Finel stood over the dissipating remnants of the wraith, not even winded. He kept his pointed hood up, muttering to himself in a low, annoyed grumble. "Just how did a Rank B Wraith stay alive in this forest? What is the guild even doing?" He kicked at the dirt in frustration. "I might have to have a word with that old geezer Borin. Weren't adventurers tasked with clearing this area before the Saintess's arrival? Man, it's gonna be such a pain if more monsters like this start popping up."
His glinting eyes, sharp and assessing, then flicked over to our ragged group. "You lot. If you can walk, you better do it. The mana density from that fight is like a dinner bell. Every monster for miles will be heading here for a quick meal."
Joron and Krinish, ever practical even in their shock, immediately moved to the dire wolf corpses. With shaky but determined hands, they began the grisly work of harvesting fangs, claws, and patches of usable pelt—valuable quest proof and sellable materials.
Finel watched for a moment before waving a hand. As they cut each valuable part free, it vanished from their grasp, stored instantly into his spatial ring. "Quicker that way," he stated, seeing their confused looks. "Krinish, burn whatever's left. We don't need a scavenger trail following us out of here."
Krinish nodded, summoning a small, focused flame in his palm and setting it to the wolf remains. The acrid smell of burning fur filled the air.
"Alright, that's enough sightseeing," Finel said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Move. Now. I'll take point. Try to keep up."
With our injuries hastily patched and our savior—a Numbered A-ranker named Finel—leading the way, we quickly made our way out of the darkening, monster-infested woods, leaving the smoldering remains and the chilling memory of the wraith behind us.
The clearing, once filled with the tense relief of reunion, now crackled with a different kind of energy entirely. Finel leaned casually on his four-section staff, which had seamlessly reformed into a single rod, a sly grin spreading across his face as he watched Seres tear into Ardyn.
"Sister Seres," he called out, his voice a playful drawl that cut through her scolding. "Don't be so rough on your loooover." He dragged out the word with enough theatrical exaggeration to make several of the surrounding adventurers snicker and Seres's pale cheeks flush a startling, vivid pink.
Ardyn, for his part, just blinked in utter confusion. The concept was so foreign, so entirely disconnected from his understanding of his relationship with Seres—protector, caregiver, the unwavering center of his new world—that the implication sailed completely over his head. He did, however, feel the sudden, sharp shift in the air as Seres's glare, previously focused solely on him, snapped toward Finel with the intensity of a crossbow bolt.
"Oh, don't look at me like that!" Finel chuckled, lifting his free hand in mock surrender, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. "The boy not only fought a pack of dire wolves all on his own while saving this band of clueless rookies—" he gestured vaguely at Joron, Krinish, and Liam, who had the decency to look abashed, "—but he also stood face to face with a Wraith. A Wraith, Seres! Tell me that doesn't sound at least a little bit heroic?"
The teasing lost all its humor for Seres the moment the word 'Wraith' left his lips. The pink in her cheeks vanished, replaced by a pallor so severe she looked like a ghost herself. Her hands, which had been firmly pressing a poultice to Ardyn's chest, stilled. She slowly lifted her gaze from the wound to Ardyn's face, her milky white eyes wide with a horror that was far deeper than any anger.
"A Wraith?" she whispered, the word trembling in the air before her voice sharpened into something raw and fierce. "Which utter fool would dare to stand and fight a Wraith instead of running for their life?"
Her hands began to shake against his skin, a fine tremor that spoke of a fear so profound it was translating into physical fury. To the others, it might have looked like bravery. To Seres, who understood the fragility of life better than anyone, it was the pinnacle of recklessness—a suicidal impulse that made her want to shake him until his teeth rattled. She glared at Ardyn, her jaw so tight it looked like it might crack, as if sheer force of will could make him understand just how close he had danced with death. Ardyn, utterly bewildered by this new layer of her anger but sensing the genuine terror beneath it, could only lower his head in shame under her withering stare.
Finel, realizing his joke had inadvertently unleashed a far more terrifying version of Seres, quickly raised both hands, his earlier bravado replaced by a nervous chuckle. "Now, now, don't misunderstand! The boy wasn't trying to fight it. It teleported right behind him and took a swing—he only survived because he somehow stepped back at the exact last moment. A complete fluke! I was still far away, rushing over when it happened!"
Seres's pale eyes narrowed dangerously, shifting their weight from Ardyn to Finel. The unspoken accusation hung in the air: And you just watched?
Finel stiffened, genuine panic flashing in his golden eyes. "Sister Seres, I swear I wasn't slacking! I was moving as fast as I could! Look," he pleaded, pointing at Ardyn, "he's still alive, isn't he? A bit leaky, but all the important parts are still attached!"
