The forest's breath was heavy with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves as Jack stumbled deeper into its unforgiving embrace. Every step sent shocks of pain up his damaged arm, a reminder of the brutal encounter with Leo just hours before. The night was oppressive, a cloak of darkness that seemed to press down on him, suffocating in its silence. His left arm, the one Leo had wounded, throbbed with a pain so intense it threatened to cloud his vision. Blood still trickled slowly from the torn flesh, staining the fabric of his shirt and dripping onto the moss-covered ground. Jack could feel his strength ebbing with each passing minute, the adrenaline that had carried him this far now draining away, leaving only the raw edges of pain and exhaustion.
He forced himself to move forward, deeper into the heart of the forest, where the trees grew thicker, their twisted branches blocking out even the faintest glimmer of moonlight. The air was colder here, carrying the scent of decay and the distant howls of unseen beasts. Jack knew he couldn't stop, couldn't rest, not with the Guild hunting him. They would find him eventually, but he was determined to stay ahead of them for as long as his body would allow.
His mind was a blur of desperate thoughts, half-formed plans, and wild, feverish imaginings. The pain in his arm was so fierce that at times he found himself wondering if he could drink his own blood, to somehow replace the water he lacked. The thought repulsed him, but the thirst gnawed at him, insistent and relentless. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the madness that threatened to take hold. No. He couldn't give in to that. He had to stay focused, had to find water, had to survive.
Dawn was breaking when Jack finally collapsed beside a small, murky pond, the water reflecting the pale light of the rising sun in ripples of silver and gray. He cupped his hands and drank greedily, the water tasting of earth and decay, but he didn't care. He needed it, needed anything to keep him going. His reflection stared back at him from the surface, hollow-eyed and pale, a ghost of the person he had been just days ago. He barely recognized himself.
Meanwhile, back in Rovia, the search for Jack had intensified. The Guild had scoured every inch of the city, and when they finally turned their attention to the forest, they found Leo, unconscious and bleeding, lying in the dirt where Jack had left him. His hand, severed cleanly at the wrist, was a macabre testament to the violence of the encounter.
A Rank B healer was summoned immediately, and with swift, practiced movements, they began the delicate work of reattaching Leo's hand. The healer's magic was potent, and within hours, the wound was closed, and Leo's hand was as good as new. But the healer's powers could do nothing for the exhaustion and humiliation that weighed on Leo's spirit.
He was taken back to his home, a large, comfortable house that spoke of wealth and privilege, but which now felt like a gilded prison. Leo had always been a solitary figure, his parents wealthy and distant, leaving him alone in a house that was too big, too quiet. He lay in his bed, the heavy silence of the house pressing down on him, a stark contrast to the chaos of the battle he had just survived. His body ached with the aftermath of the fight, and his head throbbed where it had struck the ground. The humiliation of his defeat gnawed at him, a bitter taste that he couldn't wash away.
As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, the door to his room suddenly exploded inward in a torrent of water, the force of the blast sending splinters of wood flying across the room. Leo's heart lurched in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His mind scrambled to make sense of it, but then he saw the figure in the doorway, and his blood ran cold.
James stood there, his face twisted in anger, his eyes burning with a cold, malevolent fury. "How could you lose to an E or D rank newbie?" James's voice was low and dangerous, each word laced with contempt.
Leo tried to sit up, his body protesting with every movement, but before he could say a word, James was upon him. He grabbed Leo by the collar, hauling him up so that their faces were inches apart. Leo could feel James's breath, hot and angry, on his skin. "Answer me, you shit! How did you lose?"
Leo's mind raced, trying to find the right words, the words that might save him from James's wrath. He had never felt so small, so powerless, in the face of another's rage. "It was a close fight," Leo managed to stammer. "I almost got him… but something… something came out of nowhere. It cut off my hand before I could react."
James's grip on Leo's collar tightened, and for a moment, Leo thought he might be strangled right there in his own bed. But then, something in James's expression shifted, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "What the fuck are you talking about?" James demanded, though his voice had lost some of its venom. "Are you making things up? You expect me to believe that?"
Leo's own anger flared, despite the fear that gripped him. "How do you explain my hand, then? How do you explain the clean cut? Something was out there, something I didn't see. I'm not lying!"
James's grip loosened, and he shoved Leo back onto the bed, his face twisted in a sneer of disgust. "You're only alive because of the Guild's rules," James spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "I can't kill you, but don't think for a second that I won't find a way to make your life hell if you fail me again."
"It seems I have to do it myself," He said and left Leo's room.
--
The headquarters of the Rovia city's Guild was a sprawling fortress, towering over the town like a sentinel. Its stone walls were adorned with banners bearing the crest of the guild, a symbol of power and prestige that resonated throughout the land. Within those walls, the air was thick with the tension of countless missions, strategies, and rivalries. Every member of the guild knew their place in the hierarchy, and they understood the consequences of failure.
