The Royal Layer wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Golden-armored guards stood at intervals along the marble streets, halberds resting calmly against their shoulders. Their level tags didn't even fully display — just a golden crest symbol that made Cyberius swallow.
"Yeah… we're definitely not starting fights here," he muttered.
Optimus kept his voice low. "Those guards could wipe a raid party."
Nyx tilted her head slightly, observing the discipline in their patrol routes. "Feels different up here."
Metatron said nothing, but he noticed everything — guard spacing, sightlines, response timing. No chaos. No random mobs. This layer was controlled.
They reached a wide plaza where a royal notice board shimmered with system seals.
A stamped insignia marked the request:
Commissioned by the Emperor's Personal Blacksmith.
Cyberius leaned in. "This is the one from Outer Layer. So it wasn't bait."
A guard approached them — tall, armored in black-and-gold plating.
"State your purpose."
Nyx answered before anyone else. Calm. Direct. "We're responding to the blacksmith's commission."
The guard studied them briefly, gaze lingering on Metatron's guns and Nyx's sword.
Then he stepped aside.
"Follow the eastern corridor. Do not deviate."
Cyberius exhaled once they passed. "I swear my HP dropped just from eye contact."
Optimus elbowed him lightly. "Act like you belong."
Metatron walked ahead, but this time Nyx matched his pace.
"You always look this serious in front of authority?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"You don't relax, do you?"
"No."
She shook her head softly, amused.
The eastern corridor led to a large stone hall — less decorated than the main Royal buildings, but filled with weapons, armor racks, and glowing forges.
At the center stood a broad-shouldered NPC with soot-darkened gloves and eyes sharp as tempered steel.
The Emperor's Blacksmith.
"You're the volunteers?" the blacksmith asked, voice heavy but not unfriendly.
Metatron stepped forward. "Yes."
The blacksmith studied them like weapons on a rack.
"I don't need numbers. I need efficiency. The Ironfang Wilds have grown unstable. Alpha-class beasts migrating too close to trade routes. I want the source identified and dealt with."
Nyx's eyes sharpened. "Alpha migration doesn't happen without a reason."
"Exactly," the blacksmith replied.
Optimus crossed his arms thoughtfully. "So this isn't a clear-and-leave mission."
"No. It's investigation first. Then elimination."
A quest window materialized before them:
Royal Commission: Ironfang Disturbance Objective: Investigate abnormal alpha behavior in Ironfang Wilds. Reward: Royal-grade materials & hidden crafting access.
Cyberius whispered, "Royal-grade…"
Nyx didn't hesitate. "We'll take it."
Metatron glanced at her briefly — not questioning, just acknowledging.
The blacksmith nodded once. "Good. Report back with proof. And don't underestimate the Wilds."
As they stepped out of the forge hall, sunlight spilled across the marble floor again.
For a moment, it felt calm.
Nyx walked slightly closer to Metatron this time.
"You've been there before, right? Ironfang."
"Yes."
"Dangerous?"
"Yes."
She smiled faintly. "Good."
Cyberius groaned. "You two are insane."
Optimus adjusted his gear, looking between them. "When do we leave?"
Metatron checked the horizon.
"Now."
Nyx matched his stride without another word.
And as they passed the Royal guards again, there was no chaos. No mobs. No inconsistency.
Just four players leaving the safest place in the city…
Walking toward the forest that didn't forgive mistakes.