— You can let go of his neck now, Fly... He's dead.
It was obvious he was dead. Varnak's eyes, bulging and glazed, still seemed to stare straight into my soul. My fingers were so tense that when I let go, I heard the painful creaking of joints, like old wood slowly breaking. When I finally released him, his head dropped lifelessly, hanging in a grotesque way, devoid of any human dignity.
— Uhh... you really did break his neck. — Malaca commented, with a tired smile full of irony.
Her body was covered in dried blood and fresh wounds. Smiling seemed to take more effort from her than fighting Marcoriel. Maybe noticing my empty, lost gaze, she slowly approached:
— It was them or us, Fly. Honestly, I'm glad to be going home. And even more glad that you're here with me. You should feel that way too.
I tried to agree, but my eyes couldn't leave Varnak's body. This wasn't the first death at my hands. The spearman adventurer still haunted me, every night replaying that moment. But this one... This one felt heavier, more cruel. The weight of this death seemed even harder to bear.
— We need to go. The monsters on this floor won't wait for your mourning to end.
Malaca spoke in a gentle tone, different from the fierce barbarian who had just fought off all of Varnak's summons. She gave me space and slowly went to gather what was left of the fallen enemies: three staves, a worn-out sword, some potions, and weakened mana stones. Nothing worth the suffering we had endured. This incursion had been, in every way, a complete disaster.
— Doga... That son of a bitch must've buried the White Knight's items somewhere.
I stood up with difficulty, my legs unsteady, and for the first time noticed the snow falling heavily, as if the dungeon itself were trying to erase the evidence of our tragedy. Before we even reached the portal, Varnak's body was already almost completely covered—except for his broken neck, which remained twisted toward me, accusatory even from afar.
I felt powerless and ignorant. I had believed my power alone would be enough, but without Malaca I'd probably be dead, enslaved, or worse. I urgently needed to learn to defend myself differently. I couldn't just be support, dependent on others. I needed strength of my own. But did I even deserve to live? The doubt burned in my mind, making me ignore everything around me until I felt arms wrapping around me in a firm embrace.
— Bromeia?
— I'm so glad you're alive. Forgive me for everything...
A sweet jasmine scent wafted from her hair, loose for the first time since I met her. That cherry-red fell over her shoulders, contrasting vibrantly with her light armor, decorated with symbols I didn't recognize. On her shoulder was a longbow and a quiver full of feathered arrows.
— So... you're an adventurer?
She gave a sheepish smile, confused but warm:
— Did you really think that being related to Malaca I was just a tavern keeper? But even so, I was caught off guard by those bastards. I'm sorry...
Her eyes shimmered with moisture, but the anger was clear. I understood how she felt; it was the same way I'd feel if I needed to be saved by someone.
I looked around and realized Bromeia was the only one at my side. Leonan, leader of the Lions guild, was with two others I didn't fully recognize: a burly bear-like being, a young girl with long pointed ears—perhaps a rabbit or similar creature—and a bit farther away, two city guards, one of them Thorn. The first three were locked in a heated argument with Malaca, but honestly, I was too exhausted to pay attention.
— Can I rest for a while?
Bromeia noticed my condition and quickly agreed, helping me toward the guild. Malaca still shouted that she'd call me later; despite her injuries, she was clearly dealing with something important.
My room was exactly how I'd left it, untouched by the recent chaos. I wanted to ask Malaca and Bromeia questions. Who exactly were the "Adepts"? How did Malaca know all of this? Why had Varnak betrayed us so brutally? Nothing made sense now, but my mind was too tired to try to understand.
My thoughts sank into disturbing memories of the battle, especially Varnak's lifeless face, which refused to leave me. I slept deeply, overcome by exhaustion, waking only at dusk.
I woke to the abnormal sounds of the guild, as if the world completely ignored my private pain. Slowly, I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and feeling it run down my body, trying to fully awaken to face the inevitable return to reality. Downstairs, life went on, indifferent to my trauma, and I had to find the strength to keep going.
— Look who's coming down—my savior! — shouted Malaca, and soon a wave of voices and whistles filled the hall.
Honestly, I thought I didn't recognize half the people there... But I did. Maybe I had never stopped to look them in the eyes before, maybe I'd never noticed their faces. But now, I saw everything from a new perspective.
— LET'S DRIIIIIIIINK! — roared Malaca, completely overtaken by euphoria.
