Mark remained still, his eyes fixed on the empty corridor where Isolda's silhouette had just disappeared.
East…
That was fast. He hadn't expected Isolda to return with a mission already lined up — and one headed east, of all places.
Which meant he would have to leave Luminaris for a few days.
Mark stepped back and closed the door. The click of the lock had barely echoed when a shadow peeled itself from the corner of the room.
"The audacity!" Pippin hissed, his eyes glowing with fervent indignation as he sprang from the darkness.
"That female has no notion of the lineage she dares insult. If my lord permitted it, I would rip out her tongue before she could utter another insolent sentence!"
Mark didn't respond.
He slowly walked to the edge of the bed and sat, letting his shoulders sag ever so slightly. His hands, still holding the scroll, rested on his knees.
He didn't look at the servant; his eyes were locked onto an invisible point on the floor, pupils widened in silent trance.
"Innocence." Mark murmured the word to himself, and it sounded strange in his own mind.
Isolda's words had acted like an unwanted mirror.
It had only been a few days since he left behind the logic of an entire lifetime on Earth, and that encounter made it clear that the behaviors of his former existence were still visible.
Deep down, he still expected the world to operate on a moral scale of cause and effect, a relic of his previous life where the law was — at least in theory — for everyone.
But things looked different now that he was no longer on Earth.
And he couldn't be blamed for still thinking that way. Ever since waking inside his fortress in an unfamiliar world, Mark had been trying to adapt. His goal in coming to Luminaris was to learn about the world directly, and then return to the Ziggurat.
Maybe Isolda was right in the end.
His hesitation, in the eyes of this world, was the biggest sign that he was a foreigner. It was impossible to detach himself from everything he once was in such a short time.
Maybe he should seek an outside perspective…
Thinking of something, Mark looked toward Pippin.
Pippin was still grumbling, gesturing wildly as he kicked a table leg.
He still seemed irritated by Isolda's offense.
"Pippin," Mark called.
The servant froze instantly, crouching on the floor with his ears lowered. "Yes, Sovereign!"
"What do you think of humans?" Mark asked, his voice calm.
"?"
Pippin blinked, clearly confused by the question.
What did Pippin think about humans?
Pippin tilted his head, letting out a short nasal sound. "I think they're loud, my Lord. And soft. They're like sacks of water that scream when squeezed too hard."
"…" Mark stayed silent.
Sacks of water was something he had never heard before.
"Well," Pippin continued, scratching his chin with a short claw as he pulled a memory from deep inside.
"In my old Winged Clan, the elders especially liked young females. They said their blood had a floral taste, far superior to the males'."
The servant let out a giggle, as if remembering an old childhood joke. "The strong eat, the weak scream. That's why you are above all, my Lord!"
Mark's expression remained impassive, but he began to understand. There was no hatred or malice in Pippin's words — only the brutal, indifferent logic of a predator describing its favorite dish.
Mark shifted his focus back to the scroll resting on his lap.
He didn't want to think too much about these things now.
Two hours.
That was the time Mark had.
A party made of Gold Rank adventurers suggested something far beyond a simple assignment, which intrigued him.
Ever since he left the Ziggurat, he'd been hearing about the "East" more than he wanted to. In taverns and on the streets, the borders were a circulating topic from the lowest to the highest layers of society, and Mark had treated it all as background noise while trying to understand the rules of this new world.
But now, the conflict was knocking on his door in the form of an official mission.
And he had accepted.
Not out of submission to Isolda or fear of the Guild.
It was simply convenient. Technically, the empire might now be aiming at his Ziggurat, and going to the conflict was a way to learn about it and prepare. If the Ziggurat were discovered and announced to the world, his time in the city would be over.
Mark tightened his grip on the summons scroll.
He turned his attention back to Pippin.
"Pippin, get ready." His voice was firmer now. "We're going on a little trip."
"Yes, Sovereign!"
***
On the ground floor, the atmosphere of the Ivory Haven was a mix of forced relief and lingering tension.
The manager — the same white-haired, impeccably composed man who had managed to calm the crowd the night before — now stood alone behind the marble counter.
His fingers tapped lightly on the cold surface, matching the rhythm of his breathing.
He saw Isolda cross the lobby. She didn't stop to speak to anyone; she simply walked through the doors, leaving a trail of confused looks behind her.
The manager let out a long sigh.
"Is it over?" Elias asked, emerging from a side room.
The receptionist still looked like he hadn't slept. His dark circles were deep, and he held a stack of reimbursement forms with trembling hands.
"For us, yes," the old manager replied, not taking his eyes off the door through which Isolda had exited. "The Guild has taken custody of the incident. They're calling it a 'mana calibration test.' Officially, the Ivory Haven was merely the stage for an authorized demonstration of strength."
"Authorized?" Elias blinked, confused.
"But you saw the resonance panels. That thing almost fried the hotel's connections. The damage to the cellars and the crystals was—"
"Elias," the manager cut him off, voice low and tired. "It doesn't matter what the panels said. If the Vice-Leader of the Guild personally came and left without taking the guest, then it was whatever she decided it was. Mr. Vaelin is no longer our problem."
He leaned over the counter, looking at the hidden bronze panel.
The red overload lights were gone, replaced by a steady blue glow.
The Guild had sent technicians in the dead of night to "adjust" the sensors, but the old man knew it was simply a way to erase the traces of what had really happened.
