Ken sighed as he tossed one of his many knives into the air. The blade spun rapidly, silver flashing in the warm light the golden chandelier gave off, before it dropped back down. Ken caught it easily by the hilt, barely looking. He flipped it up once again and repeated the action.
Up. Spin. Catch.
The motion was easy, almost like controlling a limb, as he was lounging on a couch so soft, he thought his ass would never feel the tenderness again. The cushions were stuffed with something far finer than straw, far more expensive. The couch was a deep crimson fabric with embroidered gold thread. Ken never sat in something so expensive in his life—and neither had anyone else in his group.
Ken himself was human. Maybe thirty years old. Maybe younger.
He didn't know.
He'd been abandoned in the streets of Gan as a child, long before he learned to count years properly. Survival had mattered more than birthdays.
He had dark brown eyes and short black hair, combed messily to one side, though the style did little to hide the sharpness of his features. His gaze drifted toward one of his companions.
Cynal.
She was an Avian-kin, similar to beast-kin but mixed with a bird, yet their type was rare. She looked like some strange mix between a human and a brightly colored bird.
Parrot blood, maybe.
Her arms were covered in vivid feathers, reds, greens, and blues that shimmered almost hypnotically, faintly under the chandelier. Her hands—which were human shape—were covered in scutes, making it look like black, hardened leather. At the end of her fingers were obsidian claws that were sharp enough to cut stone. She was short, though, taller than the height of an average dwarf.
But she wore full, heavy plate metal armor. Thick steel plates layered over her small frame, etched with faint adventurer's guild markings and scratches from battles long past. She was their tank, after all.
Cynal noticed his stare and huffed sharply, feathers ruffling along her arms.
Yeah… she was still pissed, and Ken couldn't really blame her. They had dragged her into that dungeon mess only after two weeks of joining their group.
Still… how in the hell were they supposed to know the dungeon would change its damn rank, a phenomenon only spoken in myths or horror stories for adventurers.
Cynal had only joined their small adventuring party out of necessity rather than reason. Their group—Crystal—had desperately needed a tank after their previous one had been squashed by a Boulder Jan.
The creature had been exactly what the name suggested: a hulking monster covered in stone with a massive boulder fused to the end of its tail.
One swing had been enough to crush Bennis into a weltering crimson puddle in the snow.
'R.I.P. Bennis,' Ken thought bitterly as he flicked the knife up in the air again.
Up. Spin. Catch.
"Will you stop that?" a voice called out hotly.
Ken caught the blade as it fell and glanced toward the voice.
Shian stood across the room, glaring at him with enough intensity to cut stone.
She was a tall and lean human, her posture straight as a spear. Scarlet hair was tied back into a tight ponytail that hung down to her back, and her sharp green eyes were fixed on him like a predator watching careless prey.
"If you keep doing that," she said, heat creeping into her voice, "eventually you'll drop it and either impale yourself or the couch."
Her gaze flicked toward the luxurious furniture beneath him.
"How do you think that will look for us in front of one of the Seven?" she said while raising a brow.
Ken winced slightly.
Right.
They weren't sitting in some guild tavern today. No, this was the Halas Manor—home of the Falmil family, one of the Seven Great Houses. Everything around them screamed wealth.
Polished marble floors reflected the golden chandelier above. The walls were paneled with ancient dark wood, so finely varnished that they gleamed like still water. Paintings in thick, gilded frames were scattered throughout the room. Portraits of landscapes forgotten, nobles long dead looking down at them with silent judgment.
Even the air smelled expensive and clean, unlike the Undercity that lay below them.
Ken sighed and slipped the knife back into one of the many sheaths hidden along his belt and vest, which was a dark, rough leather. As their scout, he carried more blades and gadgets than most people carried coins.
"What, you don't trust me?" Ken complained. "You and me have been hopping around together for five years now, and somehow you're still suspicious of me."
His eyes drifted lazily around the room, noting the door, windows, and possible exits out of habit and boredom.
"You're the one who insisted on going into that dungeon," Shian said coldly.
Ken groaned.
"Why do you guys keep blaming me for that?" he snapped, his voice rising. "How was I supposed to know it would suddenly change rank?"
