But instead of striking him, Seres suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Finel in a firm, unexpected embrace. The guild hall quieted at the sight. Her voice was soft but steady as she whispered, "Welcome home."
For once, Finel's grin wasn't playful—it was genuine. He patted her shoulder, a little awkward but happy, before stepping back with a bright smile. "Good to be back, Sister Seres."
With that, he adjusted his cloak and strode toward the Guildmaster's office, already shifting into his usual swagger. Before disappearing behind the door, he glanced at Abby. "Make sure to escort Seres home safely, would you?" Then his golden eyes flicked to Ardyn, narrowing just slightly.
"And you—try not to get into any more trouble while I'm gone."
Ardyn blinked, still bandaged and leaning against Abby for support, and muttered, "It wasn't on purpose."
Finel kicked open the Guildmaster's door with his foot, striding inside like he owned the place. Borin didn't even flinch—he was sitting at his desk, calmly sipping coffee, one eye scanning through the crisp pages of the Velsharra Daily Gazette, the city's most reputable paper.
"Oh, Finel," Borin said casually, lowering the paper. "When did you get back from the forest?"
Finel scoffed, dropping into the nearest chair without asking. "Don't act like you didn't know, you old geezer. The moment I stepped inside the guild hall, you sensed me. Retired or not, you're still an A-rank at heart."
Borin smirked faintly, setting his cup down. "Sharp as always." He tilted the pot. "Coffee?"
"Pass," Finel waved him off. "After today, I'm already wide awake. And speaking of today, let's talk business." He leaned forward, tone suddenly serious. "What the hell is a Rank B wraith doing in those woods? That forest is only supposed to be up to C-difficulty. There's no way a monster of that caliber just wandered in."
Borin's brow furrowed. "A wraith, you say?"
"Yeah," Finel said, tapping the staff at his side. "If I hadn't rushed back from the capital, the rookies and even Ardyn would've been torn apart. Abby might've stalled it, but even she couldn't finish it. That's not just bad luck—that's unnatural."
The Guildmaster sat in silence for a long moment, his single eye narrowing. Finally, he muttered, "The Saintess is on her way here. Perhaps the world itself is shifting in response to her arrival. If monsters are gathering in higher numbers and ranks… we may be facing the beginning of something bigger."
Finel crossed his arms, his grin gone for once. "Then we better figure it out fast. Because if Rank Bs are wandering that close to Velsharra, this city's in more danger than it realizes."
Borin leaned back in his chair, tapping the edge of his cup thoughtfully. "Truth is… even we don't fully understand the Saintess's powers. They're guarded secrets of the Church. Saintesses almost never leave the capital, and when they do, it's for reasons far above our station. The only thing we know for certain is this—Saintesses are the only ones who can summon Heroes from other worlds. Our kingdom just received one not long ago."
Finel raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Exactly my point. So why in the hell is she coming here of all places? Velsharra isn't exactly the center of politics or power. We both know the official reasoning—'to fulfill holy tradition, to spread blessings, to aid the frontier'—blah, blah, blah. Sounds nice on paper, but smells like politics in reality. A Saintess doesn't just wander into our little corner of the map unless there's more to it."
Borin's eye narrowed. "You think she's hiding something."
"I think the Church is hiding something," Finel corrected, voice edged with suspicion. "And it gets stranger, doesn't it? Each nation only ever has one Saintess. That's the rule. The balance. But our kingdom?" He leaned in, lowering his voice. "We have two. Two Saintesses. And now one of them is coming here. Doesn't that sound like more than coincidence?"
Borin's fingers tightened on his mug, the steam curling upward between them. "It sounds like trouble."
Finel leaned back in the chair opposite Borin, exhaling through his nose. "Two Saintesses, a Hero from another world, and now a B-rank Wraith wandering into a C-rank forest. It's a mess, geezer. But what can we even do about it?"
Borin's single eye narrowed, his tone steady but weighted. "Not much. Not yet. We're no kings or cardinals. The Church plays its games, and we clean up the pieces when they fall here. Our job is to keep Velsharra safe, nothing more." He set his cup down with a quiet clink. "But don't mistake that for inaction. If something bigger is brewing, it'll leave traces. We'll watch, we'll listen, and when the time comes… we'll act."
Finel gave a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "You always make it sound so simple."
"Because simple's all we can afford," Borin replied. Then he added, softer, "Until the Saintess sets foot here, we stay sharp. That's enough."
For a rare moment, Finel didn't argue. He just sat there, silent, staring at the steam rising from Borin's coffee like it might carry answers neither of them had.
The silence between them lingered for a while, broken only by the faint rustle of the newspaper when Borin folded it shut.
Finel finally leaned forward, smirking again as though to shake off the weight of the talk. "Alright, enough doom and gloom. Tell me, old man—did the gifts I asked for make it here, or did you forget like last time?"
Borin raised a brow over the rim of his eyepatch, unimpressed. "Hmph. Gifts, is it? Katherine's got them. I told her to set them aside for you the moment you dragged your feet back into my hall. You want them, you ask her."
Finel groaned dramatically, tipping his head back. "So you did make her handle it. You're lucky she doesn't strangle you in your sleep, geezer."
Borin snorted into his coffee, one corner of his mouth quirking. "She wouldn't dare. Who else would keep this guild running if I wasn't here to bark at fools like you?"
Finel rose from the chair with a roll of his shoulders, muttering, "Yeah, yeah. You just like dumping your errands on the pretty ones." But beneath his joking, a hint of relief showed on his face. Whatever those "gifts" were, he was clearly glad they'd arrived safely.