Gauss could definitely feel it—something heavy was hanging over the whole town of Grayrock.
But what exactly… he couldn't quite put into words.
Was it sadness? Not really.
Oppression? A little, but not overwhelming.
Maybe it was more like... a collective sense that the wheels of history had just turned, that something monumental had ended—and now people were left with unease, staring into an uncertain future.
Come to think of it, Gauss had fragments of memory about Sword Saint Roland.
If he remembered right, Roland was a core member of the elite party that killed the Demon King—a legendary swordsman, the strongest human warrior, and the hero who ushered in a century of peace.
But for someone like the original Gauss—or most regular people—Roland was just a storybook figure, a name from ancient legends.
The era when Roland walked the continent had passed over a hundred years ago.
Back then, not only Gauss, but even his grandfather or great-grandfather probably hadn't been born yet.
So it wasn't surprising that people felt disconnected.
"Everyone dies eventually… even the strongest human of their time," Gauss thought.
Humans were naturally short-lived. In this era, it was rare for an ordinary person to live past a hundred. Elves, dwarves, and other races lived for centuries. Dragons and certain magical beasts? Some had been around longer than kingdoms.
Even legendary humans, unless they found ways to extend their life, typically lasted only 200–300 years. A clear gap.
The only advantage humans had was numbers. From those numbers, new strong ones always emerged.
Of course, for someone like Gauss—nineteen and just getting started—talking about the limits of life was a bit premature.
Still, hearing about the death of a legendary figure stirred something in him.
And besides, he had his Adventurer's Manual. Maybe someday… he'd find a way to extend his own life.
That thought quietly took root in his heart.
"Anyway… let's go turn in the quest."
He pulled himself back to the present.
…
At the Adventurer's Guild, the first floor was as noisy as ever, though something about the noise felt distracted, tense.
Laevin was browsing the job board with the Night Raven party—Meva, Daphne, Oliver, and Doyle.
"So, Roland the Sword Saint really died?" Doyle suddenly said.
"What's that got to do with us?" Meva replied blandly, still scanning the parchment listings.
"Of course it matters!" Doyle snapped back, flushed with excitement. "Adventurers from all over the world are heading to the Imperial Capital right now!"
"Didn't you hear? The Emperor issued a global decree: whoever pulls the Holy Sword… inherits the legacy. Becomes the next Sword Saint!"
His voice rose as he spoke, face glowing red with excitement.
As a swordsman himself, Doyle was practically vibrating with energy—already imagining himself pulling the sword from its pedestal, his name sung across the continent, little kids back home shouting "Sir Doyle, the Sword Saint!"
"Heh…" Meva gave a dry chuckle and shook her head.
"Doyle," said Oliver, the team's archer, smiling—but his words brought the kid back down to earth.
"Wanna go to Aureidian, the Holy Capital? First figure out how to make it across the Carlos Kingdom. Then half the Empire. Think we're gonna manage that with… this crew?"
He didn't finish the sentence, but the message was clear.
From a remote, backwater town like Grayrock, reaching the heart of the human world was basically impossible for adventurers at their level.
"W-Well… maybe there's a way? Like… teleportation?" Doyle mumbled. But his voice trailed off. Even he knew high-level teleportation spells and magic circles were way beyond their reach.
A few sideways glances landed on him, and Doyle finally deflated, shoulders sagging.
"Can't even dream in peace… man, I'm so jealous of those born in the Capital." He tried to change the subject.
"Speaking of which—what's Gauss been up to? Haven't seen him in ages."
That got everyone's attention.
"Maybe he's getting ready to advance his class," Laevin muttered, clearly jealous. "Would explain why he's been off the radar lately…"
Just then, the crowd at the guild entrance suddenly parted like a wave, clearing a path.
That usually only happened when a classed adventurer showed up.
The Night Owl party instinctively looked over. As bottom-tier adventurers, recognizing ranked individuals was critical—you never wanted to accidentally insult someone powerful who looked ordinary.
Two figures stepped calmly into the hall.
Laevin and the others froze.
The man on the left—tall, sharp-featured, confident. Short black hair, piercing green eyes.
They recognized that face.
It was Gauss.
Their former party member—now walking in with a quiet strength that felt… different.
"That's… Gauss?" Doyle whispered, swallowing hard. He instinctively took a step back.
This Gauss didn't just look stronger. He was stronger. More poised. More grounded. He had the presence of someone they used to only see in real elites.
"Yeah," Meva said quietly, though her eyes lingered a moment longer on the striking woman walking beside him.
"Did he really advance?" Daphne blinked, stunned.
It felt like just yesterday they were questing together.
They watched as Gauss and his new teammate headed for the stairs to the second floor.
