Albion, the capital city of the human nation of Mirna—a prosperous kingdom, filled with those who had lived their lives as far away from the carnage of demons as possible. Needless to say, they lived lavish lifestyles, and some even believed the war was mere propaganda.

  Among these beings, a man of no power stood atop a podium. He was telling the people that their wealth, meant for the war effort, was being stolen—that the war was not going in their favor. I suppose, in all countries and any time period, such people would exist. For some strange reason, he wanted to kill the man, but refrained.

  He wore a cloak around him, but even with his human-like form, he was far too tall to go unnoticed. As he passed, even the man on the stand gave him a strange side glance before continuing his ramble.

  He went into the tavern. The voices quieted once he entered, and without delay, he was moved to a seat at the far back of the room. Before long, the drunkards, mercenaries, and others returned to their idle chatter. A waitress stood by the table with a warm smile for him. He did not care for it.

  The woman was clearly in the stars. Perhaps women were always drawn to male figures who had charm. Certainly, this body was far too perfect, even by human standards... Perhaps I digress, but still... With a cold smile—the only one he could muster—he asked the waitress to bring him wine. A strange call for a tavern, but they did serve it.

  When the wine was brought to him, he sipped it as he waited. The secluded seat, away from prying eyes, was perfect. To fit in, he would need to make a name for himself. A task, perhaps? A request? Taverns often posted such things, but mercenary work would not gain much fame. If he did it for free, it would only draw suspicion, so gaining fame without taking pay was not an option. The guild could have been a worthy ally—only issue was, they evaluated their members with magical apparatus. He would certainly fail to go undetected.

  It was as if the goddess of fortune herself had shone her light upon him. A sorcerer—a pale girl with short blonde hair, potentially from the guild—was caught in an argument with two brutes drunk on ale. They argued over an overlapping request set out by both the guild and the tavern. It was a combined effort between both parties. If he could get in on their action, that would certainly get others talking about him.

  He waited as their argument escalated, and with the tip of his finger, he cast a spell on one of the brutes—one that would intensify his anger.

  A shiver unlike any before ran down the sorcerer's spine the moment the magic was cast. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked directly in his general direction. She didn’t know what had happened, and before she could attempt to seek the source of that foul, dark mana, the man struck the table before him with his mug of ale and stood up in protest.

  "You guild scum are all the same! You expect me to go through with this mission and risk the lives of my men just so you can claim some artifact?"

  "Hmph! If you're too much of a coward, just drop out of the mission," she said, turning her head. "What we’re searching for is not merely an artifact, but a weapon forged by light. It would be of great use to the war effort on the frontlines."

  "Calm down, Klein," said a mercenary, placing a hand on his partner—the very one under the influence of the spell.

  "You expect me to calm down when she openly insults us?"

  "The pay is good, Klein. We can do the task."

  Klein, the brutish leader, was far too aggressive, even toward his own peers. Something felt off, but no one could quite discern what was causing it.

  "Yeah? You want to walk into a den of undead? Be my guest. No—I'll send you to join them."

  Klein was about to strike, and I knew what he was about to do. In any normal tale, this would’ve been where I’d interfere. But no... I simply watched it unfold, as his fist came crashing into the sorcerer’s face, sending her flying through a few tables, one of which shattered beneath her.

  His friends quickly grabbed Klein and sat him down.

  "You idiot! Why would you raise your hand at her?! The guild folk are gonna kill us for this!"

  "You damn fool!" his other friend snapped, rising from his seat. "I'm out of here."

  He watched from his corner, a smile tugging at his lips. This was exactly the outcome I desired. Why was I happy about this? It didn’t matter. Lazing around would no longer serve any purpose.

  Standing from his seat, he approached the sorcerer. She lay collapsed on the floor, still conscious, struggling to rise. He stretched out his hand, gesturing for her to take it—and so she did.

  "Does it make you feel powerful?" he asked, looking down at the brute. Even with the brute’s size, he was nothing compared to me. Grabbing him by the throat, he lifted him into the air and tossed him across the tavern. "Pathetic. All that meat and no strength."

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  "Holy shit, that dude just tossed Klein like he was nothing," said one of the drunkards.

  "Wait, what? Klein got bested?" asked another, only just noticing the commotion.

  Klein’s friends rushed to him, but he was already unconscious. They lifted him up by his arms, casting resentful looks toward Adrien. The sorcerer watched as Klein was dragged out of the tavern, then turned to him, offering a slight bow. "Thank you. That brute deserved every ounce of what you gave him."

  The tavern’s patrons returned to their conversations, though many now whispered about how easily Klein had been beaten. Adrien looked to the sorcerer.