He leaned forward on the couch, "And besides—we survived, didn't we?" But his frustration bubbled up again. "I was the one disabling most of the traps while you guys were busy fighting the undead. So stop riding my ass and be glad we made it out alive and got enough recognition to land this job."
He leaned back into the impossibly soft couch, seemingly draining his anger. "Seriously," he muttered. "This couch alone is worth more than my entire childhood."
"He does have a point," another voice said casually.
"Thank you."
Casper, the one who spoke, was draped in loose desert cloth meant to keep out heat and blowing sand. White glasses carved from bone covered his eyes, their thin slits giving no hint of where he was looking. He sat nearby on a stool he had pulled from his spatial ring, idly twiddling his thumbs. The wealth of the room seemed to bore him more than impress him.
"He earned my trust," Casper continued. "And I've only known him for a month."
Shian shook her head sharply, her ponytail swaying behind her like striking Burnfang—a desert snake famous for spewing fire instead of venom. Which was also a good analogy for her personality.
"Just keep an eye on his hands," she said bitterly. "He has slippery fingers and tends to cause trouble."
She leaned back against the polished wooden wall.
"Shian, don't lean on that."
The familiar voice came from Petriv.
He sat comfortably in an elegant chair across the room, legs crossed with effortless poise. White, wavy hair framed his narrow face, and a pair of thin glasses rested on the bridge of his hooked nose, framing his red, owl-like eyes. Out of everyone in the group, he was the only one who looked like he truly belonged inside a noble manor.
"Your armor will scratch the wall." He gestured lightly toward the dark wood behind her, which gleamed with a mirror-like shine. "Trust me," he added calmly, "that wall is probably worth more than our entire party's gear, rewards, and more combined."
Shian turned pale and quickly stood straight.
Ken looked down at the couch he was sitting on, and his rugged boots, which were moments ago on the soft cushions.
"Uh…" he managed to say.
Petriv frowned, "Did any of you remember my lessons about noble etiquette before coming here?"
Cynal and Casper raised their hands, while Ken and Shian looked at each other, both wearing complex expressions.
Petriv groaned as he rubbed his forehead. "How about you just let me do most of the speaking?" He said with some heat in his voice.
"I thought that was already the plan," Shian said, tilting her head.
Petriv glared at her. "Aren't you supposed to be the team leader?"
"Yes, I am, and I've decided to let you take charge of this," she stated, giving him a look as if he'd missed a punchline.
Petriv sighed, "Can't believe that you are the squabble I teamed up with," he complained. "No offense, Cynal," he added.
Cynal rose her head in acknowledgment.
"Still got a year on the pact we made," Ken said with a smirk.
Then the room froze, Ken's smirk falling off, as everyone in the room heard footsteps echoing from a nearby corridor, and they were approaching slowly.
They were heavy and loud. Each step struck the marble with a dull, deliberate thud that carried through the polished floor and up Ken's boots. It felt less like someone walking and more like a beast was approaching. Something large enough that the building itself had to acknowledge it.
Ken straightened slightly on the couch without realizing it. Shian's posture snapped tighter. Petriv adjusted his glasses with sudden urgency, while Cynal's feathers shifted with a faint rustle beneath the steel plates of her armor. Even Casper stopped idly twiddling his thumbs as the footsteps grew louder.
Ken swallowed as he glanced around, looking for an exit.
Then the sound stopped just outside the doorway. For a brief moment. There was silence, thick enough that Ken could hear the faint hiss of the chandelier's burning oil and the quiet creak of leather as someone shifted their weight.
Then a man stepped into the room and stood there. He looked to be in his late forties, but there was nothing softened by age about him. He was tall—taller than Ken expected—and his shoulders were broad enough that the doorway seemed narrower as he stood in it.
His arms were thick with muscle, corded and layered like jagged stone along a cliff face. The kind of strength that didn't come from training yards but from years of war and battle.
For a moment, he said nothing. His brown eyes swept across the room.
His gaze didn't look at the adventurers — it measured them, weighed them, studied them. The way a veteran hunter studies a blade before trusting it in the wild.
Ken suddenly became very aware of the knife still in its sheath and the small chips that made it less effective. The dirt still caught in the stitching of his boots. Around him, the others seemed to feel it too: the quiet scrutiny that made every flaw suddenly feel exposed, and that made them worth less.
Then the silence broke as he made a grunt, breaking everyone out of their stupor.
