Having healed his injured arm, Vance left the poor district and headed to the headquarters of the Federal Guild. The streets he walked now were much safer. They were empty of people, except for the guards who were on night patrol and the priests who were returning home after the Witchward Vigil. Vance heard faint yawns from these sporadic passers-by, and they made him yearn for the comfort of his bed. But there was one last piece of business that he needed to attend to before he could go home—a matter of great importance, which he couldn’t delay despite how exhausted he was.

When he arrived at the guild, the public area was full of hustle and bustle, just as it had been in the morning. In fact, there were more people now than when he came with Benedict. This late-night crowd was gathered to witness the return of one hero or the other, but Vance didn’t care enough to ask for names or details. As he jostled and shoved the people in his way, his ears caught the keywords “Carcassia Desert” and “Skeletal Dromedary.” Then, as a part of its natural development, the barely intelligible chatter became a characterless noise, and it was impossible to make out another word.

Freeing himself from the crowd, he disappeared behind the wall where the motto of the guild was inscribed. On a different day, the guild employees might have stopped him and asked him where he was going, but because almost all of them were distracted by the ongoing commotion, he was free to walk past the service counters into restricted areas. With calm and cool, he went down a spiral staircase that was labeled employee-only. A door awaited him at the end of the stairs, and past this door were the main archives—the bureaucratic cornerstone of the Federal Guild.

Countless office cabinets hid the walls from view, and wheeled ladders were parked in front of them to allow access to the highest drawers. In the center, under the floating magical lanterns that illuminated the room, there were two rows of opposite desks. Each desk was connected to the upper floors of the guild building through metal communication pipes, which transferred documents back and forth. And with his eyes fixed on these pipes, Vance walked on the checkered floor and stopped in front of the last desk on the right—the only one that wasn’t empty at this hour. The echo of his footsteps faded away, and the scratching of a pen replaced it as the dominant sound.

“Do you ever take a break?” Vance said.

A guild employee looked up for only a second before he resumed writing. He was a man in his late thirties with a salt-and-pepper ponytail. His eyes were a very light hue of brown, and a pair of frameless glasses rested on his straight nose. He was much more fit than a regular office worker, but his good posture was marred by uneven shoulders (a slight tilt in favor of his writing hand). Aside from the formal clothes common among guild employees, he also wore a conspicuous name tag that said Raine. And the frown on his face was fittingly reminiscent of the sullen sky of a winter day.

“I told you not to come here,” Raine said, still busy writing.

“I wanted to call you upstairs, but there’s quite a crowd.”

“I heard the noise through the pipes. Another ostentatious hero and another groveling fan base,” Raine said. “Tell me you were careful on your way here.”

“No one saw me.”

“Good. Good. You did the bare minimum.” Raine remained stern, but his frown eased a little. “The usual payment.” With the knuckles of his left hand, he knocked thrice on the far corner of his desk. “And add an extra coin.”

“What for?”

“Obstruction of a guild official.” Raine dropped his pen and looked up. “Time is money, and these documents won’t process themselves. Not until they invent a gadget for the task, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Vance laughed. Slowly, he built a tower out of ten gold coins, pausing after every level to savor the impatient expression on Raine’s face. When he had had enough fun, he topped the tower with an eleventh coin and said with a smirk, “There you go.”

“Five more seconds, and you would’ve had to pay extra.” Raine humphed, curled his hand around the coins, and dragged them along the desk until they fell into a drawer. “What do you want this time?”

“I never joined a party today,” Vance said.

“The ID?”

“2633721.”

“An old priest filled your precautionary assessment?”

“Yes. And the receptionist was called Juliette.”

“Follow me,” Raine said, standing up.

The two walked among the empty desks. Raine had a fast, energetic gait, while Vance lagged behind from exhaustion. In the end, they stopped near a desk on the left, the second from the entrance. Raine picked up a lidless box from below a communication pipe and placed it on an empty chair. It was full of scrolls—the impressive harvest of more than twelve hours. His deft hands untied and re-tied the green ribbons with inhuman speed. And he paused only to check the names on the papers, hoping that one of them would be Vance Wolfe. At first, this hope bordered on strong conviction, but then it waned into a feeble belief, as the pile became thinner and thinner.

