For a time, the elite adventurers of Bedford City had vanished, leaving the rest of the guild oppressed under the Light Eagle Corps and the city guards. Spirits had been at an all-time low.
Everyone assumed that after clearing the dungeon, the strategy team had simply moved on to conquer others.
Now that they had returned, it felt like a jolt of courage straight to the heart.
"Yah-ho! Hello, everyone, nya~!"
Maru waved energetically to the crowd—but the atmosphere inside the guild felt strange.
"What's wrong with everyone? You all look so panicked."
"Maru, don't tease them," Leon sighed, his golden hair gleaming as brilliantly as ever. He ruffled her head, earning a sheepish laugh in return.
Terl and Drew took in the familiar sight of the Adventurers' Guild's interior, a sense of relief easing their tension for a moment. But with danger still looming, there could be no true peace until the monsters were dealt with for good.
"I've already heard the situation," Leon said, clearing his throat. His voice was steady, resolute.
"The most important thing right now is to protect the city. We absolutely cannot allow the monsters to break through the gates—or harm a single civilian.
I have both good and bad memories of this place… but regardless, it's the city I live in every day. I'll never hand it over to monsters!
That is my duty as an adventurer!"
No one knew what Leon had gone through during his time away, but it was clear he had changed. His presence was more composed, his expression more seasoned—like a man who had weathered storms. He even seemed taller, his frame broader, his bearing heavier with experience.
The Leon who once lied to save face was gone.
It wasn't just Leon. Terl had also grown, his physique filling out until he looked every bit the formidable orc warrior. Drew's race prevented him from growing taller, but his old hunchback had vanished—he now stood straight and confident.
"I'll help too, nya~!"
Maru, by contrast, had changed the least—her hair was longer, lending her a touch of gentleness. But the moment she opened her mouth, her true personality shone through.
The adventurers exchanged glances. Then, one by one, smiles broke out as voices rose:
"That's right—protect the city! Count me in!"
"My blade's been thirsting long enough!"
Even the old janitor tossed aside his broom and declared with righteous fervor,
"I was once an adventurer too—until I took an arrow to the knee! Give me a weapon, and I can still fight!"
He was promptly dragged off to the rest area by the frail front-desk girl, who looked completely exasperated.
Of course, some adventurers still looked hesitant. No doubt, they'd quietly slip away later rather than stay and fight.
But that was their choice. Whether they stayed or fled—no one had the right to force or condemn them.
"Quite the enthusiasm."
Slow, rhythmic clapping echoed as Sid descended the stairs, a warm smile lighting his aged face.
"The Adventurers' Guild is issuing an emergency commission—defend Bedford City. All participants will be rewarded according to their contributions. Specific terms will be announced shortly."
The promise of rewards sent another wave of cheers through the hall, bolstering Leon's rallying call. Incentives always worked—whether in dungeon expeditions or on the battlefield.
"Mr. Sid," Leon stepped forward. "Do you know why the dungeon went berserk?"
Leon had fond memories of that place—not just because it was the first dungeon he'd ever cleared, but because of its legends, its treasures, and the items that had made him stronger.
Sid didn't answer immediately. Instead, he rested a hand on Leon's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
"The Sword Saint trained you well," he said. "Just a few days, and you've already grown this much. It won't be long before you reach Gold-rank."
"It's thanks to your teleportation scroll," Leon said sincerely. "Without it, we never would've found the Sword Saint so quickly."
Sid nodded. "Then prove it in battle. Show me how far you've come."
"Yeah."
Leon tightened his grip on his sword. He, too, wanted to know—how strong had he truly become after all that training?
The straight blade shimmered faintly with magic.
And come to think of it, his sister's birthday was coming up soon. It would soon be time to go home.
The Adventurers' Guild's mobilization was a success.
But not every faction with fighting power reached the same decision.
(***)
The Holy Light Church, Bedford Branch
Inside the cathedral, sacred hymns echoed softly. Sunlight streamed through stained glass, scattering prismatic colors across the floor. The faceless statue of the God of Light gazed down from above.
"The dungeon has fallen into chaos," murmured the hunchbacked bishop. His eyes gleamed as he fixed a sharp stare on the Holy Light Knight before him.
Arbuda—once Leon's dungeon companion, now vice-captain of the Bedford branch's knight squad. Only the Church's main headquarters granted the rank of captain or vice-captain; branch leaders bore the title of "squad captain."
His face was as cold and impassive as ever.
"This is the dungeon you guaranteed?" the bishop snapped. "The one you said was blessed by the gods? Said to commune with the divine? I say it's a den of demons! Were it not for your assurance, I'd have already declared it heretical and ordered its destruction!"
