They returned to the city as the carriage rattled into the bustling streets, their expressions a mix of relief and lingering tension.
Ren led the group straight to the Adventurers' Guild, where they were immediately ushered into the Guildmaster's office.
Zeriden Flameheart sat behind his desk, his sharp eyes flickering with curiosity and concern as he looked up from a mountain of reports.
Sylvester Malgor stood nearby, leaning against the wall with his usual diplomatic air.
"Well?" Zeriden rumbled. "What have you got for me?"
Ren wasted no time. "It's Damelion Fransk. The accusations against Skorn's family were all part of his scheme.
The guy's running a racket, stealing from his own territory and framing people for it to cover his tracks."
Sylvester raised an eyebrow. "That's a heavy accusation. Do you have proof?"
"Plenty," Ren said, dropping a set of documents and Fransk's sealed correspondence onto the desk. "This ties him directly to the thefts. It's all here."
Zeriden examined the papers, his expression darkening.
"I never liked that man. Always playing by his own rules and stomping on the little guy. But accusing a noble is delicate. This will take careful handling."
Ren leaned back, crossing his arms. "Careful? Sure. But Fransk isn't just petty; he's next-level petty. I mean, the kind of guy who'd hold a grudge because someone sneezed near him ten years ago."
Skorn snorted, unable to hide his amusement. Olivia, however, tilted her head. "If he holds grudges like that, wouldn't he be dangerous to confront?"
"Exactly," Ren said, his tone serious now.
"Fransk is dangerous because he thinks he's untouchable. That's what makes people like him a problem."
Zeriden nodded, handing the papers to Sylvester. "We'll take this to the council. Fransk won't escape justice this time."
Sylvester looked over the evidence, his diplomatic facade unshaken.
"This will require careful wording. Damelion's connections are... extensive. But leave the politics to me."
"Fine by me," Ren said. "We've done our part."
Zeriden's piercing gaze softened slightly as he addressed the group.
"You've done more than that. You've exposed corruption and saved an innocent family. Rest up. The guild owes you more than just thanks."
As they left the office, Ren lingered for a moment, watching the bustling guild hall below. He muttered under his breath,
"Of course it was Fransk. Corruption in a world like this? It's obvious. But if I show my hand too much, they'll start to ask questions. And I'm not ready for that."
He glanced at his companions, a faint smile returning to his face.
----
As the door clicked shut behind Ren and his team, Zeriden leaned back in his chair, letting out a low growl of frustration. His claws drummed against the desk, the rhythmic tapping filling the heavy silence.
Sylvester glanced at the papers in his hand, his expression unreadable. "Well, this is quite the mess."
"You're telling me," Zeriden muttered. "Damelion Fransk has been a thorn in our side for years, but this? Framing innocents in his own territory? It's worse than I thought."
Sylvester nodded thoughtfully, setting the papers down.
"Ren's group has done us a favor exposing this, but you know it won't be as simple as delivering these to the council."
"I know," Zeriden growled. "Fransk has too many allies in high places. If we push too hard, it could backfire."
"Which is why we need to handle this with precision," Sylvester said,
his voice calm but firm. "The evidence is strong, but nobles like Fransk always have a way of twisting the truth.
We'll need more than just this if we want to see justice served."
Zeriden's eyes narrowed. "You think Ren and his team missed something?"
"Not missed," Sylvester corrected. "But they're not the type to dig through every political thread. They see corruption and cut it down—efficient, but not subtle.
Fransk is the type who thrives in the shadows, using loopholes and connections to protect himself. We need to cut the roots, not just the branches."
Zeriden leaned forward, his tone sharp. "So what are you suggesting?"
Sylvester gave a faint smile. "We let this play out publicly—send the council what we have. Meanwhile,
I'll quietly dig into his finances and his allies. If he's tied to other scandals, we'll find them. Nobles like Fransk always have skeletons in their closets."
Zeriden nodded, his expression grim. "Fine. Do it. But keep me informed. And if this turns into another political circus, I'm putting you in the ring to deal with it."
Sylvester chuckled lightly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. "Wouldn't expect anything less. Oh, and Zeriden..."
