Hollow Crown: SSS-Ranked Godslayer’s Rise

As they approached the guild building, a wave of curious gazes followed them. Whispers trailed behind like smoke—most eyes drawn to Ethan's battered, bloodstained figure, others lingering on Lirael's gleaming golden battle-maid attire that seemed to shine unnaturally against the grime of the streets.

The moment they stepped inside, the usual clamor of voices dimmed. Adventurers hunched over their mugs or polishing gear turned, murmurs rising at the sight.

Ethan marched straight to the reception desk, the parchment crumpled tightly in his hand. With a heavy slam that echoed across the hall, he laid it down.

"The intel you gave us was wrong," he said, his tone cold and cutting, carrying enough weight that the room grew tense.

A ripple of voices stirred behind him.

"Wrong intel?"

"That's a death sentence in the field..."

"Damn... if that's true..."

The receptionist jolted at his sudden appearance, but quickly regained her composure. Her gaze flicked to the parchment, then back to his grim face.

"...I see," she said quietly, her voice heavy now with understanding. "You know what this means, don't you? If your claim is valid, the guild will pay you the due compensation." Her eyes sharpened. "But if you're lying, the fine will be… considerable."

Ethan didn't flinch. He held her stare with the same intensity that had cowed men on the battlefield. "I know the rules. Verify it. You'll see the truth for yourself."

The receptionist's lips pressed thin. Her eyes swept over his figure—clothes torn, blood dried along his arms, yet his stance unbroken. No visible wounds remained, no limp, no stagger. Healing potion? Or a staged act? the doubt crossed her mind as she studied him.

Still, the steel in his gaze wasn't something that could be faked so easily.

"Very well," she finally said, signaling to an attendant. "We'll send word to the record keepers. You'll be notified once the claim is confirmed. Until then… try to stay out of trouble."

The murmurs behind grew louder, speculation thick in the air. Some adventurers looked impressed, others skeptical—yet all eyes remained fixed on Ethan and Lirael as though waiting to see what storm would come next.

Ethan's lips curled into the faintest smirk.

"No need," he said flatly. "We dealt with the anomaly ourselves. Though…" he flexed his hand, his voice dipping with irritation, "we had to burn through some very expensive consumables to do it."

The receptionist froze for a moment, then arched a brow in disbelief.

"You dealt with it? Then where's the proof?"

Without hesitation, Ethan raised his hand, a faint shimmer glinting around his finger as he displayed a simple iron band—the fake spatial ring.

"It's right here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then show it. We need verification."

He tilted his head, a teasing sharpness in his tone. "Are you sure you want me to do that here?"

She crossed her arms. "Yes. No problem."

Ethan gave a half-smile. "Well… if you say so."

He swept his hand with practiced ease. A ripple of distorted air shimmered before the desk, and with a heavy thud that shook the wooden floor, a massive serpent's body unfurled across the guild's marble tiles. Thirty feet of dark-scaled flesh gleamed under the lantern light, its fangs still glistening with venom. The sheer bulk of it forced tables to scrape back as adventurers scrambled to make space, curses spilling out as mugs toppled and boots stumbled.

The receptionist's eyes went wide, her breath catching as the stench of blood and burnt scales filled the air.

"T-This…!" she stammered, stepping back instinctively before regaining her composure. Her gaze raked across the beast's frame, and her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Please… put it back. Immediately."

Ethan shrugged as though it were nothing. Another lazy wave, and the serpent's corpse vanished in a shimmer, leaving behind only the lingering smell of rot and venom.

The guild erupted in murmurs.

"Woooh… did you see that?!"

"By the gods, how long was that thing?"

"He actually fought it? No wonder he's half-dead… he must've burned through some crazy-expensive potions."

"Was that thirty feet?!"

"Thirty? That thing could've swallowed a horse in one bite!"

"Big enough to fit in your a—"

"Shut up!"

At the reception desk, the woman's eyes flickered slightly as recognition dawned in her eyes. Her lips parted, voice hushed but carrying to those nearby.

"…Venomfang…"

"And not only that," Ethan said, his voice carrying easily over the stunned murmurs. "We also brought proof that it was the same one mentioned in the quest."

He lifted his hand again. A shimmer rippled through the air, and with a heavy fwap, a massive length of molted serpent skin uncoiled across the polished floor. The translucent scales caught the lamplight, a faint metallic sheen gleaming across its surface. Easily twenty, perhaps twenty-five feet long, it bore the distinctive patterning of the Ironfang Serpent.

"The molted skin!" an adventurer shouted, half in awe, half in envy.

"Damn! That's priceless!"

"The researchers will lose their minds when they see this!"

"Forget minds—they'll earn a bloody fortune!"

Voices rose in excitement, the air buzzing with speculation and envy. Some pressed forward for a better look, though none dared step too close to Ethan.

The receptionist, still wide-eyed from the earlier reveal, forced herself back into composure. She leaned forward, scanning the stretched skin carefully, her quill trembling slightly in her fingers before she set it down.

"…Sir," she said, her voice now steadier, "I can confirm your claim. The quest intel was indeed wrong. You'll be compensated accordingly—along with an additional reward for subjugating the threat." She cleared her throat, gesturing toward the skin with a mixture of professional calm and undisguised greed. "It will take a moment to calculate the total. In the meantime… would you be willing to sell the spoils to the guild? A molted serpent skin of this size… it's an opportunity that comes only once in many years."

Ethan's answer came flat and cold. "No."

No explanation. No hesitation. Just the single word.

The receptionist's lips parted, but she quickly smoothed her expression back into professional neutrality. "...Very well." She took out her ledger, forcing herself to remain businesslike. "Then, may I see your adventurer badges for verification?"

Ethan slipped his out and set it down with a tap, Lirael following suit. She glanced at them, and for the first time, her brows shot upward.

"…Rank C… and Rank D?" Her eyes flicked up to meet Ethan's, disbelief tugging at her otherwise calm mask. "Sir, may I make a suggestion?"

He raised an eyebrow, silent.

"You should apply for a rank promotion test. Immediately. A Venomfang is a peak-tier B-ranked threat. Even with heavy consumables, slaying one with just two members is nearly unheard of. The guild would… recognize such strength."

Ethan chuckled softly, glancing sideways. Lirael was already watching him, amusement dancing in her golden eyes. She tilted her head, lips curving in a playful smirk that silently teased: Well? You've already shown off this much…

Meeting her gaze, Ethan let a faint smile tug at his lips. He turned back to the receptionist and said simply—

"…Yes. We'll take it."

The guild hall buzzed anew, louder than before. The words "promotion test" sparked like fire among dry kindling, and for the first time that night, Ethan allowed himself to enjoy the storm he had stirred.