The Fallen One

The Adventurer's Association wasn't just an organisation—it was the lifeblood of Varis. A regulatory authority, a sanctuary, and for many, a second home.

If someone needed something from the Beast Rims, they didn't just march into the wild lands. They submitted a request. The guild processed it, refined it into a detailed poster, and displayed it for all to see, outlining the requirements, rules, specifications, time limits, and most importantly, the reward.

A limited-time job offering; huge payouts, Greater risks. This was how adventurers lived.

They ventured into the Rims, battled creatures, gathered resources, and returned with whatever they could claim—sometimes wealth, sometimes wounds, and sometimes, nothing at all, not even their lives.

Even if someone wanted to enter the Rims without a request, they still had to gain approval from the guild. Whether for hunting, resource gathering, or personal reasons, their entry was processed, evaluated, and granted within minutes, sometimes an hour, depending on the details.

Time estimations were compulsory—when they'd enter, how long they'd stay, and when to expect them back. If a party failed to return on time and no message came explaining the delay, a search squadron was dispatched.

"So, can the guild refuse an adventurer's request to enter the Rims?" Lucius's voice broke the quiet, pulling Sia from her thoughts. He trailed a few steps behind, struggling to keep pace, prompting her to slow down as they turned a corner. She glanced at him. "Yes and no."

He looked up at her, clearly expecting a proper explanation. "No," she continued, "because Varis—and even Verdun—depend on the Rims. Our economy thrives on the resources, the corpses, and the materials harvested from those lands. The guild cannot simply deny us entry. They can only regulate the flow of incomings and outgoings."

Lucius absorbed the answer silently, but Sia added one more thing before he could respond. "And yes—under special circumstances." She didn't elaborate. He didn't press.

As they walked, Lucius reached out and gently gripped her hand. It was a quiet gesture, perhaps one of comfort or silent reassurance. There was still time before the unavoidable, but Sia wanted this chapter closed once and for all... Then, she noticed it. Her attire wasn't appropriate for this district.

The lingering stares from a group of men confirmed it. Their gazes lasted a second too long, filled with assumptions they had no right to make. Disrespectful. A subtle pulse of her aura sent a silent warning, and they looked away immediately.

Lucius caught her faint smirk. "You look good when you smile," he said innocently. His face turned red the moment he realised what he'd said. His head dropped in embarrassment. Sia turned toward him, her voice low but teasing. "Oh? Does that mean I don't look good when I'm not smiling?"

His eyes widened. "N-No! That's not what I meant!" He scrambled for words, clearly panicked.

She chuckled, enjoying his flustered reaction. "You're one to talk, my devilishly handsome student. A better outfit, and you'd have all the princesses of Verdun flocking around you."

"What?! Stop it, please!" He waved his hands frantically, red-faced and pleading, which only made her amusement grow. But then her smile faded.

Something struck her, something she should have noticed far earlier. "Nothing, dear," she said softly, smiling again to ease the tension.

Lucius walked ahead for a change, now recognising the route. His endurance had grown. A small, but notable, progression, yet Sia's thoughts lingered. Lucius looked like an heir—at the very least, someone from a noble family.

His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and structured brow weren't traits common among Varis's working class. They were refined, exclusively seen in children of wealth and power, and now that she looked closely from behind…

His back was broad—naturally so. Not the kind of strength born of training, but the sort inherited through combat-oriented bloodlines.

He isn't a commoner; he can't be... "Left, right?" Lucius asked, hesitating at the intersection.

She blinked, then pointed towards their right. "Yes." He nodded and took the turn, only after her confirmation.

His eyes—their colour was common, a dark brown often seen across Varis. But their shape? Too small. Too deeply set. With a natural, linear curve beneath each eye—a trait she'd only seen in a handful of people before.

Something clicked; that day, the day she found him, his clothes had been old and dusty. But he wasn't starving. His body was stable. Well-fed. Clean—too clean for someone supposedly surviving in a forest alone. A small chill ran down her spine. 'Someone took care of him.' No, someone—or something—had taken exceptional care of him... Before abandoning him.

Or had they been forced to? She didn't know. She had no way of knowing. But one thing was now crystal clear. Lucius, with his fractured mana core, uncanny endurance, and impossible survival without magic, meant he had protection.

