Inside, a similar comfy couch, elaborate furnishing, and a glass of champagne for each. The Guild office was welcome to accept the party inside and let them hear what the offer was from the manager himself. Hannes, the manager, was intelligent and considerable enough not to offer a glass to Orel and instead gave Ándras the rest. Norman was smug about all of it while Andras was enjoying another taste of champagne. Hannes sat back in his seat like a gremlin trying to search for the papers, though it took a while until he could clear the workbench’s towering documents.

“Please sit there. I need some time to clear this.” He said.

The three watched the chaos unfold. The office job is not for the weak-minded or those who can’t stand paper cuts.

“What do you think the job will be?” Orel whispered to Norman.

“He did not tell over the phone. Perhaps a secret mission.” Norman rolled his eyes.

“Would he be generous enough to leave us with the whole bottle?” Ándras leaned over to whisper with the bottle in hand.

“Here it is!” Hannes lifted the paper from underneath the giant pile he toppled.

He passed it to Norman without hesitation, who immediately read it as if it had forced him to accept the terms and conditions. It was a fax from hundreds of kilometers away.

“As requested, you are the first to read this quest offer," Hannes said.

"Thank you," Norman nodded.

"Oh, and I also have your exam results here." Hannes gave a set of papers to the three.

"Huh, A rank," Norman said.

"B," Ándras tried to look disappointed. He glanced at Norman who nodded in agreement. The two agreed that Ándras would not show the full length of his powers until he could control them.

Orel sighed and dropped the paper on the table. "E."

"That brings your party rank to C," Hannes explained. "Do not worry, I am certain you can climb higher by completing jobs or perhaps hiring more crew. Just remember, parties can only have five or fewer people. Anything larger than that is a squad, and they have special rules."

"Understood," Norman said.

"And I must say that I am glad to see you alright, sir Tobias." Hannes turned with a wide smile.

"Thank you." The honorifics made Norman's eyebrows jolt.

"May I ask why you are interested in a job specifically from Albion?” Hannes asked while lighting a cigar.

“We have always wanted to travel there.” Norman smiled over the paper.

“Whatever your reason may be, please do not cause any trouble while there. Guild wants to keep its relations well with Albion at all costs. Of course, I do not doubt that a person like yourself would ever do such a thing.”

“How did you find it?" Orel asked.

“Well, I had to ask my superiors, but it was relatively easy. Unless told otherwise, many quests are local, meaning they are sent only to the closest offices. Even though this office is not as close as some in the Milieu region, their offices were more than glad to offer you to take it rather than keeping it for themselves. Not many parties are willing to accept guests from there. Of course, your name also played a crucial role in this, Sir Tobias.”

“Do not worry, Mr. Parameum. Voyagers can be trusted. Also, please drop the formalities.” Norman tried his best to remain calm and collected.

“Of course, mister Norman.”

“That’s not what I meant, but whatever.” Norman sighed and took another look at the paper. “This Lionel Elyan Claudin sounds familiar. Does he belong to a mage family?”

“You do not know? Claudin is one of the great houses of Albion with Duke Lionel in charge.”

"So, he controls a large part of the land?" Orel asked.

“Ah, yes. This quest places you in the northeast part of the island, the center of Albion’s forestry: Gaunnes. Sir Lionel is quite influential, and affiliated with much of Albion's trading.”

“What does the great duckie have for us?” Ándras leaned in to take a look at the papers.

“The forests of Gaunnes have reported sightings of Barghest, a magical hound beast. The people are so afraid that they asked for help from the Duke.”

“Who then happily delegated the job for the Guild.” Norman could feel the unwillingness to take action.

“The Duke is a busy man. He did not specify exactly how he wanted to handle it, but I suggest you prepare for hunting. There are sure to be clearer instructions once you arrive.”

“Is it dangerous?” Orel asked.

“I do not have the slightest of an idea, but for the Duke to have recognized it as a problem, it most certainly should pose some challenge. In Guild guidelines, a single medium-sized magical beast should be no more than C or D-rank in difficulty without further information.”

“I haven’t heard of Barghest, but I do know a bit about evil spirits,” Norman said.

“Well, are you willing to accept this guest?” Hannes leaned over his workbench.

Norman looked at Orel and Ándras. They formed a circle to discuss the situation. They leaned on each other’s shoulders, though Ándras could cover the two by bending over.

“I was not expecting that we would get a job from a duke,” Norman confessed.

“How will we catch that dog?” Ándras asked.

“Okay, we have a lot to think about, but the most important thing is if we do this or not,” Orel briefed.

“Nicely said, Orel. Gaunnes seems like a good place to start, but this hunting business seems odd.”

