Padrin wandered through the streets of Llyn, his mind heavy with confusion and frustration. By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a dim orange glow over the rooftops, Padrin realized he had unconsciously made his way to the pub.
He hadn't intended to end up here. The pub, a place where adventurers and townsfolk alike gathered to celebrate victories or drown sorrows, felt like both the best and worst place for him at that moment. Perhaps it would help him clear his head, or at least take the edge off the day's stress.
He stepped inside, greeted by the familiar cacophony of laughter, clinking mugs, and the smell of ale and roasted meat. Padrin made his way to the bar, sliding onto a stool with a sigh. He barely glanced at the bartender before ordering, "A beer, please. And keep them coming."
The first mug of beer arrived swiftly, its frothy surface glistening in the dim light of the pub. Padrin wrapped his fingers around the handle and took a long, slow drink. The cool bitterness of the ale washed over him, but it did little to ease the knot of frustration tangled inside his chest. He finished the first mug quickly and ordered another. And then another.
As the time passed by, Padrin sat there, staring into the amber liquid, hoping for some kind of revelation. His mind kept circling back to the same questions. What had happened to Amukelo? How had things gone so wrong? He had always imagined they would continue their training, sharpening each other's skills for years to come. But now his friend was gone, and his fate seemed tied to a shadowy enemy Padrin knew little about.
The thoughts weighed on him, heavy and relentless. He drank deeply from his mug, trying to drown out the noise in his head. By the time he had finished his fourth beer, he was feeling the effects. His movements had grown sluggish, his mind foggy. He leaned back on his stool, staring up at the ceiling in a haze. Nothing was making sense. And worse, nothing was coming to him. No plan, no clear path forward. He felt trapped.
As he reached for another drink, a man in dark clothes appeared beside him, his steps soft and unassuming. Padrin barely noticed him at first, his gaze still distant and clouded by the alcohol.
"May I join?" the man asked, his voice smooth, almost too casual for someone who had approached with such purpose.
Padrin turned his head slowly, squinting at the man before responding with a shrug, "Whatever." His tone was indifferent, though a part of him was irritated by the interruption.
The man sat down beside him, his posture relaxed, though there was something sharp and calculating in the way he carried himself. His clothes were too dark, too clean, and his eyes darted around the room as if always on alert. Padrin had seen his type before—informers, the kind who sold information for the right price.
After a moment of silence, the man leaned in slightly and said, "So, you've been searching for Amukelo?"
Padrin's eyes immediately sharpened. The haze of alcohol lifted for a brief moment as he turned to face the man fully, urgency creeping into his voice. "Do you know something!?"
The man didn't react to Padrin's intensity. Instead, he simply smirked, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "It depends," he said, his voice smooth as silk.
Padrin's brow furrowed in annoyance. "Ahh, I hate people like you," Padrin muttered, though he knew he had no other choice. If this man had even a scrap of information about Amukelo, it was worth paying for.
Reluctantly, Padrin reached into his pouch and pulled out a few gold coins. He slapped them onto the table in front of the man. "There," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "That'll do, right?"
The man's fingers quickly snatched up the coins, his expression smug. He examined them briefly before pocketing them. "Yes, that will do," he replied. Then, with a wry smile, he added, "And don't be too upset. If not for people like me, you'd know nothing."
Padrin scowled but said nothing. He knew the man was right, though he didn't want to admit it.
"Alright," Padrin said through clenched teeth. "So what do you know?"
The man's expression sobered slightly as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I don't know much about exactly what happened," he began.
Padrin's patience snapped. "What!?" he exclaimed, his hand hitting the table in frustration. "You took my gold, and you don't even know—"
"Hold on," the man interrupted, raising a hand to calm him. "I said I don't know exactly what happened. But I do know where he might be."
Padrin's anger simmered down, though his eyes remained narrowed with suspicion. "Go on."
The man took a breath before continuing. "From what I've gathered, Neclord wants something from your friend. I don't know what exactly, but it must be valuable enough for him to go after Amukelo like this. The trap that killed his guild? That was set up by Neclord to get to him. But Amukelo survived. Barely, from what I hear."
Padrin's heart pounded at the mention of Neclord. The rumors were true. Amukelo's guild hadn't been caught in some random attack—this had been a deliberate move by one of the most feared members of the Nameless Dynasty.
The man leaned back slightly, watching Padrin's reaction with interest before continuing. "After that, Amukelo vowed to avenge his friends. He severely injured Neclord, enough that it forced him into hiding. That's why Amukelo has disappeared. He's hunting Neclord."
Padrin leaned forward, his pulse quickening. "Where?" he asked, his voice tense with anticipation.
