"Your first incident was in Greyvale, two years ago. The Howling Caves. three casualties, including two C-rank adventurers and one B-rank healer. The official report states you became separated from the main party before the cave-in occurred."
"I went back for supplies we'd left at a base camp," I explained, sticking to the story I'd told back then. "When I returned, the entrance had collapsed. By the time rescue teams excavated a path, everyone else was dead."
"Convenient timing." She made a small note in the file. "Then last week, the kobold warren. Five casualties, including your entire party. You survived with minor injuries, claiming to have hidden when the attack began."
"It's the truth."
"I believe you did hide," she said, surprising me. "What I find fascinating is why you were the only one with the... foresight to do so. According to survivors from other parties who frequent that particular dungeon, the kobold warren was relatively safe. Predictable. No reason for exceptional caution."
I had no good answer for that. I'd sensed something wrong about the warren the moment we'd entered, a subtle change in the air pressure, a too-perfect stillness that experienced adventurers should have recognized as danger. But explaining that intuition without revealing my receipt-purchased skill seemed impossible.
"Sometimes paranoia pays off," I said instead.
"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced. "And now yesterday. The Crimson Labyrinth, a level 3 dungeon with one of the highest mortality rates in Arkavia. One casualty reported, though given the unofficial nature of the expedition, I wonder if that figure is accurate."
"It is," I confirmed. "Dain Corvish died. Thorne Blackwood and Kira... I don't know her last name... survived along with me."
Reyne's expression sharpened at Thorne's name. "Ah yes, Mr. Blackwood. Another statistical anomaly in his own right. Five expeditions, five incidents, in the end, always exactly one survivor."
So she knew about Thorne too. Unsurprising, given Morrigan had managed to compile the same information.
"I didn't know his history when I joined the expedition," I said truthfully.
"Yet you joined an off-books expedition to one of the deadliest known dungeons, led by a man with a questionable reputation, with a hastily assembled party lacking proper balance or preparation." Her tone remained conversational, but her eyes had hardened. "Why?"
The real answer — because I hoped people would die so I could collect points from a magical receipt — wasn't exactly an option.
"I needed the money," I said instead. Another truth, just not the complete one. "D-rank jobs don't pay well, and I'm behind on rent."
"A desperate financial situation." Reyne nodded as if this confirmed something. "Yet rather than take safer, Guild-sanctioned work, you chose a high-risk, potentially illegal expedition."
When she put it that way, my decision did sound suspiciously irrational.
"It offered better pay," I said weakly.
"I see." She closed my file and leaned forward slightly. "Mr. Harker, I'll be direct. The pattern surrounding you is concerning. While surviving through cowardice is not itself suspicious, the statistical probability of it working three times in such extreme circumstances is... minimal."
"So what are you suggesting?" I asked, an edge entering my voice despite my best efforts. "That I somehow caused these deaths? For what purpose? I'm still a D-rank nobody scraping by in a rented room above a bakery."
"Purpose can be complex," she replied mildly. "Not all motivations are as straightforward as advancement or wealth."
A chill ran through me. Did she know something? Had she somehow discovered the receipt system?
"I don't understand what you're implying," I said carefully.
Reyne studied me for a long moment, then sat back. "I'm not implying anything yet, Mr. Harker. I'm investigating. There's a difference."
She pulled a blank form from her desk drawer and began filling it out with an elegant script. "For now, I'm placing a monitoring flag on your Guild registration. You'll be required to report any dungeon-related activities in advance, and only participate in Guild-approved expeditions with assigned observers."
"That's—" I began to protest, but she cut me off with a raised hand.
"Standard procedure for statistical anomalies," she said firmly. "It's for your protection as much as others'. If you truly are simply an unnaturally lucky survivor, having Guild observers will help verify that fact and clear your record."
She slid the completed form across the desk. "Sign at the bottom, please."
I hesitated, scanning the document quickly. It was exactly as she'd described. A monitoring order restricting me to official expeditions with Guild supervision for a period of six months, subject to extension or early termination based on findings.
This would completely derail my plans. No more off-books expeditions meant no more opportunities to test my receipt theories without Guild scrutiny. And Guild observers would make it nearly impossible to hide evidence of my mysterious power if it activated again.
But refusing would only increase suspicion. I was trapped.
I signed.
"Excellent." Reyne took back the form, adding her own signature and an official Guild seal. "You'll receive a copy by messenger later today, along with instructions for your new reporting procedures."
She rose gracefully, indicating our meeting was concluded. "One last thing, Mr. Harker. I'd strongly advise against further association with Thorne Blackwood. His pattern of survival is even more concerning than yours, and my division has an open investigation into his activities."
"I understand," I said, standing as well.
"Do you?" Those pale eyes fixed on me with uncomfortable intensity. "Because joining his next expedition to the Crimson Labyrinth would be a remarkably poor decision for someone in your position."
My heart skipped a beat. "How did you—"
"As I said, Mr. Harker. Information is the Guild's business." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Good day."
I left her office feeling like I'd just narrowly avoided a trap, only to walk straight into a cage. The monitoring order would severely restrict my movements, and Reyne clearly knew more than she was revealing.
As I rode the elevator back down to the ground floor, I finally remembered the mysterious package in my pocket. Finding a quiet corner in the Guild's entrance hall, I carefully broke the wax seal and unwrapped the plain paper.
Inside was a small wooden box, finely crafted but unmarked. I opened it cautiously, half-expecting some kind of trap.
Instead, it contained a perfect crystalline replica of a dungeon receipt, glowing with familiar blue light. And a note, written in elegant script:
We need to talk about our shared interests. Midnight, Finch's. Come alone. Bring proof.
No signature. No explanation.
But the message was clear enough.
Someone else knew about the receipt system.
And they wanted to meet.