The quest system didn’t fire all through that night or the next morning either.

I lay awake in bed, frowning at the spirit orbs in my Inventory. The icon bore a bold x2, numerical proof of the onus hanging over my head.

I hated this—hated having my well-being tied to quest completion. However, 999 homunculi had died for a chance to be in my shoes. Whining like this did them a disservice.

A knock resounded on the door. “Breakfast, sir, if you choose.”

My stomach rumbled in answer. “In a minute.”

I got out of bed and headed down to the ground floor of the inn, which held the dining area slash lobby. The innkeeper bore a passing resemblance to his sister the merchant, but he talked less often and only grunted in response to my greeting.

His cooking skills more than made up for his attitude, however, and it was with a gusto that I dug into the hot meal of potatoes and fish. A full tummy cleared my head and helped me to reevaluate my options.

Paz and Nicola might have turned me down, but I still had an entire guild’s worth of people to approach. I also hadn’t given up on finding someone with knowledge of spirit orbs or how to create them. The [System] wouldn’t make that easy, but I'd never been a quitter.

Two days was more than enough to resolve my fate. Two freaking days . . .

I speared a piece of fish and popped it into my mouth.

The entrance door slammed open. Three young soldiers walked in, clad in standard Bargherian plate armor, complete with the sigils of a dog and a tree painted on the tabard.

“Greetings,” the lad in the lead said, stopping by the counter. “Is this the residence of one Mr. Damien?”

I lowered my fork. [Stealth]—

“Wait!” a soldier said, moving to cut me off. “Please. We are here on official business, pertaining to the guilds.”

That did nothing to calm my nerves. My most recent business with the guild involved my altercation with Byron, but how had he learned my name?

“Damien Dark Elf,” the lead soldier said, stepping away from the counter, “we have been tasked with enforcing your summons at the behest of the guild masters. Please, come with us.”

At least, they were being polite. Nicola had warned that the guild master would want to meet me, but I didn’t expect to be summoned in this manner. Growing up in a city like Lagos had instilled a deep distrust of uniforms within me. Nevertheless, I benefitted nothing from violent resistance.

“I’ll come along,” I said, “but no cuffs, and I intend to walk behind.”

One of the soldiers bristled. “Is that lip I am hearing from you, sword-ears?”

I shot him a bored look, unable to feign offense.

He didn’t like my silence, because he reached for his sword. His colleagues stopped him, however, about three-quarters into the draw.

“Peacefully,” the one I’d identified as the leader said in chastisement to his lackey. “We’d put only one man behind you, Mr. Damien, but you need to understand why we can’t let you out of our sight. This isn’t an arrest, but the guild masters don't take kindly to disappointment.”

Guild masters . . . ergo, more than one. Seeing as the matter most likely concerned Isaac, there was a high chance the merchant guild would also be in attendance. Besides, I’d already used [Identify] on the guards. None of them could threaten me, making further posturing pointless.

“Very well, then," I said. "Let’s go.”

The soldiers escorted me out of the inn and into the busy street. We traversed roads that looked more familiar than they did yesterday, though I still had to pay attention to avoid getting lost.

The people of Skeelie were out in full force again. Why was this city always so busy?

We fought through the foot traffic until we arrived at the Adventurers’ Guild: a wide, two-storied, building—hewn from stone—just opposite The Naked Bard. The soldiers wasted no time in surging through the double doors. An expansive entrance hall greeted us, arrayed like a bank.

Clerks sat behind counters, stamping documents and going through large piles of files. Others attended to an assortment of adventurers, who queued in front of the counters for a variety of reasons.

A few of the adventurers carried sacks of strange items: monster parts like claws and teeth. One held the head of a creature that resembled a gorgon in her grip. They submitted those to the clerks and received coins in exchange.

Other adventurers visited a large board that hung on one section of the wall. A party of five argued in front of it: kids who didn’t look much older than sixteen.

The last group of adventurers reclined in a recreational area that took up half the hall. I thought I recognized the woman in the monk robes from yesterday, but the soldiers nudged me onward before I could get a good look.

Ezin’s office stood on the top floor of the guild building, at the end of a hallway adorned with marble statuettes. The soldiers rapped on the carved wooden door and waited until a voice beckoned them to enter.

The first thought that leaped into my mind as I entered Ezin’s office was that he had to be a vain buffoon.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The entirety of the room featured lush, red carpets, looking more like a cabaret than any public office. Golden ornaments adorned the walls, gleaming with light that streamed from a large window adjacent to the entrance. A single desk and a pair of double shelves constituted the only bits of wood in the room. Everything else was cushioned velvet or gold.

I almost felt bad for tracking my feet across the rug, which looked so immaculate that it was probably maintained by a maid with eldritch cleaning techniques or a Roomba with an affinity.

A dark-haired man sat behind the desk, and he spread his hands at our entry. “Ah, Mr. Damien. Please, take a seat.”

The soldiers bowed behind me and exited as quietly as their armor allowed.

Three other people sat on the sofas opposite the Guild master's desk.

Nicola offered a small smile, dressed for once in sane clothes that covered her from neck to ankle. She still wore her oversized witch’s hat but sat like a cornered hare, too scared to fully incline her head.

A middle-aged man with prim clothes and a neat beard occupied the sofa beside her. He regarded me with hawkish eyes from over the lid of his goblet.

Mathideus rounded out their number, and although his hair looked as perfect as ever in the golden light, he wore an expression of turmoil.

