Alphonse's index finger, resting upon the bedsheets, twitched faintly.
That minuscule movement shattered the suffocating silence of the inn room, triggering a chain reaction within the paralyzed body of the Guild Master.
Alphonse's previously shallow breathing morphed into heavy, erratic gasps. Air rushed from his nose with a forced, hoarse wheeze.
Cold sweat began to seep from his temples, drenching the collar of his white shirt. His face, which had been as pale as paper, flushed crimson. His body temperature spiked rapidly.
Vrischil immediately pulled off one of her combat gloves and pressed the back of her hand against Alphonse's forehead. The intense heat stung the Elf's skin.
Vrischil's expression hardened. She realized a bitter truth. The Potions she had forced down his throat earlier had only sealed his physical wounds and halted the external hemorrhaging.
However, this high fever was not a wound that could be mended by a Potion. It was a natural biological reaction—a defense mechanism from a body that had endured catastrophic mental shock.
As a frontline fighter whose life revolved around the arts of assassination and spreading toxins, Vrischil did not possess a single healing or temperature-regulating spell.
She turned to Arcus, who had already scrambled up from the floor.
"The Potions didn't cure the root of his trauma," Vrischil stated rapidly, her tone laced with a rare, intense urgency. "His body is reacting to the mental shock. Go downstairs. Bring a wooden bowl filled with clean water and a soft cloth. Now."
Without a word of complaint, Arcus bolted out of the room. He rushed down the creaking wooden stairs toward the bar area on the first floor.
The Black Raven Inn was entirely devoid of patrons. Otto, who was scrubbing a stain on the wooden counter with hands still trembling from residual terror, jumped in shock as Arcus appeared from the stairwell.
"Clean water. In a wooden bowl. And give me a brand new cloth that has never been used," Arcus commanded in a freezing tone. "Do not make me wait."
"R-Right away, My Lord! Instantly!" Otto scrambled frantically toward the kitchen area.
In less than a minute, the bald man returned bearing a bowl of cold well water and a pristine cotton cloth, which Arcus immediately snatched.
Back inside the room, Arcus handed the items to Vrischil.
With meticulous and careful movements, the silver-haired Elf soaked the cloth in the water, wrung it out until there was no excess dripping, and gently placed it across Alphonse's forehead as a cold compress.
Yet, the fever did not immediately subside. Cold sweat continued to pour from Alphonse's pores. Beneath his tightly shut eyelids, his eyeballs darted back and forth in frantic, restless movements. His breaths came out in broken stutters.
"Dark..." Alphonse murmured softly.
His voice was incredibly hoarse and trembling, fracturing the room's silence. His body stiffened slightly beneath the blanket. "Don't look at... that eye..."
Hearing his delirium, Vrischil's hand, which was gripping the edge of the wooden bowl, froze in mid-air. She slowly raised her head, looking straight at Arcus, who stood paralyzed at the foot of the bed. An oppressive silence enveloped them both.
They were the two people who knew Alphonse best. In their eyes, the Guild Master was an unshakable pillar, a man who always maintained rational calculations amidst utter chaos, the mastermind behind the subjugation of their most formidable enemies.
Seeing the man who was always calm and in absolute control now shivering and muttering in sheer terror dealt a severe psychological blow to both Arcus and Vrischil.
If a single entity was capable of instilling this much fear into Alphonse, what kind of horrifying monsters were truly lurking out there in this world?
The night seemed to crawl at an agonizing pace, as if time itself had frozen within the magically shielded inn room. The tempo of life slowed into a monotonous, silent cycle.
Whenever the cloth on Alphonse's forehead lost its chill, Vrischil would wring it out again. Whenever the water in the bowl turned warm, Arcus would step out of the room to replace it with fresh, icy water.
They both stood guard without uttering a single word. Neither had any intention of closing their eyes. A fierce sense of loyalty and profound vigilance held their exhaustion at bay until the night slowly began to fade.