***

Lucius wiped sweat from his brow. "Yeah, yeah, I get it." He waved a hand dismissively. "When the authorities ask about Crimson Ultima—Mr. Ragnar's sword—I'll say it was lost in battle. But what if they send an inquiry party? You mentioned it before, didn't you? Your guild has specialised officers for this kind of thing."

Truthfully, he didn't understand the need for secrecy. The guild wouldn't find anything incriminating, but hiding Crimson Ultima? That felt unnecessary.

Sia remained calm. "Yes, about that," she began. "Whenever an adventurer party returns from the Beast Rims and one of their members is… missing, the guild takes immediate action. Each survivor is questioned—sometimes interrogated—by guild officers. Simultaneously, a squad of elite investigators is dispatched to the last known location of the missing person.

Her tone remained neutral, but the weight behind her words was unmistakable. "The information gathered from survivors is always cross-checked with what the investigators find at the scene. Only after that process does the guild issue an official verdict," she said, her pace steady as they moved deeper into the upper heart of the city. Lucius frowned, his brows knitting together as he processed her words. "So… it's to prevent backstabbing?" he asked. Sia nodded without hesitation, her gaze fixed ahead. "Exactly. Backstabbing is disgustingly common among adventurers. If someone carries a superior weapon, armour, or enchanted artefact, others might lure them into the Beast Rims—where the laws of the Empire and Guild hold no sway, kill them, and return claiming a beast attack took their life."

Lucius didn't speak immediately. The logic was sound, but unsettling. In a world already riddled with threats beyond human comprehension, it was sobering to think the true danger might just as easily come from within one's own party. "So both the knights and the guild officers question survivors?" he asked again, hoping to confirm the protocol. "Yes," came her clipped reply. She didn't offer further explanation, and Lucius didn't push. He simply mulled it over quietly, acknowledging how the very system designed to protect and empower adventurers had, over time, been moulded to prevent them from turning on each other.

Truthfully, he still didn't understand the need for such secrecy in their case. The adventurers who died during the Ghost Bear encounter had brought it upon themselves, according to what Sia told him. They'd disobeyed protocol, underestimated the threat, and abandoned reason. The Guild wouldn't find anything incriminating—not unless they chose to invent it. Yet despite that, Sia had warned him to keep Crimson Ultima hidden, even to lie if questioned. That part still didn't sit right with him. "Is it really that strong?" he asked, glancing sideways at her. "I get that it's fancy and powerful, but is it worth all this trouble?"

Sia turned her head just enough to meet his gaze, her golden eyes sharp. "That 'fancy weapon' you inherited is a Special-ranked artefact," she said, the words deliberate, the weight behind them impossible to miss. Lucius blinked in surprise, unsure if he'd heard her right. She didn't wait for him to process it. "Do you realise how rare and powerful such weapons are? They're one in a million, Lucius. Crimson Ultima isn't just a longsword—it has its own mana nature. The flames you saw during the battle weren't Ragnar's. They came from the blade itself."

'A fire sword!?" Lucius felt a chill run down his spine. That changed everything. He'd assumed those fiery outbursts had been a manifestation of Ragnar's own power, not the sword's. Sia exhaled slowly, her voice quieter now. "Had Ragnar not entrusted it to you directly, I would've surrendered it to the guild without hesitation. He had no legacy. No surviving family. His team was his family—and now, they're all dead." A brief silence fell between them, filled only by the distant hum of the city. It wasn't grief that lingered—it was resolve.

"Does that mean the guild will try to take the sword if they find it?" Lucius asked, already knowing the answer. Sia's expression didn't waver. "Yes. Even if they knew Ragnar passed it down to you, they'd take it anyway. That weapon belongs to you—and you alone. And I'll make sure you inherit it when the time is right—per Lord Ragnar's final wish." Her voice hardened, her disdain for the bureaucracy palpable. "As for the guild? Those greedy bastards can go fuck themselves."

Lucius couldn't help but grin at that, even as the weight of what she'd said settled in. It wasn't just about a sword. It was about legacy, risk, and survival. Carrying Crimson Ultima meant more than power—it meant danger. He would become a target.

