"Good morning, Mr. Vaelin."
Mark blinked, the lingering haze of sleep swept away by a sudden wave of alertness.
That voice…
Standing in the quiet hallway of Ivory Haven, the familiar figure radiated an authority that seemed to chill the air around her. Her white hair was so pure it almost emitted a pale glow under the morning light, framing a face of delicate, severe features.
Her ice-blue eyes analyzed Mark with sharp clarity, searching for any reaction.
Isolda.
Mark's thoughts began running loose.
What was the Guild's Vice-Leader doing here, knocking on his door this early?
The image of the table split in half and the tremor that shook Ivory Haven's foundations the previous night surfaced in his mind. He knew he'd caused a commotion, but Isolda standing in front of his room felt a bit excessive.
Had he drawn her attention?
It wasn't like he had killed someone.
Mark had only struck the table with his strength and… made the entire structure shake.
Well, phrased like that, his actions did sound a little dangerous from the outside.
But, in his defense, control over his strength wasn't something he could precisely manage in a moment of anger.
The world was no longer a game, and as much as he wanted to manage the use of his power, there was no longer an interface floating in front of his eyes telling him exactly how much damage he needed to deal to destroy something without bringing the building down.
In the game, strength was a numeric, absolute value—an algorithm-controlled stat.
In real life, that simply no longer existed.
Isolda, unaware of the storm of thoughts running behind Mark's neutral expression, shifted her gaze from his face to his body, examining him with slow, analytical precision.
It was truly peculiar.
Mark was wearing only Ivory Haven's silk robe, a thin fabric that draped over his shoulders and hung open at the chest, exposing skin and the defined line of his musculature.
Over that relaxed garment, the [Threat Dissipation Cloak] wrapped around him like a solid shadow.
To Isolda, the combination was visually dissonant, bordering on absurd. Her icy eyes gleamed for a brief moment with contained confusion.
"Mr. Vaelin has a… peculiar taste in morning attire."
Mark held her gaze, his expression returning to its usual emotional emptiness.
He wasn't bothered in the slightest by his appearance.
"It was a little cold this morning." He adjusted the cloak subtly. "May I ask why the Guild's Vice-Leader has come to visit me personally?"
Mark asked shamelessly, even though he knew the answer.
Isolda tilted her head slightly, hands clasped behind her back.
"You truly don't know the reason?"
"I have an idea." Mark replied dryly, offering no details she could use against him.
Isolda stepped forward, locking her eyes directly with his, her voice taking on the sharp tone of a superior delivering a sentence.
"Last night, I received a report from Ivory Haven. It described what was referred to as a 'high-density mana pulse attack.' Does that sound familiar?"
Here it was.
"Maybe." Mark blinked.
Isolda's cold expression shifted almost imperceptibly at that answer.
Maybe?
In her years of service in the Guild, she'd dealt with all kinds of adventurers. There were those who begged for forgiveness and those who lied without shame.
But Mark's neutrality was something new. Isolda wondered whether he was genuinely clueless about the consequences of his actions or simply testing her patience.
Either way, the arrogance implied in that "maybe" made the temperature in the hallway drop a few more degrees.
"I was informed that a guest in one of the rooms had broken the Civil Protection Law, which strictly forbids the use of powers inside urban establishments without combat justification."
Mark froze for a few seconds, processing the information.
So he had broken a law?
In his mind, he had only punched a table in a moment of private anger; he never imagined that a domestic stress outburst would turn into a civil offense.
To Mark, the consequences still felt disproportionate, a leftover habit from his gamer mentality where the environment was indestructible or irrelevant. He never expected the Guild's Vice-Leader herself to come all the way to his door over what he considered a furniture problem.
Isolda took another step forward, closing the distance. The movement carried a faint fragrance with it.
Up close, the details of her face were even clearer.
Her skin was pale as marble, and her lashes—white like her hair—framed eyes that didn't look human, but like two polished ice stones.
There wasn't a single flaw in her features.
Mark felt the air drop several degrees, a thin veil of cold mana beginning to emanate from the woman.
