Chapter 27: The Adventurers’ Guild and Tales of the Ancient Kingdom

“I made a mistake and must fix it, or disaster will follow.”

When Kritiya fell asleep again, it was midnight.

I heard the night watchman’s clapper pass by on the street.

I grabbed the quill on the desk, scribbling the words in the dark, then rolled the paper into a strip and tucked it into my sleeve.

If I don’t return before dawn and Kritiya wakes in a strange place, I hope she sees this note.

I slipped out quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping siblings, and donned a cloak—not Kritiya’s red one, but a gray one I’d hidden, paired with heeled boots.

At this age, a girl’s frame grows fast, and I looked nearly adult-sized now.

This disguise, prepared for earlier snooping, was being used for the second time.

“Shadows descend here, cloaking your folly…”

I drew magic from the Seed of the Evil God, chanting a spell to veil my form.

In the dark, my presence would be nearly undetectable.

The backlash of black magic hit my mind—but since that dream where demons tore me apart, my tolerance for it had grown.

Maybe I could wield more forbidden arts.

“Right… no need to panic. It’s just an arm. This is a world of holy light and magic. The Church’s thirteenfold Radiant Chant can revive the freshly dead—there’s got to be a way to fix this! To set things right!”

I thought, racing into the night.

For healing, the Church came to mind first…

The Radiant Church’s holy light is like a legendary panacea, so I had to check.

But at this hour, they likely wouldn’t see visitors—gates usually open at dawn.

Then there’s Darryl…

I thought of the warmhearted half-elf swordswoman.

Darryl, a renowned ranger, might know a cure.

She’d offered help, but in the novel, she’s tied to Nolan.

If I arrange their meeting early, it could spark unpredictable ripples, so she’s not my first choice.

Besides that—there are mystical magic items and potions…

I knew exactly where to inquire about those.

Romern has no curfew, but the Lower District lacks nightlife.

At this hour, the streets hold only thieves, watchmen, or stray drunks.

And—those like me, seeking secret meetings.

I reached a nondescript courtyard, like any common home.

This area was full of artisan streets, and the yard was flanked by poles draped with dyed cloth, clearly a dye-works.

I gazed at the fluttering fabrics, spotting an inked emblem on one.

A crescent moon hung within a triangular frame.

The novel mentioned this—the Adventurers’ Guild’s mark.

I’d stumbled upon this place by chance.

I knocked lightly on the gate, waited, and with no answer, pushed the ajar gate open and entered.

The front yard was empty.

At the back, a lantern hung under the eaves, casting dim yellow light.

A young servant sat by the door, yawning.

I stepped into the light, my form suddenly visible.

“A… ghost!”

My cloaking magic startled the servant, who yelped.

I lowered my voice.

“Adventurer.”

“Oh… please, come in.”

The servant calmed, seeing my cloaked figure, and opened a side door.

I looked up, spotting a tunnel leading underground, and stepped in.

The passage was short, soon opening into a stone-bricked hall, about a hundred feet wide.

Scattered tables and chairs stood in front, with a counter and filing racks at the back.

Under dim light, a white-haired, bleary-eyed old man shakily sorted papers behind the counter.

I walked toward the counter.

A few grimy figures in battered leather armor, wielding swords or daggers, eyed me warily from the tables, but I ignored them and pressed on.

Yes, this rundown place was the Adventurers’ Guild—not a thieves’ guild, not an assassins’ guild, not some dark cabal, but the millennia-old Adventurers’ Guild.

In humanity’s early days, during the age of scattered city-states, dragons and monsters roamed borders and heartlands, posing threats.

Ancient ruins birthed undead and spirits, attacking at random.

Pioneer bands, helping each other, formed the Guild, posting tasks, sharing intel, and slaying beasts, creating a vast network of heroes spanning the continent.

Back then, the Guild had outposts in every major city and isle, with grand halls rivaling temples.

High-ranking adventurers were symbols of power and honor, saluted by kings when they marched to quell disasters.

But glory fades like clouds.

Over centuries, dragons and monsters dwindled in human lands.

When the Lottras Kingdom, rising from the continent’s heart, unified the central regions, the Guild’s fortunes plummeted.

The kingdom outlawed it, claiming it harmed national interests.

As the kingdom grew into a vast empire, absorbing northern and southern lords, the Guild’s space shrank.

It was once destroyed but, backed by shadowy patrons, rebuilt as a semi-secret group in this gray underworld.

I pulled my cloak’s collar to hide my face and approached the counter.

The sparse-haired old man peered over shakily, speaking in a phlegmy rasp.

“Oh—you here to post or take a job?”

“I’m here for information—”

“Another one asking about that…”

Before I finished, he waved impatiently.

“Go, go, it’s on the board over there, can’t you read?”

“No—I want to ask…”

But he played deaf.

