Part 1: The Guild's Warning
The Dawnbreakers hurried through the outer kingdom's bustling streets, the unconscious woman cradled in Lila's arms, her borrowed cloak barely covering her frail form. Greg's heart pounded, the image of the skeleton-filled cage and the glowing Cabal rune burned into his mind. This isn't just a sewer job anymore. His nightmare's sobbing scream felt like pieces of a grim puzzle. "Is a higher being trying to show me something?" Greg wondered.
At the Adventurer's Guild, a wooden hall packed with idle mercenaries, Tilda greeted them, her usual smirk fading as she saw the woman. "Get her to the infirmary, quick," she ordered, waving over a healer. As the woman was carried away, Tilda turned to the party, tilting her head. "Your party cursed or something?"
"Oi, Tilda!" Lila snapped, her eyes narrowing.
"Haha, kidding!" Tilda raised her hands, grinning.
Lila continues to inform Tilda about everything that has happened. Tilda sighs.
"But seriously, if your story's true, cages, skeletons, runes, be careful. I don't want you lot to be dead in some alley. I'll keep this quiet until the woman wakes and we get more info."
Lila sighed, adjusting her smelly tunic. "That sucks. I thought we'd finish the sewer and grab our 30 gold."
Tilda chuckled. "Surprised you didn't try milking this for the reward already."
"Oh, come on!" Lila groaned, crossing her arms. "Stop teasing us."
"Haha, sorry, couldn't resist," Tilda said. "We sent a Rank B party to check the sewer. Once they report back on how clean it is, I'll send your reward, depending on the job."
"Yes!" Mira cheered, pumping a fist.
"Confident, huh?" Tilda smirked, then pulled out a relatively big pouch, handing it to Lila. "Here's your reward for saving the damsel in distress."
Lila blinked, clutching the pouch. "Wait, seriously? There's a reward for finding her?"
Tilda's face turned grim. "That's why I said be cautious. That woman's Lady Isolde Ravenshire, daughter of a count. Went missing four days ago, last seen in her own bedroom. No one knows how she was kidnapped."
Greg's stomach dropped. A count's daughter? In a sewer cage? That's Cabal-level shady.
"H-Hey, Lila?" Mira stammered, her usual sass gone.
"What?" Lila asked, raising an eyebrow.
"C-Can I stay with you?" Mira mumbled, her cheeks pink.
Lila stared, speechless. "What?"
"You sure?" Lila teased after a beat. "My room's a mess. Why not stay with Greg?"
"Tomas is already crashing there," Mira shot back, blushing harder. "He'd be the third wheel."
Greg grinned. "I can ask Tomas to get another room. Does that work?"
"Eh!?" Mira squeaked, her face red. "N-No, my heart's not ready!"
"Mira, I can help your heart get, ow!" Greg started, laughing, until Lila smacked his arm.
"Didn't think I'd need to say this, but you're a priest," Lila scolded, half-smiling. "Don't mess with a maiden's heart. Mira, stay with me. No one's alone tonight."
Greg shrugged, rubbing his arm, and turned to scan the Guild. The place was packed with low-rank adventurers lounged on benches, swapping stories or staring at empty quest boards.
As there are less quests for the lower rank to accept, these people who normally are out from the kingdom have nothing to do thus they decide to slack off within the adventurer guild. Thus the whole place is packed. Greg had nothing to say as most of them live by paycheck, lower quest doesn't pay much, moreover if these guys stay in an inn, if the situation doesn't stabilise, soon enough, there will be more beggars and homeless in the streets.
Part 2: Bonds and Burdens
Back at the Adventurer's Guild, Lila glanced around the crowded hall, wary of prying eyes. She handed back the pouch of coins to Tilda, her voice low. "Split these from your end, Tilda. Don't let these idlers see how much we're getting." The Guild was buzzing with low-rank adventurers, their chatter filling the air as they lounged, jobless, by empty quest boards.
Tilda nodded, tucking the pouches away. "Smart move. I'll handle it discreetly."
After Tilda had split the golds to four equal pouches.
Lila then passed out the smaller pouches to Greg, Mira, and Tomas, her face serious. "From now on, we will stick close. No one goes off alone, not after this incident." Her eyes flicked to the infirmary door where Lady Isolde Ravenshire, the count's kidnapped daughter, was being tended. Everyone nodded, the weight of the Obsidian Cabal's threat sinking in.
