The quiet chamber smelled faintly of herbs and clean linen. Arthur sat alone on a narrow bed, hands resting on his thighs, eyes closed in stillness.
A faint dark‑green aura spiraled around him, tugging at the air. The current swelled, pressing against him until his body lifted slightly above the mattress—then dropped back with a soft thud. He opened his eyes, staring at the backs of his hands. A dark‑green sigil—Nirael's mark—flickered faintly before fading.
[Your Mana has increased by 10]
[Basic stats have increased:] [INT: 20 → 22] [WIS: 15 → 16]
[Name: Arthur Vargris] Age: 13 (33) | Race: Human STR: 14 | AGI: 15 | VIT: 10 | INT: 22 | WIS: 16 | CHA: 15 | LUC: 20
Arthur sighed. 'Even with House Vargris' mana training method… five hours for this is all I get.'
A knock at the door. "Come in," he said.
The door opened. A well‑built man with white hair and beard stepped in—graceful despite his size. Ivar. Alone.
"How are you feeling?" Ivar asked, eyes sharp as he approached. "I'm fine," Arthur replied, though curiosity tugged at his brow.
"Fascinating," Ivar murmured, stroking his beard. "After facing a Named monster, to emerge unscathed… and yet so close to death… I can hardly believe it."
Arthur lowered his gaze. 'Named…'
"How did you do it?" Ivar's voice cut through his thoughts. "I‑I don't know," Arthur said.
Ivar leaned closer. "At your age, inexperienced… a Named monster is almost certain death. Ninety‑nine out of a hundred wouldn't survive. Yet here you are—alive, intact."
Arthur stayed silent, eyes fixed on the bed.
Ivar dragged a chair forward and sat. "Judging by your silence, I'd wager even you don't know how it happened. Truth be told… it doesn't feel like human hands accomplished this."
Arthur's stomach tensed. 'I already know… but I'll play along.'
"What do you mean?"
"It's better if you see it," Ivar said. He rose, waved a hand toward the center of the room.
The floor rippled. Dirt rose, forming cracked earth. A broken tree emerged—the one Arthur had slammed into. Then, a body took shape.
Arthur froze. Himself—exact in posture, scaled down but vivid.
More shapes followed: the mangled corpse of the werewolf—head severed, stomach untouched. Unlike the goblin he'd seen devoured, this one was almost whole.
Ivar's gaze met his. Arthur stayed silent, more intrigued by the magic than disturbed by the gore.
"What do you think?" Ivar asked.
Arthur stepped closer, reached out—his hand passed through the projection like mist. "Incredible. Only a high‑tier magician could make something this vivid."
Ivar cleared his throat, faintly flushed. "I wasn't asking about my magic. I meant the werewolf's body." "Oh… that. Haha. Yeah… I don't think I did this."
"You don't think?" "All I remember is being struck hard, blacking out… then opening my eyes to see that thing devouring the goblin's core."
Ivar's eyes widened. "Devouring?" Arthur nodded. "Then I lost consciousness again… and you know the rest."
The magic faded. Ivar stepped back, opened the window, glanced outside, then back at Arthur. "Considering your heritage… Berserker is out of the question."
Arthur's lips twitched. 'Berserker… I've seen it before.'
He kept his tone flat. "Therians have those no?"
"Not exactly" Ivar said, leaning back. "It shows up in humans born from human–Therian unions. The mother's race decides a lot — Therian mothers almost always birth Therians, though human children happen. Human mothers? More often than not, the child's a Therian… but sometimes, a human slips through."
Arthur nodded slowly, letting him talk.
"Those humans inherit Berserker," Ivar continued. "It wakes up the Therian side — boosts strength, speed, endurance. But the cost…" He tapped his temple. "The mind goes. Friend, foe — doesn't matter. They fight until they drop, or until someone drops them."
'And if they survive, they wake up broken… or stronger,' Arthur thought.
"With brutal discipline, a few can keep their minds intact," Ivar said. "But that's rare. Legends, mostly. And it's never shown up in Therian–dwarf or Therian–elf pairings — unlike human body, theirs can handle much more."
Arthur tilted his head. "So it's not just blood?"
"No. Anyone could learn it, in theory. But without the right lineage, it'll kill you before it makes you strong."
Arthur's gaze drifted away, hiding the faint smile tugging at his mouth. Or… it makes you something else entirely.
"This is troubling," Ivar said, frowning. "If you don't know who helped you, this… thing could be a danger to Whitecave."
"Why?"