But Finel, being Finel, couldn't let it drop for long. After a moment of letting Seres return to her work, her movements stiff and furious, he began to circle them slowly, the grin returning to his face like the sun breaking through storm clouds.
"Oh, but Seres, you have to admit," he purred, his voice taking on a storytelling cadence, "it's all very dramatic. The mysterious, golden-haired boy, wounded but unyielding, saving the helpless at the risk of his own life. And you, the beautiful, stoic maiden with healing hands, patching him up afterward. It's the stuff of bard's tales! The ballads practically write themselves. I can already hear the lute music."
Seres froze mid-bandage, a long strip of clean cloth hanging from her hands. She didn't look up, but the temperature around her seemed to drop several degrees. The adventurers who had been listening in with amusement suddenly found the ground very interesting.
"Finel." The single word was uttered in a low, flat tone. It carried no raised voice, no overt threat, yet it dripped with a menace that promised unimaginable retribution. It was the kind of voice that could silence a roaring tavern.
Finel, however, was either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing in the clearing. "What? It's true! The chemistry is undeniable! The tension! The drama!"
Ardyn, who had been slowly piecing together the implications, finally felt a hot flush of his own creep up his neck. He understood now that Finel was suggesting something… more. Something about the way he and Seres were together. The idea was so vast and confusing it made his head spin more than the blood loss. He looked from Seres's terrifyingly still form to Finel's laughing face and felt a sudden, desperate urge to intervene, to protect Finel from the storm he was so gleefully summoning.
But it was too late. Seres's hands finished their work with a sharp, final tug on the bandage that made Ardyn wince. Then, she slowly, deliberately, stood up. She turned to face Finel, her expression as calm and cold as a frozen lake.
"You seem to have a lot of energy, Finel," Seres said, her voice a silken thread of deceptive calm. It was the kind of tone that made the surrounding adventurers instinctively take a half-step back. Then, with the speed of a striking viper, her hand snapped up and landed a sharp, stinging smack to the top of his hooded head.
THWACK.
"OW!" Finel yelped, more out of surprise than pain, clutching his skull as he staggered back a step. The pointed tips of his hood quivered. "Sister Seres, I'm a ranked adventurer, you know! A Numbered one! You can't just—"
THWACK.
Another smack, louder and more precise than the first. The sound, a crisp impact of palm on head, echoed in the stunned silence of the clearing. Every adventurer, from the rookies to the seasoned rescuers, froze wide-eyed. They were witnessing the impossible: an A-rank, Numbered Adventurer—a living legend—being physically disciplined like a naughty schoolboy.
"Maybe," Seres said coldly, unfolding her arms only to refold them tightly across her chest, her pale eyes glinting like chips of ice, "next time you'll think twice before standing by and watching instead of helping. Or before running your mouth about things you shouldn't."
Finel looked like he wanted to argue, his mouth opening and closing, but one look at the glacial fury in Seres's eyes made his courage crumble entirely. His shoulders sagged in utter defeat, his entire posture radiating the sulk of a child who'd been caught stealing sweets.
Seeing his capitulation, Seres's expression shifted from icy wrath to a terrifyingly sweet smile. "Since you have so much vigor to spare," she continued, her voice now dripping with false benevolence, "perhaps you would like to make yourself useful and go gather more wolfsbane. I noticed our supplies are running critically low." She paused, letting the dread build. "There's a particularly dense patch about three miles northeast of here, deep in the Gloomwood thicket. I'm sure a man of your talents can't miss it."
Another pause, heavier than the first. The Gloomwood at night was a deathtrap.
"And be sure to check each leaf individually for silver vein markings," she added, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Only those will do for the poultices. Nothing else is acceptable."
Finel's laughter died in his throat. Three miles. Northeast. Into the darkest, most monster-infested part of the woods. At night. Checking every leaf. It was a punishment disguised as a chore, delivered with sweet, murderous politeness.
He opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Seres's eyes—which held the same deadly promise as a drawn blade—made him snap it shut. He sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Yes, Sister Seres," he mumbled, sounding like a scolded child.
As he turned to trudge off into the darkness, he shot a last, helpless look at Ardyn that clearly said, See what you've gotten me into?
Ardyn watched him go, a mixture of guilt and gratitude swirling in his chest. He looked back at Seres, who had returned to his side, her expression once again a mask of stoic concern as she checked the tightness of his bandages. The storm had passed, for now. But as her fingers gently brushed his skin, Ardyn made a silent vow. He would never, ever make her look that terrified again. And he would definitely never, ever mention the word 'lover' in her presence.
The Velsharra Guild Hall
The heavy guild hall doors swung open, and the injured adventurers were carried inside amidst a flurry of activity. Healers rushed forward, their hands already glowing with gentle restorative magic. Ardyn leaned heavily on Abby's shoulder, his face pale but his steps steady, while Seres followed close behind, a silent, watchful shadow. Her eyes, which had glowed with an unearthly white light, had dimmed back to their usual soft, pale blue, her expression a calm mask that gave nothing away.
