“Hmm...” The Questmaster grunted and scratched his beard. His fingers ran across the fading inked characters, the smelly yellow paper, the ragged leather of the cover. Then he nodded in satisfaction, and closed the thick book in a clap as someone entered the library. No footsteps, no sound at all. He already knew who it was.

He turned his head and spotted Nemia walking toward him in absolute silence. “My lord,” she greeted, without much emotion in her voice. There was none of that awful shyness she cutely displayed to hero Cooper earlier.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be by the hero's side?”

Nemia bowed in apology. “His majesty invited him for dinner.” The Questmaster glanced at the high windows and noticed that the sun was about to set. “I judged more appropriate to report to you rather than to keep following him suspiciously.”

“That is surprisingly wise of you,” he said flatly, catching a glimpse of the blushing on her face. The spy made her report, yet there wasn't anything noteworthy. Hero Cooper had judiciously spent his time resting or asking about the world, though obviously he never got the answers he wanted.

A good way to keep these foreign heroes under control was to limit their knowledge of the world. Keep them in the dark. If they don't know about the culture, the fauna, the laws, they cannot act with assurance. Making every moment of their life unpredictable and turning their choices into gambles was enough to keep the new heroes on a short leash.

After the report, the Questmaster opened his status screen, went through his skill list, and finally found what he was looking for.

Unique Skill: [Questgiving]

The many parameters of this ability wouldn't allow him to simply think and use it the way sorcerers and knights would with their own skills. He had to define a task, a reward, even conditions and a time limit if he wanted... It could get incredibly detailed, and keeping track of all these parameters was bothersome.

Nemia received 130 EXP.

“Thank you, my lord.” The spy bowed yet again, but as she was about to leave, something on the table caught her attention. “Tales and legends from the Darklands,” she read out loud. “Unusual choice of literature, even for you.”

“Just going through the lore, looking for inspiration and ideas.” The Questmaster rubbed his chin and stared at Nemia. “You're also from the Darklands, if I'm not mistaken.”

“That would be right,” she said with a nod. “Though... I may have been born in those lands, but unlike his excellency the archmage who was raised there, I left when I was still very young. I remember nothing about that place, except for the never-ending twilight.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The Questmaster shrugged. “Hm, that's a shame.” It was nothing new – had Nemia stayed longer under that dusky sky, with sorcerers, warlocks and the likes, she would be a mage today, not a mere spy. Still, her origins meant she should have some affinity with magic. He stared at her once more and studied her info.

“Something wrong?”

She had been a rogue for some time now. Not taking advantage of her magical affinities would be a waste. It would require a bit of training, but the Questmaster was confident he could teach her and turn her into a high-level assassin or a shadowstalker, given enough time.

“No,” he eventually said. “You're dismissed.”

Nemia bowed and left the library. Her long dark hair swaying with each of her agile, light steps, and those weren't making the faintest noise, as usual.

The Questmaster turned his attention back on the book. Whether these legends were true or not, they were interesting, and that was all that mattered. I need to find an empty dungeon... Shouldn't be too hard.

Veteran heroes often cleaned up these abandoned fortress and forgotten temples that somehow came out of nowhere – at least that was how it seemed from the perspective of unknowledgeable people. Once they had killed every goblin and lich, unravelled every trap and riddle, plundered every treasure and loot, they never bothered to go back. These groups, sometime organised as raids, would make the Questmaster's life even harder by getting rid of the smallest threats, like goblins encampments or rogue wizards, small challenges that could be perfect for freshly summoned heroes. If only the veterans would ignore it.

But no, they just slash and burn everything, these bloodthirsty, mindless cretins, even things that are way below their level, meaning more work for me.

Needless to say, he had no love for these veterans. Hence his decision to involve them in a fairly dangerous adventure this time. Hopefully, this would manage to reduce the ever-increasing population of heroes in Pandristar, by appealing to both veterans and newcomers. He couldn't exactly wipe them out, as they were now part of the realm's economy, so he had to resort to these complicated tactics. Get rid of some, but not all of them.

I'll need something spacious... Land, workers, money... Nothing his good friends at the Adventurer's Guild, at the Paladin Order, or at the Royal Academy, couldn't help with. They owed him quite a bit, after all. Their quests required his approval, and there wasn't a single prophecy, magical event, or large scale hunt that didn't involve him.

As long as Neremniel and the king didn't do anything dumb, everything should go well. Speaking of which, I should check on them. The Questmaster got to his feet and left the library, making the ragged book disappear under his dark robes. Nobody needs to know of this book. As he walked the empty corridors, he caught his reflection on a glass window. It took less than a second for him to switch his stern, cold expression with a warm smile, and to hide his vigorous, intimidating demeanour behind the appearance of old age, his back sightly arched.

It did very little to fool the king, the archmage, the lords, or their many spies – not that it was the Questmaster's intention anyway. It was just one more layer. Freshly arrived heroes, however, had a much easier time trusting a kind old man who could act as a mentor. They only started to distrust him when they realised that there were many other heroes from their world, far too many, and that it was seriously fishy that they needed that many heroes to save their kingdom...

The Questmaster entered the great hall, which had been redecorated for the occasion. Banners and candlesticks hanging from the balconies and columns, rows of tables covered with white sheets, bards and musicians playing in a corner, for the sole pleasure of the aristocracy, or their displeasure whenever the king found it amusing to employ low-level bards. Which seemed to be the case tonight.

The lords and ladies gathered here didn't mind the king's shenanigans, though. In the end, when the king was in the mood for pranks and jests, he would have Neremniel summon a random guy, and hold a feast to celebrate the arrival of the 'saviour'. Feasts during which all manner of dealings, contracts and arranged marriages were eagerly discussed – so nobody really minded the awful music or the out of tune singing.

Yes, nobody minded. Especially not the Questmaster, whose many spies disguised as servants would of course overhear all these interesting conversations. The inhabitants of the castle could try to guess who was a spy and who wasn't, they could try as hard as they wanted. In the end, only the Questmaster could know with certitude if people really were who they pretended to be.

Knowing that the rest of the guests were being taken care of, he could concentrate fully on the king's new toy, hero Cooper Cain.