The guild master raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Sylvester's voice dropped, his tone laced with subtle curiosity. "That Ren kid. There's something... off about him."
Zeriden's gaze flickered toward the door where Ren had exited. "He's smart. Too smart for his own good, maybe. But he gets results. Why? What are you thinking?"
Sylvester shook his head, his diplomatic mask slipping just enough to reveal a trace of intrigue.
"Nothing concrete. Just... keep an eye on him. He doesn't seem like someone who's just figuring things out as he goes."
Zeriden grunted, turning his chair to face the window.
"Noted. But for now, focus on Fransk. The guild doesn't need another headache."
Sylvester inclined his head and moved to leave. "As you wish, Guildmaster. By the time I'm done, Fransk will regret ever stepping out of line."
As the door closed behind him, Zeriden stared out at the bustling city below, his expression unreadable. "Ren," he muttered under his breath.
"Just who are you, really?"
----
They came downstairs to the main hall of the guild, where the dim lighting and soft hum of conversation signaled the end of the day's activities.
Skorn turned to the group, his expression earnest.
"Thanks, everyone. I couldn't have done this without you."
Ren shrugged it off with a small grin. "Don't sweat it. That's what teammates are for, right?"
Olivia smiled warmly, her hands clasped in front of her. "We're just glad your family's safe, Skorn."
Talos adjusted his satchel and nodded.
"It was a worthwhile venture, even if it meant enduring Ren's commentary the whole way."
"Hey, my commentary is what kept morale up," Ren shot back with a smirk.
Skorn chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, let's go with that."
"Let's call it a night," Olivia suggested. "We've all earned some rest."
With mutual agreement, the group split up,
Ren climbed the stairs slowly, fatigue settling into his bones after the long journey.
By the time he pushed open the door to his room and set his pack down, his eyes were already half-closed.
He collapsed onto the bed without bothering to change, letting out a content sigh as his head hit the pillow.
Sleep claimed him almost instantly, the weight of the day melting away in the quiet of the night.
----------
In a dimly lit chamber beneath the veneer of an unassuming manor, a group of nobles gathered around a polished ebony table. The flicker of enchanted lanterns cast long, dancing shadows on the stone walls, their light barely illuminating the grim faces of those present.
At the head of the table sat a figure clad in an ornate cloak of crimson and gold. His voice carried authority as he addressed the room.
"The matter of Damelion Fransk has grown... problematic."
"Problematic?" another noble scoffed, his jeweled fingers tapping on the table.
"That man's pettiness knows no bounds. He's been biting off more than he can chew for years."
A woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tone chimed in.
"But this time, his ambition nearly exposed us all. Accusing a family like Skorn's was reckless. It drew unnecessary attention from the guild."
"The guild," another noble spat. "They are meddling far too much lately. If Fransk hadn't bungled this so badly, we wouldn't have to convene here tonight."
The leader held up a hand to silence the murmurs. "Enough. We must focus. Fransk's actions have indeed drawn the Adventurers' Guild's scrutiny.
Zeriden Flameheart isn't a fool; he'll undoubtedly look deeper into the dealings in our region."
"Then what do we do about Fransk?" asked a younger noble, his brow furrowed.
A cold smile spread across the leader's face. "For now, we let him handle his mess. But make it clear—if he implicates any of us further, he will find himself... dispossessed of his lands and title."
The group exchanged knowing glances. Dispossession wasn't a mere political term in their circles—it was a death sentence disguised as diplomacy.
"What about the guild?" the sharp-eyed woman asked. "If they dig too deep, they might uncover more than Fransk's misdeeds."
"The guild is a concern, but not yet a threat," the leader replied. "We'll monitor their actions. If necessary, we'll deal with them as we've dealt with others in the past."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken threats hanging in the air.
"We can't afford any more mistakes," the leader continued, his voice cutting through the tension.
"Fransk has already tested our patience. Let this be a warning to all of you—keep your ambitions in check. Our true plans cannot be jeopardized."
The nobles nodded, their expressions ranging from resigned to calculating.
The meeting concluded with no ceremony, each participant slipping away into the shadows, their whispers fading into the stone corridors.
Far above, the city's lights twinkled innocently, oblivious to the dark schemes brewing beneath its surface.