“But how long it would take for us to get another one?” Ándras thought.

“Then, what will we do? Orel?” Norman asked.

Hannes watched the three get back in their seats. They glanced at each other for a second, smiled, and slammed the paper to the table.

“We take it,” Orel declared.

“Splendid! The Guild will provide you with transportation and passes to the country, as you may already know. We will arrange one as soon as possible. Please read the instructions provided for entering Albion.”

Orel wrote his name and passed the paper along to Norman.

“We are already familiar with the terms.” Norman pointed out as he wrote his signature.

“Good, you have prepared already. We will send you the exact date and time, but it will most likely be in the main port. I have nothing else to say other than good luck, gentlemen.” Hannes took the paper and slammed the Guild stamp on it.

“We’ll be there,” Orel confirmed.

Once the trio got home, they cheered and celebrated. There was nothing else to be done, as they had already packed the night before. They were all more than excited about the new adventure, even though how dangerous it would be. Once Tuja returned from work in the afternoon, the most essential part of embarking was ahead.

“So, how did it go?” Tuja asked.

“We took it, and we'll be going soon," Orel said.

“Really? And I thought I would have the time to knit you some clothes.”

“Mom.” Orel pouted.

Tuja sneaked in for a hug. Orel was about to tell her off but then felt how much she hugged him. They wrapped their hands thingly over each other, feeling each other's warmth as if it was their last moment together. No words needed to be said. Tuja patted Orel lightly as she looked him in the eyes.

“Be safe out there.” She held back the tears.

“Of course, mom.” Orel nodded.

“You too,” Tuja glanced at Ándras and Norman.

“You can count on it!” Ándras declared.

“I'll try.” Norman smiled sheepishly.

The next day they all carried their luggage to Deras’ ship, which took them to the port in Alanland. Orel and Norman looked at each other like two kids excited for their first day at school, all packed up and ready.

“what’s with the getup?” Ándras took notice.

“You mean my vest and sweater? It’s for the chilly coastal weather, and I heard this is the peak of fashion there.” Norman explained his red checkered vest and white woolen sweater underneath. Though none were the wiser about his claim, Norman wore the outfit like a badge of honor.

“You look like some old farmer. you’re only missing the flat cap and pipe.” Orel said.

“Says you. Why did you dress like that when we were going to the woods?” Norman turned his attention to him.

“I wanted to dress nicely for when we meet the Duke. I got spare clothes with me as well.” Orel patted his dark blue blazer. He had also found a pair of navy blue pants, but they were a bit long, so he had to fold the ends.

“I doubt we will see him,” Norman said. "We will most likely on see his staff."

Ándras wore the same outfit as always; dark blue overalls made of fireproof fabric, though Tuja had washed them recently, which might have shrunken them so that the sleeves and legs felt pressed against his skin. Ándras had prepared a small woolen beanie for the weather, which only covered his hair, leaving his ears flapping out. He had made it himself, as he learned knitting from grandma Ymir. It was nothing too fancy, but Ándras knew he should start learning how to create and fix clothes if he would get into fights.

The trio looked around the harbor until they found the correct port. There weren’t too many people in the morning hours or just yet. The three saw the arrival of a medium-sized white vessel and a few Guild personnel; all dressed in white and black suits with red ties.

“You are the Voyagers?” A neatly dressed worker flicked his sunglasses.

“Yes,” Orel greeted with a stern look.

“Come on board.” The worker waved his hand.

The ship set sail soon after and much faster than a regular one. It had everything one would need for a medium-long cruise, a kitchen, living room, private suites, and a ballista against intruders.

“Where are we headed exactly?” Norman felt the need to ask.

“This ship is to transport you to the Gaul Republic, where further transportation will be arranged by the offices operating in Milieu.” The worker explained.

“Figures. Is there any new info for us?” Norman leaned over the edge of the ship.

“None. Would you please wait in your accommodations? The route will take time.”

“How much exactly?”

“With our current pace, we are set to arrive tomorrow at noon.” The worker checked their clock.

“Yeesh, I knew this wouldn’t be a fast trip, but why is it so complicated?” Norman sighed.

“We are not allowed to operate outside our jurisdiction. That is why you will continue with different personnel from Gaul. Your escort should become easier once you arrive there.”

“Fine. Wake me up once we’re there.” Norman headed below the deck.

“Is the pay good for you guys?” Orel talked to the worker following him in the corridors.

“I enjoy the benefits more than the salary, but the job does pay well.” The worker nodded, trying not to smile.

“Do you meet interesting people?”

“Sometimes, but I enjoy traveling more than that.”

