the mission. I'll head back to the inn."
Greta nodded sharply, raising her hand in a crisp knight's salute. "Okay!" she said enthusiastically before turning and running toward the city.
But just a few steps in, Paul suddenly raised his voice.
"Wait!!"
Startled, Greta halted mid-stride and spun around, her face puzzled. "What's wrong?"
Paul pointed at her with a slight smirk, his hand extended in a gesture of request.
"Skin mask... you planning to walk into the Guild with that still on?"
Greta blinked, then slapped her forehead in realization.
"Oh—yeah..." she muttered, quickly pulling off the mask and tossing it back to Paul. Without wasting another second, she turned around and dashed toward the Guild.
Paul sighed lightly, shaking his head with a tired expression. From his coat, he took out the masks that Renya and Kruger had already removed earlier. With practiced ease, he slipped them all into his spatial bag.
While walking, Paul turned to Renya and asked, "Renya, do you know where the hidden house Father mentioned is?"
Renya nodded calmly. "Yes, I know where it is."
Hearing that, Paul replied, "Good. Show me the way—we're going straight there," continuing his pace toward the city.
Renya pointed westward, beyond the city's edge. "It's in the west," she said, then asked with a hint of confusion, "Do you want to walk or take a horse cart?"
Paul sighed. "Let's just take a horse cart."
A short while later, they were riding toward the western outskirts of the city. During the ride, Paul contacted Greta via communication magic. "I'm heading to the hidden house. You exit through the West Gate—Kruger will guide you," he instructed firmly.
"Okay," Greta responded promptly before the connection ended.
Minutes later, they arrived near the West Gate. Dismounting from the cart, they continued on foot. After leaving the main road, Renya led them off the path and into a dense grove of trees. The surroundings quickly became quieter and more secluded.
After a few minutes of navigating through the woods, a large noble-style house came into view. Several workers were busy installing long iron bars around the property's perimeter and reinforcing the wooden gate. Watching over the site were Renya's fellow assassins.
Observing the distance between the fence and the house, Paul muttered with a nod, "I think I should make some changes here."
The workers—rough-looking men—immediately froze. Silence fell like a curtain.
But it didn't last long.
One of the masked assassins stationed nearby barked, "GET BACK TO WORK, YOU LAZY BANDITS!!" and cracked his whip—SLAP!—across the back of one of the men.
Grimacing, the whipped man quickly resumed his task, and the rest followed without complaint, returning to installing the iron bars.
Paul simply watched, expression unreadable, then shook his head lightly and stepped inside the house.
Once in the living room, Paul looked toward Kruger. "Kruger, go pick up Greta at the West Gate," he said while heading to a nearby study table and sitting down.
Kruger bowed with a knight's salute. "Yes, sir," he replied, then exited the house.
Paul pulled out several unfinished components from his spatial bag and laid them on the table. As he uncapped the magic ink and prepared to resume drawing runes, he glanced at Renya and asked, "What's wrong with them?"—his voice laced with genuine confusion.
Renya, already sweeping the dusty floor with a broom, replied lazily, "Oh... those guys? They're guilty of some real messed up stuff."
Paul blinked. "What kind of crimes?" he asked, distractedly drawing a rune across one of the metal plates.
Without pausing, Renya replied casually, "Sadistic murder, rape, massacre… the works."
Hearing that, Paul looked up, visibly shaken. "Massacre? When did they do it?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious, eyes locked on Renya.
Renya, still sweeping lazily, glanced over her shoulder and replied in her usual unbothered tone, "Calm down, Prince. It didn't happen here. It was in another country—one torn by war. They fled after things fell apart over there."
Paul let out a slow breath, his expression softening. "Oh… I thought it happened here," he muttered, relieved, and returned to his work—carefully inscribing runes across the surface, deliberate strokes.
About half an hour later, the front door flew open—SLAM!
A voice echoed through the house, sharp and tinged with grief.
"Prince…!!!"
Startled, Paul looked toward the doorway and saw Greta standing there—eyes filled with sorrow.
Seeing her expression, Paul stood up immediately, concern etched across his face.
"Greta… What happened?"