A voice, aged but sharp with undeniable authority, cut through the tense silence like a whip crack. "Stop it."
Every eye in the hall snapped toward the doorway of the side room where Katherine had vanished. An old man stood there, his presence immediately commanding the room. He was in his sixties, with a wild mane of white hair and a fearsome, faded claw mark that ran from under a black leather eyepatch down the length of his weathered cheek. Everyone knew him. He was the Guild Master.
His single, piercing eye swept over the frozen scene before locking directly onto Ardyn. There was no request in his tone, only cold, absolute command. "Boy." The word echoed in the silent hall. "Let him go. Now."
Ardyn's cold, focused eyes didn't waver from Zeren's terrified, sweat-beaded face. He did not release him. The point of the dagger remained, a constant, unblinking threat.
The Guild Master's expression darkened, his single eye narrowing. The Guild Master's single eye fixed on Ardyn, the intensity in his gaze enough to make seasoned warriors flinch. "Boy. Let him go." A palpable, oppressive pressure suddenly flooded the hall—his Killing Intent. It was a heavy, suffocating force, the weight of decades of command and combat experience, meant to crush resistance and force immediate, instinctual submission. Adventurers nearby flinched, some taking an involuntary step back under the psychic assault.
But Ardyn did not crumple. He didn't even stagger. Instead, his own aura shifted in response. He didn't glance toward the Guild Master; his entire world had narrowed to the dagger, the man beneath it, and the immediate threat. A different kind of pressure began to radiate from him—a silent, glacial cold that had nothing to do with rank or authority. It was the pure, undiluted promise of a predator. It spoke of dark places, of instinct honed to a razor's edge, of violence that was not a tool but a first and final language.
The two forces clashed invisibly in the center of the guild hall. The Guild Master's intent was a hammer, meant to dominate. Ardyn's was a scalpel, meant to dissect. They did not cancel each other out; instead, they made the very air feel thick, heavy, and charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. Lantern flames guttered. The temperature seemed to drop. Every person in the room felt caught between two immense, opposing wills, and the silence was no longer just stunned—it was terrified. The boy wasn't just resisting; he was answering. And his answer was every bit as terrifying as the Guild Master's command.
Seeing the dangerous, invisible escalation of killing intents clash in the air, Seres knew she had to act. She moved carefully, placing a gentle but firm hand on Ardyn's good arm, feeling the tense, coiled power humming beneath his skin.
"Ardyn," she said, her voice a low, urgent whisper meant for his ears alone. "Let him go. We are not here to cause trouble." Her eyes flickered toward the imposing figure of the Guild Master, then back to Ardyn's cold, focused profile. "Releasing killing intent, fighting… it is strictly forbidden in the guild. They do not care who started it. They will punish everyone equally." Her fingers tightened slightly, a plea woven into the pressure. "Please."
Her words were a lifeline of reason thrown into the sea of his predatory focus. She wasn't asking him to submit to Zeren; she was asking him to see the larger consequences, for all of them. The guild's laws were absolute, and breaking them would mean more than just a scuffle—it would mean exile, or worse, for everyone involved.
At Seres's words, the cold, predatory fire in Ardyn's eyes banked, receding like a tide. He held her gaze for a long, silent moment, the connection a anchor in the storm of his intensity. Then he looked back at Zeren, his expression shifting to one of pure, unadulterated disdain.
Calmly, almost lazily, he flipped Zeren's own dagger into the air with a casual flick of his wrist. The blade spun twice, a gleaming silver arc in the lantern light that held everyone's breath, before he caught it neatly by the flat of the blade. He then offered the hilt back to a pale, trembling Zeren. It was a cool, unnerving display of precision and utter control, a silent message that he was disarming himself by choice, not by force.
With a final, slight press of the blade that made Zeren whimper in fear, Ardyn smoothly pulled the dagger away. He released the man's wrist with a contemptuous shove that sent the larger adventurer stumbling backward, his bravado utterly shattered.
The Guild Master's single eye widened in sheer, unvarnished astonishment as the oppressive, glacial pressure radiating from the boy vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. He had expected the lad to break instantly under his own seasoned killing intent, to crumple to his knees like any untrained novice would. That he had not only held firm but had returned the pressure—with a killing intent so sharp, so genuine, and so deeply ingrained that it felt less like a technique and more like a fundamental part of his being—was utterly unbelievable. It was the intent of someone who knew death intimately, not of a boy playing at being a warrior. This 'fiesty little guy'… the thought echoed in the Guild Master's mind, all previous assumptions shattered. Who in the blazes is he?
Before he could voice the question or process the implications further, a sudden, sharp thwack echoed through the silent hall. Katherine had emerged from the side room and, without a hint of ceremony or fear, bonked the formidable Guild Master firmly on the head with a tightly rolled-up parchment.
"Old man!" she scolded, her voice ringing with exasperation. "Stop it with the intimidating aura! This is not why I called you out here! Look at this mess!" She gestured wildly at the stunned crowd, the ashen-faced Zeren, and the calmly standing Ardyn.