"Interesting group," the man rumbled, his voice like a quake in the earth. "I am Robert Falmil, but you already know that, and I trust you're as capable as the reports claim."
The words sent a quiet ripple through the room.
Ken felt his spine straighten without meaning to. Across from him, Shian's shoulders lifted slightly, while Casper tilted his head as if weighing the compliment.
Petriv moved first. He rose quickly to his feet, and Ken and Casper scrambled up a moment later, in mild panic.
Petriv lowered his head and performed the Glatith salute—his fist closed as it struck the center of his chest twice before remaining there.
Ken hesitated for a half second before attempting the same motion.
'Shit. Left fist? Right Fist?'
Too late.
His attempt came out clumsy, more like he was coughing from his hand than performing a formal salute. Shian's wasn't much better.
Only Cynal executed the motion properly.
Robert raised a brow.
"It's good to see you well, my lord Duke Falmil," Petriv said smoothly, his voice carrying the easy polish of someone raised in nobility.
Robert nodded, "It's good to see you well, Petriv Strix." His words scrambled the thoughts of the others, while Petriv winced.
"Please, sir, don't use my last name, I haven't yet earned it," he said quietly.
Robert made a slight frown, and Petriv quickly spoke. "I haven't yet earned my name or place in the Great House of Strix."
"Ah," Robert said, as if realizing something. "Still doing the Coddling?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Petriv said with slight embarrassment.
Robert stepped forward as he towered over Petriv, who still had his head down, holding the salute. Then, unexpectedly, Robert placed a hand on Petriv's shoulder in a reassuring manner.
"Don't worry about it. You will earn your place, Alicia did," Robert said, freezing the room with the winter that followed her name.
Ken felt a chill crawl down his spine as her full title surfaced in his mind—one even commoners whispered with caution.
'Alicia Strix. The White Owl of the North. Queen Among Ravens of War.'
Everyone in the room went still, except Petriv and Robert.
They had been joking and drinking with a member of House Strix this entire time.
Robert seemed to notice the change in everyone, "Oh." He said as he glanced at everyone. "Did you not tell them?"
Petriv gave a slight nod.
"Then I am terribly sorry," he said, backing away and giving a slight bow, which made everyone's eyes go wide.
Petriv looked panicked as he quickly spoke, raising his hands as if trying to halt a boulder tumbling down a hill. "Please, sir, there is no need."
Robert looked at him for a moment, then nodded, "Very well," he said, as he gestured for them to take a seat.
Ken nodded as he sat back on the couch, making sure not to put his feet up. While Casper sat back on his stool, Cynal and Shian continued to stand, Cynal next to the couch, while Shian stood next to the wall.
Petriv sat in the seat he was sitting in before, slightly dazed and nervous as he looked around at his team.
Robert took his own seat, an empty chair that seemed to casually dominate the room, only to be reinforced as he sat down in it.
"Now, the task that I am hiring you for," Robert said after scanning the room briefly. "There is a mine in the south near a city called Lamptin. I want your group to do two things," he said, watching their reactions.
Shian stepped forward slightly, as if to listen in better, her brow creasing in slight confusion. While Ken winced, of course, there was always something else with nobles who gave out jobs.
"First is what the job says, clear the mine of the monsters that have taken over, it's a mix of Yalmors and Natters. Which are measured to be Silver rank, which you have been newly appointed to, correct?" He said, looking at Shian, who seemed to hesitate under his gaze.
"Yes," she said, a little too hastily, "After the dungeon change, we were recognized and promoted from bronze to Silver rank."
Robert nodded, "I still find it impressive that you five took it on. It usually requires fifteen bronze and three silver to take on a gold-rank dungeon alone, let alone a trap one."
"I am glad that it was enough to bring your attention to us," she said, as she held onto a calm face.
Robert continued with a slight nod, "Yes, but onto the other task. I want you to investigate someone, ask around about a person who caused a… scene," he said, with a slight growl.
The group looked at each other in surprise, of who could have pissed off the head of the Falmil house so much.
Then Petriv spoke up, "Wait, I've heard rumors of…" he drifted off as Robert's gaze landed on him, and he audibly gulped as silence stretched.
Robert sighed and leaned back in his chair. Rubbing the bridge of his brow, "Yes, it's that man you're thinking of, Petriv." He said, like talking about him was a curse.
