Ivan stirred awake, not from dreams or his usual restlessness—but from the muffled voices outside his house. His room was small, sparsely furnished with only a cracked mirror, a rusted chair, and a single bed made from straw and salvaged cloth. He rubbed his eyes, letting the voices seep into his consciousness.
"Did you hear what happened yesterday?" a man's voice drifted from the alley below. "Vince, that noble brat from the academy? He died. And not just died—torn apart, they say. Blood everywhere. His face unrecognizable."
A woman gasped. "You're saying the truth? Who would dare to do that? The guards? An assassin? The academy?"
"No, no. I heard it was Len—yes, Len, the receptionist from the Adventurer Guild," the man whispered. "Rumor is Vince tried to force himself on her. She fought back. Slit his throat. Guildmaster's been protecting her since."
The woman hissed, "Isn't Len the Guildmaster's mistress?"
"Shhh!" the man snapped. "Don't say that in public! You want the guild's agents crawling through your windows at night? Let's go home. The kids will be waiting."
The conversation faded as they walked off. Ivan lay back for a moment, staring at the wood above his head. His lips curled into a wicked smile.
"It worked," he muttered. "Hook, line, and dagger."
He rose from the bed, shaking off the exhaustion. Pulling his scimitar from beneath the bed and buckling it to his side, he grabbed the crossbow hanging behind the door and slung it over his back. A small cloth pouch—empty now, save for a few silver coins—was tied to his waist.
Today would be interesting.
The Adventurer Guild was quieter than usual when Ivan stepped inside. The usual drunken laughter and brawls were absent. Instead, all eyes were fixed toward the small elevated platform where a man in elegant armor stood—silver-edged cloak draped across his shoulders. It was Guildmaster Guillan.
Ivan took a seat near the back, staying close to the wall, his eyes scanning the room. Veterans, rookies, mercenaries, and commoners alike had gathered.
Guillan raised a hand. "Friends. Brothers. Sisters. I stand before you not as a Guildmaster, but as one of you—a man who built this city alongside you. A man who has lost comrades to the greed of nobles. A man who refuses to kneel."
A murmur of approval spread through the crowd.
"You've heard the rumors—Baron Kaurst blames one of our own for the death of his son. He believes Len, our guild's heart, is responsible. But I stand here today to tell you: Len was with me the entire night. There is no truth in their accusation."
Gasps. Whispers.
"They want to use her as a scapegoat. But what they really want… is our city."
Ivan tilted his head, listening closely.
"The Kaurst Family—backed by corrupt academies and money-hungry barons—plans to march their private army on Gesir tomorrow. This city, built by adventurers and for adventurers, will burn unless we defend it."
One man stood up. "Guildmaster! Even if we wanted to fight, we can't match the Kaurst's numbers!"
Another added, "They have mages from the Academy! We only have swords!"
Guillan nodded solemnly. "True. But we have something they lack. Purpose. Grit. And most importantly—each other. We are adventurers. We have hunted monsters in the dark. We have bled for copper and died for silver. What's another war, if it's for our home?"
Cheers erupted. Some stood on tables, raising their tankards. Others slammed fists into wooden benches, shouting "FOR GESIR!"
Ivan didn't join the roar. He leaned back, eyes narrowed.
Len stepped onto the stage, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her voice trembled as she spoke.
"I… I've worked here for years. I love this guild. I never expected to become the center of something like this." She looked down. "I didn't kill Vince. I never even went to his mansion. The Guildmaster was with me the entire time." She turned to Guillan and gripped his arm. "Please, I just want to help."
Guillan put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and stepped forward again. "To those willing to stand and defend Gesir, the guild offers compensation—1,000 gold per warrior who survives the siege. Your names will be written in our hall, your deeds remembered for generations."
The cheers grew louder. A few younger adventurers jumped up and shouted their willingness to die for the city. Even some of the older, retired fighters muttered in agreement.
But Ivan?
He just sat, watching it all. Watching how the mob could be stirred. Watching how simple words could cloak lies. Watching how a false flag could birth a war.
He stood and exited without a word.
In the shadows outside the guild, Ivan leaned against the cold wall of the building, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His thoughts churned like a storm.
"So they took the bait," he muttered. "The Kaurst Family will march, and this city of dreamers will bleed. But all eyes are on the guild and the baron now."
He chuckled quietly to himself. "Let the sheep fight each other. While they're blind with vengeance—I'll collect."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out the locket he had taken from the beastman girl. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting the intricate symbol—a silver wolf intertwined with a crescent moon.
"A princess, huh? I wonder what can I do about this."