Hours later, the hue of the sky peeking through the cracks of the wooden shutters began to shift. The soft rays of morning light gradually slipped in, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air.
Along with the arrival of dawn, Alphonse's heavy breathing slowly elongated and stabilized. The crimson flush on his face gradually receded, signaling that the agonizing high fever had finally broken.
Alphonse's eyelids fluttered softly before finally opening.
The moment his eyes opened, his five senses violently rebelled. The morning light piercing through the window stung his retinas like needles.
The clattering wheels of wooden carts and the shouts of merchants from the awakening street below sounded like cannon fire detonating against his eardrums. His head throbbed intensely from the sensory overload.
Alphonse winced in pain, hastily raising the back of his hand to shield his eyes from the light.
"Water..." he requested. His voice sounded like gravel, as if his throat had been lined with shattered glass.
Vrischil immediately grabbed a cup from the table, supporting Alphonse's back with one hand while helping him drink the water slowly. Arcus let out a massive sigh of relief, his tense shoulders finally dropping.
With Vrischil's assistance, Alphonse forced himself to sit up, leaning his back against the wooden headboard. He lowered his hand from his face, allowing his eyes to gradually acclimate to the morning light.
Alphonse closed his eyes for a brief moment, focusing his consciousness inward to conduct a physical evaluation. He inspected the circulation of energy through his veins. There was no permanent damage to his internal organs.
More importantly, his Mana capacity, which had been completely drained by the Akashic yesterday, now felt almost entirely replenished after passively absorbing the ambient Mana throughout the night. Physically, he was ready to move.
However, as the memory of the empty void of space and the hollow stare of that Cosmic Eye flashed briefly across his mind, the tips of his right fingers—resting upon the blanket—trembled faintly.
He clenched his fist tightly to hide the tremor, securely locking away the evidence of the trauma settling deep within his soul.
Alphonse's exhales gradually became longer and more rhythmic. After finishing the water and stabilizing his body, he looked at Arcus and Vrischil in turn.
"From the Akashic, I did not merely discover the sheer vastness of this world," Alphonse began, his voice still carrying a raspy edge, breaking the morning silence. "I saw exactly who rules over it."
Vrischil and Arcus listened intently, realizing that their leader's tone had drastically shifted. The absolute confidence that usually dominated Alphonse's every word was now layered with a thick, heavy vigilance.
"I witnessed seven entities," Alphonse continued, his eyes staring intensely at the wooden wall across the room. "Ranging from a worshipper of a faceless idol, an Elf donning a crown of nature, to a colossal platinum dragon at the peak of a mountain."
"Judging by the energy resonance displayed by the Terminal, they possess lethality beyond measure. They could effortlessly claim the life of a Level 100 Player."
Arcus frowned. His fantasy of strolling casually through this world as an invincible protagonist dimmed slightly.
"However, what shattered my mental defenses last night wasn't them," Alphonse added. He turned his head, looking directly into the eyes of his two friends. "It was an entity manifesting as a gigantic eye in the middle of a lightless void."
Alphonse continued, "Merely by staring at my soul's projection, that entity siphoned my entire Mana reserves to absolute zero."
Alphonse leaned forward. His body language was tense, entirely refusing to underestimate the unknown enemies they now faced.
"This world possesses a hierarchy of existence that far surpasses the Level 100 cap. This is my warning to both of you: drop your egos. Do not ever act recklessly when we are confronted with a power we do not yet comprehend."
Silence blanketed room number four once more. Hearing this dire warning from Alphonse—the man who unfailingly calculated every probability of victory before engaging in a fight—made Arcus and Vrischil realize that the threat of death in this world was no empty bluff.
Arcus let out a long sigh to diffuse the suffocating tension. He picked up the leather pouch from the floor and tossed it onto the bed, right next to Alphonse's lap. The sharp clinking of colliding metal rang out.