Not that this was a problem for him. As a vampire, his body temperature was naturally low, and cold wasn't a threat. He remained still, the icy mist sliding over his skin without causing the slightest shiver, while he kept his gaze locked on hers.
"After the staff contacted us, they provided the room number and the name of the guest responsible for the disturbance. The Guild quickly checked whether there was an adventurer registered under that name." Isolda continued, letting a faint hint of irony slip into her frigid tone.
"To my surprise, it turned out to be Mr. Vaelin. Considering our recent agreement and your current situation as a newcomer… I decided to visit personally."
This woman was trying to intimidate him?
"Under Guild law, the indiscriminate use of mana in civil areas results in immediate suspension of the license and a fine that would consume a fortune in gold coins. In some cases, the offender is escorted to the Guild's underground isolation cells until their 'stability' is proven."
Mark narrowed his eyes.
She was definitely trying to intimidate him.
"Are you going to escort me?" Mark didn't back down even a centimeter; instead, he tilted his head slightly, a spark of curiosity appearing in his dark eyes.
The tone wasn't defiant, but purely curious, as if he were genuinely interested.
Isolda held his gaze for a few seconds.
…
...
......
The silence grew heavy, charged with static tension. Then, the corner of Isolda's lips lifted into an almost imperceptible smile—one devoid of warmth.
"You are now a Gold-Rank adventurer, Mr. Vaelin. I told you I would keep an eye on you, and that is exactly what I am doing."
She relaxed her posture slightly, but the weight in her voice didn't ease.
"If the Guild's Vice-Leader had to personally appear every time an adventurer caused trouble, I'd hardly have time to perform my duties. The fact that Ivory Haven contacted us would not, on its own, be enough reason for me to come here."
Isolda reached into her tunic pocket and pulled out a scroll sealed with the Guild's dark-blue wax emblem. She held it between her fingers, gently swaying it.
"I've been monitoring your actions at the Guild. I noticed that, so far, you haven't accepted a single mission. Perhaps the reception forgot to mention an important detail in their rush to hand you your identification, but there is a strict protocol for those who rank up: after accepting a Gold-Rank ID, you are required to accept and complete a mission of equivalent level within one week. Otherwise, your license is suspended for a competence reevaluation. And, as my reports show, you haven't accepted any."
'Eh?'
Mark felt a spark of surprise.
Isolda's narrative had taken a sudden turn he didn't expect; she hadn't come with the intention of punishing him or dragging him to a cell for last night.
Instead, she was using the incident as an excuse to force him into action?
Internally, part of him felt relieved, while another remained confused by the outcome.
He was still adjusting to this world's social rules. It had only been a few days since he stepped onto this new land.
Of course, Mark didn't fear punishment in the conventional sense. He knew he could simply leave Luminaris or, in an extreme case, fight back.
However, discretion was still his top priority.
As long as he remained in Luminaris, maintaining the disguise of an adventurer was the easiest way to explore without drawing the eyes of entities far more problematic than the Guild.
"This mission," Isolda continued, extending the scroll toward his chest, "will be your 'punishment' and your proof of competence. Consider it my way of applying your penalty for breaking civil protection rules and causing that… minor earthquake last night. The Guild will handle the rest."
Despite her using the word "punishment," the reality was quite different.
On paper, he would be recorded for an incident, but in practice, the Guild was sweeping his mess under the rug.
She didn't truly care about what happened last night.
In the end, her real purpose in coming personally was to deliver the mission and ensure he accepted it, treating the chaos from the previous night as a technical debt to be paid through service.
Thinking about it made Mark narrow his eyes. He extended his hand and took the scroll, feeling the rough paper between his fingers.
'A mission…'
A mission delivered directly by the Guild's vice-leader.
That didn't sound good.
Mark tore his gaze from the item and fixed it on Isolda, studying her unshakable expression.
"Is this the treatment every Gold-Rank adventurer receives?" he asked, skepticism in his voice. "I won't be punished for my actions. Is Gold Rank a free pass to do whatever I want? What if I had caused something more serious?"
Isolda remained still, staring at him in complete silence for a few seconds.