The armored guild guards standing watch—recognizing the Bronze-rank badge on Gauss's chest—stood straight and saluted with a fist to the chest, respectfully letting them pass.
The two disappeared up the stairs.
"He's definitely Bronze now," Laevin murmured, voice low and mixed with something hard to define.
The group fell silent.
Even Doyle, just minutes ago fantasizing about being the next Sword Saint, had nothing to say. His wild daydreams now felt silly.
He'd been fantasizing while Gauss had quietly worked and climbed his way to the next tier.
That short staircase might've only been ten meters—but for most adventurers at their level, it was a gap they'd never cross.
Everyone had their own thoughts.
Meva remained calm, though. Honestly, she wasn't surprised. She'd known Gauss wasn't far from class advancement.
"Laevin," Daphne whispered, "should we… go say congrats?"
"Let's not. He's probably busy," Laevin said after a pause, his eyes shifting away.
"And he's got a new team now. We shouldn't bother him."
"Y-Yeah." Doyle quickly agreed.
"Just advanced to Bronze—he must have a lot on his plate," Oliver added, nodding.
But truthfully?
They were nervous.
Worried about standing there awkwardly while Gauss saw how little they'd progressed. Afraid of seeing condescension—or worse, pity—in his eyes.
Meva saw it all.
She didn't say anything, but she noticed everything about her teammates. She always did.
She had wanted to say something. She knew Gauss wouldn't judge them. Wouldn't mind.
But seeing everyone hesitate, she let it go too.
Maybe I'll just prepare a small gift and have it delivered to his inn, she thought.
…
"Something wrong?" Alia whispered, noticing the tiny hesitation in Gauss's step.
"It's nothing."
"Let's just submit the quest." Gauss shook his head, forcing a small smile.
"Okay." Alia didn't press.
She hadn't even realized it yet, but without noticing, she'd started defaulting to Gauss's lead when making decisions.
They reached the second-floor quest counter.
After submitting the documents and having their badges checked, their mission was confirmed as complete.
"Here is your reward: 70 silver coins. Please confirm."
The clerk pushed a heavy pouch across the desk.
"Thanks." Gauss took it, weighed it briefly with practiced fingers, then nodded.
"Also, we found something unusual during the mission. We'd like to report it as special intel."
The clerk immediately straightened.
"Understood. I'll notify a senior guild official right away."
Special intel couldn't be handled by just a front desk clerk.
"Please, follow me to the meeting room."
They followed.
After a brief wait in the quiet room—
Click, click, click.
Rhythmic heels echoed against stone.
The door opened.
A tall, striking woman stepped in—long fiery red hair swaying with each step, her tight robe accentuating a dangerously elegant figure.
Her eyes swept the room, locking onto Gauss.
"We meet again, Gauss," said Shirley, the red-haired sorceress, her lips curling in a half-smile.
"Lady Shirley." Gauss nodded respectfully.
He should've guessed. Of course it would be her—a senior enough official to hear reports like this.
"You two are a team now?" Her gaze drifted to Alia, who sat quietly beside him. She clearly recognized the druid.
"Yes," Gauss replied.
"A mage and a druid… that's an unusual combo." Shirley raised a brow, intrigued.
In truth, it wasn't a common setup. Mages usually paired with warriors or clerics—the classic trio of tank, caster, and healer.
And while Shirley knew Gauss had a strong defensive spell, most mages in the early stages still needed frontline support to safely cast spells.
But she wasn't the type to preach. She let it go.
"So. What did you find?"
Gauss pulled out the wrapped scale from his storage pouch and began recounting what they saw at the altar—describing everything in detail, even quoting the ratmen elder word-for-word.
Shirley stared at the scale for a long time.
Eventually, she closed her eyes, as if searching through her mental archives.
Finally, she exhaled and shook her head.
"Sorry. I don't recognize the name Vespeteria."
"This scale needs to be sent to our advanced analysis division."
"But I can confirm—it carries a faint trace of divine corruption."
"According to Guild Protocol Article 3: Threats Related to Dark Deities, this qualifies as a Level-1 Classified Evidence of Unknown Evil Deity."
"The base bounty for such reports is—10 gold coins."
"10 gold?!" Gauss's eyes widened.
They'd cleared an entire dungeon for 70 silver.
And this random scale and a couple lines of dialogue were worth 10 gold?
"Don't be disappointed—that's just the base." Shirley smiled, misinterpreting his reaction.
"If further analysis raises the threat level, or leads to major discoveries, the Guild will issue additional rewards."
Bonuses might stack?!
Gauss took a deep breath.
Intel on dark gods is... that valuable?
Suddenly, the oppressive atmosphere from earlier lifted—chased away by the heavy clink of gold in his mind.
Truly, nothing soothes the soul like cold, hard cash.