The first light of the fourth day of the return broke over the distant mountain range, casting long shadows across the rugged plains. The cool, crisp air carried the scent of pine and damp earth, a sharp contrast to the decay of the dead forest he had left behind. The sky above, tinged with shades of deep blue and violet, slowly brightened as the sun crept over the horizon, its rays cutting through the lingering morning mist.
Crimson slowed his pace as he approached the outer roads leading to Windsong, a medium-sized city nestled in the foothills of the Western Mountains. It was one of the more significant settlements outside the capital, home to roughly 800,000 people. The city's towering, stone walls loomed ahead, their gray surfaces streaked with the marks of countless battles, standing as silent sentinels against the wilds beyond.
As he drew closer, Crimson noticed the long line of merchant caravans, rugged adventurers, and local travelers making their way toward the city gates. Despite the Republic's tight control, Windsong remained a critical trading hub, a place where goods, news, and whispers of distant conflicts flowed like the Mountain Rivers nearby.
The gates of Windsong City were massive, reinforced with dark iron and guarded by soldiers in dark, polished armor. Unlike the usual cities from other countries that proudly displayed their local banners, Windsong's walls bore only the national flag of the Heartless Republic — marked with the emblem of the Heartless Guild. The law dictated that throughout the Republic, only this flag could be displayed in cities, towns, villages, or any part of its territories. The dark iron of the gates shimmered under the muted light, giving the city an imposing and unwelcoming aura. The soldiers, clad in their sleek, blackened armor, stood motionless, their visors hiding any hint of emotion.
As he approached the towering gates of Windsong, the morning air still crisp and cool, Crimson slowed his steps. The clanking of armor and the low murmur of guards on duty reached his ears, cutting through the noise of the bustling morning crowd. The gates, reinforced with dark iron, loomed ahead like the jaws of a great beast, guarded by soldiers in polished black armor emblazoned with the emblem of the Heartless Guild.
Two guards stepped forward, crossing their halberds to block his path. One, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick, braided beard, fixed Crimson with a wary stare. His companion, a younger soldier with sharp eyes and a firm jawline, shifted slightly, clearly ready to act if needed.
"Halt. State your name and purpose," the bearded guard demanded, his voice firm but tinged with curiosity.
Crimson paused, pulling back his hood to reveal his sharp, striking features. He met the guard's eyes with a steady gaze, his mind quickly weighing his options. Given the Republic's tight grip on its territories, it was better to keep a low profile for now.
"Primus Regulus Caesar Luxembourg y Habsburg Přemyslid," he said smoothly, giving his real-world name rather than his in-game title. He straightened his posture slightly, allowing just a hint of his natural, commanding aura to seep through. "Just a traveler returning to the heart of the Republic."
The two guards exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting from suspicion to cautious respect. The bearded guard's eyes lingered on the faint, dark red insignia on Crimson's armor, partially hidden beneath his cloak. Recognition flickered across his face, but he clearly couldn't place the name.
"A noble name," the bearded guard said slowly, stepping back and lowering his halberd. "Apologies, sir. Please, proceed."
The younger guard quickly followed suit, his weapon lowering as well, his sharp eyes still watching Crimson carefully.
"Welcome to Windsong, Lord Luxembourg," the bearded guard added, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of respect.
Crimson gave a slight nod, his cloak billowing as he stepped past them, his boots ringing against the stone as he entered the bustling city streets. He felt the guards' eyes follow him for a few moments before they returned to their post, their whispered conversation lost in the noise of the waking city.
Beyond the gates, the city itself was a stark contrast to the vibrant and bustling streets of other cities. The architecture was severe, with tall, sharp-angled buildings of black stone and narrow streets that seemed to wind deliberately, almost like a labyrinth. The citizens moved with quiet efficiency, their faces marked by a sense of grim determination. Merchant stalls, though present, displayed goods in neat, organized rows, and the sound of haggling was a subdued murmur instead of a lively cacophony.
The Heartless Guild's insignia was omnipresent, etched onto walls, carved into the stone of the streets, and even embroidered onto the uniforms of the city's officials. It was a constant reminder of who ruled here, a symbol of order and power that left little room for dissent.
As Crimson stepped through the towering gates of Windsong, the air grew noticeably cooler, the crisp morning wind carrying the faint, metallic tang of freshly polished steel and the earthy scent of packed dirt. The streets beyond were a stark contrast to the wild, untamed landscape he had just left. Here, the chaos of the wilderness was replaced by strict order and precision. Black stone buildings with sharp angles loomed on either side of the narrow, winding streets, their dark facades broken only by the occasional blood-red banner bearing the insignia of the Heartless Guild.