"We're five minutes from the guild," she added, shifting the subject as their surroundings grew busier. The walkway was now crowded with armoured figures—warriors with swords strapped to their backs, mages wrapped in enchanted robes, scouts and rogues moving with quiet confidence. Some stood near the edges, preparing for another expedition into the Beast Rims, while others huddled in groups, laughing and exchanging stories, their postures betraying the strain of recent battles.

Lucius watched them all, absorbing the atmosphere. This wasn't just a building—they were approaching a system, a living machine of blood, coin, and survival. He turned to her again, curiosity returning. "Tell me more about the artefact ranks." Sia nodded approvingly. "There are five main ranks," she said. "Common—cheap, disposable, everywhere. Uncommon—still widely available, but better crafted. Epic—rare, like June's staff. One in ten to a hundred thousand. Special—like Crimson Ultima. One in a million to ten million. Each one has an identity, a mana nature, a presence that changes the user." She paused briefly before continuing. "And finally… Legendary. The pinnacle of all artefacts. One in a billion, if that. Most were lost or destroyed during the Great War, over a thousand years ago."

Lucius let out a low whistle under his breath. A Special-ranked weapon with a unique mana affinity. He'd gone from a powerless orphan to the bearer of a weapon even top knights might covet. It was a lot to take in. He knew it would paint a target on his back—not just now, but for years to come. His fingers twitched slightly, brushing against the edge of his tunic. The sword's phantom weight felt heavier than ever.

Sia noticed his tension. "We'll talk more about that later," she said gently, nudging his arm. "For now—heads up. We're here."

The sight in front of him stole whatever thoughts remained. The Adventurer's Guild wasn't a hall—it was a monument. A massive, domed structure surrounded by lush gardens, sculpted fountains, and towering stonework carved with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The entire structure radiated dignity and quiet menace. At its centre, a colossal insignia gleamed between layers of white and brown stone, vaguely reminiscent of the Lunar Wall's crescent insignia.

Lucius stared, overwhelmed. The entrance alone was massive—easily large enough for a Swamp Orc to pass through without ducking. There were no guards stationed outside, and none were needed. The presence of the building alone was enough to command respect. Off to the side, he noticed training zones, meditation yards, even yoga circles. Everything was precisely arranged, clean, and humming with power. Adventurers moved in and out with purpose, laughter, and fatigue on their faces.

"Let's go in and get this over with," Sia said, striding forward with purpose. Lucius followed her inside, eyes scanning everything. The reception hall was clean and enormous. A tall, dark wooden counter ran along the wall where a woman in her thirties sat, dressed immaculately and holding a stack of enchanted parchments. Her presence was calm, confident, and calculating.

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"Ms. Kiwi," Sia began, her voice formal now, authoritative but controlled. "We're here for additional questioning. Please inform Sir Dargan that I've brought the only other surviving witness."

The receptionist—clearly no stranger to Sia—nodded politely before looking around. "Where is this witness?" Before Lucius could speak, his feet left the ground. Sia had lifted him effortlessly and now held him up at face level with the counter like he was a sack of grain.

"Hehe," he chuckled, utterly caught off guard but trying to play along. "Hiya, Ms. Kiwi. I'm Lucius."

The woman blinked. She stared, clearly surprised, and then her expression softened with restrained amusement. "It's nice to finally meet you, Lucius. I've heard quite a bit about you, little one." Her voice was gentle but carried a weight that told him she wasn't just some clerk. She looked toward Sia. "Please release him. He looks uncomfortable… and a little embarrassed."

Sia glanced down at Lucius, golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if gauging his reaction. He nodded quickly, and she let go, dropping him unceremoniously onto his feet with all the grace of a bird tossing out a chick from the nest.

"How did you know he was uncomfortable?" Sia asked, genuinely baffled by Ms. Kiwi's read.

"Through his eyes, old friend," Kiwi replied with a soft, knowing smile, one that hinted at long experience. Perhaps she was simply used to reading people this way—peeling back their thoughts with a glance.

The awkwardness of the moment quickly faded. Lucius was ushered to a long, L-shaped sofa while Sia was led away by Ms. Kiwi for her own debriefing. In her place, another woman—older and equally observant—remained nearby, quietly keeping watch over him. Left alone now—surrounded by seasoned warriors and battle-hardened adventurers—he had expected to feel dwarfed, if not entirely overwhelmed. And yet… he didn't. Instead, he felt grounded. Their mana-filled presence, their heavy auras pressing in from every side, should have suffocated him. But it didn't. In fact, it felt strangely familiar. Like standing beneath a great storm—one that didn't seek to destroy, but to shape.

