Chapter 21

  Adventurer's Guild, Capital City of Argus

  Marcus slammed his fist against the wooden table, sending tankards of ale jumping. The common room of the Adventurer's Guild had gone quiet, all eyes turning toward the young man with sandy brown hair and blazing green eyes.

  "Millbrook?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "You're telling me Millbrook is gone?"

  The guild clerk nodded nervously. "B-rank party confirmed it yesterday. Nothing left but ash and stone foundations. The Crown Guild's calling it a Drakmoor raid."

  Marcus felt the world tilt around him. Millbrook—his grandfather's town, where he'd grown up learning carpentry and listening to old war stories. Where his grandfather had taught him to whittle and shown him his first sword forms.

  "Survivors?" he managed to ask.

  The guild clerk shook her head grimly. "I'm sorry. The report says no survivors were found."

  "No…That's impossible."

  "Marcus, I know this is hard to hear, but—"

  "No!" He leaned forward, his green eyes blazing. "My grandfather is a stubborn old bastard who doesn't die easy."

  His voice grew stronger, more certain. "If there was any way to survive, he'd find it."

  The clerk looked uncomfortable. "The investigation team was thorough. They searched—"

  "They searched wrong." Marcus stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

  Marcus's party members—the elite A-rank adventurers of Silver Wings—watched him with concern. Lydia, their mage, reached out to touch his shoulder.

  "Marcus, I'm sorry. If you need time—"

  "I'm leaving the team, temporarily. " Marcus said abruptly, shaking off her hand. "I need to find out what really happened to my grandfather."

  The words hung in the air as his party members exchanged glances. He knew he was being selfish, abandoning his responsibilities for personal reasons. But he couldn't just sit here and accept that his grandfather was dead without proof.

  Leon, their party leader, shook his head firmly. "Like hell you are."

  Marcus blinked. "What?"

  "You think we're gonna let you run off on some revenge quest by yourself?" Leon crossed his arms, his scarred face set in determination. "Silver Wings doesn't abandon teammates.”

  "But the guild contracts—"

  "Can wait," Lydia interrupted, standing up beside Leon. "You'd do the same for any of us."

  Marcus stared at them, his throat suddenly tight.

  "Thank you," he managed, his voice rough with emotion.

  Leon clapped him on the shoulder. "That's what family does. Now let's get moving—we've got a long journey to Millbrook, and I also want to see what really happened there with my own eyes."

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  As Silver Wings began preparing for their journey south, Marcus felt something he hadn't experienced since hearing the news: hope. Maybe his grandfather was really gone. But if there was even the smallest chance his grandfather had survived, Marcus would find him.

  No matter what it took.

  ====

  Crown Guild, Oakenford Branch

  Nicholaus stood by the narrow window of his office, watching the afternoon bustle in the town square below. Merchants hawked their wares while children played between the stalls, their laughter carrying up to his second-floor perch. It looked peaceful enough, but he knew better.

  These past few days had been anything but peaceful.

  A soft knock interrupted his brooding. "Enter," he called without turning.

  His assistant, Thomas, stepped into the room. "Sir, you asked for updates on the tamer?"

  "Yes." Nicholaus finally turned from the window. "How is she?"

  "She woke up about an hour ago, according to Healer Leah. Spoke briefly with one of the other survivors." Thomas consulted his notes. "But she collapsed again shortly after. The healer says it's exhaustion—physical and emotional trauma."

  Nicholaus nodded grimly.

  "Any word from the investigation team?"

  "They're still combing through the attack site. Found traces of the basilisk—shed scales, venom burns on the trees—but no sign of where it went." Thomas flipped through his pages. "The bandit leader was... well, there wasn't much left of him to examine."

  "And the other survivors? The boy and the teenager?"

  "The boy hasn't spoken since arriving. Complete withdrawal, according to the healers. The other has been cooperative.”

  Nicholaus moved to his desk, settling into the worn leather chair he'd occupied for over a decade. The basilisk incident was just the latest in a string of unusual events. Millbrook's destruction, increased Drakmoor military activity along the border, and now this.

  "Update me the moment she wakes up, I need to speak with her personally."

  "Of course, sir." Thomas bowed slightly and left.

  Alone again, Nicholaus returned to his window as his thoughts went into the tamer.

  It had been... what, three years since the last one had registered? Tamers weren't exactly common—rare enough that this branch only had a handful on the books. Most people who could bond with monsters never made it past E-rank creatures.

  But this girl? She'd somehow managed to bond with multiple D-rank monsters.

  He pulled out the level scroll they'd used while she was unconscious. It was standard procedure for unregistered individuals. The crystal had glowed a steady amber, indicating level 17. Right around the average for a D-rank adventurer.

  “Interesting…" he muttered, drumming his fingers against the windowsill.

  With her ability to command that many monsters, he'd half-expected her to be level 20. Hell, maybe even level 30. But fifteen? That was... surprisingly low for someone with her capabilities.

  A late bloomer, perhaps. It wasn't that rare—some people awakened to their abilities later in life. And when they did, they often became powerhouses, making up for lost time with raw talent.

  Either that or she was hiding her true level.

  And then there was the basilisk.

  Nicholaus frowned, his reflection staring back from the glass. Wild basilisks didn't just appear out of nowhere. They were territorial creatures that stuck to deep caves and ruins, not forest roads.

  "Where the hell did that thing come from?" he wondered aloud.

  Nicholaus moved to his desk, settling into the worn leather chair as he pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped his quill in ink, then paused, staring at the blank page.

  A basilisk was still out there somewhere. And basilisks don't just disappear—they found new territory, claimed it, and defended it viciously.

  He started writing a report requesting immediate deployment of an active B-rank team or higher.

  As he wrote, he flexed his fingers—they weren't as steady as they used to be. Hell, nothing about him was what it used to be.

  It was only a matter of time before that basilisk decided to expand its hunting grounds. And when it did, Oakenford would be right in its path.

  And a basilisk? Those things were solid B-rank threats, sometimes pushing into A-rank territory depending on their age and size. Even in his prime, he wouldn't have wanted to face one alone.

  He set down his quill and rubbed his temple. Oakenford was a peaceful town—had been for decades. The most dangerous thing they usually dealt with were occasional goblin raids or a rogue dire wolf. They weren't equipped for something like this.

  He just hopes it won’t be too late by then…