After Cedrick's invitation, I glanced at Fafnir and Ingi. There was no immediate need to rush into our next move, and after everything we had been through, a brief respite didn't seem like the worst idea.
I nodded. "Alright, we'll join you. No harm in catching up."
Chad grinned. "That's the spirit!"
Together, we left Eldrin's chamber and ascended back to the main floor of the Adventurers' Guild. The moment we stepped in, the familiar buzz of chatter and the clinking of mugs filled the air. The scent of roasted meat and ale wafted through the room, and the lively energy of adventurers sharing stories of their quests surrounded us.
We made our way to an empty table near the center of the guild hall, sitting down as Cedrick ordered a round of drinks.
"To surviving whatever hell you guys went through!" Chad declared, raising his mug.
We clinked our drinks together, and for the first time in a while, we allowed ourselves to relax. Conversations flowed easily between us, laughter erupted from time to time, and even Fafnir, usually more reserved, engaged in the occasional exchange.
However, amidst the lighthearted chatter, a sudden shift in the atmosphere made the entire guild fall into silence.
The doors of the guild swung open with a low creak, and a figure stepped inside.
A man, clad in a tattered black cloak, strode in with slow, deliberate steps. His presence was heavy, like an unseen force pressing down on the room. His aura alone was enough to make some of the adventurers tense, their conversations dying mid-sentence. A few shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while others subtly moved their hands toward their weapons.
Yet, despite the tension in the air, I remained seated, my gaze locked onto the stranger.
He wasn't just strong. He was something else—something far beyond the average adventurer.
The man's piercing eyes scanned the room before settling on me. His stare was unyielding, unwavering, and filled with an intensity that made it clear—he had come here for a reason.
The tension in the guild remained thick as the cloaked figure continued to stare me down. His piercing gaze never wavered, and I could tell he was evaluating me—perhaps even expecting something from me.
Before I could say anything, Chad leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough for only our table to hear.
"That guy…" he muttered, his tone unusually serious. "His name is Siegfried. And that sword he's holding?" Chad gestured subtly toward the massive blade strapped to the man's back. "That's Balmung—the Dragon Slayer's sword."
At the mention of those words, I felt the shift at our table instantly.
Fafnir, Ingi, and Zarathorak—three of the most powerful dragons in existence—suddenly stiffened. Their eyes, which had been calm just moments ago, widened in shock.
Even Zarathorak, who had been maintaining a composed, almost arrogant demeanor this whole time, clenched his fists under the table. His face was still chillingly unreadable, but his knuckles had turned white.
A heavy silence settled between us as Chad continued, seemingly unaware of the sheer magnitude of what he had just revealed.
"Compared to me, who's only taken down a few wyverns at best…" Chad went on, rubbing the back of his head. "Siegfried's in a completely different league. The dude's already slain a real dragon. And not just any dragon—one that was living in Ruined Spine."
At those words, my head snapped toward Chad.
"…Are you serious?" I asked, my voice steady but firm.
Chad nodded without hesitation. "It's true. The reports in the guild are always accurate. Siegfried took down a dragon on his own. The details of the fight weren't fully recorded, but it happened."
The murmurs around the guild hadn't died down since Siegfried entered. Some adventurers whispered in awe, while others instinctively moved away, giving him space as he stood near the entrance, his gaze still locked onto me.
Chad leaned in closer, sensing the tension at our table. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he muttered, glancing between me, Fafnir, Ingi, and Zarathorak. "I mean, I get it. Siegfried's name alone is enough to shake anyone up."
Adrian crossed his arms, nodding. "Yeah, he's probably the strongest guy in this entire city right now. The dude's no joke. Even veteran adventurers don't want to mess with him."
Ronan, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. "It's not just that he's strong. Siegfried's different. He doesn't hunt dragons for sport or fame—he does it because he sees them as threats."
Cedrick leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. "And you know what? He's not entirely wrong. Dragons are insanely powerful, and most of them don't give a damn about humans. If one decides to go on a rampage, there's nothing normal adventurers like us can do. That's why people like Siegfried exist."
Zarathorak's clenched fist trembled slightly. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.
Adrian continued, lowering his voice. "Rumor has it, Siegfried doesn't just kill dragons—he absorbs their power. Some say it's Balmung that does it, others say he has some kind of secret magic, but one thing's for sure—he's only gotten stronger with every dragon he's slain."
Fafnir scoffed, finally breaking his silence. "Absorb a dragon's power? That's ridiculous." But even as he said it, his expression remained rigid.
Ronan shrugged. "Believe what you want, but the results speak for themselves. No one has lived after fighting him."
I leaned forward, my fingers interlocking. "Tell me more about this dragon he killed in Ruined Spine."
Chad furrowed his brows, thinking. "From what I heard, the fight happened years ago. The guild received reports of a dragon sighting in the deepest part of Ruined Spine—where no one dares to go. Siegfried went alone and came back a week later with that sword drenched in blood."
Cedrick added, "No one saw the battle, but when Siegfried returned, he didn't say a word. Just left the carcass there to rot. Some say the dragon wasn't just any ordinary one—it was something ancient."
Chad scratched his head, trying to recall the name. "Uh… it was something like… Umbarix? No, wait—Umavix? Damn, I can't remember exactly, but it was close to that."
The moment he struggled with the name, Ingi's gaze sharpened. His voice was firm as he asked, "Was it Umbaxis?"
Chad snapped his fingers. "Yes! That's it. Umbaxis, the Abyssal Enigma! That was the name in the reports. Why? Do you know something about it?"
A heavy silence fell over our table. Fafnir's hands curled into fists, and Zarathorak's jaw tightened. My own mind was racing, processing what this could mean.
Had we been too late?
Was the Void Dragon already dead?
Before we could discuss it further, the heavy atmosphere around us thickened. The muffled chatter in the guildhall seemed to quiet as the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed across the wooden floor.
Siegfried was moving.
He walked toward us, each step measured, his piercing gaze locked onto me. His presence was suffocating—not in the way an overwhelming aura crushed its surroundings, but rather like the calm before a storm. The air around him felt razor-sharp, and even seasoned adventurers unconsciously stepped aside as he approached.
Fafnir shifted slightly, his body tensing. Zarathorak, still silent, exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the table in a controlled rhythm. Ingi, on the other hand, remained perfectly still, observing Siegfried like a predator sizing up another hunter.
The adventurers at nearby tables were whispering now, eyes darting between us and the renowned dragon slayer.
Siegfried finally stopped, standing just a few feet from our table. His grip on Balmung, the legendary dragon-slaying sword, was relaxed but firm—like a man always ready for battle.
His voice was calm, yet there was a weight behind it.
"You. Who are you?"
His eyes remained locked onto mine, as if trying to read into my very existence.