Bromeia, unlike other times, didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was pouring her own mug with a serene smile on her face. She looked beautiful. Wait... what am I thinking?
A sudden tug on my arm snapped me out of the trance.
— Come on, Fly! How can you stay out of your own party?
— Mine...? — I asked, a bit lost.
The one pulling me was Zomeia, her wide smile radiating satisfaction. Little by little, I was dragged into the center of the celebration. Music, laughter, mugs being raised. The joy was contagious. I found myself sitting down, observing everything around me, like a stranger inside a good dream.
"Is this happiness?"
My mind was playing tricks on me. Taking me to places I didn't want to remember.
— Congratulations. It's a girl.
The words came from deep in my memory, and with them, tears began to fall. Silent, sincere tears.
— You alright, kid? — Malaca asked, sitting next to me. No invitation. No ceremony. She just sat.
— I... I think so.
— Then drink this. We'll talk about everything tomorrow. But today... today I want to celebrate. Thank you for giving me that, kid.
The last sentence came out almost like a whisper. Heavy with emotion.
— Thank you for reminding me what it feels like to love being alive.
My words made her eyes widen for a moment, but then a broad smile spread across her face.
— To us.
— To us.
After that... I don't remember much. Laughter, stupid bets, music. When I realized it, I was back in bed. But not alone.
A sweet, familiar scent filled my nose.
— Jasmine...?
Something soft was against my face. Hair. Red.
— Hair? — I murmured, still drowsy.
I woke up startled. A moment ago I'd been laughing and drinking... and now I was lying in bed, naked, my face buried in a tangle of cherry-red strands.
— Ahhh... good morning — said a soft voice.
Bromeia. She stood up without even looking at me. Her body was sculpted, mature, impressive. Hard to notice with the simple clothes she usually wore—or the armor.
— Good morning, Fly. I guess... something happened here, right?
— I don't know... — I replied, confused.
She still didn't look at me. Only a glimpse of her blushing cheek was visible. Was she embarrassed? Or was I imagining it? Without another word, she left the room.
— So that was my first time in this world. I'm such an idiot.
Breakfast had already passed. I only came down around lunchtime. Today was the day Malaca was supposed to explain everything—or almost everything. The questions wouldn't leave my mind. I was nervous, of course. After all... I'd been with her niece. Now, of all times? Did the universe hate me?
— Good morning, stud.
Her voice hit me like an affectionate axe.
— Good morning...?
— Hm. Looks like you had quite the night, huh?
Malaca was clearly enjoying my confusion. But I didn't have the energy to feed the twisted mind of that giant.
— Honestly… I don't know what happened to me yesterday. Or today. You wanted to talk to me, right?
Malaca noticed my discomfort. But, surprisingly, she just nodded, as if she had decided to ignore the subject—or maybe just giving me the space I needed. As much as she loved her granddaughters, Malaca never tried to control them. They had free will, the right to choose... and that included even someone like me. It was a mindset I respected—but didn't know if I'd have the same maturity if it were my daughter. Even in this strange world, there was still so much to learn.
— Very well, kid. Come with me. The leaders have arrived. I think it's time you met them.
Zomeia led me to the same room where we'd met with Varnak days ago. But now the place felt colder… heavier. As if the air itself carried the weight of something still unspoken.
Three people were seated at the table, each accompanied by two subordinates standing silently behind them. I recognized Leonan in the back, flanked by two feline women—one small and agile, the other of a more robust build. Their features were similar, but I couldn't tell if they were related or just from the same race.
— Finally, Malaca. Thought you were going to let us rot in here — grumbled Leonan, in that grumpy tone typical of someone used to giving orders.
— You're getting old, Lord Leonan — Malaca retorted with a sharp look, though there was familiarity in her voice. Then she turned to me.
— Fly, I'd like you to meet the guild leaders. This is Florenci — she said, pointing to a woman with noble posture but sharp eyes. — A formidable conjurer... and an even deadlier archer. Honestly, if she's at a good distance, I'm not sure I could beat her.
— Very kind of you, my friend — replied Florenci with a soft smile. There was something there... more intimate between the two than I'd imagined. Up to that point, I'd thought Malaca had some sort of thing with Leonan. But seeing her exchange of glances with Florenci, my assumptions collapsed like a house of cards.
— And this is Lord Bearnuld.