Shian cleared her throat as she looked at the two, "Um, who is this man? What's the context here?"
Petriv glanced at Robert, and he nodded.
"Recently, the Duke's daughter… caused a mess of sorts. She is infamous for ruining other noble houses when they try to marry her. Well, she was in a arrange marriage, and on the same day it was announced. She went to a lover's ball with a masked man, who seemingly vanished after they attended the ball," Petriv explained.
"So, he wants to find out who this man was?" Shian asked, and Robert nodded as he leaned forward.
"Information about him is sparse; he gave too many misdirections to the people he chatted with," Robert said, his fist tightening in an iron grip.
Cynal spoke for the first time since they arrived, her voice light but edged, "What happens to him after we find him? Because I don't want to kill someone unless I have to."
"That's for me to decide," Robert said coldly.
Cynal narrowed her vibrant blue eyes, "What happens if we don't find him?" she said, matching his tone.
"If you refuse to investigate, your pay will be cut in half; if you do investigate, your pay will remain the same if you find no information about him, if you do find something, you will get a bonus," Robert explained calmly, then his tone turned razor sharp, "but if I find you with-hold any information about him, you will be punished."
Shian sighed, looking at Cynal, "I know you are tender about the high classes, but even I heard some things about the incident," she said smoothly, then turned to Robert. "Could you give us more information, or any other stuff that might help with our search?"
Robert nodded as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper, and he held it out. Shian quickly took the paper, then handed it to Ken.
Ken nodded and quickly looked over the words scribbled onto it.
"Name: L'amore. Said origin, Lamptin. Black hair and fur. Beast-kin, wolf variant. Merchant. Scholar. Likely has claws. Wore a gold and black mask. Had an eastern accent. But said to be a knight hired by Elena from the noble training colosseum, " He muttered, quickly noting off the major details of the person. As he hummed in thought, looking over the more specific details.
"Whelp… that certainly is a sparse trail," Ken concluded, as he tapped his foot.
"What do you think?" Shian asked as everyone watched him. Even Robert was studying him, which sent a chill down his spine.
"Crafty fellow, knows how to speak half-truths, I can certainly tell that, but I don't think he would be a knight from the description of this," Ken said, but flinched as Robert let out a growl.
"So she lied?" he said, as if molten metal had settled. Ken nodded, "If he were a knight, their pact would force them to tell the truth. I don't think he is held by a pact, and likely… maybe another noble, or street," Ken said, reexamining the paper.
"That doesn't narrow things down," Shian said with a sigh.
Robert nodded, "Well, in any case, I want to narrow the field, so I will keep my word about the pay, even make a pact to seal the deal."
Casper, who had taken out a canteen from his spatial ring and was drinking it when Robert spoke the word pact.
Water nearly sprayed from Casper's mouth. He choked, quickly covering his face with his cloth as the others stared at Robert in disbelief.
Ken and Shian exchanged a quick glance. Being in the pocket of one of the Seven was no small thing. Shian looked at the others, and a silent agreement was made.
Robert noticed the shift and stood as he spoke. "Very well."
Instinctively, Ken, Petriv, and Casper rose with him as Cynal and Shian drew closer, forming a circle.
Robert lifted his hand in the air, palm upward, and the others followed his motion.
And for a moment, there was a tense silence as the adventuring party—Crystal—exchanged nervous looks.
Then it was broken when Robert spoke. "I, Robert Falmil, swear this task." As the words left his mouth, a thin strand of golden light slipped from his palm.
"I assign those present—Ken, Cynal, Casper, Shian, and Petriv—to clear the Gater Mines of Yalmors and Natters…"
Golden strands slipped from their own palms as their names were spoken, while Roberts grew thicker.
"…and to investigate the name and identity of L'amore within Lamptin,"
Their golden strands drifted through the air like living ribbons before spiraling around Robert's strand.
"In return for the payment promised. If I should fail to uphold my end…" the golden light flared. "…my magic will be sealed for one month, and I will repay them twice the gold I have promised."
Runes ignited on the golden strands as they grew thicker and brighter, and for a heartbeat, the light became blinding.
Then… the strands vanished, and the room fell silent.
Ken flexed his hand slowly, feeling the faint metallic tang a pact always left behind.