Kael raised his forearm, smirking as he flexed his fingers. "Let's not waste any more time. We're heading deeper into the forest, rookie."
Malachi watched, fascinated, as Kael's tattoo came to life. The ink of the eagle on Kael's left forearm rippled and shimmered like liquid, flowing outward. It spread into the air, a shadowy substance that thickened and formed into sharp, precise outlines. Within seconds, the inky mass took shape—wings unfurled, talons sharpened, and a massive eagle materialized before them. Its body looked as solid as any real creature, but there was something ethereal about it, a faint black aura clinging to its feathers like smoke.
"Every time…" Malachi murmured under his breath. Seeing a tattoo skill summoned in person was surreal, even after witnessing it once before.
"Not bad, right?" Kael said with a grin. "Now then—let's party up. Makes things easier."
Kael swiped the air, summoning his system interface with a flick. A notification popped up before Malachi.
---
[System Notice]
Kael Ravenheart has invited you to join his party.
Loot Setting: Free-for-All
[Accept] / [Decline]
---
Malachi hesitated for a moment, then sighed and tapped "Accept." He wasn't arrogant enough to reject help, especially when Kael clearly knew his way around the woods.
"Attaboy," Kael said, the system chiming to confirm the party formation. "Now you won't get lost if you fall behind."
Kael whistled sharply, and his two-headed wolf padded over. One of its heads growled low, while the other merely stared curiously at Malachi. Kael gestured to the beast with a teasing smile. "Hop on, rookie. You'll get there faster."
Malachi grimaced. Riding a two-headed wolf wasn't on his bucket list. "I'm fine walking."
Kael rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, but this isn't some casual stroll. The deeper we go, the worse it gets. Trust me—riding's better."
Malachi clenched his jaw, then reluctantly stepped forward and climbed onto the wolf's broad back. Its fur was surprisingly coarse, and both heads snapped toward him briefly before Kael patted its side. "Easy there. He's a friend."
With a chuckle, Kael mounted behind Malachi. "Alright, boy—let's move."
The wolf sprang into motion, and Malachi grabbed onto its fur tightly as they darted deeper into the forest. Kael's massive eagle soared above them, circling occasionally as if scouting ahead. The rhythmic thud of the wolf's paws and the gentle rush of wind filled the silence for a while.
After some time, Malachi glanced over his shoulder, curiosity getting the better of him. "So… about those tattoos. How'd you get them?"
Kael raised an eyebrow but didn't seem offended. "My first one? It was a gift. The wolf was passed down to me from my father when I turned of age. It's not much—just a Grey-level tattoo back then. Took a lot of effort to push it to White." He grinned proudly. "The eagle? Earned it on my own. Got it during a mission for some noble who needed help clearing his estate of some… issues."
Malachi digested the information, pondering the effort it must take to raise a tattoo's level. "So… both your summons are White level now?"
"Yup," Kael answered nonchalantly. "Not exactly a secret. Once you get your Ink's Eye, you'll be able to see it for yourself. You'll see everyone's aura—and their skills. Makes keeping secrets a lot harder."
Malachi nodded. "Thanks for sharing."
Kael grinned. "No need to thank me, rookie. You'll figure all this out sooner or later." He paused, giving Malachi a sidelong glance. "But what about you? Where'd you come from?"
Malachi stiffened. He'd been waiting for this question and had already prepared an answer. "I'm from a small village up north. Not much to tell, really. Grew up there, and… well, decided to try my hand as an adventurer."
Kael's expression turned sly, his grin widening. "Oh, so you're a Player, huh?"
The words hit Malachi like a lightning bolt. His grip on the wolf's fur tightened as his heart skipped a beat. "What… did you just say?"
Kael chuckled, leaning back casually. "Relax, rookie. Don't look so spooked. You're not the first person I've met who calls themselves a Player—whatever that means. Folks like you pop up now and then, spinning stories about strange worlds and odd abilities. Frankly, your little village tale didn't add up, so I put two and two together."
Malachi's mind raced. How does he know?
Kael's gaze softened slightly. "Look, whatever 'Players' are, they're just like the rest of us here. You're human, aren't you? That's all that matters."
Malachi let out a slow breath, still wary but grateful for Kael's relaxed attitude. He didn't know how much to trust him, but for now, it seemed Kael wasn't hostile. "Thanks," Malachi muttered.
Kael grinned again. "Don't mention it."
Suddenly, a deep, bone-chilling howl echoed from the depths of the forest. The sound vibrated through the ground, primal and loud, as if something massive had just awakened.
The eagle above screeched in alarm, its wings flapping wildly as it hovered unsteadily. Kael cursed as the sudden motion nearly unseated him. "Damn it, hold still!"
The two-headed wolf skidded to a halt, one head whining low while the other bared its teeth, clearly unnerved. Malachi, who had almost tumbled off, scrambled to regain his balance.
"What the hell was that?" Malachi muttered, his eyes darting toward the shadowed depths ahead.
Kael slid off the wolf and landed on the ground, his expression deadly serious for the first time. "I don't know… but that wasn't normal."
Malachi followed suit, jumping off the wolf and gripping his bow tightly. The air around them had grown colder, and the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
Kael's eagle landed on a nearby branch, screeching uneasily as its feathers ruffled. "Something big's out there," Kael said quietly.
Malachi glanced at him, their eyes meeting. In that moment, neither of them needed to speak. Whatever was waiting for them in the depths of the woods, it wasn't going to be friendly.
"Ready?" Kael asked, his voice calm but firm.
Malachi nodded, exhaling sharply as he nocked an arrow. "Let's find out."
Together, they stepped forward into the darkness, the howl still echoing faintly in their ears.
