Deus Necros

Chapter 400: Trace of Darkness (Chapter 400 LETSGOOO)

He turned toward a small desk at the side of the room, sorting through a stack of forms.

“You mentioned working with a party before. What was their name? I didn’t see it listed on your form.”

Ludwig shook his head. “No party name that I know of. But perhaps you know them by individuals.”

“I’m not familiar with every adventurer,” the man admitted, “but I know a fair deal. Who were they?”

“Timur. Short man, smart and a good leader. Gorak, a barbarian. Robin the rogue. And a cleric named Melisande.”

The instructor blinked. Then exhaled sharply through his nose.

“The Blue Boar party,” he said with a sigh. “Quite interesting that you only remember those four. They had far more boisterous and memorable members…”

“Those are the only ones that survived their last quest. They remaining nearly didn’t make it too” Ludwig said, tone neutral.

“The Bastos Mansion investigation quest…” the man said, voice colder now.

“News travel fast, if you already know which mission they last did.” Ludwig said, watching the shift in expression.

“I was the one who recommended them for that mission,” he admitted. “The Vampire Hunter Guild needed recon and couldn’t be bothered to risk their own agents. Typical of them. Delegation to a fault.”

He let that hang for a moment before continuing.

“Where are they now?”

“War,” Ludwig said simply.

The instructor froze.

“Not going to war, escaping it. They were sent to Tulmud,” Ludwig added. “Baltimore arranged it. He feared what was coming.”

The man rubbed the bridge of his nose, face shadowed.

“Baron Baltimore… stripped of his Earl title, and yet still doing what he can for his people,” The instructor nodded.

“Better than most nobles,” Ludwig muttered.

The instructor gave a slow nod.

“Alright. I’ll log your performance and write a recommendation. You clear an A-Class mission, and your rank’s as good as done.”

Ludwig tilted his head slightly. “Got any on hand?”

The man chuckled. “Stay here. A-Class missions don’t get posted on public boards. Let me fetch you some.”

With that, he turned and disappeared through the door at the back of the room, leaving Ludwig standing in the middle of the dueling chamber, the faint scuff of their earlier clash still etched into the floor.

The door creaked softly when it opened again. The instructor stepped back into the chamber, a pair of tightly-rolled scrolls in one hand, the seal of the Adventurer Guild freshly broken. The paper crackled faintly as he flattened them onto the stone table nearby, smoothing each out with deliberate care.

He didn’t speak right away. His fingers traced the header of the first parchment, thick script, black ink, worn edges. A quest well-handled. Or rather, one well-handled by none.

“Currently,” he said at last, his voice quieter now, more formal, “there are two A-class commissions in circulation. But…”

He hesitated, glancing at Ludwig.

“I’m not a big fan of suspense,” Ludwig murmured, stepping forward. His tone was calm, but there was a slight sharpening in his gaze, a subtle glint of curiosity underneath the mask of nonchalance.

The instructor gave a half-smile and shifted the first scroll forward.

“This one is straightforward,” he said, tapping the top of the page. “Wyvern hunt. A proper threat, has been terrorizing villages north of Tulmud for nearly three weeks. Livestock gutted. Caravans torn open on forest roads. No confirmed visual on the beast. Scouts haven’t returned.”

Ludwig leaned over the page. The report was brief, just enough to relay the violence, claw marks wider than wagon wheels, bones shattered like dry twigs, scorch patterns in blackened crescents across stone and tree bark.

“It’s being hunted, but no one’s seen it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Not since the first attack,” the instructor replied. “After that, the sightings dried up. Most believe it migrated further north, but… I have my doubts. Wyverns don’t scatter once they mark feeding ground. It’s watching. Waiting.”

“I see.”

Ludwig’s gaze lingered on the parchment for another moment before shifting to the second scroll. This one was older. The paper had yellowed at the edges, the ink faded into a tired gray. A long-standing commission. A relic.

The instructor didn’t move it forward.