"Speaking of comprehending this world," Arcus said, a faint smirk returning to his face. "I did a little investigating last night. That is a pouch of looted funds from the street thugs who tried to rob me, plus a generous 'donation' from the innkeeper."
"The currency value here operates on the exact same ratio as the game," the archer explained. "One silver coin equals one hundred copper coins. I verified it while buying our food."
"And regarding the strength of the locals..." Arcus smirked dismissively. "The average native is incredibly weak. I incapacitated eighteen armed thugs in a matter of seconds without utilizing a single Skill."
Alphonse nodded in satisfaction at the report. "Excellent. We have a foundational grasp of the city's power demographic. Did you acquire any intel on how to move about legally in this place?"
"Naturally," Arcus replied. "The thug leader was crying and blabbering before he passed out. The easiest method to acquire official identification without answering too many questions is to register at the Adventurer's Guild. The fee is merely one silver coin per head."
"The Adventurer's Guild..." Alphonse murmured. "A classic institution. It will grant us access to information, the freedom to pass through city gates, and basic legal protection."
Arcus then reached for the cloth bag on the table and pulled out the thick black wool cloaks. He handed one to Alphonse and the other to Vrischil.
Alphonse stood up and immediately donned the cloak. He rubbed the fabric's surface. Its texture felt rough against the skin; the wool fibers were stiff.
It was a stark contrast to his legendary robes, which constantly emanated magical resonance. Yet, it was precisely the lack of magical attributes on this fabric that made it the perfect disguise in a city dominated by low-level inhabitants.
"Vrischil," Alphonse instructed, noticing the Elf putting on her cloak. "Pull your hood forward until it covers your head entirely. Conceal your pointed ears and your hair color. We don't yet know the humans' stance on non-human races here. Do not incite unnecessary commotion."
Vrischil nodded silently. She pulled her hood forward, drowning her beautiful face and distinct Elven features within the deep shadows of the thick fabric.
"What about us, then?" Arcus asked, pointing to himself and Alphonse.
"Leave our hoods down," Alphonse answered swiftly. "If the three of us stroll through the city in the morning with our faces entirely concealed, the city guards will immediately detain us as a highly suspicious group. Blend in like ordinary citizens."
On the desk, Vrischil's combat-gloved hands deftly stacked the coins from the leather pouch.
"Fifty-four silver coins," Vrischil reported, her voice returning to its calm, efficient baseline. "And over three hundred copper coins. It is sufficient as initial capital for our registration."
Alphonse adjusted his monocle back onto his face.
The golden glow in his eyes flared up brightly, stable and razor-sharp. He had tightly locked the residual trauma from his feverish night deep within the recesses of his mind. The three members of Pioneer had reclaimed their focus and dominance.
"Our primary target today is the Adventurer's Guild," Alphonse decreed, issuing their first official operational directive. His footsteps sounded firm as he walked toward the door. "Let us see what this real world truly looks like."
Vrischil dispelled all the magical barriers she had erected in the room, then turned the doorknob.
The three of them stepped out of the inn room in unison, walking slowly down the hallway and descending the creaking wooden stairs.
On the ground floor, Otto was wiping the bar counter, preparing to open the tavern for the day. The bald man looked up upon hearing the footsteps from the stairwell.
The moment his eyes caught sight of Arcus—the monster who had spread pure terror across the streets last night—Otto's face instantly went ashen. The rag slipped from his grasp.
However, Otto's terror swiftly mutated into paralyzing confusion. His eyes widened in absolute disbelief.
Last night, he was absolutely certain the blonde young man had rented room number four and gone upstairs entirely alone. Yet this morning, the monster was not walking down alone.
Walking beside him was a bespectacled man radiating a suffocating aura of absolute authority, alongside a mysterious hooded figure who exuded an aura as cold as death itself.
Otto held his breath, pressing his back flat against the wooden shelf behind the bar, not daring to utter a single syllable as the three apex predators walked casually out of his inn.