Chapter 349: The New Era of Adventure
The next morning, the mist hadn't yet been fully dispersed by the sun.
Modi, Piers, and Karl walked the long road back toward the Imperial Capital.
Modi's knee was still bound in layers of gauze, making his gait slightly rigid,
but his internal logic-core reported zero complaints. The sensory memory of the
charred rabbit meat was still present in his stomach—a lingering reminder of his
sub-standard culinary output.
Piers led the formation, his stride anchored and steady. His ancient armor
reflected zero light in the morning glare, its every edge and surface having
been meticulously dulled to minimize visibility.
Karl followed his father, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His gaze performed
a slow, observational sweep of the roadside farms and the distant metropolitan
silhouette. He maintained the posture of a sentinel—watching, logging,
analyzing.
"Upon arrival, prioritize the liquidation of the lizard hides," Piers stated
without looking back. "Then, report to the Guild to finalize the
contract-closure."
"Understood," Modi replied.
After a month of deployment, Modi had successfully integrated into the "Piers
Routine." Piers issued the directives; Modi and Karl executed the maneuvers. No
verbal fluff. Only output.
They breached the city gates. The Punishment Legion sentries performed a cursory
scan of their Adventurer Badges and authorized their entry.
The morning cycle of the Capital was already in high gear. The streets were a
river of multi-racial life; the scents of fresh bakeries fused with the rhythmic
clack-clink of the blacksmith sector. This environment of absolute order and
vibrant industry felt like a different Plane compared to the rotting silence of
the swamp they had just exited.
The primary doors of the Adventurer's Guild were open.
Unlike the standard morning cycle, the hall was statistically "Loud." It wasn't
the usual shouting of drunkards, but a dense, frantic hum of whispered arguments
and buzzing discussion.
Dozens of Adventurers were swamped around the notice board. They weren't
auditing contracts; they were huddling together, their faces masks of varying
levels of excitement and confusion.
The trio sensed the atmospheric shift the moment they crossed the threshold.
Kayla was leaning against her usual pillar in the corner. Her beverage was
missing; her arms were crossed over her chest, and her brow-ridges were knit as
she watched the crowd.
Seeing Modi enter, she tilted her chin marginally—a high-tier acknowledgement.
"Logistics report: Identify the anomaly," Modi said, approaching her.
"Unknown," Kayla replied, her gaze never leaving the throng. "The state of
affairs shifted thirty minutes ago. A directive descended from the High Command,
but the specifics are currently a data-void."
Piers didn't engage in the social buzz. He led Karl straight to the counter,
slamming the two lizard hides onto the wood. The registrar, a young girl,
performed a distracted audit. She pushed the coin across the counter, her eyes
constantly darting toward the center of the hall.
Just then, the doors to the Guild's second level were flung open with violent
kinetic force.
The Guild Master—a portly human male with two exaggeratedly curled
moustaches—sprinted down the stairs. In his frantic haste, his foot snagged on
the final step. He nearly experienced a structural failure, documents spilling
across the floor in a chaotic arc.
"SUBJECTS! ATTENTION! ALL UNITS!"
Ignoring his loss of dignity, the Guild Master scrambled to gather his files and
lunged into the center of the hall, leaping onto a vacant stone table. The wood
groaned under his weight.
The hall hit absolute zero. Every ocular sensor in the room was locked onto him.
The Master's face was a vivid red; his moustaches were vibrating with the
frequency of his excitement.
"A NEW DIRECTIVE! A MANDATE FROM THE EVERNIGHT BASE THAT WILL RE-WRITE THE LOGIC
OF YOUR EXISTENCE!"
He hoisted a singular document high in the air, brandishing it like a legendary
relic.
"FROM THIS CYCLE! FROM THIS MICRO-SECOND! ADVENTURING IS NO LONGER ABOUT
SANITIZING SEWER SLIMES! IT IS NO LONGER ABOUT RETRIEVING ESCAPED POULTRY!"
His voice scaled in volume, carrying a manic, persuasive power.
"WE ARE INITIATING THE ERA OF TRUE ADVENTURE!"
A commotion rippled through the crowd.
"THE EMPIRE HAS SANCTIONED A BRAND-NEW DEPARTMENT! AN UNPRECEDENTED
ORGANIZATION: THE PLANAR RESCUE CORPS!"
The Planar Rescue Corps.
The four words struck the hall like a falling star.
"IDENTIFY OUR DIRECTIVE!"
The Master paused, performing a predatory sweep of the stunned faces below.
"Our mission is to deploy to every Plane marked by the Evernight Empire! Worlds
struggling on the event horizon of the Void! Worlds enslaved by tyrants,
demon-gods, and cataclysmic scourges!"
"We bring the Sovereign's Order! We grant them the Right to Choose! we assist
every soul willing to embrace the Radiance of the Evernight!"
He waved his arms with frantic energy.
"And WE! THE ADVENTURER'S GUILD OF THE EVERNIGHT EMPIRE! Are the core kinetic
component of this Corps! We are the Vanguard! We are the Blade!"
"SUBJECTS! THE GOLDEN ERA OF THE ADVENTURER HAS MANIFESTED! THE GATE IS OPEN!"
Hardly had he finished when the hall experienced a three-second system-freeze.
Then, it exploded into a hurricane of cheers and frantic tactical debates.
"Cross-Planar deployment? Is the data verified?" "Rescue Corps! The title
carries a High-Tier rating!" "Reward-math? Identify the pay-scale!"