“Have you ever been to Albion?”

“No, but some of my bosses have.”

“When did you-”

“Orel, stop bothering that employee,” Norman yelled from the front.

“I do not mind.” The worker said. “It is not like he is trying to gather intel."

“Where’s Ándras?” Orel looked around.

“He was feeling ill on open water, so he went to his cabin straight away. We are moving at maximum speed, after all.” The worker answered.

“He just drank too much last night.” Norman sneered before going to his room.

The ship sailed on the cold Depth Sea. It coursed on from the southern and western parts of Pohjola to the Great Jormun Sea, the largest ocean in the world, that lead to the Zabad region. It was not there where the boat would head, though, but to the country of Gaul in the Milieu continent. It was where they had planned to go along the Serpent Stream and finally arrive at Albion, sitting at the center of the Lago Mare, the great inland sea. With its great navy, Albion was able to tightly control the waters of Lago Mare and prove itself as a world power. Fighting harsh wars against the neighboring islands, Albion was able to gather vital resources. The trading circle formed around the everyday consumer, Albion’s industry, and the colonies, vastly enriching Albion’s economy and technological progression, but not for too long. Albion lost its colonies to Guerreterre, who itself lost them in their civil war and thus gave them independence. Now Albion merely sat around their now independent neighbors, dreaming of the glorious past.

It took two days, a short trip of its own, though there was no time for souvenirs. Finally, the trio arrived at the port of Gaunnes. The incredible white cliffside coasts appeared from the horizon and the mist over them. Much of the beach was full of ancient and historic fortifications of the Invasion era with additions built during the fights against Guerreterre and other nations for the ownership of the colonies.

The port was a modern harbor with large ships and industrial buildings, ware, and auction houses. Most prominently, processed wood was shipped or waiting to be shipped in large piles along with other merchandise. It was one of the grand harbors of Albion, Logstoc. It held little military power aside from watchtowers placed few and far between on the shores, but none could disagree with its importance in trade. Substantial shipping containers poured in and out of cargo ships one after another. The factories filled the air with smog and the smell of chemicals and processed wood, an unpleasant aroma to any nose. Most workers wore masks for this reason alone, and most tourists opt to use another port instead.

“So this is Gaunnes.” Norman looked over to the deep forest.

“It is the base for most of Albion’s forestry. Many countries import premium wood and all sorts of industrial equipment from here, and Gaunnes circulates it through other Dutchies for manufacturing.” The worker explained.

“How do they have enough forest for that?” Orel pondered.

“I think I know," Norman said. "I’ve heard of fairy wood that comes from here. Premium quality.”

“That’s right. The Morcoil Forest is one of the largest in the world. Its quality and size are something else." A roughened worker stepped forth. "The nickname comes from a little fairy tale that a few centuries ago fairies blessed these woods as thanks for a knight that saved them."

“You seem to know a fair bit.” Norman glanced at the large man.

“I’ve worked here before. Did a gig once and won’t do it again.” The worker puffed smoke from his pipe.

“Why?” Orel asked.

“Those stinking Albians can kiss my ass. You should be careful too. If you think the job is hard, think again when they get in your way.”

“What were you doing here?” Orel wanted to hear more.

“Company secret. Can’t tell if I wanted.” The worker looked at the trees.

“I’ve been thinking.” Norman pondered.

“When don't you think?" Orel smirked.

“In my dreams." Norman scoffed. "A barghest is considered a bad omen, but what if it's the other way around?”

“You mean that an evil place draws in evil things?”

“Exactly.” Norman nodded.

“But what makes something evil?” Orel asked.

“Bunch of things, like relics or history of bloodshed. It's the graveyard that makes zombies, not another way around.”

“I don’t think there would only be an evil dog if the place were haunted.” Ándras crossed his arms.

“Who says that Barghest is the only thing there?” Norman could not take his eyes off the forest.

“You should always prepare for the worst," The worker said.

“How do you think we’ll manage?” Norman asked.

“Don’t know about you two, but that big guy has a good chance if he keeps out of trouble with the locals.” The worker measured their strength.

“Yeah, that’s why we can’t leave him by himself,” Norman said.

“Hey, that was one time!” Ándras stomped his feet.

“That one time you burned down a forest! And now we are in an even bigger forest!”

“I’m not dumb enough to burn all that down!” Ándras pointed while shouting.

“Are you sure? Can you swear on that?” Norman persisted.

“I won’t need any flames to catch that wolf.” Ándras put up his chin.

“Then swear it with a vow.”

“Hmph, fine.” Ándras raised his hand. “I, Ándras, will not use fire as long as I am in that forest.”

Orel could not bear to watch the start of the farce.

