Back at the Adventurer's Guild…
A decision had been made.
The Kingdom would not wait to be devoured.
Silas Crowhurst, Guildmaster of Caelumbre, stood beneath the towering stained-glass windows of the Guild Hall. Thunder growled faintly beyond the stone walls, as if the skies themselves were bracing for what was to come.
His voice—low and deliberate—cut through the murmuring crowd of adventurers like a blade.
"You'll all be heading out within the day. Twenty teams. Six adventurers each. One scribe per group—to record everything we find in the Mysterious Ruin."
Tension hung in the air like smoke.
Boots shifted.
Cloaks rustled.
But not a single soul protested.
120 adventurers.
Each one had already chosen their path.
Silas brought a cigar to his mouth. The ember glowed red, casting sharp lines across his weathered face. He exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the rafters like a final breath before war.
From the crowd, Aiyana Berasuko crossed her arms and watched him.
"He's kind of cool… for an old man."
Then Silas's voice rang out again—final, firm, and absolute.
"From this point on… the fate of the Kingdom rests with all of you.
May the Goddess protect every single one of you."
Silence.
Then—thunderous applause exploded. The Guild Hall trembled with the raw energy of courage and unity.
An officer from the Eye of Veritas stepped forward—clad in violet and silver armor, white cape trailing like moonlight. She saluted Silas, then addressed the crowd:
"Half of our forces will remain to protect the Kingdom. The other half will face the storm beside you."
Even the stern-faced officers of the Order of Public Custodians gave respectful nods. For once, the adventurers were not just swords-for-hire—they were the Kingdom's shield.
Silas crushed the last of his cigar beneath his boot. A rare smile touched his lips.
"Move out."
—
Chaos.
Scribes rushed across the floor. Commanders barked orders. Gear was checked and rechecked. Packs strapped. Spells whispered. Weapons gleamed.
Laughter. Prayers. Silent tears.
The beginning of a war.
Near the back of the hall, Aiyana Berasuko stood beside Vincent Von Trigurvelf, who was straightening his coat with suspicious enthusiasm.
"You look excited," Aiyana teased.
"Tch. Don't read into it," he replied, failing to hide the small grin at the corner of his lips.
Their team—Team 9—was nearly assembled.
Yuvkev Tut, a massive axe-wielder with arms like tree trunks and a beard beaded with steel rings, was tightening the straps of his armor.
"Tch. Hope we find somethin' worth slayin'," he muttered. "Been too damn quiet lately."
Melina Illy, their composed spellcaster, had long black hair tied in a loose braid, her dark cloak stitched with constellations. She tucked a grimoire into her belt.
"Don't jinx us," she said to Yuvkev. "The last ruin ended with someone's leg in a tree."
Their fifth teammate waited outside, identity still a mystery.
—
Once ready, they stepped out of the Guild Hall.
The sky had dimmed into storm-gray. The streets were lined with carriages, horses stamping anxiously, wheels already turning. Adventurers were loading up. Scribes climbed on board with scrolls and quills.
Then—a cloaked figure approached.
Silent. Hooded. Suspicious.
Aiyana raised an eyebrow.
"You're with us, right?"
Suddenly—
"YES! IT IS I! THE WEAPON OF DESTRUCTION! THE ETERNAL RECORD-KEEPER WHO SHALL PROTECT YOU WITH BRILLIANT—"
SMACK!
"Elvan!" barked a voice.
Virelle Solhart stormed over, scrolls strapped to her hip, eyes sharp.
"You are not going to cause a scene in front of your team," she scolded, poking Elvan's forehead.
"Alright, alright!" Elvan pouted. "No need to go full tyrant."
She glared, then walked off with her own team.
Elvan turned back, beaming at Team 9.
"Lucky you all got me. Elvan Drosk—scribe, support mage, and shining light of comic relief!"
Aiyana slapped her forehead.
Vincent sighed.
Melina muttered, "We're doomed."
Yuvkev just grunted, "He talks too much."
—
They boarded the carriage, which rumbled to life.
Inside, Aiyana quietly checked her revolver. Three bullets left. She exhaled slowly.
"Hope it's enough."
As the carriage moved, Elvan suddenly blurted:
"Wait! Didn't the Guildmaster say six members per team? Why are we only five?!"
Everyone exchanged confused looks.
A knock on the roof.
"I'm outside," a calm voice called.
Elvan stuck his head out the window (Aiyana clinging to his cloak to stop him from falling), and there, perched atop the carriage like it was a bench, sat a lone figure.
"HEY! THAT'S DANGEROUS!" Elvan shouted.
The girl climbed inside through the open window.
"I'm Yuna Vera, Pathway: Silent."
Everyone stared.
Aiyana narrowed her eyes.
"That's not one of the thirteen known pathways…"
Each member then introduced themselves:
Vincent – Pathway: Swordsman Yuvkev – Pathway: Breaker Melina – Pathway: Wyrdweaver Yuna Vera- Pathway: Silent Elvan – (…No one asked, but he's definitely going to say it later.)
Aiyana remained silent—Pathless.
Their eyes met. Silent nods. They understood one another now.
—
The carriages came to a halt. The adventurers stepped out—
And were greeted by warships.
East Veldenport of Caelumbre roared with energy.
The ships were massive—armored hulls, spell-inscribed sails, reinforced steel anchors. Floating fortresses.
Aiyana's eyes widened.
"These ships… they're war-ready…"
Vincent stepped beside her.
"Are you ready, Miss Aiyana?"
The team smiled at her, as if to say, We've got your back.
Then came a dramatic voice from behind:
"FEAR NOT, MY LADY! FOR I, ELVAN D—"
"SHUT UP," the entire team yelled in unison.
Far across the docks, Virelle twitched in annoyance.
"That bastard Elvan…"
—
Silas Crowhurst stood at the front dock, flanked by OPC officers in formation. The people had gathered—children waving flags, elders murmuring prayers, flowers tossed into the sea.
He exhaled a puff of smoke, gazing at the horizon.
"The Ruins of the East Sea…"
With a blast of steam, the ships' engines roared to life.
Five ships.
Twenty teams.
One mission.
Aiyana stood at the deck's edge. Wind in her hair. Fire in her chest.
"I'll learn. I'll protect. I'm not just watching anymore."
She clenched her fist as the ships sailed eastward, leaving the kingdom behind.
—
Meanwhile… Beneath the Eastern Sea…
Darkness.
Rain lashed the surface above.
Thunder crackled.
And at the bottom of the sea, his hat gone, cloak billowing—
The Mysterious Witch Hat Man floated in silence.
Hair drifting.
Limbs weightless.
His back against the cold seafloor.
Behind him—
A colossal sea beast, split from crown to chest.
Dead.
He was like an insect beside it.
But he had won.
Then—
His eyes opened.
A glow surged from within.
Dark, luminous blue.
Chapter 13 has Ended