"Threat-rating? Entering an unknown coordinate without a recon-log is
suicide-logic!"
Modi felt his internal systems heating up.
A "True Adventure."
It was the win-condition he had been searching for. No more out-calculating a
Boar King. He was being offered a new world.
Modi turned to Piers. Piers' expression was unchanged. He watched the shouting
Guild Master with the calm detachment of someone viewing a minor "Drama-Loop"
that held zero tactical value. Karl stood beside his father, head bowed, his
thoughts masked.
"SILENCE! ORDER!"
The Master stamped his foot, the table emitting a structural complaint.
"I am aware of your data-queries! Enrollment protocols and the primary target
manifests are being pinned to the board now! Every registered Adventurer of
Tier 2 or higher is authorized for requisition!"
With that, he hopped from the table. Flanked by guards, he pinned a fresh,
gold-bordered parchment to the absolute center of the board.
The crowd surged forward like a tidal wave.
Modi was swept along by the momentum. He fought his way to the front, bringing
his ocular sensors into focus. He read the ink, word for word.
[PLANAR RESCUE CORPS: VANGUARD ENROLLMENT]
- TARGET COORDINATE: Plane Designation: GREENSIA.
- ENVIRONMENTAL AUDIT: Subject world is undergoing a Total Scourge event.
Civilization is nearing terminal failure. Indigenous sapient species have
petitioned for external aid.
- MISSION DIRECTIVE: Assist local resistance units in establishing a
Safe-Zone. Conduct threat-assessment audit. Data acquisition. Protective
escort for residents willing to achieve Imperial Integration.
- REQUISITION REQUIREMENTS: Tier 2 or higher. Party-units prioritized. Units
with high proficiency in Field Survival, High-Intensity Combat, and
Reconnaissance prioritized.
- COMPENSATION: Base Imperial gold. Cumulative 'Merit Points' (Redeemable for
Imperial Gear, Logistics, or full Citizenship status).
Modi's breathing quickened.
A Total Scourge. Terminal Civilization.
Every word felt like a direct injection of adrenaline.
"Merit Points for Citizenship? Is the logic stable?!" an Orc adventurer gasped
nearby. "This is significantly more lucrative than hunting mobs!"
Modi extracted himself from the press, returning to Piers and Karl.
"Assessment?" Modi asked, his voice vibrating with an excitement he couldn't
suppress.
Piers didn't answer the query. He provided a counter-query.
"Do you possess the data on what a 'Scourge' signifies?"
Modi paused. "It implies... high-density Undead and Zombie manifesting?"
"It implies zero logistical support," Piers stated flatly.
"It implies an enemy that knows no fatigue, zero fear, and possesses infinite
numerical density."
"It implies the lithosphere and the water-table of that world are likely
contaminated. If your sustenance-stores are depleted, you experience biological
termination."
"Not every 'Calamity' utilizes the Evernight logic, Modi."
Every sentence from Piers was a bucket of cold water on the fire of Modi's
ambition.
"This is not a hunting trip in the swamp," Piers said, locking eyes with him.
"This is not an adventure. It is War."
Modi went silent. He knew Piers was correct. The man's experience far outweighed
his own; the dangers Piers perceived were variables Modi couldn't even
conceptualize through his "Grit" and "Will."
In the hall, a long queue was already forming at the enrollment desk. Young,
impulsive units were loudly debating the glory and gold waiting for them in the
New World.
"I am initiating enrollment."
The voice was quiet, manifesting from his side. Modi and Piers both turned to
look at Karl.
The boy had lifted his head. His gaze pierced through the noisy crowd, anchoring
to the gold-bordered notice.
"That world... sounds 'Interesting'."
Piers' brow-ridges knit together. He stared at his son. This was the first time
in a month that Karl had displayed a high-intensity interest in a variable.
"Karl. The danger-rating is extreme."
"I have processed the data," Karl replied. It was the absolute truth.
"But I wish to witness it."
He wanted to see a world that differed from his own. A world wreathed in
nightmare. Perhaps there, Karl could localize the answers he was searching for.
Perhaps there, he could finally understand the purpose of the power he held.
Modi looked at Karl, then at Piers.
He drew a long breath and finalized his logic.
"I am deploying as well," Modi said. His voice was quiet, but anchored.
"You stated that a unit who attempts to 'prove' their valor against overwhelming
odds is a fool, correct?"
Piers watched him. "Affirmative."
"But you never stated that a unit should abandon a 'Target of Interest'."
Modi bared his teeth in a wide grin. "And besides... I am not a solitary unit."
"With the two of you as anchors, I project a high success-rate against any
'Undead Scourge'."
Piers looked at the two youths. One was his silent, internally unshakeable son;
the other was the stray he had retrieved—a blockheaded recruit who refused to
accept defeat.
The warrior was silent for a long duration. The clamor of the hall felt distant,
as if they were in a localized sector of silence.
Finally, Piers let out a long sigh.
"You are determined to increase my logistical burden, it seems."
He turned and began a heavy march toward the enrollment queue.
"Then we deploy together," Piers' voice drifted back through the wind. "A party
requires a senior unit to ensure the juveniles don't liquidate themselves on the
first cycle."
Modi and Karl exchanged a glance. Both localized a flicker of amusement in the
other's eyes.
The party moved as one. Enrollment was "Go."
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