As Neclord White and his remaining followers arrived at the scene of the battle, they were greeted by a chilling silence. The ground was scarred with signs of the fierce struggle that had taken place, but of Amukelo, there was no sign. Neclord surveyed the area with a critical eye, his experienced gaze taking in the scattered weapons, the footprints that led in all directions, and the blood that stained the leaves and soil.
"How did he do it?" one of the men whispered, his voice barely carrying over the quiet rustling of the trees.
Neclord's expression was grim as he responded, "I think it might have to do something with his sword. If it is truly what we suspect, he will be a bigger problem than we thought." He kicked at a small, broken branch, from frustration. "Prepare to track him."
Meanwhile, Amukelo pushed himself to the limits of his endurance. His journey back to Llyn was a blur of sleepless nights and relentless travel. His mind was a tumult of grief and burning vengeance, each step driven by the need to act, to do something about the crushing loss.
Upon his return to Llyn, Amukelo's appearance caused a stir. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, his face gaunt and haunted by the horrors he had witnessed. People who had known him as a vibrant young adventurer were taken aback by the transformation. His eyes, usually calm and assessing, now burned with a dark fire. Conversations hushed as he passed, his presence bringing a palpable tension to the air.
He walked straight to the adventurers' association, his steps heavy but determined. At the counter, he placed his guild badge down with a shaky hand. "I would like to terminate my guild," he stated, his voice hoarse from exhaustion and disuse.
The room fell utterly silent, the usual bustle of the association halting as everyone turned to witness the somber moment. The clerk behind the counter, a young woman with sympathetic eyes, took the badge gently. "I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured, her voice soft.
Amukelo was silent for a long moment before he pulled out a blood-stained necklace with an unfamiliar symbol. "Do you recognize what guild this is?" he asked, his voice tight with barely contained emotion.
The clerk took the necklace, her expression changing as she noted the blood. She hesitated, a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but she shook her head. "I'm sorry, it's the first time I see this symbol," she lied, avoiding his gaze.
Defeated and too weary to argue, Amukelo nodded numbly and left the association. The sun had set, and the streets of Llyn were dimly lit by the flickering lights of lanterns. With nowhere else to turn, he headed to the pub, his steps slow and heavy.
Inside the pub, he found a quiet corner and ordered a strong drink. He knew alcohol wouldn't erase the pain or bring back the dead, but perhaps it would grant him a few hours of oblivion. As he drank, the events of the past days replayed over and over in his mind, each detail etched with painful clarity, but then a stranger approached him.
He took the seat next to him with a casual grace, eyeing the disheveled warrior with a mixture of curiosity and caution. "I've seen in the association that you are looking for someone. Am I right?" he asked, his voice low and smooth, designed not to carry over the hum of the other conversations.
Amukelo turned slowly, his eyes dull with unshed tears and exhaustion, but at the mention of his quest, a flicker of something fierce and painful sparked briefly in his gaze. He nodded slightly, fumbling for the bloodstained necklace, and laid it on the table between them. "Right... I want to gather information about this guild," he muttered, his voice rough with emotion.
The man studied the necklace with a practiced eye, then met Amukelo's gaze with a nod. "I can tell you a thing or two. But I won't tell anything for free," he stated, his tone matter-of-fact.
Without a word, Amukelo pushed a bag of coins across the table. It landed with a heavy thud, the sound of metal on wood cutting through the background noise. Clearly, to him, the coins were just another worthless tool to fulfill his vengeance.
The man's eyes lit up with greed, but his expression quickly smoothed into a professional smile. "So, what do you want to know? What is their name and how big are they?"
Amukelo's grip tightened around his mug, his knuckles whitening. "Their name and how big they are," he repeated.
"Their name is Nameless Dynasty," the informant began, leaning closer. "They aren't the strongest guild but have a lot of influence as they use dirty tactics on other important players. The people you saw in Llyn are probably not their main force. Though their white-haired leader should be there."
Amukelo interrupted, the name spitting out like venom, "Neclord White?"
"Exactly," the man confirmed. "They are known for always being in dark cloaks, hard to differentiate. I don't know if Neclord will come back to this place, but if he doesn't, he will most likely head to the town called Norton. That's where their main base is. Neclord is one of three commanders, second in their ranking. There is only one person above them, Eyvind White. He and his three commanders get the second name, White." Amukelo absorbed every word, his mind racing as he pieced together his next moves.
After gleaning all he could from the informant, Amukelo left the pub with a new sense of purpose. "Get here every day," the informant called out as Amukelo departed, "I'll inform you if I find out something new." With a brief nod, Amukelo acknowledged the offer and made his way back to the inn under the cover of night. The streets of Llyn were quiet, the earlier bustle of the day now subdued into whispered conversations and the distant clatter of closing shops.
Arriving at the inn, the weight of his grief and exhaustion made his steps heavy and his eyes burn. He approached the innkeeper, a kindly older man who had always greeted him and his friends with warmth. "Sir, could you please give me the keys to my friend's room? They unfortunately haven't survived our last quest," Amukelo's voice was low and cold.
The innkeeper's face fell, sorrow etching deep lines around his eyes as he responded, "I'm so sorry to hear that." He handed over the keys, adding, "Stay for as long as you wish, I won't charge you anything."
Amukelo thanked him and took the keys. He first visited his own room, the room he shared with Bral and Idin. The room was as they left it, a still life of their last morning together. His heart clenched as he picked up various items. He started to organize, to pack away what needed to be kept and discard what might slow him down in his upcoming quests for vengeance.
He sat on the bed, surrounded by their belongings, and his exhaustion finally overtook him. The emotional and physical toll of the past days, compounded by the weight of his loss, pulled him into a deep sleep.
Meanwhile, the group of cloaked men under Neclord's command were making their way back to Llyn with a mixture of urgency and dread. Neclord was furious about the escape of Amukelo, chastising his followers for their failure. "We will have to catch that brat in Llyn," he barked as they traversed the rugged paths leading back to the town. "We can't let him escape anymore. Eyvind will deal with any trouble we get into." His tone was biting, each word a sharp jab to the already low morale of his team.
Their pace was fast but no match for Amukelo's desperate run. They still had days of travel ahead.