  "It was no issue. I hope you're alright."

  The bruise on her face had already darkened, but she didn’t mention it. "I am, thanks to you."

  In the heat of the moment, he knew she would ask for a name. He didn’t know the name of the prince, and the prince didn’t know his. Even if he had, using it here would be foolish. So a proxy must be set...

  "May I have your name?" she asked, brushing off her clothes.

  "Adrien."

  Her eyes seemed to glisten for a moment. "Adrien, I am the vice-captain of the Onchera Guild. It would seem you're not yet a part of any band, so... I—no, our guild—would be pleased to have someone like you."

  Her eyes were somewhat pleading. She didn’t know Adrien’s full strength, but she could sense a powerful aura, even if it was being suppressed.

  He threw Klein like he was nothing… He's a figure who could match the power of the captain herself… No—perhaps even surpass it. If he were to join us, we could easily be the strongest guild in the whole country. How could someone of his caliber go unnoticed for so long?

  Adrien brushed her off. "I have other arrangements," he said.

  "Other arrangements?" she muttered, puzzled. To turn down someone like me? A direct invitation to the guild? Is he crazy, or does he not know who we are? she thought. "If you were to join us, we would see to it that you're extremely well compensated."

  "I cannot break the arrangements I have made."

  She quickly countered, "Then perhaps we could merely ask for your aid in a single mission? Surely you wouldn’t refuse such an offer. We would pay you five times the regular rate."

  "You need my help with the artifact, I suppose," Adrien replied.

  "Yes. A lich guards the artifact. Dealing with undead isn't necessarily difficult, but the frost spells under the lich’s command require us to form a party of capable fighters."

  "A hundred times."

  She blinked. "You want a hundred times the regular rate?"

  Even Adrien was unsure why he said it. The goal was to make a name for himself, but charging such an outrageous sum could backfire…

  "We can do that," she said.

  He did not know what the regular rate was, nor did the demon prince—and yet, they were both surprised.

  "The artifact is that important to you, then?"

  She summoned an illusion spell above her hand, showing a visual of the artifact. "This is the Staff of Demio. It was created with pure light magic. The weapon was used only once before a lich stole it."

  "How could a lich steal such a relic? If it's as powerful as you say, it would destroy the lich just by being held."

  "The lich wore gloves," she said with a shrug.

  "...Gloves," Adrien repeated.

  "Gloves."

  A moment of silence passed before she burst into laughter. "Seriously? I can't believe you actually believed that!" Catching her breath, she added, "I'm sorry, please forgive me. Truth is, I haven’t the faintest idea how it was stolen. None of us know."

  Gloves.

  Adrien’s eyes glared at her for a brief moment, as if he wanted to choke the breath from her body.

  "Listen, I know it’s late, so I’ll leave you to it, right? Please visit the guild when you’re ready for the assignment. We’ll be traveling to the cemetery of the lich tomorrow. Hope to see you there."

  Before he could respond, she rushed out the tavern door, waving as she went. What a strange person, he thought. But the gold she offered could certainly be useful. A relic that can be stolen holds no threat to him—recovering it shouldn’t be that difficult.

  And perhaps… this lich could be an ally.

  Approaching the bar, Adrien asked for a room and was soon granted one on the third floor. The room was not too spacious, containing only a bed and a window. Not needing sleep, he sat atop the bed, thinking.

  "I forgot to ask her name..."

  The vice-captain of a so-called guild I’ve never heard of… A relic I’ve never seen, even if it was used against my forces… Such a strange predicament…

  "Who is this so-called person I hear you invited, Elira?" asked Lyra, the captain of the Onchera Guild—a silver-haired half-elf with piercing blue eyes, seated behind a desk at the guild hall, scribbling reports for the kingdom.

  "The word already reached you?" Elira asked.

  "Of course it did... Listen, Elira, these things—you have to consult with me before acting."

  Her pen pressed against the paper, but she had stopped writing. Her eyes narrowed. "That bruise... I take it whoever did this to you learned their lesson?"

  "They did."

  Lyra sighed, "I promised your father I’d keep you safe. How can I do that when you sneak out while I’m not looking? Much less to go talk to that meathead," she said, returning to her writing. "Still, I don’t doubt your judgment. If you sensed a powerful aura from him, then he must be strong..."

  A moment of silence passed as she paused again. "...Whose aura is stronger?"

  Elira hesitated. She didn’t want to answer, but to lie would be disrespectful.

  "I'm sorry..."

  That was all she said. Lyra leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly.

  "Fine then... I’ll look forward to what he can bring to our mission. You're dismissed."

  With that, Elira left the office.