The party split into pairs, Mira trailing Lila like a shadow, and Tomas sticking with Greg. Greg didn't bother with small talk, his mind racing with thoughts of the Obsidian Cabal, and the dug-up graves at Whispering Hollow Cemetery. "This is getting worse." He led Tomas to the Temple of Light, hoping to find Priestess Elara to get Tomas an identity tag. "If he's crashing with me, he'll need one to avoid the heal-begging mobs I dealt with previously." Greg thought.
But as they entered the Temple's stone courtyard, Greg's plan shifted. A group of paladins, priests, and priestesses bustled about, their armor clanking and robes swishing. Among them was Calen, a familiar priest with kind eyes, adjusting his gear. Greg approached, waving. "Hey, Calen. Are you guys heading somewhere?"
"Greetings, fellow priest," Calen said, smiling. "We're escorting a regiment. They're checking nearby towns and villages to make sure that they are safe from harm or possibly gather more clues about the current situation."
"How big's the regiment?" Greg asked, curious.
"About a thousand soldiers now," Calen replied. "Was supposed to be 300, but plans changed last minute. Not enough of us priests to go around, either. You interested in joining? Could use the experience."
Greg shook his head, glancing back to show Calen that he is being accompanied by someone. "Sorry, I'm tied up with something. Sounds intense, though."
"No worries," Calen said, clapping Greg's shoulder. "Just thought I'd ask. Stay safe out here."
"You too," Greg called as Calen rejoined the group. "A thousand soldiers for villages? That's no small deal." Greg wondered. Greg led Tomas to his tiny Temple room, barely big enough for one bed and a rickety table. Tomas's eyes widened. "This… is small."
"Yeah, sorry," Greg said, scratching his neck. "You said your place is near the graveyard, right? With all those bodies gone overnight, I'd rather not sleep there either."
Tomas shuddered. "No kidding. I don't know how it happened, but it's creepy."
"Let's grab food first," Greg suggested. "Got plans today?"
"Nah," Tomas said, shrugging. "Usually, I'd be home reading for my research."
"Cool. After lunch, follow me somewhere," Greg said, a plan forming. He didn't mention the food served in the temple of light which he calls infamous for its blandness wanting to see Tomas's reaction.
At the Temple's dining hall, Greg bit back a laugh as Tomas stared at the plate of grayish stew and hard bread. Tomas poked at it, his face twisting with each bite. He's trying so hard. To Greg's surprise, Tomas finished it, though his skin looked paler than the stew. "I hope he doesn't puke." Greg thought.
Noticing Tomas's discomfort, Greg silently cast Heal, a faint glow washing over him. Tomas blinked, startled, then relaxed. "Thanks, Greg. That… helped."
Greg grinned. "No problem. Can't have you passing out before going out."
Part 3: Secrets in the Stacks
Greg strode toward the towering gates of the inner kingdom, the silver emblem from Denver glinting in his hand. The guards, clad in polished armor, nodded and let him and Tomas pass. Tomas's eyes widened, darting between the gleaming spires and Greg's calm stride. Greg could feel Tomas itching to ask about the emblem "How does a newbie priest get inner kingdom access?" But he ignored the glances, keeping his focus on the cobblestone path. "Let's just let Tomas' imagination run while I rather not tell the full story of what had happened." Greg thought.
The Crownshade Institute loomed ahead, its marble arches and stained-glass windows a stark contrast to the outer kingdom's grit. Greg slowed his pace, letting Tomas gawk at the sprawling gardens and students in fine robes. The first time's always a shock. As they walked, curious stares followed, Tomas's plain tunic stood out next to Greg's priestly robe, and two outsiders during break time drew whispers from the students lounging on benches.
"Having fun?" Greg asked, smirking.
"Definitely," Tomas said, grinning like a kid.
"Alright, enjoy the view later," Greg said, noting the growing crowd. "We're attracting too much attention. Let's move."
"Yeah, sorry," Tomas mumbled, cheeks red, hurrying to keep up.
Greg realized it was the students' break, explaining the bustling campus. Ignoring the stares, he led Tomas to the Institute's library, its heavy oak doors carved with runes. Thank the gods it's open. The quiet hum of the library was a relief after the sewer's horrors and the Cabal's chaos.
Inside, shelves towered with leather-bound tomes, the air thick with the smell of old paper. Greg found the book he'd been reading a dusty record of Eldoria's while Tomas wandered, eyes wide. Greg nudged him, breaking his trance. "Go find a book. I'll be here. Don't get in trouble."
