Alphonse's index finger, resting on the bedsheet, twitched softly. That tiny movement broke the suffocating silence of the inn room, triggering a chain reaction in his helplessly paralyzed body.
Alphonse's breathing, which was previously incredibly shallow, now turned heavy and erratic. Air rushed from his nose with a forced, hoarse sound.
Cold sweat began to seep from his temples. His face, previously as pale as paper, now flushed red. His body temperature spiked.
Vrischil immediately removed one of her combat gloves and pressed the back of her hand to Alphonse's forehead. The heat stung the Elf's skin.
Vrischil's face hardened. She realized a bitter truth. The potion she had fed him earlier only closed external physical wounds and stopped the bleeding.
However, this high fever was not a wound that could be sealed by potion liquid. It was a natural biological reaction—a defense mechanism of a body experiencing severe mental shock.
As a frontline fighter who lived by the art of killing and spreading poison, Vrischil did not master a single healing or temperature-controlling magic. She turned to Arcus, who had already stood up from the floor.
"The potions do not heal the root of the wound," Vrischil said quickly, her tone filled with an urgency she rarely displayed. "His body is reacting to trauma. Go downstairs. Bring a wooden bowl filled with clean water and a cloth. Now."
Without arguing, Arcus hurried out of the room. He descended the creaking wooden stairs toward the bar area on the first floor.
The Black Crow Inn was already devoid of patrons. Otto, who was scrubbing a stain on a wooden table with hands still trembling from residual fear, jolted in shock upon seeing Arcus emerge from the stairs.
"Clean water. Inside a wooden bowl. And give me a new rag that has never been used," Arcus commanded in a cold tone. "Do not make me wait."
"Y-yes, Sir! Right away!" Otto scrambled, running to the kitchen area.
In less than a minute, the bald man returned carrying a bowl filled with cold well water and a piece of clean cotton cloth, which Arcus snatched immediately.
Back inside the room, Arcus handed the items to Vrischil.
With meticulous and careful movements, Vrischil soaked the cloth in the water, wrung it out until there were no excess drips, then placed it gently upon Alphonse's forehead as a compress.
However, the fever did not subside immediately. Cold sweat continued to pour from Alphonse's pores. Beneath his tightly shut eyelids, his eyeballs darted wildly in agitation. His breathing was ragged.
"Dark..." Alphonse muttered softly.
His voice was incredibly hoarse and trembling, breaking the silence of the room. His body stiffened slightly beneath the blanket. "Do not look... into that eye..."
Hearing that delirium, Vrischil's hand, which was holding the side of the wooden bowl, paused in mid-air. She slowly raised her face, staring straight at Arcus who stood frozen at the foot of the bed. An oppressive silence enveloped them both.
They were the two people who knew Alphonse best. In their eyes, the leader was a sturdy pillar, a man who always possessed rational calculations amidst chaos, and the mastermind behind the subjugation of the strongest enemies.
Seeing the man who was always calm and in control now shivering and delirious with fear delivered a heavy psychological blow to Arcus and Vrischil.
If an entity could make Alphonse feel this terrified, what kind of monsters were truly lurking out there?
The night felt like it dragged on incredibly slowly, as if time had frozen inside the inn room guarded by magical barriers. The tempo of life mellowed into a monotonous and silent cycle.
Whenever the cloth on Alphonse's forehead lost its coolness, Vrischil would wring it out again. Whenever the water in the bowl turned warm, Arcus would leave the room to replace it with fresh cold water.
The two of them stood guard without uttering a single word. Neither had any intention of closing their eyes. A sense of loyalty and vigilance held off their drowsiness until the night slowly faded away.
Hours later, the color of the sky behind the gaps of the wooden window slowly changed. The soft morning rays began to creep in, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air.
Along with the arrival of morning, Alphonse's heavy breathing gradually became longer and more regular. The red flush on his face slowly disappeared, indicating that the high fever that had tortured him all night had broken.
Alphonse's eyelids fluttered softly, before finally opening.
The moment his eyes opened, his five senses revolted. The morning rays sneaking through the window stung his retinas.
The sound of wooden cart wheels and the shouts of merchants from the streets below, who were beginning their activities, sounded like cannon blasts against his eardrums. His head throbbed.
Alphonse grimaced, enduring the pain, hurriedly raising the back of his hand to shield his eyes from the light.
"Water..." he requested. His voice sounded incredibly hoarse.
Vrischil immediately took a glass from the table, supported Alphonse's back with one hand, and helped him drink the water slowly. Arcus exhaled a sigh of relief so deep his shoulders slumped.
With Vrischil's help, Alphonse forced himself to sit up, leaning his back against the wooden headboard. He lowered his hand from his face, letting his eyes slowly adapt to the morning light.
Alphonse closed his eyes for a moment, centering his focus inward to conduct an internal evaluation. He checked the mana circulation in his blood vessels. There was no permanent damage to his internal organs.
Furthermore, his mana capacity, which had been drained completely by the Akashic yesterday, now felt nearly full again after passively absorbing mana in the air all night. Physically, he was ready to move.
However, when the memory of the empty vacuum of space and the hollow stare of the Cosmic Eye entity flashed briefly in his mind, the tips of his right fingers trembled faintly.
He clenched his fist tightly to hide that tremor, locking away the trauma settling in the depths of his soul.
Alphonse's exhalations gradually became longer and more rhythmic. After finishing the water in his glass and stabilizing his body, he looked at Arcus and Vrischil in turn.