Arbuda bowed his head in silence. Then, after a pause, he replied calmly,
"The mercenaries and Count Philip's atrocities provoked the dungeon. Its outburst was self-defense."
The bishop inhaled sharply, ready to argue—
—but Arbuda suddenly lifted his head, voice ringing with fervor.
"As a faithful servant of my God, my blessed eyes can judge heresy without error!"
His gaze burned with zealous intensity, not at the bishop, but at the faceless statue above them.
"…"
The bishop faltered, then nodded slowly.
"I believe you, Arbuda. You are the most devout, most fanatical servant of our God. I may doubt others—but never you. Your loyalty is beyond question."
He lifted his scepter, the jewel atop it glinting faintly.
"Go. Lead the knights. Quell the dungeon's wrath. And if necessary…"
A shadow crossed his eyes.
"…slay the Count to appease it."
.
..
...
Outside the Church
Alone at last, Arbuda's stoic mask cracked. The face of a man nearing forty sagged with fatigue.
"Pretending all the time… it's exhausting."
(***)
Lord's Manor
Count Philip wheezed violently, coughing between gasps for breath until he could speak again, voice ragged and hoarse.
"Gather every soldier! Defend the walls to the death! No retreat—none at all!"
He turned to Sali, eyes wild. "Where's your companion? Where is the Hero?"
His gaze burned into Sali, desperation and madness mingling. In a time like this, a Hero was the greatest guarantee of survival.
"Elsa went to save people," Sali answered quietly, unnerved by how beastlike his father now looked—more cornered animal than man.
When… when had his father changed so much?
"Save people? At a time like this, you let her run off to save people? What have you learned from me?!"
Rage twisted the Count's face—but this time, Sali stood his ground.
"That is the Hero's duty! If she sees people being slaughtered and does nothing, then what kind of Hero would she be?!"
"You—!"
The Count jabbed a trembling finger at his son, words choking in his throat. When had this boy grown so unfamiliar—so defiant?
"Count, my lord!"
A panicked servant burst in.
"The monsters—they're at the walls! The Light Eagle Corps is holding them off!"
The inner wall of Bedford towered forty to fifty meters high.
That absurd height had been the work of the first Lord of Bedford, who, after following the first king into war and facing giants a hundred meters tall, had become so terrified that he ordered the construction of colossal walls.
Funds had run out, and only half had ever been completed. The outer wall remained ordinary in comparison.
Now, mercenaries and hastily assembled guards scrambled to haul supplies up the walls in preparation for defense.
A black tide of monsters surged forward, clouds of darkness rolling overhead wherever they passed.
On the battlements, Gelka stood beside Elsa, giving a low whistle.
"Never seen this many monsters before," he muttered. "Makes the battle on the Mo-Stone Plains look like child's play."
He sneaked a glance at Elsa—only to find her staring blankly at the horde, not listening at all.
A little disappointed at losing his chance to brag, he tried another approach.
"You're strong, girl. What's your name? Ever thought about joining up with us? The perks are great."
He grinned. "With your strength, the captain would probably make you a squad leader."
"I'm El—"
Elsa froze. Sali's warning echoed in her mind:
Listen. Don't tell suspicious people your real name—especially shady men. Some charm spells only need your true name to work!
It had been half a scare tactic, but naïve Elsa had taken it to heart.
Call her pure, call her simple—her mind held nothing but killing demons. For everything else, she was hopelessly clueless.
"…I'm Gres," she blurted, borrowing the name of a hero from a novel she'd read. Then she asked, completely out of place,
"Will joining you help me find companions?"
Gelka blinked, staring at her face. She was dead serious. Then he burst into laughter.
"In the Light Eagle Corps, there's no such thing as 'companions'—"
Disappointment flickered in Elsa's eyes.
"But," Gelka continued, spreading his arms with a half-smile, "we're all family. And family doesn't need words like 'companion.'"
Elsa's eyes brightened instantly.
"So?" Gelka grinned. "What do you say? Join us. I'll let you in on a secret—the captain's a real looker. One glance and you'll be smitten."
Before Elsa could respond, the watchman's horn blared.
War had arrived.
"Damn shame," Gelka muttered, clicking his tongue as he waved a hand. "Let's survive this first. Wish me luck, and I'll wish you the same. We've got to live."
Elsa nodded firmly.
Her grip tightened around the massive greatsword—wider than a door plank. For the first time, she felt a flicker of something new: hope.
ROAR!
The wyvern spewed a torrent of dragonfire against the walls.
The undead legions charged, heedless of their destruction, their bones piling up to form a macabre stairway for their king.
Golems drew back their colossal bows, loosing arrows the size of battering rams.
The siege had begun.