The creature sitting across two chairs (because clearly one wouldn't be enough) was impossible to ignore. A hybrid of bear and man. He had round ears on top of his head and a ridiculously muscular body, covered in thick fur—except for his face. He wore a sleeveless jacket, exposing arms the size of my torso. His presence alone was intimidating, and the deep voice that rumbled from his throat seemed to make the floor vibrate.
— Lady Malaca. We came as requested. Now, we would like to know... what exactly happened?
Malaca completely ignored the aides standing behind them, and no one seemed to care. But something bothered me. When I tried to look them in the eyes, they all looked away—every single one of them.
They're underestimating me… I thought, my fists clenching unconsciously. These sons of bitches…
— Very well, gentlemen. I think it's time we tell what really happened — Malaca began, straight to the point. Her firm voice sliced through the air. She recounted everything from the mission against the White Knight to the moment she started to suspect something strange.
— After we defeated the Knight, I investigated Marcoriel's body… and identified clear signs of mana poisoning. Everyone here knows how lethal that is to Moloks. Someone killed him deliberately. And that someone... was among us.
— But... how did you find out who it was? — asked Florenci, clearly skeptical.
Malaca reached into her pocket and pulled out a damaged medallion, placing it on the table. Everyone stared at the object without recognition—everyone except me.
Medallion of Bartal (Uncommon Item)
Durability: 5/5
Effect: Allows probing a target's mind, revealing hostility or intent when certain information is heard.
— Unfortunately, I didn't have enough mana to test it on everyone. So I used it on Varnak. And that's when the medallion… broke. — Malaca's voice turned into a blade. — You all know how resistant this item is. And what it means for it to have been damaged during use.
The silence in the room was absolute. One of the subordinates swallowed hard. Even Leonan seemed to lose color.
— There are... very specific ways to block this item — she added. — Few. Very few.
Then the word fell like a blade on the table.
— Adepts? — murmured Bearnuld, and for the first time, his voice trembled slightly. It was fear. And that... that was worse than any confirmation.
— Unfortunately, yes. Those bastards are alive — confirmed Malaca, her eyes narrowed.
— But that's impossible! — exclaimed Florenci. — They disappeared eight years ago! All the trails... all the signs... vanished!
— They had a dark magic summoner. I saw it with my own eyes. He brought Marcoriel back... from the dead.
The room sank into a heavy, almost reverent silence, as if everyone was caught in a trance. Malaca's words still echoed in the air, filled with a truth no one there wanted to face. The Adepts… alive? After so many years? And right here, in Strugar? A city forgotten by maps, with an irrelevant dungeon and a portal barely holding together.
It made no sense.
Strugar was a place for retirement—for adventurers too wounded to keep fighting, or too cowardly to chase glory. A refuge, not a battlefield.
— But what... what do you think brought them back here? — Leonan broke the silence with a question that, by the firmness in his tone, already carried the answer.
The other leaders went quiet. Everyone wanted to know. Everyone... feared knowing.
Malaca smiled. But it wasn't a smile of satisfaction—it was the kind of smile one makes when they know they're about to flip the board.
— Great question, my friend — she said, before raising her arm and pointing directly at me. — They came... for him.
The extended finger marked me as a target, a central piece on a chessboard no one had noticed until now. My body froze, and for a moment, I swear even my heart hesitated to beat.
The reactions were immediate. Looks of shock. Faces of disbelief. An awkward silence spread through the room... until it burst.
— Malaca… are you taking us for fools? — Bearnuld growled, his voice like muffled thunder. — What in all the hells could a Bard possibly have to interest a group like the Adepts?
I felt the blow like an arrow to the chest. Just another stab to my already wounded pride.
But Malaca didn't waver. Her gaze sharpened like a general about to reveal the final piece of her strategy.
— That's where you're wrong, old bear.
And as if following a flawless script, at that moment the door opened. Zomeia entered with firm steps, carrying a small stack of papers in her hands.
— Aunt, here are the documents you asked for.
— Thank you, my flower.
Malaca took the five sheets carefully, as if holding sacred evidence. Her eyes never left the room's occupants—not for a second.
— What is that? — Bearnuld still sounded skeptical.
Malaca raised the papers, shaking them lightly.
— This, my dear friend, is a record of every buff the "mediocre" Bard here has produced since becoming an adventurer. — Her voice carried a cold, almost cruel satisfaction.