“Good, we have a deal.” Norman shook hands.

“Was that necessary?” Orel asked.

“Just to be sure.”

“Then, could you do something as well?” Orel turned to face Norman.

“Well?” Norman saw that Orel was serious.

“I want you to tell me more about your past, or you in general.”

“Ah, well... It’s a difficult topic.” Norman stammered in his words.

“Telling about yourself?” Orel tilted his head.

“It's not really something you'd want to hear.” Norman fiddled with his hands.

"There's a bunch of things I want to know more about. What is it about your family, what's your home like? I can think of more things I want to know than you have told me."

Norman’s face twisted open and shut, almost like he was trying to answer in ten different ways at the same time. He glanced at Ándras, and the stern look reminded him of their talk. There was no dodging around anymore. He knew the time would come at some point.

“Fine, but you asked for it. I’ll tell you, but not now. Maybe when we get home. Don’t regret it, okay?” Norman gave a nervous sigh.

“Sure. I’ll face it.” Orel gave a thumbs up.

“Look’s like we’re here.” The worker took notice.

Everyone looked over to the port. The ship stopped, docked, and was ready to vacate. Their ordeal was still far from over.

Security was top-notch on the pier. Guards protected both the merchandise and workers and among them were some personnel that wore dark uniforms with the familiar emblem of the Magistrate and a special badge. Norman gave some bad looks to them but didn’t want any trouble and continued along. The customs waited for them, with security detail knowing who to expect. Scanners, searching, frisking, everything for possible illegal items. The interrogation was short, as the party had the paperwork ready, yet the officials were iffy for everything out of the ordinary. Thankfully, nothing was brought up or found, and they prepared the trio to continue along, but their escort would not go further. Instead, a classy black car surrounded by sharply-dressed people was waiting for them.

A short and lean butler with brown enamel glasses stepped out. “You must be the hired party. I am Slacume Potomac, a humble servant of Lord Lionel. We are here to escort you to the castle for briefing. Please step in.”

While still in standard uniform, the butler stood out from the rest with his glasses. It was not only his glasses, but he seemed more nervous than the three combined.

The car took off on a road that seemed to cut through the endless forest. Prickly pine, with other trees such as colorful maple, long oak, and bushy aspen, seemed to envelop everything. Anything but forest stood out as the woods had been cut down in eerily perfect blocks devoid of any trees. Personal and state vehicles coursed through the driveways, but the traffic was kept clean on the motorway. Orel kept his face stuck to the window looking at the landscape for the whole ride, and not even Norman could help to keep his face turned away from it. Ándras was not too eager, as he could only visualize how well it would burn.

“On your right, you can see waystones once used to direct merchants and such to the towns. They were dug up and hidden during the invasion period to create confusion among the invaders. We later put the stones back in their places to serve as attractions.” Slacume explained.

The old stones depicting dragons were straight out of a fairytale, but one could not criticize historical architecture. Norman could only help but wonder why they had dragons, of all things, to tell the way.

“You seem to know a lot about history,” Norman commented.

“Well, it does come with the job.” Slacume brushed off the compliment.

"Do you give tours?"

"No, not really, but can give one if we have the time."

From the forest opened a vibrant city constructed around a rather large lake where water poured down to the lower town and disappeared back into the woods. Rows of trees grew next to the walkways, giving shade and a fresh feeling to the otherwise unnatural constructions. Many of the older buildings had carved wooden supports and at the marketplace, along the food stalls was a vast collection of wooden statues both on display and on sale.

“We will arrive shortly at Abhean Castle. If you look to your left, you can see the great lake Evaine that house Claudin built our capital around.” Slacume played the part of a travel guide.

“Then, what’s the capitol’s name?” Norman asked.

“Ridredukedach, sir," Slacume said without a moment of hesitation.

“Was that commal?” Norman raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s both old Commal and Albian. Some old folks still talk it, but most people talk either Commal or Guerran.”

“I see. What does the name mean?”

“I think it roughly means knight duke’s home.”

They drove through the city and up a hill to the stone structure. It seemed old but had made restorations and expansions to fit in the modern age. Large flags were lowered with the house’s emblem that the lands belonged to, the great family of Claudin, a silver ring with entwining golden strings in the middle. The large entrance to the inner yard was as striking as one could imagine. It had exotic plants, a small artificial lake, and even a huge maple tree in the middle. Only marble statues could had enhance the yard at that point. Norman felt eery nostalgia for his home, with the overly pompous display of wealth.

"If this is a duke's mansion, what about the royal palace?" Norman asked out loud.

“It’s best you don’t think about it.” Orel patted his back.