The terrifying killing intent that had filled the guild hall vanished from the Guild Master as if it had never been, instantly replaced by a look of pure, comical chagrin. He blinked, his fearsome presence completely deflated by the receptionist's scolding. He reached up and rubbed the spot on his head where the parchment had struck. "Alright, alright," he grumbled, his voice now that of a scolded grandfather rather than a terrifying authority figure. "No need for violence, Katherine." The sheer absurdity of the moment left every adventurer in the room utterly speechless, the whiplash from terror to bewilderment complete.
The Guild Master cleared his throat, the sound like grinding stones in the profound silence. All traces of his earlier chagrin were gone, replaced by stern, unquestionable authority. He addressed the entire hall, his single eye sweeping over the gathered adventurers.
"The matter of the pelts is settled," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. He held up the very parchment Katherine had used to bonk him on the head, now unrolled. "They were brought in with a proper letter of verification and witness statement." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, ensuring everyone understood the significance. "It is from the A-rank adventurer, Finel. He came upon the scene himself. He witnessed the aftermath and vouches for the authenticity of both the kill and the claim. There will be no further discussion on it."
He then turned his piercing gaze to Zeren, who was still clutching his formerly trapped wrist, his face pale and trembling with a mixture of residual fear and humiliation. The Guild Master's expression was icy. "Zeren." The name was a condemnation. "You had no right to make public accusations without evidence. You absolutely had no right to lay hands on another soul within my guild. Your actions today were a disgrace to the adventurer's rank you hold." He took a step forward, and the weight of his presence, though no longer murderous, was immense. "Mark my words. Do anything like this again, and you will lose your license. Permanently. You will be nothing here. Now get out of my sight." The final sentence was a low, dangerous growl that brooked no argument.
Zeren, though visibly humiliated and still shaking, managed to scrounge up a final, desperate shred of defiance. His pride, publicly shredded, clawed for any foothold. "An A-rank?" he blustered, his voice cracking. "How do we know this Finel didn't just take pity on them? How do we know the letter is even real—?"
The Guild Master cut him off, his voice dropping into a low, deadly calm that was far more frightening than any shout. "If you doubt the sworn word of a numbered A-rank adventurer," he stated, each word precise and heavy as an anvil, "the path to resolve your doubt is simple. You may challenge Finel to a formal duel to contest his claim. The guild will arrange it."
A wave of cold, stark understanding swept through the hall. A collective, almost imperceptible shudder ran through the crowd. Every adventurer present knew that challenging any A-rank, even the lowest, was considered a one-way ticket to the healers' ward—if you were lucky. But challenging a numbered A-rank? One of the elite few whose skills, accomplishments, and power were the stuff of legends, whose names were known across kingdoms? That wasn't a challenge; it was a publicly announced suicide. The silence that followed was filled with the grim image of Zeren being effortlessly dismantled.
Even the unfazed B-rank girl in the corner, who had been polishing a wicked-looking dagger without glancing up throughout the entire confrontation, paused her work. She shook her head slightly, a minute gesture of pure pity for the sheer, staggering foolishness of the idea. Zeren's remaining color drained from his face completely. The last of his defiance evaporated, leaving only the cold sweat of terror. He had been utterly and completely checkmated.
He looked at the floor, the rough wooden planks suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. His bravado, his bluster, everything that made him Zeren, was utterly shattered, leaving behind a hollow shell of a man. The image of facing a numbered A-rank in a formal duel flashed behind his eyes—not a fight, but an execution. "N-no, Guild Master," he stammered, the words tasting like ash. "I withdraw my accusation." He had wanted to cause trouble, to bully and steal credit, not to die in a spectacle of his own making.
"Wise choice," the Guild Master stated, his voice flat and devoid of any triumph. It was merely a statement of fact. "The trade will be processed at full value. The matter is closed." With that final, absolute decree, he turned on his heel. The crowd of adventurers parted before him like a sea, a silent, respectful—and deeply relieved—path opening up as he walked steadily back toward his office, the side door closing behind him with a soft but definitive click.
The spell of tension broke. A collective, subtle exhale seemed to move through the hall. Katherine smoothly stepped back behind the counter, her hands neatly folding the now-famous parchment. Her professional, warm smile returned to her face as if the violent confrontation, the clashing killing intents, and the Guild Master's intervention had never happened.
"Now," she said to Seres and Ardyn, her tone bright and businesslike, "let's finalize the sale of those pelts. I believe we were discussing a price for one Grade D and two Grade E wolf pelts?" It was back to business, the extraordinary event already being filed away as just another day at the guild.
The guild hall remained in a hushed, heavy silence long after the Guild Master's departure. The low-ranked adventurers, who had been frozen in place, finally seemed to remember how to breathe, the air filling with a collective, subtle exhale of relief. But the tension didn't fully dissipate—it simply shifted. All eyes followed Ardyn, their gazes no longer holding mockery or suspicion, but a potent, wary mixture of fear, newfound respect, and burning, unanswered curiosity. The boy who was no one, who claimed no rank, had not only faced down Zeren's brutality but had also stood unwavering under the Guild Master's crushing killing intent. And perhaps most astonishing of all, he had a numbered A-rank adventurer personally vouching for his unbelievable story. He was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, and now, everyone in the hall knew it.