Sensing something off, I followed his lead and looked at the bulletin board.

The board was cluttered with jobs—bounty hunts, material gathering, or ruin explorations.

Then I saw a long scroll in the center, covered in dense text.

“Ancient Ruin Scroll Notice.”

“Morning, November 1: An adventurer took a job to explore ruins in the western hills of Romern, near Karlsber and Baron Noron’s lands, finding a sealed ancient scroll beyond their task.”

“Noon, November 3: The adventurer sold the scroll publicly. Bought by the Mercury Alchemical Workshop.

Their alchemist, Ouen, identified it as a relic of the ancient Roen Kingdom, sealed with ancient magic, highly valuable.”

“Evening, November 4: Alchemist Ouen fled with the scroll.

The Mercury Workshop reported it to the city guard, issuing a warrant.”

“Morning, November 7: The Ballast Gang, a dockside mob, found Ouen on a ferry, kidnapping him and demanding ransom from the Mercury Workshop.”

“November 8: The Mercury Workshop paid the ransom. The Ballast Gang’s leader, mid-tier warrior Iron Hook Soth, handed over Ouen’s corpse, claiming the scroll wasn’t found.

A clash followed, with over thirty dead or injured.”

“November 9: Romern’s city guard intervened, ordering the Ballast Gang to hand the scroll to the city hall. The gang insisted they didn’t have it.”

“November 12: Witnesses report a warrior in a green cloak raided the Ballast Gang’s hideout, seizing the scroll and vanishing. Described as having short black hair and three facial scars. The city guard, Mercury Workshop, and Ballast Gang are now pursuing them.”

“Three scars—that’s Darryl’s mask!”

Reading the notice, I jolted, understanding why Darryl was chased yesterday.

It was about this ancient scroll.

Those thugs must be the Ballast Gang.

“This has nothing to do with me… probably,” I thought, eyeing the scroll’s blank space below, likely for updates.

“So—friend? Staring long, huh? Interested? Want to team up?”

A voice interrupted my thoughts.

I turned, seeing a short man in a leather breastplate.

“What’s the point of it?”

I shook my head.

“Just a fancy antique.”

“Ah—lady, no offense,” the adventurer stepped back, “but you’re not local, right? Southern? Capital? Western canyons? Northern snows?”

“Why not guess every corner of the empire?”

I said.

“Point is, you’re not from Romern—” he continued.

“That’s why you don’t get it. In Romern, from nobles’ pampered kids to street urchins, we grow up hearing tales of the ‘Roen Kingdom.’”

“Uh… never heard of it,” I said, racking my brain.

The novel’s ruins and dungeons Nolan explored never mentioned “Roen.”

“Let me tell you—it’s a kingdom from thousands of years ago.

Legend says its ancient king, a descendant of the Three-Eyed Goddess, got a divine parchment listing the true names of twelve great demons.

Calling a name enslaved that demon.

The king used it to crush enemies, building a city of gold and jewels.”

“You saying that scroll’s your parchment?”

I said mockingly.

The Three-Eyed Goddess’s parchment sounds like local folklore.

The Radiant God is the empire’s sole legal faith, but local beliefs persist, like Weilin’s folk honoring the Winter Moon Wolf God at funerals.

The Church can’t stamp these out, turning a blind eye.

“No—of course not, demon contracts are just kids’ tales,” the adventurer laughed.

“But the Roen Kingdom was real. Parts of its ruins lie exposed, long looted, occasionally spawning monsters needing regular sweeps.”

“That scroll might hold the key to the city’s depths—imagine, gold, jewels, wealth for a lifetime! If worldly riches don’t tempt you, there’s lost ancient magic, knowledge, and artifacts.

When the upper ruins surfaced, someone found a legendary ‘Essence of Life Elixir’—a lost alchemical masterpiece! It revives the dead, mends bones, grants a perfect body the gods didn’t give!”

Revives the dead, mends bones—my brows twitched.

The adventurer rambled on, spitting excitedly.

“Legend says the finder was a deformed dwarf, scavenging adventurers’ scraps. He slipped into collapsed ruins, parched, seeking water, and found the elixir. Drinking it, he became tall, handsome, and strong…”

He spoke fervently.

I got why this tale thrilled him—barely five feet, not quite a dwarf but only slightly taller than young Kritiya.

He clearly craved that elixir for confidence.

“So, how’d the grown dwarf get out?”

I asked.

“Uh… well…”

He stammered, caught off guard.

“Maybe… he got super strong too?”

“Sorry, not interested.”

I shook my head, rejecting his team-up offer.

The Essence of Life Elixir sounds useful for Nolan’s arm, but for a mere injury, it’s overkill.

Besides, Kritiya and I can’t explore ancient ruins—there might be nothing there.

Better ask the Guild for more common drugs or methods—

I thought, heading to the counter.