"And the room?" Elias insisted. "The table is split in half and Mr. Vaelin is still inside…"
"Send a new table. The best one we have in storage," the old man ordered. "And don't send the bill. If he wants to break the next one, let him. The platinum the Guild sent us for 'maintenance costs' covers the entire Ivory Haven for a month. Consider it the price of our silence and hospitality."
The manager straightened his collar, regaining his mask of professionalism.
Internally, he still felt the weight of that tremor in the soles of his feet.
He had seen elite mages and veteran warriors pass through those doors, but the mana pulse from the night before had been different. Having that guest in the hotel was like balancing a burning coal on top of a powder barrel.
For now, the Guild had placed a lid on the barrel… but what if the lid slipped when the barrel exploded?
The manager tried not to think about it too much.
"Start contacting last night's guests. We're reimbursing the damages and thanking them for their understanding." He said while adjusting his sleeves. "And tell the staff not to ask questions."
Elias nodded quickly and hurried out.
The manager's eyes drifted back to the ceiling, toward the upper floor.
'Since when did Luminaris start receiving monsters?'
***
Mark adjusted the cloak on his shoulders as he descended the steps toward the Ivory Haven's reception.
Instead of Elias, the usual receptionist, an older white-haired man with rigid posture stood behind the counter. He didn't recognize the face and had no intention of stopping to ask.
Mark crossed the lobby in silence, ignoring the manager's attentive look, and pushed open the heavy oak doors.
The morning sun hit his face the moment he stepped outside.
Along with the brightness, the noise of the city assaulted his ears. Mark narrowed his eyes slightly, observing the sea of people coming and going along the stone streets.
Luminaris was as lively as ever at this hour, with the sound of carriages and overlapping conversations filling the air. Mark didn't waste time watching the movement and headed straight for the guild.
The well-maintained floor of the Golden District soon gave way to worn stone and the mixed smell of food and smoke from the Bronze District as Mark descended the stairs.
The movement there was more aggressive; low-ranked adventurers crowded around taverns, arguing over silver coins as if they were treasures, oblivious to the Gold Rank man passing among them.
Mark turned the last corner, spotting the solid structure of the guild headquarters.
He didn't hesitate. Pushing the double doors open, he felt the warm air that always permeated the main hall. His eyes immediately searched for Mila at the reception desk.
And she was there.
Head lowered, Mila seemed focused on writing something on a scroll.
But she wasn't alone. Perhaps due to the lighter movement, an adventurer was leaning over the desk, taking up the space in front of her and speaking in a low, relaxed tone.
The adventurer was a young man, athletic, with close-cropped blond hair, wearing beaten leather armor with the faint sheen of recent maintenance.
A short olive-green cape rested over his shoulders, pinned by a silver brooch that revealed his rank. One arm rested on the counter as he leaned toward Mila with practiced familiarity, while his other hand played idly with the hilt of a sheathed dagger at his waist.
His smile was wide, almost predatory in its confidence, contrasting with Mila's pragmatic expression.
Mark approached and stopped just behind the man.
"I already told you, Mila… a desk job doesn't suit you," the blond adventurer murmured, leaning a little further over the counter.
"Luminaris has far better places you need to try out. If you'd agree to dinner with me tonight, I could show you how a real adventurer treats a lady. You wouldn't have to deal with these forms for a while."
Mila didn't pause her pen.
The scroll under her hand received quick, precise notes, ignoring the man's suggestive tone entirely.
"I'm sorry, sir," she replied, her voice maintaining a professional neutrality that bordered on coldness. "The guild has strict guidelines regarding the behavior of its staff during working hours. If there are no mission reports or reward requests for me to process, I must ask you to clear the counter for the next in line."
The man let out a short, relaxed laugh and tapped his fingers on his dagger hilt.
"The next in line? The hall is empty, Mila. Won't hurt you to be a bit flexible. I promise what I made on my last desert run is enough to cover any 'misconduct' fine the guild wants to give you."
"The next person is already here, sir," Mila said, finally raising her eyes from the scroll — but not toward the man in front of her.
Her gaze went over the Silver adventurer's shoulder and landed on Mark.
The young man froze. His relaxed smile didn't vanish immediately, but hardened like drying plaster.
He felt the presence behind him before even turning — a silent, heavy pressure that seemed to drain the temperature from the air around the counter.
Mark stood there, unmoving and expressionless.
The adventurer's eyes flicked across Mark's figure, searching for a badge on his chest or cloak, but found nothing.
Yet his survival instinct blared a warning.
The discomfort was immediate.
The blond man muttered some excuse to Mila, lowered his head and stepped aside quickly, putting distance between them without looking back.
Mila set her pen down, her expression relaxing.
"Mr. Vaelin! It's good to see you again," she said, placing the form aside. "What brings you here so early? Are you looking for a mission?"
"Isolda. I have a meeting scheduled with her," Mark replied.
Mila quickly nodded and stepped out from behind the counter.
"Oh! Of course, she's already waiting for you! Please, follow me."
Mark nodded and left the main hall with Mila.
She guided him through the internal corridors, up a floor and past several doors until stopping in front of a familiar one.
It was the same room Mark had been in days earlier.
"Right this way." Mila opened the door and gestured for him to enter.
Mark could hear low voices from inside.
It seemed others had arrived before him. Without wasting time, Mark crossed the door and entered the room.
The voices stopped instantly as he felt several pairs of eyes turn toward him all at once.