The walls of the guardhouse were sturdy, built to house the worst of humanity behind iron bars. Ulrick and his party stood near the entrance, their expressions grim but resolute. Two guardsmen dragged Lucy's parents, now missing a leg each, into the building. The mother sobbed, while the father remained eerily silent.

Inside, the guard captain, a burly man with a stern face, unfolded the sealed letter from Twain. His eyes scanned the parchment, growing darker with every word. When he finished, he folded it carefully and set it aside on his desk.

“What disgusting people,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. He turned to one of the guards. “Take them to the prison for criminal processing. Let the judge decide their fate.”

The guards saluted and hauled the parents down the corridor. The mother’s cries echoed faintly as they disappeared from sight.

The captain reached into his pocket and retrieved four silver coins. “This is payment for the criminal transport quest. In cases like this, the city covers the expenses.” He handed the coins to Ulrick and added, “You have my thanks. Not just for delivering them but for ensuring justice will be served.”

Ulrick pocketed the coins and gave a polite nod. “We’re glad to have done our part. Monsters and dungeons are one thing, but this—” He trailed off, his face twisting in disgust. “It’s a different kind of evil.”

The captain’s expression softened slightly. “Agreed. If you’ll excuse me, I have to send for the judge.”

As the adventurers stepped outside, Brill broke the silence. “Four silver for transporting those two? Feels… odd.”

“They deserve far worse than prison,” Nole muttered. “I’m still disgusted we even had to touch them.”

“They’re gone now, and it’s not our burden anymore,” Ulrick said firmly. “Let’s focus on what’s ahead.”

The party mounted their cart, their next stop clear: the guild branch office. The strange dungeon loomed heavy on their minds, and they needed to report every detail to the guild master. But for now, the prospect of a cold beer waiting after the report brought a faint smile to Ulrick’s face.

“Let’s get this done,” he said, flicking the reins.

The Dragonclaw team guided their cart to the back of the guild building, where small, well-kept stables were located. With the horses tethered and the cart unloaded, they entered through the rear entrance, their tired eyes drawn almost magnetically to the bar on the far side of the room. The promise of a frothy mug of beer called to them, but duty came first.

With a collective sigh of longing, they made their way past the tempting sight and approached the reception desk, where a female clerk was meticulously organizing documents. Ulrick leaned against the counter and cleared his throat.

“We’re the Dragonclaw team,” he said with a weary tone. “We need to speak with the guildmaster. Urgently.”

The clerk glanced up, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. “The guildmaster is currently in a meeting. You’ll have to wait.”

The news hit the team hard, their collective shoulders sagging. Their resolve to wait was short-lived, though, as their gazes drifted once more toward the bar. Moments later, they were perched on stools, and the bartender placed tankards of frothy beer in front of them.

Ulrick grabbed his mug with a muttered, “Finally,” just as a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Listen, punk,” he began, turning around, irritation written across his face. “I’ve had a long—” His words froze mid-sentence as he found himself staring into the piercing gaze of the guildmaster.

“You really need to work on your manners, Ulrick,” the guildmaster said, his voice calm but firm. “Now, grab your team and follow me into my office. Take your beer with you—you’ll need it.”

Ulrick blinked, then grinned as he hoisted his mug. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Moments later, the team was seated in the guildmaster’s office, beer in hand, while Vin leaned silently against the window, gazing outside. The guildmaster took his place behind a large oak desk, his steely gaze sweeping over the group.

“Let’s hear it,” he said.

Ulrick set his mug down and began, the weight of the mission evident in his voice. “It’s a dungeon. I’m sure of it. But this dungeon is… strange.”

The guildmaster leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as Ulrick continued.

“The dungeon aura isn’t constant. It pulses—strong waves, like a heartbeat. And the storm above the swamp is… wrong. It doesn’t move, it doesn’t weaken. It just rains endlessly, day and night. The dungeon itself is a swamp, massive and sprawling, with some giant, dead-looking tree at the center.”

Ulrick paused for a moment, his hand tightening around his tankard. “And the core? It’s not a crystal like you’d expect. The hunter who first went there described a beating heart. A massive, glowing heart.”

The guildmaster raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting Ulrick continue.

“And there’s how it arrived,” Ulrick added, leaning forward. “The villagers said it came as a fireball—crashing into the mountain. They said the shockwave shook the land, and when the dust cleared, a storm cloud formed over the mountain. It hasn’t left since.”