“This quest,” he said slowly, “has been on the books for over two decades.”

That alone made Ludwig raise a brow.

“Oh?” he said, interest growing sharper.

The man didn’t smile this time.

“Most would stop there. Most should. This wasn’t supposed to be up here for this long, but the empire is the one keeping it here…”

He unrolled it regardless, and the words within were sparse, intentionally vague, the way all long-term failures became over time. The dungeon was unnamed, located within a forested ruin east of the Tulmud. It had no clear depth, no mapped structure. No confirmed boss. No core.

And no successful return.

“For an A class mission, there is way too much inconsistences here. Also how did it not even get mapped out? It’s a dungeon, and you had two decades?” Ludwig asked, frowning.

“The quest itself was S class but then was brought down a grade to allow more adventurers to partake and participate in it,” the man replied flatly. “The Empire was worried that elevating it again doing so would outright make it a dry quest. And no one would even dare try it. Many however were sent at first, but none came back intact. Those who did return…” He paused, drawing a long breath. “They came back changed.”

“Changed how?”

“A darkness clings to them,” the instructor said. “Not visible. Not in the physical sense. But it follows. Their eyes never quite focus. Some forget their names. Others…” His jaw tensed. “Others forget they were ever human.”

A silence followed, heavy and thick.

“The Holy Order can’t cleanse it?” Ludwig asked.

“They’ve tried. Even got the pontiff involved to cleanse it. Nothing worked. And so, the mission remains, uncleared. Ignored. Avoided.”

He pushed the scroll toward Ludwig with two fingers, the weight of his gaze behind it.

“I won’t lie to you. This isn’t a challenge. It’s a gamble. That dungeon is a wound in the world. And whatever festered inside it… has grown comfortable.”

Ludwig stared at the words again, the faded ink like bruises on the page. There was something off about the way the parchment felt beneath his fingers. Dry. Too dry. As if it had been drained of moisture long ago.

But before he could answer, the air shimmered faintly before his eyes. A flicker. Then,

[ Vestige of Darkness Quest Update! ]

A trail of darkness has been detected.

Investigate the trail left behind by the Vestige of Darkness.

Ludwig was clearly surprised, he wasn’t expecting to get information on the Vestige of Darkness this early on.

“Don’t you think that this is a bit too… convenient?” Thomas asked.

Ludwig almost replied vocally, “Yes, the Witch did say that we’ll find some clues along our way, but this is way too fast. I had thought we’ll be looking for a while.”

Ludwig looked up at the instructor, “I’m taking this quest.”

“I had thought you’d do, but make sure you stay safe. The dungeon itself keeps changing, we don’t know how, but from some of the reports that adventurers who came back wrote, everyone of them seemed to have entered a different type of dungeon…”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ludwig rolled the document and placed it inside his storage ring.

“I’ll inform the reception of your acceptance of the Quest, for now,” he pushed a small medal toward Ludwig, “This is a temporary Adventurer card.”

Looking at the card, it was a silver metallic plate with the name of Davon, as an affiliate adventurer to the Adventurer Guild of Peltora. Along with the class B+.

“This is the best I can do for you right now, protocol and all.”

“This is good enough, for me,” Ludwig said as he pinned the tag on his regalia robes.”

“For your benefits you can talk to the receptionist, basically you get free lodging anywhere that has the Adventurer’s guild symbol on it. And you can also loan some weapons and armor, but I doubt you need any of that.”

“I’m good for now, though how can I reach this place,” Ludwig asked.

“You can take a teleportation gate to Rasta, it’s the closest city with a teleportation gate near the dungeon entrance. You’ll need to travel for about half a day on horse back or carriage to reach the area.”

“Thank you, I’ll head out now,” Ludwig nodded and left the room finding the receptionist from earlier waiting for him.

Once she noticed the tag on his chest her eyes widened in surprised, “Ah, sir, please follow me back, your companion is waiting at the bar.”