The citizens moved quickly and efficiently, their footsteps muffled against the cobblestone streets, their heads bowed slightly as they made their way through the city. Crimson noted the way they kept to their paths, avoiding unnecessary conversation and haggling in muted tones, a far cry from the noisy marketplaces of other kingdoms he had once visited.
As he made his way deeper into the heart of the city, he pulled his cloak tighter around himself, the dark fabric flowing like shadows as he slipped through the early morning crowds. His mind was already turning toward his next objective — finding a branch of the National Agency of Adventurers. He had collected a substantial amount of monster corpses and high-quality equipment during his journey, and it was time to convert those resources into something more useful for his mission.
"First things first," he muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the street signs and shop banners, many of which bore the familiar crest of the Heartless Guild. "I need to find the NAA branch."
Crimson recalled that most cities in the Republic, especially one as large as Windsong, would have a branch of the NAA. It served as a critical part of the Republic's infrastructure, a place where adventurers could trade, gather information, and prepare for their next journeys. It was also where guild members could dispose of monster corpses, rare materials, and high-tier equipment without attracting too much attention.
He slipped into a side street, his boots making barely a sound on the smooth stone. The shadows here were thicker, the alleyways narrower, and the buildings seemed to lean over him like silent sentinels. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for — a building set apart from the rest, its massive iron doors adorned with the insignia of the NAA: a winged shield encircled by an intricate pattern of runes, symbolizing strength, protection, and the pursuit of adventure.
A small plaque beside the door confirmed it:
National Agency of Adventurers — Windsong Branch.
Crimson reached for the heavy iron ring set into the door, feeling the cool metal against his palm as he gave it a firm tug. The door swung open with a deep, resonant creak, revealing a spacious, high-ceilinged hall beyond. The air inside was noticeably warmer, carrying the faint scent of aged parchment, leather, and the metallic tang of countless weapons.
The interior was a blend of military precision and arcane mystery. Long stone counters lined the walls, behind which clerks and appraisers in dark uniforms moved with brisk efficiency. Rows of shelves held neatly organized scrolls and ancient tomes, while several display cases showcased rare artifacts and high-level equipment. A massive map of the Heartless Republic hung behind the main counter, marked with hundreds of tiny pins and notes, each representing a known dungeon, monster nest, or battlefield.
Above, intricate chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow, their crystalline pendants sparkling with each subtle sway. Faint trails of magical energy pulsed through hidden conduits along the walls, a reminder that this place was not just an administrative hub but a fortress of arcane knowledge and power. The quiet hum of activity filled the air — the soft rustle of parchment, the clink of metal as adventurers exchanged gear, and the murmured conversations of those discussing quests or selling their latest spoils.
As Crimson stepped inside, a few heads turned, their eyes catching on his distinctive armor and the insignia emblazoned on his chest — the unmistakable mark of a Templar knight from Earth. Draped over his shoulders, his cloak bore the crimson insignia of the Heartless Guild, a symbol recognized by many.
Conversations lowered to whispers as he made his way toward one of the open counters, his boots echoing on the polished stone floor. Some recognized the Heartless Guild's emblem immediately, their eyes widening in a mix of awe and caution.
"Wait… that's the Heartless Guild's insignia," one player whispered, gripping his companion's arm.
"Not just that, look at his chest. That Templar insignia… isn't he…?" another player muttered, leaning closer.
"Yeah, he's Crimson Aegis… one of the founders of the Heartless Guild!"
"The High Elder himself… they say he killed billions of players and NPC alike back in the days," a hushed voice murmured among the nearby players.
"But… what's with that Templar insignia on his chest?" a younger player muttered, brows furrowed in confusion.
"Rumor has it he's a fanatic of the Templar Knight Order back on Earth," an older player whispered, leaning closer, his voice barely above a breath. "Some say he was even a high-ranking knight before all this… but no one knows for sure."
"Fanatic or not, he's one of the founders of the Heartless Guild. That alone makes him beyond dangerous. Keep your voice down."
The younger player swallowed, his gaze darting nervously toward Crimson before quickly looking away.
Crimson ignored the whispers, his expression calm and unreadable. His gaze swept across the bustling hall, noting the efficient movements of the clerks, the steady rustle of parchment, and the faint hum of magical devices behind the counters. The National Agency of Adventurers — Windsong Branch was clearly a well-organized establishment, but even here, the presence of the Heartless Guild's High Elder — a living legend — caused a stir.
