The sun hung low in Iguro's hazy afternoon sky, spilling gold across the cobbled streets. James adjusted the strap of the burlap sack over his shoulder. The Tree Hound loot inside clinked and rattled—bundles of medicinal moss, hardened bark plates, and a few intact wooden fangs. Ilyanna walked beside him, her own sack slung neatly against her back.
Olivia had been summoned—again—to the town hall, leaving the task of delivering the goods to them. It wasn't exactly glamorous work, but James didn't mind. After days of fighting and foraging, a quiet walk through the market district sounded like a blessing.
Still, Ilyanna's eyes scanned their surroundings as though expecting a goblin to burst out from behind the fishmonger's stall.
"You don't have to keep your bow hand so close," James said lightly. "We're in town."
She didn't look at him. "Danger doesn't care where you are."
James smirked. "Spoken like someone who's had way too many close calls."
She gave no reply, which told him he was right.
They turned into a narrow side street where the scent of resin and aged wood filled the air. A small wooden sign swung above a sturdy door: Nemenzo's Tradehouse.
Inside, the shop was a maze of shelves stacked with monster parts—fangs, hides, claws, even jars of preserved eyes that seemed to follow you. Behind the counter stood Mister Nemenzo himself: a tall, broad-shouldered man in a well-fitted vest, his hair streaked with silver. His sharp eyes flicked over the pair the moment they entered.
"Silver Phantom?" His voice was low and even, but there was a weight behind it that made James straighten involuntarily.
"Yes, sir," James said, hoisting the sack onto the counter. "Tree Hound remains. Two standard, one alpha."
Nemenzo's gaze dropped to the burlap. "Put them here."
James obliged, and Ilyanna followed suit. The merchant untied the sacks with deliberate precision, sorting the items into neat piles. He examined the moss first, rubbing it between his fingers before nodding.
"Fresh. Good color. You harvested before it dried out." His eyes flicked to Ilyanna. "That's rare discipline from new hunters."
She dipped her head in acknowledgment but said nothing.
The bark plates came next. Nemenzo tapped one with his knuckle, listening to the sound. "Alpha's plate," he said after a moment. "Strong enough to make bucklers or light shields. Someone will pay well for this."
Finally, he inspected the wooden fangs. His brow furrowed. "One's cracked. Poor handling?"
James opened his mouth, but Ilyanna cut in. "It shattered when the hound fell. We salvaged what we could."
Nemenzo studied her for a moment before nodding slowly. "Fair enough."
He tallied the goods on a ledger with brisk strokes of the pen. "Your guild will be credited thirty silver. Not bad for first-time Tree Hound work. I'll send the payment to your guildmaster."
James tried not to sigh. Thirty silver wasn't much compared to the debt Olivia had mentioned, but every coin counted.
"Thank you, Mister Nemenzo," Ilyanna said.
The merchant gave a curt nod and went back to rearranging a set of wyvern claws as if they hadn't just walked in.
James and Ilyanna stepped out into the street, the late-day breeze cooling the sweat on James's neck.
"Well, that wasn't so bad," James said.
"I expected worse," Ilyanna admitted.
They had barely made it halfway back to the main road when a familiar voice called out from the crowd.
"James! James, is that you?"
James turned, blinking in surprise. "Merid?"
The town librarian pushed her way through a pair of merchants, her graying bun slightly undone and her spectacles sliding down her nose. She wore the same ink-stained apron she always had back when James had worked for her.
"By the stars, it is you!" she said, grabbing his arm with surprising force. "I've been looking everywhere!"
James tried to smile. "It's good to see you too, but—uh—what's the emergency?"
"No time to explain here." She glanced around, lowering her voice. "It's not exactly… official business."
That caught Ilyanna's attention instantly. Her hand hovered near her bowstring. "What kind of business?"
Merid ignored the question and started dragging James toward a side alley. "Just follow me. You'll see."
James shot Ilyanna a helpless look, but she fell into step behind them without protest.
The alley twisted and narrowed, eventually leading to a small, unassuming door at the base of a warehouse. Merid knocked three times in a strange rhythm. A small viewing slit opened, and a pair of eyes peered out.
"It's me," Merid said.
The door creaked open, and they stepped inside.
The air changed immediately—thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation. A low roar of voices echoed from below. Merid led them down a steep set of stairs, the sound growing louder with each step.
When they emerged into the underground chamber, James's eyes went wide.
The room was massive, lit by dozens of hanging lanterns. Rows of wooden benches surrounded a sunken pit in the center, where two men were locked in brutal combat. One wielded a spiked club; the other fought barehanded, his knuckles already bloodied. The crowd shouted and jeered, coins changing hands in every corner.
"Welcome," Merid said, her voice strangely calm, "to the Hollow Pit."
James stared. "You… brought us to a fighting arena?"
Merid adjusted her glasses. "Not just any arena. This is where debts are won and fortunes are made. And tonight, I need someone I can trust in that pit."
Ilyanna's eyes narrowed. "You're asking him to fight?"
Merid gave a thin smile. "Not necessarily fight. There's someone here I need you two to meet—a man with information that could help your guild. But he won't talk unless you prove yourselves in the arena."
James's stomach dropped. "Define 'prove ourselves.'"
Before Merid could answer, a deafening cheer rose from the crowd as the barehanded fighter knocked his opponent unconscious. Two burly guards dragged the loser out of the pit, and an announcer's voice boomed over the din.
"Next match—fresh challengers from the streets!"
Merid patted James on the shoulder. "That's your cue."