Chapter 45: Adventurers Guild and a New Guest
The Guild Master's office was dimly lit, smoke still lingering from a half-burnt cigar pressed into the ashtray. Paul Gyaunam leaned back in his chair, his weathered eyes fixed on the parchment-strewn desk before him.
Word had spread quickly through Vurnam. The Monarchial Killer… the White Plague… had arrived.
Paul exhaled slowly, his face carved with the lines of decades of battle and regret. In his prime, he and a handful of comrades had felled one of the Four Demon Lords—a feat that had made him a legend. But those days were gone, leaving him in his fifties, his once-dark hair streaked with white and gray.
He relit his cigar, muttering under his breath.
"Someone who can kill souls… sever the cycle of rebirth itself… Why has he come here? Could it be for the same thing I've feared all along?"
A sharp knock broke his thoughts. The door opened, revealing his secretary, a woman in her twenties, her face pale.
"Sir, there's… there's a commotion."
"What kind of commotion?" Paul asked, his tone steady—until the air itself thickened like a choking fog. His breath caught. Sweat slid down his temples as visions bled into reality: faces of his fallen comrades, twisted in death, crowding the edges of his vision.
He staggered toward the window—only to see them.
Leornars.
And the figures at his side.
The guild hall darkened as they entered.
---
Earlier
The undead wyvern's wings sliced the sky as Leornars and his crew soared toward Vurnam.
Stacian adjusted her cloak, her sharp eyes turning to her lord.
"First impressions matter. If we don't make a proper entrance, they'll dismiss us as nothing."
Leornars nodded faintly. "I thought the same."
Meanwhile, Zaryter and Zhyelena bickered endlessly at the back, their voices carrying over the roar of the wind. Shullah slept soundly in Zhyier's arms, unbothered by the chaos.
"At least I'm alive, unlike you, undead mutt," Zaryter sneered.
"Alive? Don't make me laugh. I'm far more useful to Lord Leornars than a loudmouthed lizard," Zhyelena snapped back.
"Useful? You're nothing but a zombie with delusions."
"What did you just say—!"
Their argument was cut short as Leornars turned, his eyes glowing faintly.
"Silence, imbeciles."
The wyvern dipped lower, gliding over Vurnam's rooftops. Their destination loomed below: the mayor's office. Yet as the guards moved to escort them in, Leornars merely waved a hand.
"No. A mayor is beneath my notice. Not even a noble… what a waste of time."
His eyes glimmered red as he activated Phantom Illusion, draping the entire mayor's office in a false reality. With a simple order, Bellian took the form of the illusionary Leornars within.
Zaryter blinked. "We're just… leaving?"
"The illusion will hold. Bellian will deal with any stupidity. To the mayor, it will feel real."
Stacian smirked, arms folded. "Poor fool will be speaking to an empty room, thinking he's in an audience with us."
Leornars ignored their chatter, his gaze fixed forward. "Our true destination is the Adventurers Guild."
"The guild?" Zaryter asked.
"We need our cards updated. Without them, we'll be taxed for every foreign step we take. And the dungeons here will serve well for your training," Stacian explained.
Soon, the guild's grand hall rose before them. As they landed, Leornars issued a chilling command.
"Release your aura. Not too much… not too little."
Stacian's aura unfurled first, a radiant blend of white and blue. Zaryter followed, his energy a pale cerulean. Last came Leornars, his crimson-black aura spilling forth like a tide of corruption.
The effect was immediate.
Weaker adventurers collapsed, gasping for breath. Even veterans staggered, their knees trembling as visions consumed them. In their minds, Stacian and Zaryter appeared as spectral figures of white flame, while Leornars manifested as a colossal black viper, its fangs dripping venom, eyes glowing with malice.
The guild hall descended into chaos.
---
The Guild Master
Paul rushed from his office, his instincts screaming. The moment his eyes fell upon the intruders, his heart clenched.
The White Plague. The man who kills souls, not just flesh. The harbinger of the new era's apocalypse.
The guild scrambled to receive them.
Within minutes, Leornars sat upon the guest chair in the guild master's office, calm and unyielding. Stacian stood at his right, Zaryter at his left, both silent.
Paul steeled himself, forcing the tremor from his voice.
"I know why you've come here."
Leornars' eyes narrowed, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.
"Oh? You have my attention."
With a snap of his fingers, the shadows twisted. Bellian, Zhyelena, and Zhyier materialized around him, their presence suffocating.
"Stacian. Zaryter. Leave us." His voice was void of warmth, cold enough to freeze blood.
Stacian hesitated, but one look into her lord's eyes made her heart stutter. There was nothing there. No mercy. No restraint. Only the promise of annihilation. She felt a bead of sweat trail down her cheek.
"Zaryter. We're going," she whispered.
He obeyed, though confusion clouded his face.
"Why are we leaving?"
"Because if you stayed," Stacian murmured, "he would have killed you without hesitation. I saw it in his eyes—the void. A gaze that devours everything."
Zaryter froze, horrified.
---
The Threat
Inside the office, the temperature plummeted.
Leornars moved like a phantom, a dagger pressing against the guild master's throat before Paul could even blink.
"I've fought demons. Demon lords. Beasts that scarred the land…" Paul thought, his mind racing. But this… this is something else. Something far worse.
Leornars leaned close, his crimson eyes gleaming like twin abysses.
"Speak. And know this—if you lie, I'll not only kill you… I'll erase every last soul in this hall."
Blood trickled as the dagger nicked Paul's skin. In his vision, the black viper coiled tighter around him, venom dripping from its fangs.
Leornars' whisper was colder than steel.
"Start talking."