Some of the adventurers spared him curious or disapproving glances, as if wondering why a child was seated so comfortably inside their sanctum, yet none approached. None questioned his presence. Instead, a group of four positioned themselves a few meters away, claiming a curved sectional couch of their own. Among them sat a woman whose posture instantly drew his attention. There was an ease in the way she leaned back, a confidence too deliberate to be casual. She was likely their leader, he realised, and young, maybe in her early twenties. But her age didn't soften the aura of danger she exuded. If anything, it sharpened it.

She wore polished silver armour, with a matching pair of medium-length swords strapped to either side of her waist. A massive shield rested on her back, partially hidden beneath a thick, dark cloak. Her straight black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, hiding bits of her plaiting, but not the subtle gleam of enchantment that shimmered when the light hit her just right. Then—without warning—she winked. Both of her eyes, a deep and striking blue like glacial ponds under moonlight, closed in unison in a playful gesture that caught Lucius completely off guard. A smirk followed—arrogant, amused.

He stiffened, unsure how to respond, but before he could do anything, a shadow loomed in his peripheral vision. A tall figure had stepped into his line of sight, cutting off his view of the mysterious woman completely. Lucius looked up. The man was lean, towering, and bore a faint resemblance to Rey—there was something in the shape of his jaw, the tilt of his head. He sat beside Lucius without a word, his presence sudden and deliberate. Despite the calm in his expression, it was clear this wasn't a coincidence.

Refusing to back down, Lucius leaned slightly to the side, trying to peer past the man. The woman, still watching, tilted her head ever so slightly, her smirk deepening. Their silent exchange lingered—two people trying to outstare each other. But then the man beside him shifted. He turned toward her and dipped his head in a small, respectful bow. She responded with the same subtle grace, placing two fingers gently to her chest and bowing back, never once dropping her smirk.

A beat passed, and then the man laughed. It was a deep, booming laugh that immediately drew the attention of nearby adventurers.

"You've got good eyes, little one," he said, his voice full of mirth. "Out of everyone in this hall, you chose to lock gazes with the most dangerous person here. That deserves some credit."

Lucius blinked. His mind reeled. 'What?! How was I supposed to know that!?' The confusion must have been plain on his face, because the man laughed even louder, reaching out and slapping a massive hand on Lucius's back hard enough to rattle his bones.

"I'm joking, little guy. Relax," he said with a wide grin. "That woman you saw—her name is Jhansi. She's the heir of a fallen noble house, and one of the youngest and most dangerous adventurers in all of Varis. At just nineteen, she built her own elite squadron: the Flying Daggers. Eighteen warriors hand-picked by her—and trust me when I say this—she's stronger than all of them."

Lucius blinked again. A prodigy, then. Another monster on the field. Fantastic. The man leaned in slightly, his expression shifting from playful to focused. "But enough about her. What about you, kid? What's your story?"

His sudden pivot made Lucius bristle. There was an odd duality to the man—warmth and scrutiny, interwoven in a way that was hard to read. Still, Lucius answered with a half-dismissive shrug. "There's nothing interesting about me, Mr. Kind Asshole," he muttered, lowering his gaze slightly, pretending not to notice the flicker of shock that crossed the man's face. For a moment, Lucius wondered if he'd gone too far—but the man burst out laughing again.

"Ahahaha! Well, now, that's a new one!" he clapped his hands together, clearly amused. "Pardon me, little guy. My name's Dargan. I'm the Guild Master of Varis."

Lucius stared at him. "You?" he asked before he could stop himself. "Me," Dargan said, still grinning.

Lucius exhaled, trying to compose himself. "My name's Lucius. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dargan," he said, doing his best to speak respectfully. "I was an orphan… technically, I still am. But ever since Lady Sia took me in as her student, I'm not really sure what to call myself anymore."

Dargan nodded slowly. "An orphan, huh? And that name—Sia didn't give it to you, did she? That woman's terrible at naming things. Always has been."