The man smiled again, clearly pleased to have Padrin's full attention. "Neclord is likely in a city called Norton. He's been hiding there, recovering from his injuries. So if you want to meet Amukelo, that's where I'd go. Even if he's not there yet, he'll have to go there eventually. Neclord's hiding, and Amukelo won't rest until he finds him."
After absorbing all the information, Padrin took a deep breath and asked, "Do you know where Amukelo is now, is he in Norton?"
The man, still playing idly with the gold coins Padrin had handed him, shook his head slowly. "No," he said plainly. "I don't. But I know he didn't head straight to Norton after the incident. From what I've gathered, he's probably wandering, maybe even tracking Neclord's movements, but there's no telling where he is now."
Padrin felt a pang of frustration but tried to mask it. The man continued, leaning in slightly. "Your best bet is to head to Norton. If he's chasing Neclord, then that's where he'll have to go sooner or later. The safest option is to get there before him or wait for him. If you could follow Neclord directly, that'd be ideal, but let's not be delusional... You can't."
Padrin nodded grimly, "Okay," he said, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and determination. "That's everything I needed to know. Thanks."
The informer smiled, a sly, practiced grin playing on his lips as he twirled one of the coins between his fingers. "My pleasure," he said smoothly. "Good luck." The tone in his voice was indifferent, but Padrin could tell that the man enjoyed these kinds of exchanges. Information, for people like him, was just another way to make a living.
Without another word, Padrin stood up, pushing away from the table. He left the pub quickly heading to his residence.
As much as he wanted to head to Norton right away and find Amukelo, he knew that he couldn't just leave without notifying his guild. The decision wasn't entirely in his hands. He needed permission to go on a mission like this.
When he finally arrived back at his place, the first thing he did was sit down at his desk, pulling out paper and ink to write a letter. His guild commander would need to know everything—every detail. Padrin couldn't afford any misunderstandings, or worse, delays caused by unclear explanations. One exchange of letters could take weeks, and time was something he couldn't waste.
Padrin began writing, his pen scratching against the paper as he laid out everything that had happened since his return to Llyn. He explained who Amukelo was, the tragic fate of his guild, and the complicated relationship with the Nameless Dynasty. He described their relation—how Amukelo had been his sparring partner, how they had become friends, and how Padrin felt a deep sense of responsibility to help him. Padrin detailed his plan to travel to Norton, knowing that the city was likely where Amukelo and Neclord would eventually collide.
The letter was lengthy, full of detail and emotion, but Padrin was careful to keep his tone respectful. He couldn't afford to seem reckless.
Once he was satisfied with the letter, he folded it carefully and sealed it. He wasted no time in sending it off, handing it to the fastest courier he could find. As he watched the courier ride off, Padrin felt a mix of anxiety and hope. Now came the hardest part—waiting.
The first week passed slowly. Padrin spent most of his time training, trying to keep his mind occupied with sparring routines and combat drills. Every morning, he checked for any sign of a letter, but nothing came.
By the second week, the waiting had begun to wear on him. Each day felt like a test of patience. He'd walk through the streets, his thoughts constantly returning to the same questions: Had the letter reached the commander? What if there was a misunderstanding? What if the request was denied?
As the second week ended and the third week began, Padrin's nerves were frayed. The days stretched endlessly, the anticipation growing unbearable. He continued to train, but his focus wavered. His mind was always somewhere else—wondering what Amukelo was doing, whether he was safe, whether Neclord had found him first.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a letter arrived. Padrin's heart raced as he took it in his hands, carefully breaking the seal. His eyes scanned the words quickly, his breath catching in his throat. The letter was brief, but it said everything he needed to hear.
"Approved."
His guild commander had understood the situation and granted him permission to pursue the mission. Padrin exhaled a long breath of relief, his body relaxing for the first time in weeks.
Fortunately, Padrin had already prepared for the journey. He had packed his belongings in anticipation of this approval, ready to leave as soon as possible. There was no point in waiting any longer. As soon as he finished reading the letter, he grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder.
Padrin couldn't afford a horse, and he knew that traveling on foot would slow him down. So he sought out a merchant caravan, knowing that offering protection in exchange for travel was a common practice. It didn't take him long to find one—a group of merchants heading in the same direction, their carts laden with goods. Padrin struck a deal with them, agreeing to serve as a guard in exchange for free passage.
The next day, they set off. The road ahead was long, winding through forests, valleys, and plains. The caravan moved steadily, the sound of wheels turning on the dirt road and the soft clinking of the merchants' wares filling the air. Padrin sat on the back of one of the carts, his eyes scanning the horizon, always on alert for potential threats.