"Because we don't know their allegiance. Enemy? Ally? Did they truly mean to save you, or do they want something? I can't imagine someone fighting a Named monster, then walking away without taking anything."
He paused. "They didn't touch your body or the Named's corpse. I don't know anyone that generous."
Silence.
Arthur hesitated. "If I told you… that I have a general idea who it is… would that reassure you?"
Ivar's gaze sharpened. "You said you didn't know."
Arthur went silence, weighing truth and lie.
'Do you want my suggestion, Arthur?'
The voice in his mind—like the way Nirael spoke to him, but it could never be her.
Arthur then spoke.
Ivar listened, his expression shifting—confusion, surprise, a frown. "So you're saying the one who saved you might be a powerful Aethermancer? And their summon killed the werewolf?"
Arthur nodded.
"Hmm." Ivar thought hard. It made sense… and yet. Another Named monster? Impossible. A secret protector? Maybe an Ebony Stallion? No—their methods were brutal, not animalistic. A General Knight? Leoric Vargris—more beast than man—could do it. But he stood with Jared, the Second Heir. Arthur's death would serve him better.
Finally, Ivar sighed. "You might be right. There are powerful Aethermancers roaming the continent."
He studied Arthur, sensing he was holding something back—not to deceive, but to protect. Still, he chose to trust his judgment.
"I suppose… when the time is right, you'll tell me."
"Hmm? I‑I don't know what you mean," Arthur said too quickly.
Ivar smiled faintly, patted Arthur's shoulder, then turned toward the door—only to pause mid‑step. "Oh, right. The man who barged into my room while you were unconscious. He asked me to help him get a merchant license, said you needed his help. I didn't believe him at first… but then he told me things only someone close to you could know. Your true identity. Why you're here. Do you trust him that much?"
"Yes. I trust him. Didn't he pretty much save my life?"
"If you say so. He does look like you—if you'd gone without food for a month."
Arthur chuckled. "Haha, I thought so too."
Ivar's hand found the door handle, but he hesitated again. "Odd, though… how did he know you were in danger? He was nowhere near you when it happened. Yet somehow, he knew. Almost like he saw it all with his own eyes."
He tilted his head, studying Arthur. "How did you meet him? He looks weak, but… uncanny. Wait—don't tell me…"
Arthur stiffened. No way… does he—figure it out?
"Is he… your illegitimate brother?"
Arthur blinked. "What?"
"No? Hm. Looks like you, but I've never heard of him. Wouldn't be surprising if the Duke strayed now and then."
Arthur held it in, then burst into laughter. "Haha—no. Definitely not."
"Really?" Ivar scratched his beard, unconvinced. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Anyway, confirm with the doctor before you leave."
"I will. Thanks."
"Bye, then."
The door shut.
Arthur sank back onto the bed, exhaling. "Thanks for the help just now, Seraphiel."
'No problem, Arthur.'
The Aethermancer lie came from Seraphiel. Her voice slipped into Arthur's mind the way Nirael's once had, and the familiarity was a strange comfort— warm, yet edged with the quiet ache of knowing it belonged to someone else.
'So what is your plan now Arthur?' Seraphiel ask curiously.
"Same as before, Helping Alex build his merchant foundation"
'Do you still to plan to hunt more monster for Alex? It's a bit risky'
"Yeah, I know, but I also needed to get stronger. Kael'thar is right. I am way too weak. Im no longer the same as I was back at the war."
'I see… no matter what you decided. We always be by your side'
"Thanks" Arthur straps his item and equipment with him. "I guess I meet the doctor now"
On the other hand, Alex had just finished taking his merchant license exam. The test was nothing difficult — a few basic math problems, some reading comprehension — and he passed without breaking a sweat. With the guild master himself quietly smoothing the process, it was over far quicker than usual.
License in hand, he strolled back through the market, exchanging nods and greetings with the acquaintances he'd made over the past few days.
"Yo, bro."
The familiar rasp of a heavy voice cut through the din.
"Gilberth!" Alex grinned.
"How you doing? You done with that merchant test?" the butcher asked, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Done," Alex laughed. "Got it right here."
He reached into his coat and pulled out the license, holding it up for Gilberth to see.
Whitecave Merchant Guild – Official Trade License
(Issued under the authority of the Adventurer Guild, Whitecave Chapter)
[Full Name: Alex Grey
Guild ID Number: 575816713
Date of Issue: 16th of Elene, Year 713
Place of Issue: Whitecave Merchant Guild
Authorized Trade Class: Monster Materials, General Goods]
Gilberth let out a low whistle as he handed the card back. "Gold License? And here I was thinking you were just some scrawny kid trying to hustle a few coins. Guess you've been hiding more than just a decent handshake."