James, a Rank B member of the guild, stood in his private quarters, the heavy oak door closed behind him. The room was sparsely furnished—a simple bed, a desk cluttered with maps and reports, and a small chest containing his personal effects. The only luxury was the large window that offered a view of the forest beyond, its dark canopy now shrouded in the deep hues of twilight.
He paced the room, his boots thudding against the stone floor, his mind racing. Up until now, James had done the bare minimum for the mission he had been assigned. It was a task he had initially dismissed as insignificant—tracking down a low-ranking adventurer named Jack, who was believed to be a mere Rank E or D at best. The guild had sent Rank C members to deal with him, but they had proven to be useless. Each attempt to capture or eliminate Jack had ended in failure, the adventurer slipping through their fingers like smoke.
For days, James had brushed off the situation, confident that his underlings would eventually succeed. After all, he was a Rank B member, a step away from the elite ranks of the guild. He had earned his position through years of hard-fought battles and strategic victories. It was beneath him to chase down a lowly adventurer—let the Rank C members handle it.
But now, things were getting out of hand.
James stopped pacing and looked out the window, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. The setting sun cast long shadows across the landscape, and he could see the faint outline of the forest where Jack had last been seen. The guild was serious about results, and they had made that abundantly clear. The first sign of their displeasure had come early this morning when Guild Master Alaric himself had summoned James to his chamber.
Alaric was a man of few words, his presence alone enough to command respect. His eyes, cold and piercing, had fixed on James with a gravity that was impossible to ignore.
"Bring me results, James," Alaric had said, his voice low and unyielding. "I do not tolerate failure."
James had nodded, offering the customary assurances, but deep down, he had believed that the situation would resolve itself without his direct involvement. He had other matters to attend to, more pressing concerns that required his attention. The guild provided a substantial sum of money each month, and with his rank came the privilege of commanding lower-ranking members to do the grunt work. Why should he dirty his hands with such a trivial matter?
But now, as the failures continued to mount, James felt the weight of his own negligence bearing down on him. The thought of being blamed for this debacle gnawed at him, a seed of anxiety taking root in his chest. He knew the guild's rules well—failure was not an option. If he did not produce results soon, there could be consequences. Severe ones.
The guild was more than just an organization; it was a lifeline. For those who reached the elite ranks, life was set. The elites enjoyed the highest privileges—lavish quarters, the best equipment, missions that brought fame and fortune. They were the ones who reaped the benefits of the guild's vast resources, living in comfort and security. James had always aspired to join their ranks, to solidify his position and ensure a future free from the struggles that had marked his early life.
But the threat of failure now loomed large. If he couldn't bring Jack to heel, it wouldn't just be a loss of reputation—there was a real risk of punishment, or worse, expulsion from the guild. The thought of being removed, of losing everything he had worked so hard for, filled him with dread.
James clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. The image of Alaric's stern face flashed in his mind, the weight of the guild master's expectations pressing down on him. Alaric had never spoken to him with such seriousness before, and that fact alone stoked the fires of James' anger.
"This was supposed to be simple," James muttered to himself, his voice tinged with frustration. "How could those idiots fail so miserably?"
He turned away from the window, his mind made up. There was no more time for delegation or half-measures. If his subordinates couldn't handle the job, then he would have to take matters into his own hands. He was furious—furious at the incompetence of the Rank C members who had let Jack slip away, furious at himself for underestimating the situation, and furious at the prospect of losing everything he had fought for.
James stormed out of his quarters, his mind already focused on the task ahead. As he walked through the halls of the guild, his presence commanded attention. Other members, sensing his anger, stepped aside, giving him a wide berth. The air around him seemed to crackle with his determination, and there was a hard set to his jaw that spoke of a man on a mission.
He needed to act quickly and decisively. Jack had proven to be more resourceful than anyone had anticipated, slipping through the fingers of those sent to capture him. But now, Jack was no longer just an annoyance—he was a threat. And James would deal with him personally.
As he made his way to the armory, James thought about what he would need. His sword, forged in the fires of the guild's finest smithy, was already at his side. It was a blade that had seen countless battles, its edge sharp enough to cut through anything. But he would need more than just steel for this mission. He would need to call upon every skill and power he had honed over the years.
James had always been known for his strategic mind, his ability to think several steps ahead of his opponents. He had studied the art of combat. He took one of the armour that was for rank B members and left.
But Jack, it seemed, had powers of his own. Reports from the failed missions had hinted at the adventurer's abilities—nothing concrete, but enough to suggest that Jack was not as weak as they had all assumed. That was a mistake James wouldn't make again.