On the continent known as Falos, countless millennia ago, a great kingdom once existed. It unified the long-fractured nations, raising hundreds of colossal cities to the sky.
Yet when its arcane research reached heights never before achieved, a catastrophe of unknown origin descended without warning, reducing that glorious civilization to rubble in an instant.
The earth split apart. Mountain ranges crumbled. Seas boiled. Rivers changed course. Every trace of splendor and glory was swallowed by ruin, and only the dungeons, crypts, and underground cities that had been unearthed by excavation or tectonic upheaval remained, bearing silent witness to the final remnants of a lost civilization.
As a rule, the scale of a dungeon determined the value of the treasures within. Vast dungeons often concealed rarities the world seldom saw, even priceless divine artifacts.
Even the smallest micro-dungeons, though they typically held little more than gold and silver, might still harbor rare magical items hidden among the dust.
That said, every dungeon was saturated with lethal danger. Rolling boulders, spike traps, poison gas, alchemical bombs, death could come from any direction. Exploring a dungeon therefore required someone well-versed in traps: a Wanderer.
Wanderers possessed the specialty known as Trap Detection.
Trained over long years, their ability to identify and sense traps far exceeded that of ordinary people, and they were masters of the techniques needed to dismantle or circumvent them.
Without such a trap specialist in the party, venturing deep into a dungeon was an act of extraordinary recklessness.
No one could ever be certain that the next step wouldn't trigger a pressure plate and send them plummeting into a pit dozens of meters deep, its floor bristling with iron spikes.
The carriage pressed onward through the downpour and soon pulled up beneath the heavy gates of Blackwater Town.
"Who goes there? Present your identification!"
The soldiers on duty brought the carriage to a halt. Their eyes beneath iron helmets were cold and sharp.
Everyone knew that the southern reaches of the kingdom were in the thick of the rainy season, when magical creatures ran rampant, bandits multiplied, and danger lurked at every turn. Naturally, the checks at the city gates had grown considerably stricter.
When Felix, Orum, Ronald, and Raygore each produced their mithril-rank adventurer badges, however, the wariness in the soldiers' eyes gave way to respect. This was the generous reward of merit earned during the Minotaur Subjugation, when the Ice Hawks Company had vaulted directly to mithril rank and every member's badge had been upgraded alongside it. All members of the Ice Hawks Company had thus been elevated to mithril-rank adventurers.
Compared to the mountain-copper-rank adventurers one encountered everywhere, mithril rank represented an entirely different standing, a prestigious status that commanded respect even from military personnel.
"Mithril-rank adventurers confirmed. Identity verified. You may pass!"
The soldiers cleared the barrier and watched the Ice Hawks' carriage through with expressions of genuine deference.
Beyond Blackwater Town's heavy walls, the carriage rolled onto a muddy road and into a desolate stretch of abandoned village.
This nameless settlement had once housed residents, but decades of overfarming and overgrazing had stripped the soil of its fertility and poisoned the water supply, forcing the farmers to seek their livelihoods elsewhere.
The village had been abandoned ever since, its very name forgotten by the world. Only vagrants and those unwelcome in polite society occasionally sheltered here.
Gazing at the cluster of buildings veiled in curtains of rain, Felix had no way of knowing which dwelling belonged to the Wanderer, and so he set out to knock on every occupied door one by one.
Three sharp knocks rattled a thatched hut, hard enough that the already unsteady door seemed liable to come off its hinges entirely.
"Who is it?"
A voice came from within, aged and hoarse, carrying within it something of a primal wildness and the instinctive alertness of someone who had survived in the wilderness for years beyond counting.
"Forgive the intrusion, elder." Felix kept his tone respectful. "My name is Felix. I'm a companion of Melina's, a black-haired, dark-eyed girl who should be living somewhere nearby. Have you seen her? I'd like to know exactly where she's staying."
To lend credibility to his words, Felix took care to produce his mithril-rank adventurer badge, letting it cast a faint silver radiance in the dim, overcast light. "We are all registered mithril-rank adventurers."
"Melina..."
A faint rustle came from behind the wooden door, as though someone was pressing close to the gap and peering out.