Alex grinned. "You know the saying — the difference between a good businessman and a great one is that a great businessman knows how to find good connections."
Gilberth narrowed his eyes. "That's not a saying. That's just you trying to sound clever."
Alex shrugged. "And yet… it still sounded clever, didn't it?"
Gilberth snorted. "If you have that stitched on a banner, I'm charging you for the cloth."
Both men laughed, trading a few more jabs before Gilberth leaned forward. "Alright, enough joking around. So—what are you selling? You've got something to move, right?"
"Not right now," Alex said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But I am here for business."
"That's what I like to hear. I've got this freshly hunted three‑horned deer—bit pricey, I might've been hustled—but the meat's tender, the aroma—"
Alex lifted a hand, cutting him off mid‑pitch.
"That's not the business I'm talking about."
Gilberth's brow furrowed. "Then what kind?"
"I'm here to hire you. Not quite… more of like a partnership"
The butcher blinked, caught off guard. "Partnership? me?"
Alex nodded once, his expression calm but deliberate.
"You see, these past couple of days I've been busy gathering information," Alex began. "As you can tell from my license, I deal in monster goods and general merchandise. And as you probably know, a well‑cleaned, properly cut animal sells for far more than raw carcass."
Gilberth crossed his arms, interest flickering in his eyes.
"So I've heard. And you—" he jabbed a thick finger toward Alex, "—you're pretty famous for your butchering. I even heard the guild tried to recruit you, but you turned them down."
"Hah! Of course. I'm known as Gilberth, the Butcher King! Not just the Whitecave guild—guilds from other cities have tried to get me."
"So I'm saying—"
"No."
Alex blinked. "I haven't even—"
"No," Gilberth repeated, shutting him down before he could finish.
Alex blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"
"Listen, bro," Gilberth said, his tone steady. "I know you're a good kid. I'm not the smartest of the bunch, but I can judge a man's character."
"So why?"
Gilberth's gaze drifted to his stall. A hint of pride glimmered in his eyes — and even in the twitch of his moustache. "This… this has been my dream. Just me, my cleaver, and this stall. Sure, I could earn more working for the big guilds, but then it stops being mine. It becomes duty. And when it's duty… it loses its meaning. At least for me."
"But I won't hire you."
Gilberth frowned. "But you just said—"
Alex raised a hand to calm him. "I said I wanted a partnership. Nobody above anybody. I bring you the carcass, you butcher it, I sell it. You don't have to worry about being hustled — it's free from me. And of course, you get a share."
"How much?"
"We can discuss it later… but I'm guessing that won't work for you." Alex paused, then added, "How about… seventy–thirty? I take seventy, you take thirty."
Gilberth's eyes narrowed. "Hey, young man, that sounds like a scam. I thought you were different, but I guess you think butchering's a joke too, huh? I know I said I don't need the coins, but still—"
"Not at all. You misunderstand." Alex leaned in slightly. "This isn't just a three‑horned rabbit or a goblin. I know you're passionate about butchering — bodies—" he winced, "—okay, that sounds weird, but hear me out. This will be unlike anything else. You'll be working on at least B‑rank monsters soon. And some… special ones."
Gilberth's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Alex stepped closer and whispered in his ear.
Gilberth's eyes went wide. "Is that true?"
Alex nodded. "If you don't believe me, come to that inn tonight. I'll let you see for yourself."
"That inn?"
"That inn."
"You know my brother runs that place, right? And it's called Lovers' Inn."
"Oh, really? Then come in tonight. I'll be waiting downstairs."
Gilberth hesitated, weighing whether to trust Alex. After a moment, he gave a short nod. "Fine. I'll come — just to see. Nothing's agreed on yet."
"Sure, man. Just come. And I promise I won't assassinate you or anything."
"Hah! You? I feel like I could blow you over with my breath."
Alex smirked. "You said you're a good judge of people. Guess you're not as good as you think if you believe I'm that weak."
Gilberth froze for a second, eyes narrowing. "You're strong?"
Alex met his gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Haha… no."
They stared at each other for a beat, then both burst out laughing. Gilberth raised his cleaver in a mock swing, and Alex darted back with a grin.
"Tonight, man!" he called over his shoulder as he jogged away.
Gilberth watched him go, shaking his head. "Hmph. What a weird kid."
And yet, as the crowd swallowed Alex from view, Gilberth couldn't shake the feeling that tonight might change everything.