But her expression—until now an impenetrable mask of ice—faltered for an instant, becoming almost astonished by his question.
It was as if she had just heard the most absurd question of her career.
"Mr. Vaelin, you are truly a strange man," she replied, her voice carrying genuine surprise.
"Do you wish to be punished? This is the first time I've met a Gold-Rank adventurer with a moral sense so high it borders on innocence… or foolishness. Truly inspiring."
Isolda tilted her head slightly, her white brows arching in genuine astonishment, as if she were examining a rare, incomprehensible creature that had just appeared before her.
'Borders on… innocence?' Mark thought.
Innocence?
Foolishness?
Her words echoed through the silent hallway, bouncing inside Mark's mind.
He froze for a moment, time slowing as he processed her observation.
Did he wish to be punished for his actions?
Mark didn't need to think long. A bitter taste rose on his tongue.
No. He didn't want punishment. No sane person, given the chance to walk away unscathed, would choose punishment. So why was he questioning the lack of consequences?
Why that almost instinctive need to be held accountable for the damage he caused?
Was he expecting some invisible hand to balance the scales?
In that moment, a realization clicked.
Mark finally understood what was happening.
Oh, he had been truly foolish.
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
Mark had been reasoning like an ordinary Earth citizen who made a mistake and expected the system to enforce proper consequences.
Like a low-level player fearing the NPCs' reaction.
This entire time—
Mark had been thinking like someone from Earth who did something wrong, forgetting that, to the Guild, raw power was far too valuable a resource to waste, even if it involved…
Crimes.
To the Guild, a Gold-Rank adventurer was a high-value strategic asset. A military resource they couldn't afford to throw away.
It didn't matter what he had done at Ivory Haven—as long as he didn't cause an irreparable diplomatic incident, the Guild would never punish him severely.
Jailing a Gold-Rank for breaking a table would be like a country scrapping a war tank because it dented a fence.
And Mark's "crime" was irrelevant in the face of his potential. Isolda wasn't here to enforce justice.
She never was.
Her intention was maintenance. To maintain a tool that had just shown how powerful—and unstable—it could be.
"The world is not a fair place, Mr. Vaelin, and the Guild is not a moral charity," Isolda said, recovering her mask of coldness.
"A Gold-Rank adventurer has the privilege of the benefit of the doubt."
"…" Mark looked at the scroll in his hand.
As he absorbed those thoughts, a sharp noise of something hitting wood echoed from a dark corner of the room.
Clack!
It was Pippin.
Hidden in the shadows, the little servant had lost control for a second.
Hearing Isolda call his Sovereign's morality "foolish" made him furious, and in his suppressed anger, he ended up kicking one of the dresser's legs.
Isolda's eyes swept the shadows in search of the source, but the small servant had already merged perfectly into the absolute darkness, making any attempt to spot him futile.
For a moment, the cold mana around her seemed to crackle, wanting to seep into the room, but Mark's body blocked the doorway.
After a few heartbeats, Isolda dismissed it.
A building that had just suffered structural shaking could easily make noises.
She returned her full attention to Mark, who still stood with the scroll in hand.
"Time is short, Mr. Vaelin," she said, her voice regaining its official cadence.
"Your presence is required at the Guild in two hours for formalization. There, you will accept the terms and receive the necessary provisions. Do not be late."
Mark, still caught in the whirlpool of his own thoughts, nodded almost mechanically.
His mind was miles away.
"The mission's content…" he murmured, voice low and shallow, as if speaking to himself. "What is it?"
Isolda had already begun to turn, but stopped halfway, glancing back over her shoulder.
"The technical details and strategic objective will be revealed when the time comes. You will learn everything you need during the official briefing."
You will?
Mark's daze vanished instantly.
He lifted his head, dark eyes sharpening with sudden focus.
"You will?" he repeated, frowning. "There will be more people involved?"
Isolda nodded, her white hair shimmering under the hallway light. "An operation of this level requires redundancy. You will not be the only one. Other Gold-Rank adventurers will be assigned to the group. You are heading east."
East…
'Hm?'
East?