The guildmaster leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and interlacing his fingers. His sharp eyes locked onto Ulrick’s as he asked, “What’s your threat assessment of this dungeon, Ulrick? How dangerous is it?”

Ulrick took a moment, glancing around at his team before answering. “It’s… mixed,” he began, his voice steady but thoughtful. “The swamp is treacherous. The terrain itself can kill you if you’re not prepared—mud that’ll pull you under, water hiding all sorts of dangers, and visibility’s terrible. The creatures are a strange blend of normal animals and dungeon monsters. The monsters aren’t the toughest I’ve faced, but they’re aggressive, and they work together. That alone makes them dangerous.”

He paused to take a sip of his beer, gathering his thoughts. “That said, it’s a first dungeon floor. If a team is properly prepared—good gear, maybe a guide, and a solid strategy—I’d say even newer teams could manage it without too many casualties.”

The guildmaster nodded, but his expression didn’t change. “And unprepared teams? Or ones who think they can handle it without taking it seriously?”

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Ulrick frowned. “Then it’ll eat them alive. The monsters alone would whittle them down, but the swamp? It doesn’t forgive mistakes. One slip, one wrong step, and you’re done.”

The guildmaster leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the armrest as he processed the assessment. “Noted,” he said, his tone neutral, though the faintest hint of worry flickered in his eyes.

Vin spoke up from his spot by the window, his voice soft but firm. “Adventurers will underestimate it. They always do with first floors. They won’t see the swamp—they’ll see treasure. And they’ll die.”

The guildmaster sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Ulrick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, taking a long sip from his tankard before speaking again. "There’s something else I need to report, and it’s... strange, to say the least."

The guildmaster, who had been leaning back in his chair while stroking his beard thoughtfully, straightened up. "Strange how?"

Ulrick glanced at his team, as if searching for the right words. "The village where we stayed, Mar, had an incident right after we returned from the dungeon. A pair of locals—farmers—were attacked in the middle of the night. Both lost a leg each, and the attacker... well, it wasn’t human. It was a monster from the swamp we think... and... it spoke. Apparently, before it fled, it growled something like, 'For Lucy.'"

The guildmaster’s brow furrowed deeply. "Lucy? Who or what is that?"

"She’s a girl from the village," Ulrick explained. "Disabled, malnourished—her parents admitted they had thrown her into the swamp later when questioned. Claimed they couldn’t afford to care for her anymore." His voice was tinged with anger as he continued. "It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the creature targeted them on purpose. What’s more, it fled back toward the dungeon after the attack."

The guildmaster rubbed his temples, his expression a mix of exasperation and intrigue. "You’re saying the dungeon sent a monster to punish her parents?"

"I’m saying it’s possible, we transportet the parents to the guard, the village elder asked us to do so." Ulrick replied grimly. "This dungeon isn’t like any we’ve dealt with before. Its creatures aren’t acting solely on instinct—they’re coordinated. It’s as if they’re... aware."

The guildmaster leaned back in his chair again, a pensive look in his eyes. "An aware dungeon that avenges wronged children and delivers cryptic messages. Wonderful. Anything else about this swamp that’s likely to upend our understanding of the world?"

Ulrick hesitated, then gave a small shake of his head. "That’s all for now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more waiting to be discovered."

The guildmaster sat in silence for a moment, then nodded firmly. "Very well. I’ll include this in the report to the capital. For now, keep this information contained. If word gets out, we might be dealing with more than adventurers seeking fame. We could have zealots or worse poking their noses into this."

The room fell into silence, the only sound the clinking of mugs as the team took long sips of their beer. The guildmaster stared at the ceiling, stroking his beard, his expression unreadable.

Vin, still at the window, spoke without turning. “No precedent. No tower. Not field. Not crystal. Not normal. Strange dungeon.”

The guildmaster’s gaze drifted down from the ceiling, meeting Ulrick’s. “I’ll need time to think on this… but this isn’t something we can ignore. You’ve done well to bring this to me.”

He stood, his imposing frame looming over the desk. “For now, get some rest. I’ll draft a report to the central guild branch. If this dungeon is as unique as you say, we’ll need to plan carefully.”

The team nodded, finishing their beers. Ulrick gave a small sigh of relief. At least now, it was in the guildmaster’s hands.

The bar was lively, filled with the chatter of adventurers, the clink of mugs, and the occasional laugh that carried above the din. The Dragonclaw team was huddled around a corner table, their tankards already half-emptied. The mood was relaxed, though a hint of unease lingered. They’d just returned from their meeting with the guildmaster, and the weight of their findings in the swamp still pressed on them.