"Uh, y-yeah, sure, thanks!" Tomas stammered, practically bouncing as he headed for the shelves.
Greg settled into a wooden chair, flipping open the book. He wasn't here for history lessons about Eldoria's rise or its rulers. Don't care about kings or politics. He wanted dirt on the kingdom's enemies, especially after Lady Isolde's kidnapping and the Obsidian Cabal's rune. If I'm stuck fighting ghosts and mages, I need to know who's out there.
The book listed several threats, but details were thin:
Obsidian Cabal: Rogue mages worshipping a "Dark Sovereign," tied to the Whispering Mountains and taint-spreading plots. Old news, but still creepy. Greg shivered, recalling the cage and rune.Kingdom of Valthor: An orcish-human race, enemies of Eldoria for reasons unclear. "I wonder what do they look like? Gotta know if I run into one outside the walls." Greg wondered.Drakmoor Dragon Tamers: A group using human sacrifices to tame blood dragons, kidnapping villagers. That's messed up. Explains why villages need regiments.Kharuun Tribes: Greg froze, remembering the "Thundergoat Kebab" from the Institute's cafeteria. Kharuun are enemies? The book didn't say why, but their nomadic ties to the Whispering Mountains rang a bell with the Cabal. Gotta try that kebab before it's gone.
Other entries mentioned small rebel groups smugglers, likely black-market dealers but nothing stood out. Greg sighed, frustrated. Not much to work with. As he flipped to a section on the royal family, a commotion broke out nearby students arguing over a book. Greg almost closed his tome, but the royal family's name caught his eye. Better learn this. Don't want another Prince Garrick mix-up. The memory of his awkward encounter made him grimace. "Hopefully No more noble blunders." Greg muttered.
Part 4: Tangled Words and Hidden Truths
Greg slumped in his chair at the Crownshade Institute's library, the heavy book on Eldoria's open before him. The pages gushed praise for the family of King Aldric IV, calling them wise and noble, which made his stomach turn. What a load of crap. The book listed four princes and two princesses, but with no pictures, Greg just memorized their names and specialties. Prince Garrick, for one, was described as a genius scholar destined to invent wonders. Greg snorted, whispering, "Such bullshit. Garrick'd probably invent ways to screw over his colleagues. Treats students like props." The memory of his awkward run-in with the arrogant prince stung.
Finding nothing else useful, Greg shut the book with a thud. This is pointless. All fluff, no truth. He needed real info on Eldoria's current mess but information cost coins, and he hadn't even checked the reward pouch from saving Lady Isolde Ravenshire. Hope it's enough to travel outside or perhaps get some information.
A commotion in the corner caught his ear, students gathering. Curious, Greg slid the book back onto the shelf and headed over. As he got closer, he frowned.
"Of course." Greg muttered to himself. Tomas stood there, gripping an agriculture book, debating a female student who radiated confidence. Her chestnut-brown hair, woven in a tight braid with a silver ribbon, swung as she gestured. Her sharp emerald eyes sparkled with a scholar's fire, and her indigo robe, pinned with a silver quill, marked her as a senior student. A single silver ribbon on her sleeve.
Tomas leaned forward, his voice firm. "Vesper, I'm telling you, villagers switching to herbs and trade crops is a disaster waiting to happen. Food's scarce in the outer kingdom. People are begging on the streets. If they stop planting wheat or barley, we'll starve in a few years."
Vesper crossed her arms, smirking. "Oh, come on, Tomas. It's their choice what to plant. Villagers aren't stupid. Herbs for healing or spices for trade fetch better coin than grain. You think they should just grow bread and stay poor?"
Tomas sighed, frowning, tapping the book. "It's not about being poor, it's about surviving. What good is a coin if there's no food? If everyone plants sage or thunderweed, we'll have potions but no stew. That's not freedom, that's reckless."
"Reckless?" Vesper rolled her eyes. "You sound like a Temple scribe, preaching safety over sense. Villagers are hedging their bets." Her tone softened, her braid swaying as she leaned closer. "My aunt's a healer in a village. Herbs have been their lifeline since the taint hit."
"What does she mean since the taint hit?" Greg wondered.
Greg caught Tomas's eye mid-debate, and Tomas's confident expression faltered, turning awkward. Vesper noticed, turning to Greg with a curious glance, her emerald eyes sizing him up. Here comes more trouble, Greg thought, rubbing his neck. The spark in her gaze felt like she could outtalk anyone. Tomas, you're in deep.