Lucius almost laughed. Master Sia? Bad at naming? That was a new idea. "No," he replied honestly. "I remembered it when Sister June asked. It just… came to me."

Dargan's eyes softened. "Ah, June… I remember that poor girl. What a tragedy her team suffered." His voice dropped. "May the Almighty grant them peace." Lucius nodded in agreement, though his thoughts were more occupied with Dawn than the rest.

"I heard it was a Ghost Bear," Dargan continued, the shift in tone almost imperceptible. "Do you know what happened? How did Sia and Ragnar manage to kill it?" There it was—the real reason for this conversation.

Lucius's posture didn't change. He kept his voice subdued, childlike. He recounted the story as he'd practised: vague, careful, appropriately emotional but not suspiciously so. Nothing beyond what a frightened child might have seen. When Dargan didn't interrupt, Lucius knew he was treading the line perfectly. But then Dargan's eyes sharpened, just slightly.

"And what happened to his weapon?" he asked, as if in passing. "The fancy, shiny sword he must've carried?" There, the actual question. Lucius frowned, playing the part. He furrowed his brows, trying to look like someone digging through hazy, half-forgotten memories. After a long pause, he gave a small, helpless shrug.

Lucius tilted his head slightly, gaze calm despite the pressure.

"I'm sorry," he said with practised innocence. "But I don't know. Before Master Sia killed the beast, I was forced to retreat deeper into the forest. I couldn't withstand the mana clash—it made me sick." Before Dargan could press further, a voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk.

"What are you doing?" Lady Jhansi had approached without warning, her presence igniting the space around her like a lit fuse. Three of her squad members flanked her silently, each one brimming with readiness. Dargan froze mid-thought. "Noth—Ahem! Nothing, Miss Jhansi. Just having a friendly conversation with this fine young man here—"

Her sharp gaze shifted to Lucius. "He was interrogating me, ma'am," Lucius said simply, meeting her eyes with an unflinching expression.

A ripple of tension passed through her unit. "This is about Crimson Ultima!" one of her warriors growled, stepping forward. "And you call yourself his friend?!" Dargan turned pale as it happened. A thunderclap of raw mana tore through the space, Jhansi's aura erupting with Mana force.

The entire hall trembled as the atmosphere thickened, the air growing heavy with invisible pressure. But it wasn't a physical force pressing down—it was pure mana. Jhansi wasn't simply flaring her aura; she was targeting Dargan directly, disrupting the very flow of energy inside his body. And it showed. His back stiffened, his shoulders locked, and his expression paled as he gasped—not for breath, but for mana. He was choking on emptiness.

She wasn't overwhelming him with brute strength. No, this was surgical. Terrifying in its precision. Jhansi was cutting off his circulation at the source, making his own body betray him. His mana sputtered and flared feebly along his arms—a flickering defensive response, like a candle struggling in a storm—only to fizzle out entirely. Dargan tried to stabilise himself, to push back with some semblance of control, but his limbs were trembling and his aura—the proud, refined mantle of a Guild Master—was slipping.

Jhansi remained unmoved, her face unreadable. No exertion, just calm control.

"You're choking me out," Dargan finally forced out, voice strained and ragged. His eyes widened as the words left him, and he realised the truth. He wasn't actually choking—at least not physically. The sensation was born of his dependence on mana, his body so attuned to its presence that its sudden disruption mimicked suffocation. Jhansi tilted her head slightly, her expression finally cracking into a smile—not warm, not cruel, but curious.

'Interesting.'

And just like that, the pressure vanished. Dargan stumbled forward as the mana around him snapped back into place. He inhaled sharply, instinctively flexing his fingers and arms, as if confirming his body still obeyed him. Though he quickly straightened his tunic and adjusted his posture, the shakiness remained in his hands. His pride, if not shattered, had certainly been bruised. He offered a shallow, almost pathetic bow, murmured something that might've been an apology, and turned away without another word. He didn't look back. Didn't look at Lucius. Didn't try to salvage his image.

Just silence. Lucius blinked. That was it? No parting remark? No bitter smile or veiled threat? Just an awkward retreat?

Part of him wanted to smirk. The other part reminded him that someone like Dargan didn't forget insults—or weakness. He'd remember this moment. Lucius would need to watch his back.