And there, leaning against the reception desk as if he owned the place, was Finel. He grinned ear to ear, waving an exaggerated, welcoming wave. "Welcome back! Took you long enough. I was starting to get bored."
The entire rescue party of ten adventurers, who had just trudged wearily through the door, froze mid-step. A collective intake of breath hissed through the hall.
"Wait… that's… Finel?!" one of the warriors whispered, his voice choked with disbelief as he lowered the stretcher he was carrying.
"Already here?" another muttered, rubbing his eyes as if to clear them of a mirage. "But he left after us… we saw him head into the Gloomwood."
A third, a seasoned scout, shook her head slowly, a look of dawning, horrified respect on her face. "He must've sprinted through the heart of the forest. At night. To get the herbs and circle back before we even made it to the road…"
"No way," the first warrior breathed. "That's… that's just insane. The strength difference… this is what an A-ranker really is?"
The rookies—Joron, Krinish, and Liam—who were being helped to chairs, could only stare, their earlier awe solidifying into something akin to worship. They were looking at a living legend who operated on a level they could scarcely comprehend.
Seres stepped forward, utterly unimpressed by the display. Her calm was a stark contrast to the stunned atmosphere. "Finel," she said, her voice even. "The herbs."
"Of course, Sister Seres!" Finel puffed out his chest with theatrical pride and produced a seemingly ordinary herb pouch from his ring, handing it over with a flourish. "The exact kind you requested, each leaf individually inspected for silver vein markings. Easy, really. For an A-rank, it was nothing more than a pleasant walk in the park."
The younger adventurers exchanged wide-eyed, incredulous looks. One of the rescuers finally found his voice, whispering to the man next to him, "He really did it. He actually gathered specialized herbs from the Gloomwood thicket and beat us back to the guild… incredible."
The sheer, impossible speed of it all cemented Finel's status not just as strong, but as something utterly beyond their understanding.
Without a word, Seres turned from Finel's deflating pride, carried the herb pouch to the reception counter, and placed it squarely in front of Katherine. "How much did Finel pay for this?" she asked, her voice devoid of inflection.
Katherine, the picture of professional composure, blinked once. She didn't need to consult her ledger, but she did so for effect, her finger tracing down a column of neat script. She looked up, her expression perfectly neutral. "He purchased this pouch from our botanical reserves… oh, let's see… just a few minutes before you all returned."
The guild hall, which had been buzzing with murmured awe and the clatter of armor, went utterly, profoundly silent.
All eyes swiveled back to Finel. His proud, chest-puffed grin froze solid, then cracked like ice under pressure before collapsing into a sheepish, panicked grimace. "Ah… ahaha… well, you see… it's all about technicalities, right?" he stammered, waving his hands dismissively. "Whether I picked them myself or… procured them through efficient means, the herbs are still here! The important thing is the result, don't you think? Mission accomplished!"
Seres's expression didn't change, but a faint, telltale vein pulsed at her temple.
One of the rookie rescuers whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "So… he didn't even go into the woods?"
Another muttered, his voice thick with betrayed admiration, "And we were just… applauding him for it?"
The silence shattered, replaced by a wave of roaring laughter. Half the adventurers in the hall doubled over, clutching their stomachs, their guffaws echoing off the high ceilings.
Finel held up his hands desperately, his cheeks flushing. "W-wait, wait! Don't laugh! I was being efficient! Do you have any idea how crucial efficiency is for an A-rank adventurer? It's a core tenet!"
Seeing his words were having the opposite effect, he straightened up, attempting to salvage the last shreds of his dignity. "Listen! Do you all realize how exhausting my night has been? I single-handedly defeated a Wraith while protecting those rookies! Even I got injured, you know! The mental fatigue alone is immense!"
Seres narrowed her pale-blue eyes, her gaze dropping pointedly to his pristine, unwounded form. "You're not bleeding, are you?"
Finel froze mid-gesture, then huffed in indignation. "W-well, no, but I am both mentally and physically fatigued! Do you have any idea how stressful it is to keep saving everyone from trouble magnets like him?" He jabbed a dramatic finger in Ardyn's direction.
Seres's hand curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist at her side. Her expression remained placid, but the air around her grew cold enough to make the nearest adventurers stop laughing and take a cautious step back.
Finel's bravado evaporated instantly. He backpedaled so fast he nearly tripped over his own boots. "R-Really! I had to deliver an urgent report to the Guildmaster! About the Wraith! That's the real reason I rushed back! A vital mission debriefing! So, please, Sister Seres… please don't hit me again!"