-----
While the forest echoed with haunting howls that gripped Malachi and Kael, back in Oakwood's Adventurers Guild, the tension had shifted in an entirely different direction.
The Chaos Crew lounged at their usual table, the dim lanterns flickering above them. Gunnar slouched like a massive bear at rest, his arms crossed as he chewed on a bone like it was the most casual thing in the world. Fynn, still grinning, tossed peanuts into the air and caught them with ease, his bow resting within arm's reach. Delilah, leaning provocatively on her chair, sipped lazily from a mug of spiced ale while smirking at some unlucky adventurer who dared glance too long. Magnus sat still, as composed as always, eyes half-closed in thought. Reaper, as usual, melted into the shadows, his presence so quiet it was easy to forget he was even there.
The group had been quiet since the mention of Dragon's Flying Month, contemplating the implications.
Then, the doors of the guild were suddenly flung open with a force that rattled the hinges. A chilling breeze swept in, carrying with it an aura that slithered through the hall like a snake hunting prey. The once-loud guild fell to a hush, confusion spreading like wildfire.
Three figures stepped through the entrance, and every pair of eyes turned toward them.
At the center walked a middle-aged man of average height, draped entirely in pristine white cloth. His face was hidden, save for his golden eyes, which seemed to pierce through the soul of everyone in the room. Twin daggers—sleek, deadly, and menacing—rested on either side of his hips. To his right moved a petite figure wrapped in shadowy black fabric that left only her sharp, watchful eyes visible. Despite her size, the curved short blade strapped to her hip hinted at lethal precision. Her figure, although obscured, was enough to draw attention—though, for a few, far too much.
To the left loomed a taller man—six feet, at least—also clothed entirely in black. Unlike the others, he bore no visible weapons, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. His calm, almost eerie silence was far more unnerving than any visible threat.
But strangest of all was the way they moved—silent as phantoms. Their footsteps made no sound, no creak of wood or rustle of cloth. It was as though they glided across the floor.
The guild crowd exchanged wary glances, whispering among themselves. "Who the hell are they?" someone muttered. "Mercs?"
Before anyone could discern the newcomers' intentions, a low, sharp whistle rang out—directed, of course, at the petite figure.
"Hey, sweetheart! Bet you'd like a real adventurer to—"
The words died mid-sentence as a sudden flash—a silver gleam, thin and deadly—cut through the air.
The man's left arm fell to the floor with a muted thud.
The rude adventurer stared dumbly at the stump where his arm used to be. Silence stretched for an unbearable moment before his scream shattered it.
"AAAAAHHHHH!"
Chaos erupted. Adventurers leapt to their feet, drawing weapons and shouting in fury. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the sound of steel being unsheathed rang out like a war drum.
The petite figure stood still, the blade now glinting faintly at her side, her eyes cold and unfeeling.
Gunnar slammed a massive fist against the table, rattling every mug and plate. The guild hall stilled again as he rose, his towering frame casting an ominous shadow. His deep growl rumbled like thunder. "Bitch."
The veins on Gunnar's bulging forearm glowed faintly as his Bear Tattoo shimmered with an unmistakable blue hue. The air around him grew heavy, and the faint outline of a beastly paw began to form, ready to be summoned.
"Gunnar."
Magnus's voice cut through the tension like a blade. The broadsword-wielder opened his eyes fully for the first time, his calm tone carrying an undeniable authority. "Settle down."
The giant hesitated, his growl subsiding into a frustrated snort. He glared daggers at the black-clad woman before stomping back to his seat. The glowing Tattoo faded.
Magnus turned his attention toward the white-cloaked man at the center of the trio. Unlike the rest of the guild, Magnus showed no fear—only recognition. "Cyrus Winter," he said, his voice even. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
The murmurs in the crowd died abruptly. The guild members froze, realization dawning in their eyes.
Cyrus "The Pale Hand" Winter.
The only Silver-ranked Assassin in Oakwood. A name whispered in fear, even among the most hardened adventurers.
The Assassin's Guild worked differently from the Adventurers' Guild. While adventurers operated in parties, assassins moved alone—ranked individually by skill and reputation. To carry a Silver rank as an assassin was to be a predator among predators.
Cyrus didn't seem fazed by the hostility surrounding him. He moved with a deliberate calm, pulling a small pouch from his cloak. Without a word, he tossed it toward the man whose arm had been severed. The gold coins within jingled as they struck the floor.
"For your trouble," Cyrus said flatly. His voice was cold, smooth, and devoid of emotion.
The crowd watched as the bleeding adventurer was dragged away by his comrades, their anger tempered by the knowledge of who they were dealing with.
Cyrus turned his gaze toward Gunnar, his golden eyes calm but sharp. "No offense intended, Giant," he said quietly. Then he looked to Magnus, ignoring the rest of the crowd as though they didn't exist. "We have business."
Magnus tilted his head slightly, unamused. "What kind of business brings The Pale Hand to our guild?"
Cyrus's expression didn't change. "The Month is coming."
The words hung in the air like a storm cloud. Magnus's eyes narrowed, and Gunnar's fists clenched on the table. Fynn's usual grin faded, and even Delilah looked uncharacteristically serious.
Reaper, still cloaked in shadows, shifted slightly, as though sensing the weight of those words.
Magnus leaned back in his chair, his gaze heavy on Cyrus. "So, you know about the Dragon's Flying Month too."
Cyrus gave the faintest nod, his golden eyes unblinking.
The room, already tense, grew impossibly still. Every adventurer in the hall felt the shift, as if something monumental was about to unfold.
The silence was broken only by the faint creak of the guild door swinging shut behind the ominous trio, sealing them all inside with the weight of the Month hanging over their heads.