****

“Do I have to go today?” Hiro groaned, dragging the words out like a child being asked to carry firewood. His arms spun lazily, two swords clumsily twirling in his grip as he stood in the training yard, convinced that what he was doing looked like the practiced flourish of some fabled Swordmaster from the old ballads. “Isn’t it like… another week before the tournament even starts?”

The sunlight above filtered through the high lattice of the practice courtyard, casting dappled shadows that danced across his polished but barely scuffed armor. A slight wind stirred his cape, one he wore purely for style, and made the unbalanced rotations of his weapons even less graceful.

Nearby, the bishop assigned to attend him was doing a very poor job of concealing his mounting frustration. His jaw twitched once, then again, his knuckles whitening as he clasped his hands behind his back, the hem of his robe fluttering faintly. One of Hiro’s swords slipped, the hilt twisting out of his sweaty palm, and the blade spun into the air with an ungainly arc, narrowly missing the bishop’s ear before clattering against the stone floor with a ringing finality.

“Sir…” the bishop began, voice strained, as he stepped forward with a crisp gait and bent to retrieve the fallen weapon. The tip scraped faintly as he lifted it. “Lady Titania is awaiting your arrival. She has already gone ahead to secure the perimeter and ensure your appearance at the capital is unimpeded by any threats.” He offered the blade back to Hiro with a stiff arm and a frown that barely passed for diplomatic restraint. “She sent word this morning. The city is secured. We must depart shortly.”

Hiro took the sword with a sigh and a shrug, rolling his eyes. “Like I said, there’s still a whole week left. A week. Why go now? What am I supposed to do there for seven whole days? Stare at fountains and wave at peasants?”

“You need to show yourself, the people need to see the Hero,” came a deeper, colder voice from behind.

The words cut through the air like a drawn blade. Hiro stiffened. Slowly, with the exaggerated reluctance of someone caught mid-lie, he turned his head.

The figure now stepping into the courtyard cast a long shadow across the flagstones. Robes of deep crimson folded neatly around his tall, lean frame, his gait composed, his eyes unreadable. The Cardinal Clementine. His presence seemed to drain the warmth from the day itself. The bishop straightened at once, bowing his head.

Hiro gulped, his lips pulling into a nervous grin. “Ah… you’re here. I thought you were still, you know, torturing that vampire.”

“There was no torture,” the cardinal said plainly, stepping closer. His tone was level, utterly dry. “Only interrogation. Not that it yielded anything.”

“Really? Nothing?” Hiro said, scratching the back of his head as he tried to mask his discomfort with awkward banter. “Shouldn’t you use something like, I don’t know, garlic? Or maybe a stake through the heart? A bit of sunlight for good measure? That’ll make ’em talk.”

Clementine halted a few steps away, and tilted his head with the slow, deliberate movement of a man pondering whether or not to waste his breath. “What would that accomplish?” he asked flatly. “Garlic? He had a meal recently. Medium-rare steak. Seasoned, quite heavily, in fact, with garlic. As for sunlight… I’m not here to entertain myths.”

“But I thought vampires…”

“Rubbish,” Clementine cut in, his voice like cold iron. “Enough nonsense.”

“But”

“Mot is already outside,” the cardinal said interrupting any whinging, the name dropping like a stone into still water. “And I assure you… he is not in the mood for your antics.”

The moment the name was spoken, the air around Hiro seemed to change. His back stiffened. The second sword slipped from his hand with a dull clang, forgotten. A small shiver ran down the nape of his neck. He didn’t look toward the gate.

“…Fine,” he mumbled, swallowing the rest of his protest. “Let’s just go then. Don’t want to be on that creep’s bad side…”

The bishop exhaled in silent relief and turned on his heel. Clementine gave no parting glance, no gesture, simply walked away, his footsteps silent despite the weight they carried.

And Hiro, would-be hero, self-styled Swordmaster, trailed after them with both shoulders slumped and his bluster left behind on the training ground.