Deus Necros

Chapter 401: White Raven

The late afternoon sun slanted low as they stepped out of the guild, spilling over Peltora’s cobbled streets in ribbons of gold. The noise of the adventurer quarter rolled around them in waves, hammering from nearby smithies, the tang of hot iron and leatherwork hanging in the air, a hawker calling out prices for skewered meat that hissed and smoked on his brazier. Redd tugged his hood down as they moved through the bustling thoroughfare, the crowd parting in places for a group of hunters dragging a fresh wyvern hide, the scent of blood and ozone still clinging to it.

“So that’s it?” Redd muttered, falling into step beside Ludwig and Celine, his hands stuffed deep into his sleeves. His tone carried that disbelief only someone used to the grind of years could summon. “You just get in… and you’re already B rank?”

“B-plus,” Ludwig corrected with the faintest trace of humor, his eyes forward, scanning the vendors and the street corners out of habit, or maybe precaution.

“You get my point.” Redd rubbed at the back of his neck and let out a long sigh, weaving past a cart trundling by. “Others take years decades, even to climb one rank. And you, you waltz in and get bumped up before the ink even dries on your form. I mean, sure, you’re strong, but… man, isn’t this a bit much?”

Ludwig’s lips curved, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “The instructor insisted,” he said, turning his head just enough for the afternoon light to catch the edge of his eyes. “Still, rank or no rank, I need another quest cleared before I hit A class.”

Redd stopped dead for a moment in the swirl of foot traffic, causing a porter behind him to curse under his breath as he shouldered past. Redd didn’t even notice. He just stared at Ludwig’s back with that look of someone trying to solve a puzzle that wouldn’t stop growing. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. Then, quieter, “But sadly… I can’t join you.”

Ludwig slowed, sensing the shift in tone, and turned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Got a tail on you?” His hand squeezed instinctively on his ring, ready to pull up his swords if needed, gaze sweeping the crowd: a pair of merchants haggling, a group of apprentices hauling sacks of grain, nothing overtly threatening.

“No.” Redd’s answer came with a shrug, but his shoulders were tight, his jaw set. “I’m trying to hide before that happens. A lot of bounty hunters crawl through this district. Just because I haven’t seen a wanted poster with my face on it doesn’t mean there won’t be by nightfall. Remember, even the damn royal guards are after me, I’m a ticking time bomb and you two need to get away from me before I drag you into more of my problems.”

Ludwig studied him for a beat longer, the way his eyes scanned the roofs as if expecting a shadow to drop. “Fair enough,” Ludwig said at last. “I’ll need to head to the White Raven network first. We’ll split here.”

Redd’s grin returned, faint but real this time. “Good luck on your journey and all that,” he said, giving a lazy wave as he eased back into the current of people. “And… thanks for the ride. Don’t die in some random ditch man.” He tugged his hood low, letting the folds shadow his face, and in the space of a few steps was swallowed by the crowd, as though he’d never been there at all.

Ludwig stood still for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if trying to follow him through the maze of strangers, then exhaled through his nose. He turned to Celine. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked, just watched the flow of the street as though she were part of it.

“Well,” Ludwig said, attempting levity that felt flat even to him, “I guess it’s you and me now. How do you feel about investigating a dungeon?” He added a faint smile, hoping to draw something from her.

Her gaze slid to him, impassive. “Sure,” she said, her voice soft and level, as if discussing the weather. “Let’s just not die. You have a habit of drawing the most monstrous beings toward you.”

He huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll try my best.” Then, more briskly, “As for monstrous beings,” he said as he resumed his walk forward. “At least I have a monstrous ally that I can trust.”

A small curve, almost that of a smile crept up Celine’s mouth but soon disappeared, Ludwig never had the chance to see it unfortunately.

The instructor’s directions came back to him. The White Raven’s nearest branch was hidden in plain sight, tucked behind an unassuming façade called the Black Dove Inn. Ludwig almost smiled at the irony. With Celine in tow, they moved through winding backstreets that smelled of old wood and baked bread, past balconies draped in drying linens, and turned down a narrow alley where shadows lingered even at midday. A carved wooden sign hung above a door recessed into old stone. A black dove, wings spread.

Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of spiced ale and aged oak. At first glance, it was just another inn. Patrons filled the tables, some in armor, others in traveling cloaks, laughing and drinking. The murmur of conversation rolled like a low tide. A bard strummed softly in a corner, adding a thread of melody. Nothing about it screamed secrets or networks, but Ludwig’s instincts prickled. He could feel the weight of eyes even before he saw them.

