Ray ascended the stairs of his dormitory, his footsteps steady, calm. Upon reaching his room, he opened the door and stepped inside, letting the silence of the space embrace him. Moving toward the small desk in the corner, he sat down and pulled a sheet of parchment toward him. With a focused expression, he picked up his pen and began writing a letter, recounting the day's events in meticulous detail. This message, intended for his contact outside the academy, was to be delivered first thing in the morning. As he penned the last lines, he leaned back, considering the letter, his eyes steady, his face unreadable.

A memory from just a week prior came back to him, vivid as if it had just happened. It was the day the cadets from the Southern Territory had arrived in Lachesis. Ray had told Isaki he had something to take care of and split off to the right, away from the road leading to the central square where most of the city's hustle and bustle converged. Without needing a map, Ray had walked through narrow streets, taking turns with practiced ease, until he stopped in front of a small, unassuming establishment: Bar Prometheus.

The place was bustling with people: men and women who looked rugged, seasoned by the hardships of life, seated at tables and along the bar counter, voices mingling as they drank, laughed, and shared guarded glances. These were not ordinary townsfolk; every individual in that room carried themselves with the caution and strength of seasoned fighters. Ray took a seat at the bar, his gaze momentarily sweeping over the room, noting every detail before settling his eyes on the bartender. The man looked older, maybe in his early sixties, with a frame more suited to a soldier than a bartender. His white hair was cropped close, and his dark eyes seemed to miss nothing.

"A glass of Ambrosia," Ray ordered, his voice steady, almost casual.

The bartender paused, eyebrows raised, casting a scrutinizing look at Ray. After a beat, he gave a dismissive scoff. "We don't serve Ambrosia to kids," he replied bluntly. "Now, do yourself a favor and get out before you're in over your head."

Ray remained unfazed, holding the bartender's gaze. "Listen, old man," he replied, his tone calm but resolute. "I came here for a glass of Ambrosia, and I'm not leaving this bar without it."

The bartender's face hardened, and his voice grew louder, edged with irritation. "Hey, kid, you have no idea who you're messing with. If you don't leave now, you'll regret it."

The raised tone had caught the attention of the other patrons; conversations faltered, and heads turned to observe the exchange. It wasn't every day that a teenager boldly demanded a drink in a place like this. Sensing the crowd's interest, the bartender threw a glance around, trying to ease the tension. "Nothing to see here," he called out. "Just a kid looking for directions."

Yet the atmosphere remained tense, charged with silent anticipation. Turning back to Ray, the bartender lowered his voice, his tone threatening. "I'm telling you, walk out now while you still have the chance."

Before the bartender could finish, Ray reached into his pocket with quiet deliberation and pulled out a small, polished medallion. Placing it on the counter, he tapped it lightly with his finger, his calm expression unwavering. The bartender's gaze shifted down, and his eyes widened as he took in the symbol on the medallion. Realization dawned on him, mingled with a flash of bewilderment. This was no ordinary request; "Ambrosia" was more than a drink—it was a coded term known only to a select few. And this medallion in front of him was unmistakable.

For a moment, the bartender hesitated, the sharp lines of his face etched in confusion. How did a boy know about Ambrosia, let alone possess the medallion? It didn't add up. Still, he knew better than to question it here. With a subtle nod, he gestured toward a discreet door tucked behind the counter. "Go through there," he said quietly, all traces of hostility gone.

Ray gave a faint smile, rising from his seat. "Thanks," he murmured, nodding politely as he made his way to the door. As he opened it, the bartender watched, his thoughts racing. He couldn't shake the feeling that this kid was someone beyond his understanding. Perhaps he came from a wealthy family within the Moirai region, but even that wouldn't explain how he held that medallion.

As Ray stepped through the door, it creaked shut behind him with a heavy, final clang. He scanned the dim space before him, noting a narrow staircase descending into an even darker floor below. Taking a deep breath, he descended carefully, each step echoing in the confined stairwell. Upon reaching the bottom, he found himself at the start of a long, poorly-lit corridor, lined with shadows that seemed to stretch infinitely in the gloom. At the far end, a figure stood waiting, obscured but unmistakably vigilant.

The man was cloaked entirely in black, his face half-covered by a mask that revealed only his sharp, calculating eyes and dark hair. He observed Ray silently for a moment, then, with a cool voice, asked, "What are you looking for?"

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Without a word, Ray held up the medallion he carried, letting the dull gleam catch what little light was available. The man's eyes flickered with recognition, and he gave a slight nod, motioning for Ray to follow him. As they started down the corridor together, Ray became acutely aware of the doors flanking the hallway. All were tightly shut, yet from several came muffled sounds—whimpers and tortured groans that prickled the back of his neck.