“It’s not here,” Raine finally said, re-tying the last ribbon.

“Where is it, then?”

The keeper of the archives remained silent and eyed the scrolls.

“Was it lost?”

“No, nothing’s lost or misplaced here.”

“Then what?”

“It might’ve been expedited.”

“Meaning?” Vance said brusquely.

“It was processed ahead of schedule.” Raine adjusted his glasses before they could slip off his nose. “I can still make it disappear from existence, but I will need a day or two.”

“That’s too long.”

“I have to tamper with the records and steal the key to the cabinets. Security is a bit lax, I admit, but you can’t rush these things.”

Hearing these words, Vance felt uneasy. He was confident in Raine’s abilities, but there was a significant risk in waiting. After all, his ex-party was supposed to return with Cindermite crystals. And unless they could send an express shipment from the afterlife, the job’s deadline would pass. The jeweler who hired them would complain. Then it would become apparent that the party members were unaccounted for, and the guild would launch an investigation to determine what happened to them.

“I can’t give you two days,” Vance said, after careful thought.

“Then I’ll do it in one,” Raine said. “But you can’t rush me further.”

“Fair enough. You have 24 hours to erase everything that links me to the party. And I’ll deduct from your next payment if you disappoint me.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll drop by tomorrow night.”

“No, let’s meet at the tavern. You shouldn’t be walking in and out of the archives like that. It’s not a public library.”

“Fine. Tomorrow night at the tavern. No delays.”

Raine nodded.

***

Walking through Blackmoss Forest again, Vance was no longer thinking of the good night’s sleep that awaited him. His mind was running like a mill, and the gears of anxiety were spinning with maximum efficiency. He hated the fact that his fate was in the hands of another human—Raine, in this case—but there was nothing he could do about it. He had arrived at Cromsville less than three weeks ago, so he didn’t have enough time to form any other connections. He didn’t know who else to bribe or suborn. All he could do now was wait and observe the outcome.

I shouldn’t assume the worst, though. Vance curbed his excess pessimism, as he walked under a canopy of leaves, guided by mystical shafts of moonlight. Raine never failed to do his job. If he says he can do it in one day, then one day’s all he needs. He took a deep breath and exhaled from his mouth. Worrying too much won’t change a thing. I should just level up and go to sleep. He stopped walking and closed his eyes for a full minute. During this interval, he remained silent and calmed himself down as much as possible. His breathing became more regular and rhythmic; his heartbeats slowed down to a steady pace; and his mind emptied itself of all thoughts.

When he opened his eyes again, he searched around him until he found a trail of bloody footprints. No one could see them other than him. It was as though they were superimposed on reality—on the everyday world that all humans experienced. They strayed from the path to his home and continued deep into Blackmoss Forest. He began to follow them. With every step he took, more footprints appeared in front of him to make the trail longer, and a unique buzz—the drone of Honeydew Flies—grew louder and stronger. Even in a dark forest, this sound was far from natural, because Honeydew Flies were long extinct.

At the end of the bloodstained trail, Vance found a structure consisting of three pillars and a hollowed rock. The pillars were erected a few meters from each other and coincided on the same line running from east to west. They had claw marks on them, but there weren’t any drawings or inscriptions. Past the three pillars, the hollowed rock rested on the ground like a cradle. The large dent in its center was filled with blood, and a flower floated on the red surface like a lotus—the nursing baby of the cradle. It had twenty-seven petals as dark and reflective as black lacquer, arranged in groups of three around the center that was dripping with a sweet nectar. Nowhere in the world could this flower be found—except at the shrines of Thurvik.

Vance crossed his legs and sat on the ground in front of the black flower. He lowered his head a little in respect and remained frozen in that position. After a few moments, the buzz of Honeydew Flies died away into nocturnal silence. Then the three pillars began to coruscate with a purple light. The grass was uprooted from the ground and floated in the air like a vegetative mist, and a curtain of darkness covered the sky from view, blocking the stars and moon. Vance could feel a strange sensation throughout his body—as if he were a dissipating cloud, as if he were disintegrating into tiny particles—but this airy feeling was in fact caused by the surplus of Mana that was flowing around him.

“You are back,” a female voice said. “Who do you offer us tonight?”