He took a seat at the polished bar with Celine beside him, the wood smooth and dark beneath his gloves. The bartender, a man with a shaven head and a quiet manner, polished an already spotless glass. “What can I get for you?” he asked with a neutral smile.

“The Phoenix lived, but the flames died out,” Ludwig said evenly.

The man stilled for a fraction of a heartbeat, then inclined his head. He set the glass aside and stepped through a door behind the counter without another word.

“Ah. You still remember it. Good, good,” Behind Ludwig, Thomas’s spectral form shimmered faintly into view. Unseen by anyone else. His voice brushed across Ludwig’s

Celine shifted beside him. He could feel it before she moved, a sudden coiling of tension, her stillness sharpening into something predatory. Ludwig’s senses flared in tandem, the hair at his neck prickling. He didn’t need a notification, but it came anyway.

[You are in a hostile environment!]

Every patron who seconds ago looked like a casual drinker now stood, movements smooth and coordinated, daggers sliding from hidden sheaths. The shift was eerie in its synchronicity. An entire room of killers, standing as one.

“Calm down, Celine,” Ludwig murmured, barely moving his lips. He set his hand casually on the bar’s edge, but a shimmer pulsed in the air, and Oathcarver bled into reality beside him, the immense blade thunking into the floorboards with a heavy, resonant sound that silenced the room.

From Ludwig’s hand however, Oathcarver appeared, the man Sized weapon of more than a hundred kilos simply manifested from thin air and dug deep into the ground. Along with it, Ludwig’s mana began roiling and coiling around him with so much intensity that it became visible to the naked eye, purple in sheen and effervescent. Like the flames of perdition awaiting to consume any and all unfortunate fools too blind to see that doom is sitting at the bar.

Everyone hesitated, the sight of the massive weapon itself was enough a deterrent but the mana that was wantonly raging out from the young man was a dead-giveaway that if they even dare breath wrong, they’ll end up in coffins if they’re lucky.

No one moved forward. No one thought they should, for someone of this caliber to be here, crossing them would also mean crossing the boundary. The boundary of life and death.

By the time the bartender returned, his face was pale, his hand trembling as he set a single glass of red wine before Ludwig. “Sir,” he said carefully, “I… found the item you’re looking for.”

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed, flicking from the glass to the man’s face.

Thomas’s voice murmured in his mind, calm as stone. It’s at the bottom. The Ring.

How did they get it here this fast? Ludwig thought back, without shifting his gaze.

“Small-scale teleportation and a request to HQ. Once you gave them the phrase they sent the item here.”

And the hostility?

A precaution. That phrase is only ever uttered if I am gone. Either willingly… or under duress. Their orders are to kill anyone not strong enough to carry it. If you remember this was Meant for Ravi. He could handle this much….

Would have been nice to know earlier.

If you weren’t strong enough, knowing wouldn’t help you, Thomas said dryly.

Ludwig raised the glass, his aura still coiling around him, and drank. The wine was bitter, metallic, laced with something acrid. A small ring slid against his tongue, catching faintly on his teeth. He swallowed the rest calmly, set the glass down, and drew the ring from his mouth, slipping it into his storage. The ring was gold and silver and had the Vondel insignia on it.

“Sir,” the bartender ventured, his voice thin.

Ludwig met his eyes. “What is it?”

The man swallowed. “Don’t ever drink something handed to you by a stranger.”

Ludwig’s smile was thin and sharp. “Is that so?”

The man went quiet, throat working.

“Don’t worry,” Ludwig said as he rose, his chair scraping softly against the boards. “Poison is a coward’s weapon.” He turned, his long coat sweeping as he strode for the door. Celine rose in one fluid motion and followed, her pale eyes flicking once over the room, cold as moonlight.

“The wine was poisoned,” Celine said once they were moving through the inn, her tone level, almost conversational, but pitched loud enough for everyone around her to hear.

“Yes,” Ludwig said, not looking back. “Some paralytic. Weak.”

Behind them, the room seemed to exhale as the blades vanished back into folds of cloth, as men and women sank silently back into their seats. But no one met Ludwig’s eyes as he walked into the bright daylight of Peltora’s streets.

A man who drinks poison knowingly without flinching is not one you follow. They’re either too far gone in the head, or they don’t care enough about their own life. Either way, a dangerous fellow.

“Let’s head to the teleportation gate,” Ludwig said, his voice calm again as they merged into the crowd, his hand brushing Oathcarver’s hilt one last time. “We’ve got a long road ahead… Rasta awaits.”