"Tomas, you good?" Greg asked, stepping closer.
"Y-Yeah," Tomas stammered, his cheeks pink as Vesper's smirk widened. "Just… talking crops."
Vesper chuckled, her voice light but teasing. "I assume it's your friend priest? Your friend has passion. You're here to back him up or just to eavesdrop?"
Greg shrugged. "Just checking he's not starting a riot. Vesper, name sounds familiar. Are you by chance a Princess?"
Her eyes narrowed playfully. "Maybe. Depends on who's asking." She tilted her head at Tomas. "He's got a point about food, but he's not flexible. Villages need hope, not just wheat."
Tomas cleared his throat, his awkwardness fading as he met her gaze. "Hope's great, but starvation's real." His voice becomes a little softer as he didn't expect to have a debate with a princess.
Vesper's smirk softened, and for a moment, her eyes lingered on Tomas, a flicker of respect there. Oh, they're clicking though it feels like they know each other before this, Greg thought, hiding a grin. "Didn't expect a princess would enjoy talking to an adventurer, I shouldn't disturb them." Greg thought to himself.
Part 5: A Blade in the Shadows
Greg didn't linger at the commotion where Tomas and Princess Vesper debated, their voices drawing a crowd of students who listened without interrupting. The library's hum faded as he slipped away, his mind fixed on one goal. Finding a way back to his old world, away from Eldoria's terrors. If I'm stuck in this game, I need info to survive or escape. The Crownshade Institute's shelves loomed with possibilities
Wandering the aisles, Greg's eyes landed on a worn book, An Introduction to Magic, its faded blue leather and silver runes promising answers. "If I can learn more than my priest spells, maybe I can travel solo and get out of here." Greg thought. He grabbed it, settling at a quiet table, far from Tomas and Vesper's debate. The book, penned by Archmage Elowen a century ago, was a beginner's guide to Eldoria's magic, its clear words meant for young scholars. Dust coated its pages, but Greg dove in, hoping for a breakthrough.
The book explained magic's three sources, divine, arcane, and primal but focused on spellcasting's core, mana, a mystical energy tied to a mage's life force, stored near the heart or gut. Mages tapped ley lines, the earth's invisible energy rivers, their minds reaching out like fingers brushing a current. When casting, their bodies warmed, muscles tensing as mana flowed to their fingertips. Greg frowned, thinking of his own spells Heal, Purify, Radiant Pulse. Each time Greg says the word to cast the spell his mana drops, that's all, nothing else happens. The book warned that casting without mana could burn out a mage's body, leaving them weak or dead. "Not trying that anytime soon." Greg muttered.
But the more Greg read, the less he understood. Unlike arcane mages weaving runes or Kharuun shamans dancing with storms, his priestly spells triggered instantly, like clicking a game command. Heal, and his mana drained; Purify, and taint faded. No ley lines, no gestures. He'd hoped the book would unlock new spells or mana control, maybe a system notification like in his gaming capsule days. "Skill learned. Mana Mastery. Yeah, right." After a chapter, his system stayed silent, and he slammed the book shut, depressed. "No shortcuts. I'm still a low-level priest." Greg sighed.
Greg laid his head on the table, the library's musty air lulling him. What else can I do to survive this dark, medieval hellhole? He nearly dozed off when a sudden chill ran down his spine, like a ghost's breath. His eyes snapped open. A male student loomed over him, his face twisted in rage, veins bulging on his neck. The student's arm was raised, a glint of metal flashing. Greg's instincts kicked in, he shoved himself back, the chair and table scraping loudly as he crashed to the floor.
Heart pounding, Greg looked up. The student, a lanky figure in a scholar's robe, trembled with anger, his eyes wild. On the table, a dagger quivered, its blade sunk into the wood where Greg's head had been. "Holy shit." If he hadn't moved, he'd be dead. The library went silent, students staring, even Tomas and Vesper pausing their debate.
"Can't I have peace in this world?" Greg muttered, scrambling to his feet. "Why's everything trying to kill me?" Even though his mana is full, he does not have anything to go aggressive with as he had no weapons. The student yanked the dagger free, his knuckles white, and Greg tensed, ready to dodge or fight. Cabal? Or just some pissed-off scholar? The "Dark Sovereign" and Isolde's kidnapping flashed in his mind. "This isn't random at all." Greg said.