**Chapter Five: The Mission Hall**
The **Mission Hall** was the noisiest place in Blackrock City—a massive, open building reeking of leather, sweat, and dried blood. Inside, mercenaries and rogue cultivators shouted and bargained, their faces a mix of hope and desperation. At the center of the hall hung a giant wooden board covered in dozens of leather slips, each representing a mission.
Rhein didn't rush toward the board like the others. He stood at the entrance for several minutes, his back against the wall, his cold eyes sweeping the room. **This was another jungle, and he needed to understand its rules before taking his first step.**
He quickly categorized the people here into three types:
1. **The Wolves** – Powerful, organized teams that took on high-risk, high-reward missions.
2. **The Hyenas** – Smaller groups or individuals who scavenged leftovers from the Wolves or took medium-risk tasks.
3. **The Rats** – Weak solo practitioners who scraped by on menial tasks no one else wanted—gathering herbs, delivering messages, or cleaning stables for meager pay.
*"Right now, I'm a rat,"* Rhein thought without shame. *"But a smart rat can gnaw at the foundations of a lion's throne."*
He approached the board calmly, avoiding collisions. He ignored the flashy missions:
- *"Slay an Armored Serpent (Golden Core stage)."*
- *"Escort the Tian family caravan through the Shadow Forest."*
These were death traps for him. He was looking for something else—**something everyone else ignored.**
His eyes skimmed the lower sections of the board, where dust-covered slips languished:
- *"Gather 100 Moonlit Herbs."*
- *"Clean the City Lord's spirit beast stables."*
- *"Repair fishing nets in the River District."*
Boring, barely profitable tasks.
Then he found it.
A small slip tucked into a forgotten corner:
**Mission:** *Collect 10 samples of Shadow Moss from the Southern Caves.*
**Warning:** *The caves emit a strange spiritual pressure that causes hallucinations in the weak.*
**Reward:** *20 copper coins.*
A faint, almost invisible smile touched his lips.
**This was the one.**
The reward was pitiful, and the warning was enough to scare away anyone with better options. But for Rhein, this mission was **perfect.**
The words *"strange spiritual pressure"* weren't a warning—they were an **invitation.** A chance to test and understand that **uncanny vision** he had experienced in the tavern.
He plucked the slip and headed to the registration desk, where an exhausted-looking old man peered at him over his glasses.
*"You sure about this, kid?"* the old man asked dully. *"This mission's been here for a month. Everyone who goes into those caves comes back babbling about nightmares—eyes watching them in the dark."*
*"I'm sure,"* Rhein said flatly. He offered no explanation. **The less they knew about him, the better.**
The old man scribbled his name in a tattered ledger and handed him a crude map and a small collection pouch. *"Your death's on your own head,"* he muttered without looking up.
Rhein took the supplies and left without another word. As he stepped out of the noisy hall into daylight, he wasn't thinking about the **20 copper coins.**
He was thinking about those **dark caves.**
That **spiritual pressure.**
*"Nightmares about eyes watching in the dark..."* he whispered to himself. *"Seems I'm heading somewhere familiar."*
He wasn't going to complete a mission.
He was going to confront the **secret** stirring in the depths of his soul.