Orum felt keenly the weight of a scrutinizing gaze moving over each of them like a searchlight, studying their faces, their bearing, and their equipment, before coming to rest on the badge glinting silver in Felix's hand.
Time seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
In that unsettling silence, the scrutinizing gaze appeared at last to accept their identities.
The old voice spoke again.
"Melina, she'd been shutting herself inside for some time before this, never showing her face in daylight.
The few times I caught a glimpse of her at night, she had her hood pulled so tight around her head you'd barely know she had one, always sneaking about as if she were hiding from someone out for her blood."
"She's not far. She's at the far western edge of this village, right up against the old pond. Follow this path straight ahead and you'll see it."
The old man's tone shifted abruptly to something approaching impatience. "And when you find her, pass along a message for me: she's not to live here anymore. Nature has no welcome for someone like her."
With that, silence reclaimed the other side of the door.
Felix offered his thanks, then led Orum and the others back toward the carriage. As he turned to leave, Orum cast a glance at the unremarkable mud-and-thatch hut.
His gaze happened to pass through a gap in the broken window.
What he saw inside made his pupils contract sharply.
There in the dim interior sat an old man whose skin was as rough and furrowed as tree bark, and from his body, in dense clusters, grew hundreds of mushrooms.
"This person... is a Druid?"
Orum stared, drawing a quiet breath. He had not expected to find, within such an obscure abandoned-village hut, a Druid who had merged with nature itself.
At the edge of the desolate village, beside a still pond whose surface was alive with the rings of falling rain, the members of the Ice Hawks Company stood before a ramshackle wooden structure that was, relatively speaking, slightly more "luxurious" than the mud-and-thatch hut behind them.
Dilapidated as it was, its walls were at least built from planks rather than packed earth, which made it look somewhat sturdier by comparison. A small path worn plainly by footsteps ran up to the front of the house; the soil was pressed firm with no weeds pushing through, proof that someone had been living there recently.
Following the mysterious old Druid's directions, this had to be where the Wanderer Melina was hiding.
Felix knocked on the door and called through it. "Melina, are you in there?"
A crash came from inside, something heavy hitting the floor, followed by the clatter of something rolling across the boards, the occupant had apparently been startled half out of her wits by the sudden knocking.
A moment later, a young woman's voice filtered through the door, trembling noticeably. "I... I'm not home! Nobody's home!"
Felix's eyes brightened at the response. He kept his tone patient and coaxing. "Stop that, Melina. Open the door. Have you run into some kind of trouble? If something's wrong, you can tell us."
"There's no trouble! Everything here is perfectly normal! Completely normal!" The voice on the other side of the door grew increasingly frantic. She was obviously lying.
"If everything is perfectly normal, then come out." Felix's tone took on a slight edge. "The Ice Hawks Company is preparing to carry out an important mission, and we're short a skilled Wanderer."
"I can't! I really can't come out! Captain, please, just leave. Please. I'm begging you!"
There was something close to desperation in Melina's voice now.
Felix's brow furrowed. This was clearly more complicated than he had anticipated. He turned to Orum and lowered his voice. "Break the door down."
Orum gave a single nod and stepped forward.
A powerful straight kick drove into the center of the door with a crack of impact, and the already decrepit wood shattered into splinters.
A wave of stale air thick with mold and damp flooded outward. In the dark, rundown room, a slender figure clapped both hands over her head and let out a wail. The next instant, she blurred like a startled ghost and shot toward the high window at the far end of the room with impossible speed.
"Don't let her get away!" Felix's order had barely left his mouth.
Orum was already moving. Without waiting for the command, he stomped hard against the floor, the impact booming through the boards, and launched himself into the air with the explosive force of a caged beast unleashed. Like a basketball player rising for a block, he intercepted the darting figure with precise, clean timing.
Orum's heavy frame landed back on the floor with the force of a meteor strike. The decrepit little house shuddered with the impact, as though it might come apart at the seams. His arms locked around the girl like iron bands, leaving her no room to break free.
In the violent struggle, the black hood that had concealed her face finally slipped away.
When Melina's true appearance came into view, even the seasoned members of the Ice Hawks Company couldn't suppress their sharp intake of breath.