Vance didn’t answer, because a verbal response wasn’t needed.

“Four humans you serve us,” the voice said, “but only three we can accept.”

Severus, Luke, and Benedict materialized in front of Vance. They had no physical bodies, however, and were only apparitions. Their arms and legs were shackled with ghostly chains, and they seemed to be weeping and calling for help. Their voices didn’t reach Vance, but he could sense their agony and despair. No one could save them. No one could alter their fate. The ghosts of goblins appeared, knocked Severus to the ground, and carried him away into the dark. Similarly, the ghosts of Armored Salamanders took form, buried their teeth into Luke and Benedict, and dragged them away into oblivion.

“Your offering is a promise fulfilled,” the female voice said. “How may I help you, Adventurer Slayer?”

Vance remained silent, but his thoughts provided the answer.

“Very well,” the voice said. “May your strength be a curse upon humanity.”

Level Up Alert You have leveled up. Please distribute your new 25 stat points.

Vance spent his points according to the scheme that worked best for him. Spectral daggers dealt magical damage, so he added 10 points to Intelligence. He threw 9 points into Duplicity to improve his sneaking and deception. Then he divided the rest of the points between Endurance and Magic Resistance. He needed to ensure that both defensive stats increased every level, even if by a small amount. As someone who grew up with the class Spectral Assassin, he always felt guilty when he improved his defenses, but it was the right thing to do, given his solitary life and volatile circumstances.

Level Up Alert

Stats updated successfully.

Name Vance Wolfe Age 24 Class Adventurer Slayer Level 24 → 25 HP 410/410 → 425/425 MP 770/770 → 800/800 Stamina 770/770 → 800/800 Strength 30 → 30 Endurance 70 → 73 Intelligence 242 → 252 Magic Resistance 70 → 73 Duplicity 183 → 192 Faith 5 → 5

After leveling up, Vance waited for a more important message—one that celebrated a landmark in his growth. He had reached level 25, and this meant that a Class Ascension should be possible. It would be his first as an Adventurer Slayer. The Skills and Perks that he could unlock were a complete mystery, and he felt fidgety and restless as he imagined the possibilities. But the message never came. He waited and waited, only to be met with a disappointing silence. He thought that he had made a mistake—that he perhaps forgot to add a stat point or misread his level count—but a quick check was enough to dispel these groundless theories: he had neither goofed nor miscalculated.

What happened to my Class Ascension?

“The Adventurer Slayer class is unlike any other,” the female voice said. “You cannot unlock its potential through levels alone. You must also slay a prey of equal consequence.”

A what?

“For every Ascension, you must hunt down a Middlerift Beast.”

Vance had never heard of this condition before. He felt betrayed, but he tried his best to remain calm and respectful. After he had absorbed the surprise, he began to think of questions to ask.

What are these Middlerift Beasts? And where do I find them?

“What they are is for you to see with virgin eyes. They do not inhabit your world. They roam free in the realm where Thurvik is king. If you wish, I can guide you there. But beware: there is no return unless your prey is slain.”

And what happens if I die?

“Your prey receives the unholy gift that was yours.”

The answers were annoying and unsettling for Vance. Everything about his class was different from the norm, so the irregular conditions for Ascension were only consistent with a more general trend. What bothered him, however, was not the existence of such conditions but the fact that he would be hunting an unknown prey. His enemy wouldn’t be a human but a Middlerift Beast—a creature that he knew scarce to nothing about. His only guess was that it was a type of monster, yet he couldn’t understand why an Adventurer Slayer would need to kill a monster to advance in class.

“Do you wish to begin the hunt?”

No. I’m not ready.

“Very well,” the female voice said. “You can come back at any time, and I will guide you to a prey of equal consequence. Is there anything else I may help you with, Adventurer Slayer?”

No. This is it for now.

“Thurvik awaits your next offering.”

The female voice disappeared, along with the surfeit of Mana in the air. The purple glow of the three pillars faded away, and the stars and moon returned to the sky. Then, as if to ruin the peace of night, the buzz of Honeydew Flies exploded throughout the area. Their beating wings were nowhere to be seen, but their sound was louder than the crash of thunder and more constant than the gurgle of a stream. Vance stood up and walked away from the shrine. It vanished behind a layer of bushes and trees, melting into the one-patterned fabric of the forest. And the noise lessened gradually until it was no more.