I sat on the other side of Nicola, more for her sake than mine. The man behind the desk—the reason for my summons—smiled as I settled in.

Ezin looked nothing like his opulent office suggested. He wore his dark hair long and ill-maintained, seeming more like a hobo than anyone of repute, especially when combined with his shaggy beard. Nary a piece of jewelry gleamed on his person, though a modicum of vanity still managed to bleed through his attire.

His white coat hung heavy on his person, split down the middle to reveal sculpted abs. Muscles like his could cut diamonds and attract the interest of men and women both. But, goddammit, man, just wear a shirt. Why did buff people enjoy showing off their torsos?

I suppressed a burning desire to use [Identify] on Ezin . . . But, screw it. The missed opportunity would haunt me for weeks. I activated the skill, readying an excuse in case he reacted like Beelith.

Guild master LVL 42.

Strong!

Ezin turned to Nicola. “This is the elf you spoke about, yes?”

Nicola nodded.

“Very well,” Ezin said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Damien—”

“Who killed Isaac?” the other guild master asked, cutting straight to the point.

I wrinkled my nose. “The Primal Dread Monkey. Surely, Nicola must have mentioned something about this?”

The man’s face reddened. “I have never heard of the existence of such a creature in my life! Dread Monkeys never grow beyond low Iron.”

“I don’t know what answer you’re fishing for, dude. I can only tell you what happened.”

Ezin watched me with cool eyes. “You dealt the final blow, then? Nicola simply described it as a large monkey.”

I mean, I'd learned the monkey's name due to [Identify], but since I wanted to avoid sharing that detail, this also worked. “Yeah.”

“A monster as strong as that,” the merchant said, dropping his goblet on a stool, “in Dreadwood, of all places.”

“Why act surprised?” Ezin said. “We've known about it, after all—about the change in Dreadwood's ecology. Nicola and her party were just unlucky.”

“Unlucky”—and at this, the merchant snorted—“That’s a fancy way of saying that the wild god is becoming a bigger pain than he should.”

Ezin smirked.

“I cannot accept this, Ezin," the man continued. "We merchants pay your guild good money for our protection. If you can’t even do that much, what then is the point of our arrangement?”

Ezin furrowed his brows. “It took nine rankers to defeat this monster, and a total of four casualties. That's a freak accident, and you know it. The best course of action is to halt our activities in Dreadwood in the interim.”

“And lose out on the business of precious gems?” The merchant shook his head. “Trade with the Wood King helps fill the city’s coffers. Unless you're proposing that we go into the woods and mine rare gems ourselves. I don’t need to remind you how that ended.”

The two men frowned at each other.

The merchant was first to relent. “What was the other matter we needed to discuss? Something about goblin sightings?”

"A goblin horde," I corrected. "One that is warming up to wage war with the elves."

Mathideus perked up at that and spoke for the first time since I entered the room. "A goblin horde? Surely, you jest. Did you actually see them on the march or is this a conclusion drawn from the ambushes?"

"You're seriously doubting an elf over matters in his home?"

I mean, he wasn't wrong. No one had actually seen the horde, but Nana had been certain. And, I'd take her words anyday over anyone else's in the room.

The merchant clucked his tongue. “Now, this is becoming a real shitshow, isn't it? We're going to need to deal with goblins on top of all this?”

"If there's any way you could help—" I said.

"There isn't. The elves can deal with their problems on their own."

Huh? "But, I've been told that goblins are also a threat to the cities of Bargheria."

"We stopped them the last time they came knocking, we'll stop them again." The merchant smirked at me. "If your words are true and not elven deceit, then the Wood King would need items of war to tackle the threat. 'Smells like an opportunity for my people."

The acid boiled in my gut. "You witless—"

Ezin cleared his throat. "I'm placing sanctions on official excursions into Dreadwood until the guild has investigated these issues."

“You can't do that," the merchant said, "You lack the authority.”

Ezin simply smiled. “As a representative of the crown, the protection of the city's inhabitants is my foremost responsibility. We're starved for manpower in light of the recent festival, but this matter is too severe to brush aside."

"If there's any time to stop being anal—"

"Damien has other questions to answer,” Ezin said with a raised hand. “And, you have your appointment with the governor"—he glanced at a dial on the wall—"in less than thirty minutes.”

The merchant purpled at the casual dismissal. “This isn’t the end of our discussion, Ezin. Your bullishness won't change the fact that a member of ours perished on your watch. I still want a report and a review of our terms." He adopted a foul sneer. "You rankers don't get to make decisions that affect both our guilds.”

He left after that, slamming the door behind him.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” Nicola said and huddled into herself. “I can return the advance payment. I don’t want to trouble the guild.”

“Nonsense,” Ezin said. “I wrote those contracts myself. Our rankers are protected in cases like these. That said, you won’t be paid the outstanding balance, not after this failure. The merchants would also appreciate a written apology. Anything to make it seem like they have some hold on us.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicola said, keeping her expression hidden beneath her curtain of braids.

Nicola had mentioned something about working to care for her siblings, which meant the lost payment probably hurt her more than she was willing to admit.

My heart went out to her, but I couldn't see any other way to remedy the situation.

Ezin leaned into his chair. “Can I trouble you with a question, Damien?”

I raised my defenses. “It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

“You don’t,” Ezin said. “There's scant little you can conceal from my notice. Tell me: how many of the wild god’s pets did you butcher?”