"From the Akashic, I not only discovered how vast this world is," Alphonse began, his voice still hoarse, breaking the morning silence. "I saw who rules over it."
Vrischil and Arcus listened in silence, realizing that their leader's tone had changed. The confidence that usually dominated every one of Alphonse's words was now coated by a thick layer of vigilance.
"I saw seven entities," Alphonse continued, his eyes staring sharply at the wooden wall across the room. "Ranging from a worshipper of a faceless statue, an Elf with a crown of nature, to a giant platinum dragon at a mountain peak."
"Judging from the energy resonance displayed by the Terminal, they possess incredibly lethal power. They are capable of claiming the life of a Level 100 player with ease."
Arcus furrowed his brow. The fantasy of strolling casually and becoming the invincible main character dimmed slightly.
"However, what shattered me last night was not them," Alphonse added. He turned, looking straight into the eyes of his two friends. "But rather an entity manifesting as a giant eye in the middle of empty outer space."
Alphonse continued, "Merely by gazing upon my soul projection, that entity siphoned my entire mana reserves until they were empty."
Alphonse leaned forward. His body was tense, refusing to underestimate an enemy they did not yet understand.
"This world contains existences that transcend the boundaries of Level 100. My warning to the two of you: cast aside your egos. Never act recklessly if we face a power we do not yet comprehend."
Silence once again enveloped the inn room. Hearing this warning from Alphonse—a man who always calculated every probability of victory before fighting—made Arcus and Vrischil realize that the threat of death in this world was not an empty one.
Arcus let out a long sigh to break the overly heavy atmosphere. He picked up the leather pouch from the floor and tossed it onto the bed, right beside Alphonse's lap. The clinking sound of colliding metal rang out.
"Speaking of understanding this world," Arcus said, a smile returning to his face. "I did a bit of investigation last night. That is a pouch of loot from street thugs who tried to rob me, plus a donation from the innkeeper."
"The currency value here is exactly the same as in the game," Arcus explained. "One silver coin equals one hundred copper coins. I confirmed it when I bought food."
"And regarding the strength of this world's denizens..." Arcus smirked dismissively. "On average, they are incredibly weak. I incapacitated eighteen armed thugs in a matter of seconds without using a single skill."
Alphonse nodded in satisfaction receiving the report. "Good. We have a basic picture of this city's power demographics. Did you obtain information regarding how to move legally here?"
"Certainly," Arcus answered. "The thug leader told me. The easiest way to get an official identity without having to answer many questions is to register with the Adventurer's Guild. The fee is only one silver coin per person."
"The Adventurer's Guild..." Alphonse murmured. "A classic institution. That will grant us access to information, freedom to pass through city gates, and basic legal protection."
Arcus then reached for the cloth bag on the table and pulled out thick black wool cloaks. He handed one to Alphonse and another to Vrischil.
Alphonse stood up and immediately donned the cloak. He rubbed the surface of the cloak's fabric. The texture felt rough against his skin, the wool fibers stiff.
It was a stark contrast compared to his legendary robes which always emitted a magical resonance. However, it was precisely the absence of magical attributes on this fabric that made it the perfect disguise in a city dominated by low-level residents.
"Vrischil," Alphonse reprimanded, seeing the Elf putting on her cloak. "Pull your hood up until it covers your head. Hide your pointed ears and hair color. We do not yet know how the humans here view races outside their own. Let us not invite unnecessary trouble."
Vrischil nodded wordlessly. She pulled her hood forward, sinking her beautiful face and distinct Elf features into the shadows of the thick fabric.
"Then what about us?" Arcus asked, pointing to himself and Alphonse.
"Leave our hoods down," Alphonse answered quickly. "If the three of us walk down the city streets with our faces tightly covered, the city guards will immediately detain us as a suspicious group. Blend in like ordinary residents."
On the table, Vrischil's hands, clad in combat gloves, deftly stacked the coins from the leather pouch.
"Fifty-four silver coins," Vrischil reported with her calm and efficient voice. "And over three hundred copper coins. Sufficient as initial capital for registration."
Alphonse adjusted his monocle back into place. The golden glow in his eyes now burned brightly, steady and sharp. The residual trauma from the fever all night had been locked away tightly in the depths of his mind. The three members of Pioneer had regained their focus.
"Our main target today is the Adventurer's Guild," Alphonse said, issuing their first operational instruction. His footsteps sounded firm as he walked toward the door.
"Let us see what this world looks like."
Vrischil dispelled all the barrier magic she had placed in the room, then turned the doorknob.
The three of them stepped out of the inn room together, walking slowly down the hallway and descending the creaking wooden stairs.
On the ground floor, Otto was wiping the bar counter, preparing to open the tavern. The bald man looked up when he heard footsteps from the stairs.
As soon as his eyes caught the figure of Arcus—the monster who had spread terror in the streets last night—Otto's face instantly went deathly pale. The rag in his hand dropped.
However, Otto's fear instantly shifted into confusion. His eyes widened, staring in disbelief.
Last night, he was absolutely certain the blonde young man had rented room number four and gone upstairs entirely alone. But this morning, the monster stepped down not alone.
Beside him walked a bespectacled man with an aura of leadership, and a mysterious hooded figure radiating an aura as cold as death.
Otto held his breath, pressing his back against the wooden shelves behind the bar, not daring to utter a single word as the three people stepped out through his doors.