Eina picked up one of the stones, examining its dull luster under the lamplight. Her brows drew together slightly, setting it down with deliberate care.
"Judging by the quality, they're from outside the Dungeon." Her quill hovered over a fresh ledger page.
"Typically, three goblin magic stones from the Dungeon would cost approximately 1,080 valis, 330 valis per stone."
Her finger tapped the inferior specimens. "But these... at most I could offer 630 valis, a rate of 210 valis per stone." She stated honestly.
LeoNova exhaled sharply through his nose, almost fifty percent less than the ones from the Dungeon.
"Fair enough," he said, sliding the stones across the polished wood.
The valis clinked as Eina counted them into a small pouch, her fingers moving with the efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times before.
LeoNova took the pouch, weighing it in his palm, light, but not insignificant.
"Thank you."
LeoNova pocketed the valis, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his trousers. The coins jingled softly, 'enough for a meal, perhaps,' he mused.
Eina tapped her quill against the ledger, her emerald eyes lingering on him for a fraction too long. "Be careful," she murmured, almost too quietly to hear. Then, louder: "Remember, the Dungeon isn't forgiving to the unprepared."
LeoNova dipped his chin in acknowledgment before turning away, heading towards the exit.
The guild's clamor faded behind him as he slipped through the Guild's door.
As he stepped into the streets, his thoughts shifted to his small pouch of coins.
By his own calculations, a little over six hundred valis wouldn't last long in this city. Though he wasn't too concerned. He'd make a lot more valis once he started delving into the Dungeon.
Outside, the evening sun cast long shadows across the streets, painting the cobblestones into a molten gold hue. It wouldn't be long before nightfall.
LeoNova exhaled slowly, making his way through the streets.
At that moment, something prickled his enhanced senses, the sensation sharp as a blade's tip tracing skin. He didn't turn. He didn't need to.
His footsteps slowed imperceptibly as he wove through the thinning crowd.
The sensation intensified, not the clumsy gazes of ordinary civilians or street thugs, but the practiced, intense stare of someone who knew how to disappear into a city's pulse.
He paused at a fruit cart, examining bruised apples with feigned interest while his peripheral vision caught a flicker of movement in a nearby alley.
Too smooth to be accidental.
'Typical,' he sighed, he was being followed.
LeoNova noted the shifting shadows in his periphery, always ten to fifteen paces behind, never closer.
His pursuer moved with the liquid grace of someone used to vanishing into crowds, their footfalls syncing perfectly with the din of Orario's evening bustle.
He turned into a narrow alleyway between two crumbling tenements; his movements deliberate and precise. His fingers brushed against the rough brickwork as he rounded a corner, then, he pivoted sharply, his dagger already in hand, slipping from its sheath.
"Clang...!'' steel met steel in a shower of sparks that illuminated the alley's gloom. The force reverberated up LeoNova's arm, his muscles straining a bit against the blow.
'Definitely not an amateur,' he assessed instantly.
The pursuer vaulted backwards, quickly taking a controlled stance.
Judging by the precision of the counterstrike, this was at least a Level 1 adventurer.
His golden eyes narrowed as he locked gazes with his assailant: a lithe figure shrouded in a tattered cloak, their face obscured by a scarf woven from silver threads.
The air between them crackled with tension, like two predators sizing each other up. LeoNova adjusted his grip on the dagger, feeling the leather-wrapped hilt bite into his palm.
His pursuer shifted their weight almost imperceptibly, their stance fluid as mercury, no wasted movement, no telltale tension in the shoulders before striking.
Steel flashed again, not purely brute force, but with surgical precision. Their blades danced in a rain of sparks, faster than the average eye could follow.
LeoNova grinned as his instincts surged. His dagger twisted mid-air, redirecting the cloaked figure's strike just enough for him to pivot, his heel skidding against damp cobblestones as his calves tensed.
He leaped up, whipping a roundhouse kick so fast it hummed through the air. The cloak billowed as his attacker arched backward, barely avoiding the strike.
The attacker exhaled sharply, something flickering in his dark eyes, admiration or irritation? before retaliating with a spinning slash aimed for LeoNova's neck.
LeoNova twisted sideways, but not fast enough, steel bit into his shoulder. Blood droplets darkened his tattered vest, but before they could even trickle down his sleeve, the wound stitched itself back together beneath torn fabric, leaving only a faint pink mark that faded within seconds.
The attacker froze, retreating into a defensive stance, his blade still outstretched.
His eyes narrowed, his enhanced vision taking note of the unnatural regeneration taking place before his very eyes.
A single drop of LeoNova's blood slid from steel to cobblestones, vanishing into vapor before impact. The alleyway's silence thickened. The scarf-wrapped face tilted, dark eyes narrowing beneath the hood.
"Interesting," the attacker murmured, a voice like oiled hinges, low and rough. Then he moved.
The alley exploded into blurred motion, steel flashing faster than before, boots scraping stone with deliberate, vicious drags, the cloak whipping like a living being.
No hesitation now. No quarter given. Every slash carried the weight of someone who'd spilled blood in the Dungeon's shadowed guts.
LeoNova ducked under a diagonal cut that would've cleaved his skull, his golden pupils contracting as steel hissed millimeters above his scalp. His dagger flicked upward, not to parry, but to counterattack, only for his opponent's knee to slam into his ribs with bone-jarring precision.
Air burst from his lungs in a wet cough, his body twisting with the impact, yet his blade never wavered, it grazed fabric, drawing a thin line of crimson across the attacker's thigh.
The cloaked figure didn't stagger. Didn't gasp. Only pressed forward like a surging storm, his blade becoming a silver blur. LeoNova tasted iron as his forearm took a shallow gash, the wound sealing before his next heartbeat.
Then the real assault began.
The attacker's blade moved differently now, no longer testing, no longer probing. Steel carved through the alley's gloom with lethal certainty, each slash aimed to disembowel, decapitate, or sever limbs.
LeoNova's glowing eyes tracked the patterns in the dim light: a feint toward his throat twisted mid-motion into a gutting upward thrust, a diagonal sweep that flicked at the last second, stabbing towards his chest.
LeoNova pivoted, his dagger scraping against the attacker's steel in a shriek of sparks, the force behind the blow sent tremors up his arm. His boots skidded backward, grinding against loose cobblestones.
With zero hesitation. The attacker flowed forward like spilled ink, the cloak swallowing the dim light as he pressed the assault. A knee crashed into LeoNova's chest with a resounding crack, followed instantly by a pommel strike to his temple that sent him reeling.
He crashed into the wall behind him with a loud thud. Blood trickled from LeoNova's lip as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The metallic tang lingering on his tongue, sharp and electric.
His left ear sang like a whistle, a thin line of blood ran from his ear to his cheek.
The attacker didn't pause, didn't gloat, just kept moving, blade weaving patterns too fast for untrained eyes to follow.