"Welcome, traveler. How may I assist you today?" the clerk greeted, his tone polite but practiced, though a flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes as he noticed the crimson insignia on Crimson's cloak.
"I'm here to sell some monster corpses and high-tier equipment," Crimson replied, his voice calm but carrying an edge of authority.
"Of course, sir. May I see your identification for authentication?" the clerk continued, his tone polite but cautious.
Crimson silently slipped his hand into his cloak and retrieved a ring marked with the crimson insignia of the Heartless Guild. The polished, dark metal band caught the light, and the intricate insignia seemed to shimmer faintly. He held it up, and the clerk's eyes widened slightly, the composed expression cracking for just a moment.
"Understood, sir. One moment, please," the clerk said, bowing slightly before disappearing into a door behind the counter.
Crimson waited, his gaze wandering over the bustling hall. The quiet murmur of voices, the rustle of parchment, and the faint hum of magical artifacts created a strangely calming ambiance. He noted the mix of adventurers — young rookies nervously examining quest boards, seasoned veterans discussing strategy, and merchants haggling with clerks over the value of their goods.
After a few minutes, the clerk returned, his expression a mix of respect and mild awe.
"Thank you for your patience, sir. Your credentials are confirmed," the clerk said, his voice carrying a new tone of respect. "May I ask how many monster materials and equipment you intend to sell today?"
Crimson's lips curled into a faint smile. "Enough to keep your appraisers busy."
The clerk's brow arched slightly, but he maintained his professional demeanor. "In that case, please follow me, sir."
The clerk led Crimson through a side door, down a long, torch-lit corridor lined with reinforced metal doors. Occasional muffled sounds of movement echoed from within — the sounds of magical creatures being inspected, enchanted weapons being tested, and valuable artifacts being appraised.
They reached a massive storage facility — a vast, open space with a reinforced stone floor, towering iron supports, and thick, runic chains hanging from the walls for securing particularly dangerous items. The air was cooler here, the faint scent of iron and leather lingering.
"You may release your items here, sir," the clerk said, stepping aside. His expression remained professional, though a hint of curiosity sparked in his eyes.
Crimson stepped forward, raised his hand, and activated his dimensional storage ring. Without any magical array, the storage room quickly became a chaotic display of his spoils.
A massive clawed limb of a ferocious beast thudded onto the reinforced stone floor, followed by a towering serpent with emerald scales, its mouth frozen in a final snarl. Then came the armored body of a colossal scorpion-like creature, its segmented tail glistening with venom. More corpses appeared — a thunderous wyvern, a hulking troll with cracked stone-like skin, and a sleek, midnight-black panther with glowing red eyes, its fur shimmering with faint traces of magic.
Weapons and equipment followed — swords with gleaming edges, armor adorned with shimmering runes, enchanted shields, and bundles of rare ores and herbs. The sheer volume was enough to make even seasoned appraisers falter.
The clerk's eyes widened, his professionalism momentarily slipping. He signaled to a group of appraisers and record keepers, who rushed into the storage room. Their expressions ranged from shock to admiration as they inspected the massive haul.
One of the younger appraisers stumbled back as he nearly tripped over the talon of a wyvern. Another hesitated, wide-eyed, as she examined a shimmering crystal sword, its blade humming faintly with stored mana.
"Sir… this is… an incredible collection," the clerk managed, his voice barely hiding his astonishment. "This will take some time to evaluate."
"I'm not in a hurry," Crimson replied calmly, leaning against one of the iron supports.
After almost an hour, the clerk returned, holding a thick, rune-inscribed ledger.
"Sir, the evaluation is complete. The total value of your items has been appraised at two platinum gold coins and five thousand seven hundred thirty-four gold coins."
At Crimson's request, the funds were directly transferred to his account.
"It was an honor to serve you, sir," the clerk said with a deep bow.
As Crimson prepared to leave the branch lobby, a sudden thought stopped him mid-step. He turned back to the clerk behind the counter, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. "Do you have any Status Appraisal Scrolls available?"
The clerk's eyes brightened immediately. "Yes, sir Crimson, we keep a few in stock for esteemed members such as yourself."
Without hesitation, Crimson reached into his pouch and produced two platinum gold coins. He placed them firmly on the counter. "I'll take two. Keep the change,"
He added smoothly, his gaze steady. "Distribute the remainder equally among the staff who assisted with the appraisal."
The clerk blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard by the generous tip, but quickly recovered, bowing deeply. "Thank you very much, sir Crimson. Your generosity honors us all." Crimson inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, tightened his cloak around his shoulders, and stepped out into the bustling streets of Windsong, leaving behind a subtle ripple of whispered admiration in his wake.