Around them, the rest of the guild hall returned to normal almost immediately. A few heads had turned at the mana burst, but now they were back to their drinks, their dice games, their mission discussions—as though watching a Guild Master nearly collapse under a noblewoman's mana grip was just another Thursday. The man who had called Dargan out earlier let out a huff, then muttered, "You should've just decked him. Would've saved us some time."

Jhansi ignored the comment. She moved fluidly, taking a seat beside Lucius on the sofa with practised poise. She crossed one leg over the other with the kind of control that came from years of military training—or noble etiquette. Everything about her movements was intentional. Controlled. Lethal.

Lucius opened his mouth to thank her, but she raised a hand before he could speak. "Don't," she said plainly. His brow furrowed. "Don't what?"

"Thank me." Her gaze flicked toward him, sharp and cutting. "It's a waste of breath." The bluntness made him hesitate. She didn't seem like someone who cared for pleasantries or praise. She studied him for a moment longer, as if trying to peel back his layers with her eyes alone. There was curiosity in her stare, but scepticism too.

"So," she murmured, leaning back slightly, "you're the brat Merry took a risk for."

"Mercy?" Lucius asked, caught off guard. She gave him a dry look. "Captain Merc. I call him 'Merry.' Though after what he pulled, he might need some divine mercy of his own." That caught Lucius's attention. "What do you mean?" Jhansi exhaled, resting an elbow on the armrest. "You really don't know, do you?"

Lucius shook his head slowly. She watched him again, this time with more calculation than suspicion. Then, after a pause, she spoke—almost as if humouring herself. "The day you entered the city, through the Eastern Wall Gate—that was your first time stepping into the Verdun Empire, wasn't it?"

He nodded carefully. "That alone should've triggered an arrest order," she said. "Under normal circumstances, you'd have been detained on the spot." A chill rolled down Lucius's spine. "But I wasn't," he murmured. "No," Jhansi agreed. "You weren't. Because someone intervened. Or rather, several people did."

Lucius's hands curled slightly in his lap. "Someone stopped my arrest?" She nodded. "To override an arrest in Varis, you need five signatures. Five high-ranking individuals have to vouch for you."

He swallowed, the weight of the implications already building. "Who were they?" She began to count them off. "Lady Sia. Captain Merc." Her fingers lowered with each name. "And three others." Sia made sense. But Mercy? He had barely known Lucius.

"And the other three?" Lucius pressed. Jhansi smirked. "That, little one, is your homework."

Lucius frowned. "Why not just tell me?" She chuckled, the sound low and dry. "Because information is earned. Not handed out." Fair enough. Annoying—but fair.

Her words lingered, weighing on him. Five people—five powerful, politically entangled individuals—had risked their standing to keep him from being locked away. Not just overlooked his presence, but actively fought to protect him.

Why? He was a nobody. A kid with no mana, no memory, and no worth. What could they possibly see in him? Jhansi seemed to notice his silence because her voice softened, though her words retained their weight. "Let me give you some advice, Lucius." She leaned in slightly, tone deliberate. "Don't do anything stupid. Not for the next fifteen years. Or at least, not while you're in this city."

Her eyes locked onto his. "Because the consequences of your mistakes won't fall on you alone. They'll fall on every single person who risked their name to protect you." The weight of that hit like a hammer. Lucius's chest tightened.

Jhansi rolled her shoulders—and as if on cue, her entire squad stood and began to move around her, smooth, synchronised, like shadows responding to her breath. Lucius watched them rise, wordless and unified.

His heart was pounding. So this was what fear felt like. Not from danger, but from responsibility. Real, crushing responsibility. Jhansi smirked down at him one last time. "Well then—duty calls."

With a small wave, she turned and strode away, her team falling in behind her with silent efficiency. A few of them glanced his way—some curious, others unreadable—but none of them spoke.

Lucius exhaled slowly as their presence faded into the crowd. Then, slumping into the sofa, he whispered under his breath, "The other three… Who? And more importantly, why?" The silence offered no answers.

But the weight of those unspoken questions settled over him like a cloak. Five people had changed his fate. Five people had seen him—a child with no past and no power—and decided he was worth protecting. He closed his eyes, exhaustion settling in, knowing a short nap wouldn't hurt.