The door to the bar swung open, and the guildmaster’s broad frame filled the doorway. The noise of the room dipped slightly as he entered, his presence commanding attention even in a crowd. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Ulrick and his team.

“Figures,” he muttered under his breath as he strode toward them.

“Ulrick,” he said as he approached, his voice cutting through the room. “Mind if I join you for a moment?”

Ulrick raised an eyebrow but gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Always a pleasure, sir.”

The guildmaster pulled out the chair and sat down, his expression stern. “The report for the capital is on its way,” he began without preamble. “Ashenvail’s central branch will decide how to allocate resources and personnel, but I have my own plans in motion. This dungeon you’ve discovered—its value cannot be overstated. We have only two dungeons in the kingdom, and now we’ve found a third. That’s not just rare—it’s monumental.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m going to establish a guild academy at the foot of that mountain. It’ll serve as a hub for research and training, as well as a staging ground for adventurers diving into the dungeon. This isn’t just about survival or profit; this is about Ashenvail’s future.”

Ulrick nodded, his jaw tightening. He had a sinking feeling about where this was headed.

The guildmaster continued. “Since your team has the most experience with this dungeon, I’m assigning you as guides. You’ll return to the village, prepare the locals, and assist with the initial setup. You’ll also be expected to lead dives into the dungeon to assess its dangers and establish a foothold.”

A soft groan escaped from the team’s corner. Nole, her head swaying slightly, muttered under her breath. “Those… disgusting things… again? No…”

Her head hit the table with a dull thud as she promptly passed out.

The guildmaster raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he turned back to Ulrick. “You’ve got a week to prepare. Think carefully about what you’ll need—gear, consumables, tools for organization, and items to help ease new teams into the dungeon. Send me a full list, and I’ll authorize the expenses.”

He stood, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “Ulrick,” he said with a slight smirk, “maybe you should have a word with your team about their alcohol consumption. You’ll need sharp minds and sharper blades if you want to survive this.”

The guildmaster strode out of the bar, leaving the team in stunned silence.

Ulrick sat back, a hand running through his hair. “Guides…” he muttered. “The pay’s good, sure, but it means going back into that damn swamp.”

From her corner, Nole stirred briefly, her groggy voice slurring. “Pay’s not good enough… for those ugly things…”

The rest of the team burst into laughter, their tension breaking for a moment. Ulrick couldn’t help but chuckle, though his mind was already spinning with plans. This was an opportunity for greatness—but only if they survived.

After a week of intense shopping, the team was ready to head back to the village. Nole had enjoyed every second of their shopping spree, dragging Brill along to try on endless sets of armor pieces. To her delight—and everyone else’s amusement—Brill had been sporting a ridiculous, dreamy smile ever since. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Somewhere in the process, he might’ve caught a glimpse of something less armor-related, but Nole didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. She was too busy enjoying herself.

The cart they rode was now filled to the brim with supplies, new gear, and various odds and ends they’d picked up along the way. They’d have to return the cart to the village at some point anyway, so it served a double purpose. As they neared the outskirts of the swamp, the horizon darkened with the familiar sight of the stationary storm cloud. Its charged intensity had subsided since their last encounter, but it still loomed ominously, a constant reminder of the dangers they were returning to.

Gale was practically buzzing with energy, unable to hide his excitement. The youngest guide in the guild’s history at only 15 years old, with just four weeks of adventuring under his belt, he felt both honored and overwhelmed. Determination settled on his face as he gazed at the storm, gripping his weapon tightly. He had a lot to prove, and he was ready to do whatever it took to rise to the occasion.

Ulrick, on the other hand, couldn’t shake a slight sense of unease. His team, while capable, was also one of the most inexperienced guide teams in the guild. Everyone except Gale was nearing their first tier-up, but they still had a long way to go before earning the title of seasoned adventurers. The thought weighed on him as the storm cloud came into sharper focus.

"Glorious or disastrous," he muttered under his breath, catching Nole’s curious glance. "Just thinking about the future," he added quickly, forcing a small smile.

As the cart creaked along the path and the wind carried the distant rumble of thunder, the team steeled themselves. The dangers ahead would be great, but so too would the rewards. They were no longer just adventurers—they were guides. And with a little luck, some hard training, and plenty of skill, their journey into the swamp would mark the beginning of something truly extraordinary.