The Adventurers' Guild hall loomed above JP and Lyra like a cathedral carved from stone and pride. Inside, banners of past victories hung from beams, and the air smelled faintly of incense and old parchment. At the center of the chamber, a heavy oak table stretched out, lined with guild officials, senior adventurers, and—of course—the smug faces of merchant representatives who had no business being here except to stir trouble.
"Adventurer JP," the Guildmaster rumbled, his eyes sharp as cut steel. "You've risen quickly. Wolf hides, boar hunts, strange tools, and these so-called warding stakes. You fund, craft, and carry more than a greenhorn should. Explain."
JP stiffened. The words hit harder than any monster strike. He'd been dreading this exact moment—his inventions had drawn too much attention. He forced a nervous smile, trying not to sweat through his collar. "Well, Guildmaster, I… improvise. I collect things others overlook. Scrap, herbs, crystals. Nothing special."
"Nothing special?" one of the senior clerks echoed, narrowing her eyes. She raised a hand, weaving a faint blue glow. "Then why does your satchel hum with enchantments?"
Every eye in the hall shifted to his side bag. JP froze. Crap. Of course the satchel wasn't normal—it was the satchel, the one the god had slipped into his hands when he first arrived. He thought of the piles stuffed inside: drained slime cores, rabbit pelts, half-finished lamp parts, even a charred frying pan from an experiment gone wrong. If they opened it now—
The clerk frowned. "This isn't ordinary spatial magic. Its weave is intricate. A repository fit for a B-rank magician, at least."
The merchants stirred, eyes gleaming with greedy light.
Lyra shifted closer, her hand near her dagger. JP's brain screamed at him to say something, anything. So he blurted out, "Ah—it's, uh, from my master. Before I lost him. He was… a stern old man, but he believed I should carry his legacy."
Silence fell. Then a low murmur spread through the hall. A master? A lost mage? The Guildmaster's eyes narrowed further, studying him. "And this master of yours—what was his name?"
"Uh…" JP stalled, then added quickly, "He wasn't well known. Preferred… anonymity. But he believed in me. Entrusted me with this."
The officials exchanged uncertain glances. The merchants, however, leaned forward, lips curling in satisfaction. To them, the lie confirmed their suspicions: if JP had one relic, he might have more.
The clerk moved as if to touch the satchel. JP flailed, waving his hands. "Ah—best not open it! Dangerous experimental stuff inside!"
The way his voice cracked and how pale he looked would have been laughable—if not for the fact that everyone suddenly froze. Dangerous experimental magic? That sealed it. No one wanted their eyebrows burned off today.
Lyra quietly pressed a hand to her face.
The Guildmaster finally spoke, his tone low and cutting. "Adventurer JP. You walk a dangerous path. That satchel alone is reason enough for enemies to circle you like wolves. You are being watched. Choose your allies carefully."
JP bowed stiffly. "Yes, Guildmaster." He was sweating buckets by now, but at least no one had rummaged inside his bag.
As they stepped out into the cool air of evening, Lyra finally exhaled. "You've painted yourself as the disciple of some legendary mage. That lie will stick now."
JP groaned. "Better that than telling them a god stuffed my bag into my soul like a magical backpack."
Lyra gave him a look that was half exasperation, half amusement. "One day, your mouth will get us killed."
"Yeah," JP muttered, hugging his satchel tighter, "but not today."