Chapter 80: Adventurer Guild [3]

Chapter 80

The old man walked slowly around the pile of corpses, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes moved with the practiced care of someone who had appraised thousands of kills. He noted the scorched sections of carapace on the Venom Spider, the frost still clinging in places to several of the Fang Wolves, and the clean, deliberate sword cuts that crossed both fire and ice damage. Different attributes. Different methods. All present on bodies the boy claimed to have taken alone.

He said nothing about it.

In thirty years he had learned when to press and when to simply finish the transaction. If the young man had help, it was not the guild’s business as long as the materials were legitimate. If he somehow had not, that was even less reason to stand here arguing with evidence. Better to price the goods, move them into inventory, and let the boy’s future hunts settle the question on their own.

He stopped beside the Alpha and gave the ruined chest a final glance.

"All right, boy. The Fang Wolves are in good condition. Market rate right now is one hundred and fifty silver each. The Venom Spider’s venom sacs are useful for alchemy and potion work, so that one sits around five hundred silver. The Alpha is more damaged, but I’ll still give you five hundred for it. Fair enough?"

Rael looked at the numbers without any real frame of reference. He had expected the guild to keep a margin—every buyer did—but he had no clear sense of how large that margin usually was.

"Do all beasts around this level sell for roughly the same price?" he asked.

The old man shook his head. "No. Value depends on what the market needs. Your spider’s poison makes it worth more than a plain beast of the same level. Fang Wolves and Venom Spiders both show up in large numbers because so many adventurers hunt close to the walls. High supply keeps the price steady but not high. Bring something from farther out—something that doesn’t walk up to the city gates every other day—and the price climbs. Simple supply and demand."

Rael nodded once. The logic was clear. The monsters he had killed were common near Ashfall; rarity, not just strength, drove the higher numbers. He filed the information away for the next time he chose a hunting route.

"I’ll sell them to you."

The old man smiled, the same mild, professional expression he had worn since the laughter faded. "Good. Leave them here. The handlers will sort and tag everything."

Two guild workers were already entering the storage room with carts and marking slates. The old man gestured for Rael to follow and led him back toward the main hall, then down a quieter side corridor. They stopped in front of a smaller office area where a clerk sat behind a desk stacked with registration forms and blank guild cards.

"Register first," the old man said. "Once you have your card, come back to my counter and I’ll settle your payment. Shouldn’t take too long if the line cooperates."

Rael stepped up to the registration desk. The clerk looked up, took in the lack of any existing badge, and pulled a fresh form from the pile.

"Name?"

"Rael Ashborne."

The process began with the usual questions—place of origin, primary combat style, whether he intended to take guild quests or only sell materials. Rael answered carefully, giving nothing that would tie him to the Blackthorn name. Around him the low noise of the guild continued: other new registrants waiting, an older adventurer arguing politely about quest rankings, the distant sound of more materials being wheeled toward storage.

He had been standing there only a few minutes when the clerk slid the first page across for his signature.

Rael finished the last of the forms, pressed his thumb to the crystal pad, and received a plain guild card with his new name etched across the surface. He slipped it into his storage ring and stepped back into the main hall.

The crowd had thickened. Midday was the preferred hour for parties leaving the city; the earlier hunters were already outside the walls, and the later ones were only now gathering gear and arguing over routes. The air felt heavier with overlapping auras and the constant scrape of boots. In the short time he stood near the edge of the floor he saw more beast-kin than he had expected—wolf-kin with subtle ear tips, fox-kin with narrow eyes and quiet movements, a few heavier builds that spoke of bear or boar blood. Relations between humans and the common mixed races were clearly practical and stable here. Then a giant ducked through the far entrance. The man stood well over ten feet; another foot of height and his head would have brushed the ceiling beams. Rael watched him pass without staring. Higher races—elves, dwarves, amazonians—were absent, as expected this far from the central territories.

He made his way back to the materials counter. The old man looked up, took the guild card, and read the name aloud.

"Rael Ashborne. Solid name, lad. Hope we’ll be seeing each other often from now on."

Rael nodded. The old man counted out the coin without further comment and pushed the heavy pouch across the wood. Rael stored it at once and turned toward the quest boards.

He spent several minutes scanning the postings. Every low-level request—herb gathering, weak beast culling, simple escort work near the walls—already carried the mark of acceptance. Only the higher-tier contracts remained: deeper Wildlands hunts, ranked monster subjugations, and a few requests that demanded party verification. None of them suited a solo hunter who had registered less than an hour earlier.

His gaze drifted to a cluster of advertisement flyers pinned along the side wall. One in particular caught the light: bold red characters announcing a Fire Style Sword Art School. Rael studied the simple illustration of a blade wreathed in flame. He already carried Infernomancer. Whether a copied class would let him learn a compatible sword art was an open question. The only way to answer it was to test the door.

He asked a pair of adventurers seated nearby for directions. They pointed him toward the eastern district with casual precision. Rael thanked them and left the guild.

The walk took him through quieter streets where the midday heat lay heavier between the buildings. After several turns the road opened onto a wide compound wall of dark timber and pale stone. An old-style gate stood at the center, the architecture carrying the same clean, disciplined lines he had only ever seen in murim stories and historical dramas. Above the entrance, carved in deep characters, were the words:

Crimson Flame Sword Art.

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