The face revealed was strikingly refined. Black hair cascaded loose, and black eyes glistened with crystalline tears. There was a gentleness and elegance to her features characteristic of Eastern beauties. Looking at that face alone, anyone would have taken her for a woman of breathtaking loveliness.
What startled Orum and everyone present was something else: a pair of black beast ears rose from above the girl's brow. And at her lower back, a long, fluffy, living thing trembled with violent shivers against Orum's arm.
A black, fur-covered tail.
"A werewolf?" The word surfaced in Orum's mind all at once.
Inside the dim little wooden house, Ronald addressed the group with a grave expression.
"Beastification Syndrome, one of the most feared ancient magical diseases. Its most characteristic symptom is that the infected transforms into animal form during a full moon, losing all memory of their identity and preying on others like a beast in the wild."
"Judging by the beast ears and tail you've manifested, you appear to have contracted the werewolf strain of Beastification Syndrome."
"Have you sought treatment from a licensed cleric within Blackwater Town? The 'Remove Curse' rite specifically?"
"I... I did ask. But Remove Curse had no effect on me. This isn't an infection. It's a curse I was born with..."
Melina pulled the oversized black cloak back over her head, concealing her unusual features beneath it. Tears slid from her eyes in a steady stream, like pearls from a broken string.
"My parents passed away when I was very young. I never heard them say anything about being... werewolves."
"When I woke up after last month's full moon, I found myself like this. A werewolf. I'm actually a..."
She couldn't finish. A wave of dry heaving overtook her.
When she spoke again, her voice had sunk into a place of profound desolation, her composure crumbling entirely.
"Captain, I'm so sorry. I'm a creature of darkness. I've wronged you. I'll find a way to repay everything you've paid me, and once I have, I'll go and die."
"I'm sorry for existing in this world."
Felix looked at the girl teetering on the edge of collapse and let out a quiet sigh. "It's all right, Melina. The curse you carry was something you were born with. It isn't your fault. You had no say in your own origins, and your heart isn't wicked. No one is going to come after you for this."
He then sent Ronald to talk with Melina.
Ronald, as a professional cleric, was exceptionally skilled at counseling. Within ten minutes, he had drawn Melina's scattered gaze back into focus, and something resembling a spark of life returned to her eyes.
"You really don't despise me? You're not going to kill me?" Melina asked, as if she could not quite believe it, and then immediately contradicted herself. "I'm such a wicked, filthy thing to exist..."
"If you wanted to kill me, I would never, never resist!"
Ronald stroked her hair gently, his expression as warm as sunlight on an early spring day. "Don't worry. No one here wants to hurt you. We'll find a way to seek out a Wish spell and restore you to your life as an ordinary person."
"But what if the full moon comes and I lose control and turn?"
"Then we'll bind your hands and feet with iron chains and lock you in the cellar for the night," Ronald said calmly.
"...All right."
The carriage set out once more, the two horses straining forward through wind and rain. With one more passenger aboard, the narrow cabin felt noticeably cramped.
Melina sat huddled in a corner with her hood drawn low, her face buried against her knees. "All the tools I use for dungeon exploration are spent," she said quietly. "I need to go to the black market in Zobekport to resupply."
The black market.
Orum had heard of the place more than once.
Zobekport presented itself to the world as an ordinary port city; in practice, it was the largest illegal trading hub in the entire southern region.
Criminals from every corner gathered there to fence stolen goods and launder money, or to board ships outright and risk being torn apart by the fishmen of the deep in a desperate bid to reach the prosperous Dawn Valley beyond.
Beyond its bustling maritime trade, vast numbers of people and adventurers converged on Zobekport to deal in rare commodities, stolen goods, and valuable information. Slave auctions formed one of its core businesses. Gambling tents, cutpurses, and specialty brothels catering to the particular tastes of various races rounded out the rest.
Orum had long wanted to see the place for himself. In a den of vice as thoroughly mixed and morally murky as that, there was every chance that spell components for necromantic magic were being sold there in secret.
"If we're going to Zobek, everyone needs to carry a weapon on them at all times," Felix said, his tone carrying a note of warning. "Otherwise you'll be eaten down to the bone."
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~ Push the story forward with your Power Stones