***

Today isn’t my lucky day, is it? Vance sighed as he walked home, bemoaning the stroke of bad luck, which might have begun as far back as when he first met Benedict. I didn’t know it back then, but I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He clenched his fist. That monk should’ve left me to mind my own business.

On that day of the recent past, Benedict had bumped into him on his way home and invited him to participate in a charity event. “We can change the world if we unite.” The Church was raising money for orphans with disabilities, and Vance would have incurred the wrath of a hundred pedestrians if he had said no to a Blind Monk. “Thank you for your kindness. The deep wisdom and compassion of Amirani have touched your heart.” Benedict beamed like a child. “Right this way. And please make yourself comfortable.”

Vance attended the event, mingling with the crowds and never standing in isolation. He listened to a tiresome sermon. Then he paid a generous donation and was about to leave, but Benedict found him again and asked him to receive a blessing from the priest. “It’s the only way for us to repay your magnanimity. The blessing will bring you closer to Amirani and assist you on your quests.” This time, a simple no would have incurred the wrath of a hundred worshipers, and rumor had it that worshipers punched harder than pedestrians. “Priest Johannes will confer the holy gift.”

The Blessing of Amirani raised Vance’s Faith and lowered his Duplicity. He contained his anger with a passive-aggressive smile, and he even thanked the priest with a firm (perhaps too firm) handshake. An amiable conversation followed, and during its winding course, Benedict invited him to join his party. “My best friend and I are looking for new teammates. What? Level 5?” Mana Vision neither discriminated between people nor provided depth perception, so it functioned poorly in crowded settings, and Benedict, whose first instinct was to trust, couldn’t tell that Vance was lying about his level. He smiled, “No, I don’t mind. We will grow stronger together. Amirani will show us the path as long as our hearts are pure and sinless.”

Vance accepted the invitation with the rather vengeful intention of restoring the lost Duplicity, but it led straight to the overpowering Necromancer and the painful injury and the expedited paper at the guild. And even after he leveled up at the shrine, he was told that he couldn’t advance his class yet. He wasn’t a fan of superstition, but it was as if the holy blessing was a curse in disguise. And he only hoped that he would make it to bed, where a little sleep could help him forget about the exhausting ordeal.

Tonight, I’ll make sure the damn curtains are closed.

As he approached his home, however, he heard a rustle in the bushes behind him. The sound was faint, but his ear didn’t miss it. It couldn’t have been caused by the night wind, because it recurred even when the air was stagnant. And it couldn’t have been a Royal Moth, because there was no accompanying buzz. Someone was following him. He had a few candidates in mind, but the highest on the list were Chester’s goons, who must have been out to punish him for the unpaid medical bill.

It’s about time they made a move. Equip Spectre.

Vance took accelerating steps until he had broken into a run. In most cases, he would’ve preferred to fight among the intertwining trees, but in these particular circumstances, he was afraid that he would get sniped by an archer. His enemies knew his location, but he didn’t know theirs yet. He needed to reverse this situation, so he decided to head to the clearing where his home was located. He would hide in the ruins of the Moon Temple, wait for his enemies to split up in search of him, and then assassinate them one by one. Unexpected difficulties were bound to arise, but he planned to compensate for them with his knowledge of the area.

With a high jump, he made it past a dry shrub and arrived at the clearing. The remnants of a collapsed wall loomed on his right, and he hid behind them in anticipation of his pursuers’ arrival. For a moment, the forest was much quieter than he had known it to be. Then he heard a rustle in the bushes again. He expected to hear similar sounds from different directions, but there was only that single rustle—as if the goons had amalgamated into one super bandit, presumably their final form.

The unseen enemy drew closer. Then came a metallic jingle that was familiar to his ears. It was the clatter of gold against silver—of diamond against pearl and ruby against sapphire. His eyebrows rose as his mind made astounding associations. It couldn’t be him … He died in that goblin nest, and his soul was accepted as an offering. Unable to think of anyone else, Vance peered into the shadowy bushes. At that eerie moment, a pair of eyes opened in the dark, and the blood-soaked edge of a black robe appeared in the moonlight.