The Huntsman's Rest was its usual lively self as Elliot stepped through the door. The murmur of bounty hunters' conversations filled the air, blending with the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Men and women with hardened faces sat at the bar or clustered around tables, discussing their latest hunts, sharing tales of danger, and sealing deals. It was a place of business, where the gritty and dangerous came to plan their next move—and tonight, Elliot was one of them.
He walked up to the counter where the barkeep, a man with a rough face and a deep voice, was cleaning glasses with mechanical precision. The barkeep looked up and nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he saw the weight of the mission hanging on Elliot's shoulders.
"Finished already?" the barkeep asked, his tone more businesslike than inquisitive.
Elliot nodded, setting down the details of the job in front of him. "Investigation Needed: St. Rauth's Hospital. Reports of unusual activity. Danger likely. Reward: 100 pounds. Inquire for details."
The barkeep's eyes flickered over the paper. He'd suggested the job to Elliot after all, but seeing the outcome of the mission wasn't something he'd expected so quickly.
"I completed the mission," Elliot said.
The barkeeper's expression tightened. "You're tellin' me you dealt with whatever was in St. Rauth's?" His tone was skeptical, almost dismissive.
"Yes," Elliot replied firmly. "A Beyonder. His presence had infected the entire building with disease. I managed to... resolve the situation."
"A Beyonder, huh?" he muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That's a dangerous thing to deal with. But you... you seem to have managed." He glanced at the other patrons, who were too engrossed in their own affairs to care about what was happening at the bar. This was the kind of place where talk of Beyonders didn't raise an eyebrow. People came here for the work, not the stories.
Elliot felt his chest tighten at the mention of the Beyonder, Kieran Valis. He could still picture the man clearly in his mind—a frail, skeletal figure draped in a tattered hospital gown. His face was so pale it could have been mistaken for a ghost's, sunken eyes hollow as if he hadn't seen the light of day in years. Green veins pulsed beneath his skin, faint and unnatural, like some grotesque web of corruption. And that aura—chilling, sickly—had suffused the very air around him.
Kieran had been overconfident, believing his strange powers made him untouchable. He had tried to spread his diseases, infecting the very walls of the hospital with his twisted abilities. The air itself had been suffused with something malignant, and every breath Elliot had taken had felt tainted. Yet, that wasn't the worst part.
Kieran had been armed with two sealed artifacts, both deadly in their own right: an amulet that allowed him to survive fatal injuries, and a gun that fired explosive rounds every fifth shot. But even with those powers, even with all his overconfidence, Elliot had managed to defeat him. Barely. His pulse raced at the memory, the burn of the gunshot wound still lingering in his thoughts.
The barkeep broke his reverie, his gaze snapping back to Elliot. "I need to make sure you're telling the truth," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Elliot. His hand moved swiftly under the counter, pulling out a small, crystalline ball, intricately carved with strange symbols. It shimmered ominously in the dim light of the tavern, casting faint reflections on the dusty bottles behind the bar. The air seemed to thicken around the artifact, its presence almost palpable, as if it had a life of its own. The barkeep placed it gently on the counter, its smooth surface catching the light in unsettling ways.
Elliot's gaze fell to the artifact, feeling a slight shiver run down his spine as the peculiar symbols on the ball seemed to shift ever so slightly. The tavern was no stranger to this object; bounty hunters and mercenaries came in often, making deals and negotiating risks, and the barkeep was no fool when it came to ensuring those deals were honored.
The barkeep looked up at Elliot, his tone now measured, almost professional. "Place your hand here," he said, motioning for Elliot to place his palm on the surface of the artifact. There was a brief moment of hesitation, but Elliot complied, unsure of what was about to happen. When the barkeep placed his own hand on top of Elliot's, the air seemed to hum as the crystalline ball began to activate.
For a split second, nothing happened. Then, the tavern's noise faded into a dull hum around him as the artifact seemed to absorb his touch, as if weighing his very essence. With a subtle pulse, the artifact began to glow faintly, the symbols on its surface shifting and writhing as if alive. Elliot felt a strange pressure building in his chest, a sense of unease spreading through his veins, but he couldn't pull his hand away. It was as if the artifact had locked him in place, forcing him to remain until it had its answer.
As the glow intensified, the barkeep's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a thin, cautious line. The seconds stretched on, and Elliot could feel his heart race as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. Then, the artifact pulsed once more, its light flickering like a dying ember. The pressure in Elliot's chest lifted, and the barkeep finally broke the silence. His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper.
"Seems you're telling the truth," the barkeep muttered, though there was still a trace of disbelief in his voice. His eyes lingered on the artifact for a beat longer, studying it as if expecting it to reveal something more.
Elliot slowly withdrew his hand, feeling a cold sweat cling to his palms. The artifact stopped glowing, its ominous shimmer fading back into the dull ambiance of the tavern. The barkeep looked at him, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze now—a mix of respect, wariness, and something darker that Elliot couldn't quite place.
Without another word, the barkeep reached beneath the counter, pulling out a small pouch and tossing it onto the table. "200 pounds. Your reward. The extra 100 is for going beyond investigating and resolving the problem."
Surprised but elated, Elliot quickly grabbed the pouch and nodded. "I'll take my leave now." He didn't linger, turning on his heel and walking out of the tavern without another word. The tavern continued as if nothing had changed—hunters went about their business, their conversations unaffected by the transaction that had just taken place.
But as Elliot stepped out into the cool night air, he didn't notice the barkeep's strange behavior. The older man reached into his pocket, pulling out a crystal monocle with jagged edges. He slipped it over his left eye slowly, an eerie smile spreading across his face as he muttered, "Interesting…"
He watched Elliot walk away, a glint of something sinister in his eyes, but the tavern's patrons paid no attention. To them, it was just another evening in The Huntsman's Rest, where deals were made and missions were completed.
Elliot didn't notice the tension in the air as he made his way back to his room. He wasn't looking for it—his mind was far from the tavern. The streets were empty, the night quiet, and for once, the fog that rolled in didn't seem quite so ominous. It was only when he returned to the boarding house and collapsed onto his bed that the weight of it all hit him.
He stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the crushing sense of realization creeping in. The mission... Kieran Valis... what had he done? He had killed someone. Someone who, despite his twisted nature, had been a human being once—someone who had succumbed to the corruption of an Outer Deity. But that wasn't the only thing that gnawed at Elliot's mind.
Why did I take this job?
He could almost hear the system's warning echo in his head, the subtle hints of danger it had given him. But he had been too eager, too blinded by the quest for power and the need to prove himself. The system had tried to tell him something—something about the dangers that lurked in the world. But instead of heeding it, he had treated this world like a game.
Like it wasn't real.
He closed his eyes, squeezing his hands into fists as guilt swirled in his chest. I've been treating this world like it's just a game—like there are no consequences.
But the truth was that it was real. There were real lives at stake, and real consequences to his actions. Elliot had been careless, reckless even, driven by the thrill of quests and the allure of power. He had been a fool.
He could have died in that hospital. If not for the level-up, if not for the sheer luck of his survival, it could have been him lying in the ruined hospital, defeated, broken, dead. But he had killed someone in his struggle for power. And no matter how he tried to justify it—no matter how the world around him spun its web of deception—he couldn't shake the feeling that he had stepped too far.
The reality of it all sank in. He wasn't just some player in a game. This was his life now. The choices he made had consequences—ones that could not be undone.
Elliot sat up on the edge of the bed, his head spinning. The darkness in the room seemed to close in around him, heavier than before. His breath quickened as the weight of his decisions pressed down on him.
What have I become?