Outside certain doors, he noticed burlap sacks tied up in bundles. Even in the shadows, the dark, crimson stains seeping through were unmistakable. Ray didn't need to touch them to know what it was—blood. His jaw tightened slightly, but he maintained a calm, indifferent expression, his eyes taking in every detail as he followed in silence.

At last, the man stopped in front of an imposing wooden door and gestured for Ray to enter. Ray nodded in thanks, his voice measured, "Much appreciated." He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was a stark contrast to the ominous corridor outside. Bookcases lined the walls, filled with tomes, files, and ledgers; a warm chandelier cast a faint golden light over the spacious office, illuminating an enormous desk at the far end. Behind it sat a middle-aged man with dark brown hair, a full beard, and piercing black eyes that met Ray's with a curious intensity.

"Have a seat," the man instructed, gesturing to the chair across from him. Once Ray was settled, the man leaned forward, his voice as firm as his gaze. "I am Argus, the proprietor of this establishment. Now, what brings you here?"

Ray inclined his head slightly, a glint of purpose in his eyes. He reached into his coat, retrieved the medallion, and placed it on the desk. Argus's expression shifted subtly as he examined it, his eyes widening just enough to betray his surprise. The symbol carved into the medallion—a single eye—seemed to evoke old memories.

"This medallion…" Argus murmured, tracing the outline of the symbol with his finger. "It brings back old memories. I gave this to a man who saved my life once. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't be here today." He looked up, his eyes narrowing. "I made him a promise, that anyone who bore this medallion would find aid in me, should they need it. So, tell me… are you his son? Or did you pry this information from him in some darker manner? Though, given your age… I find the latter unlikely."

Ray met his gaze evenly. "I'm not his son, but I am someone he trusts. He sent me here with instructions to find the head of the 'Mercenary Guild of the Hundred Eyes.' I admit, I wasn't expecting to find a bar…"

Argus's eyes gleamed with interest as he studied Ray, clearly pondering what qualities this young man possessed to earn the trust of such a powerful person. Finally, he spoke. "Yes, I am indeed the head of the Hundred Eyes Guild. The main guild is across town, though it's run by a subordinate of mine. Over the years, I've built this cover—a bar—here in the city's heart. The guild's influence now spans across the Moirai region. This establishment serves as a facade, where I keep sensitive files, information gathered on powerful individuals, and where the 'less savory' work is handled. You understand."

Ray's gaze flicked to the doors down the hall he had just walked through. "What kind of work, exactly?"

Argus chuckled dryly, dismissing the question with a wave. "Let's not get into that just yet. Tell me, what do you need?"

Ray leaned forward, his tone calm but resolute. "I'm a first-year student at the Fate Academy. I need information on everyone connected to it—the students, the professors, and most importantly, the headmistress."

Argus's eyes widened briefly, a flash of intrigue sparking in their depths. "The students and professors—those files, I can provide. But the headmistress… she is the most powerful figure in the region. Eighth on the list of the ten most formidable people across the Three Territories. Beyond that, information on her is extremely scarce. When do you need all of this?"

Ray considered his answer, his expression thoughtful. "As soon as possible. I need to know who might prove… inconvenient."

Argus nodded slowly. "I can give you the profiles on the first-year students immediately. As for the rest, return in a few weeks. In your year, there are two you'd best keep an eye on."

Argus glanced down at a folder, flipping it open to one of the first pages. "Gaus Schick," he began, "from the esteemed Schick family of Lachesis. Wealthy and proud, their honor means more to them than life itself. Gaus is the second-born son, hot-headed and prone to using others to achieve his goals, much like his elder brother—who graduated last year and left for the North soon after. Gaus has a deep-seated jealousy of him, knowing he'll inherit the family title. He even tried to hire our guild to assassinate his brother, though we refused." Argus smiled slightly, the memory of the refusal seemingly entertaining him. "He eventually turned to another guild, hired assassins who failed… quite spectacularly. His brother survived and, with his personal guard, wiped out the attackers. Interestingly, one of our men was part of that guard detail and retrieved the contract as a favor."

Ray's eyes narrowed. "That sounds… useful."

"Precisely. Then, there's Zirko from the Kuro family, based in Clotho. Unlike the Schicks, the Kuros have regional renown, with the family patriarch known as one of Moirai's most powerful mages. He's been repeatedly offered a teaching position at Fate Academy, yet he's declined each time. Zirko himself… he's the strongest among the first-years from Moirai, a fanatical combat enthusiast who's sure to attract attention. Make an ally of him if you can. Many may ignore you due to your southern origins, so you'll need only keep a close watch on these two."

Ray rose from his chair, inclining his head. "Thank you for the information, Argus. I'll return in a few weeks."

Argus's eyes twinkled with a hint of admiration as he nodded. "Good. I'll have the additional files ready by then. Be careful, Ray."

They exchanged a brief nod before Ray left, the shadows of the corridor seeming slightly less oppressive on his way out, leaving Argus to his thoughts.