Lioran stepped out of the inn.
Sunlight fell on the worn cobblestones of the street, dancing between their cracked grooves. The morning air was still cool, but the city was slowly waking up.
He walked toward the Adventurers' Guild.
Along the way, he passed by fruit stalls—baskets full of red apples, dark grapes, and other fruits whose sweet scent filled the air. A bit further, there were stalls grilling meat over open fires; the sizzling of fat mixed with the sharp aroma of spices, making any passerby's stomach growl in protest.
Here and there along the street, shops could be seen, most of them accompanied by slaves—men and women moving heavy loads and working tirelessly.
Whenever Anahita's gaze fell upon them, her heart ached for them, and for a moment her face clouded with sadness…
But as soon as her eyes landed on the skewers of kebabs and hot bread again, that sadness vanished; her eyes sparkled and her mouth began to water, as if nothing in this world mattered more than food.
Lioran passed by all these scenes emotionlessly, while inside him Anahita kept swinging between sympathy and hunger…
Lioran continued on his way, and after about ten minutes of walking, he reached the city center—where the massive statue of Duke Jinf Orestal stood in the middle of the square.
As he walked, he glanced around, searching for the Adventurers' Guild.
When he reached the statue, he stopped for a moment and cast a cold, emotionless gaze at Jinf's stone face; a brief look, but heavy. Then, without pausing, he walked past it.
A few steps ahead, a large building caught his attention—an old, majestic structure with weathered stone walls, clearly worn by time. Its entrance gate was tall and sturdy, and above it, in large, faded letters, were written:
Adventurers' Guild
From within the darkness inside him, Anahita's gaze fell upon the gate ahead, and she asked with a hint of worry in her tone.
"What are you going to do with them?"
Lioran replied calmly without pausing.
"I'll decide once I see their behavior."
He walked toward the gate. He placed his hand on the aged wood and pushed it open. The gate creaked open with a dry, ancient groan—a sound worn by years of use.
At the same time, laughter and chatter from inside the guild reached his ears—loud, reckless voices, full of drunken excitement. But as soon as the door fully opened and a red-haired man stepped inside, the voices gradually fell silent.
A heavy silence spread like a wave through the hall.
All eyes turned toward Lioran.
Lioran stood still and cast a calm yet cold glance inside.
The guild was a large, old hall—dark stone walls, worn wooden tables and chairs that showed years of hosting adventurers.
About fifteen people were inside. Most sat on chairs, drinks in hand, half-drunk and staring at the newcomer. A few stood near the tables—arms crossed or leaning against walls, with looks that were neither friendly nor entirely hostile—appraising eyes, like wolves that had caught the scent of fresh prey.
Lioran slowly swept his gaze across each one of them—his movements unhurried, not a trace of doubt in his eyes.
Then, without any rush, he took his first step inside the guild. The sound of his boots echoed across the wooden floor, and then his cold, emotionless voice cut through the space.
"You lot seem more human than I imagined… but that's not important right now. Tell me, where's your Guildmaster?"
As he spoke, he stepped steadily toward the group of adventurers—as if completely unaware of the staring eyes and the heavy atmosphere around him.
For a moment, everything froze.
And then—
"Haaaaaaaaa…!"
The hall suddenly erupted.
Loud, harsh, mocking laughter burst out. Tankards slammed hard onto tables, a few people bent over from laughing too hard, and one man, wearing an exaggerated sneer, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
"I thought that redhead wandered in here by mistake… and would run away in fear when he saw us!"
"Either he doesn't know where he is… or he's completely lost his mind!"
"Didn't expect this kind of entertainment so early in the morning!"
Amidst the guffaws, a man around thirty-five years old, who had been leaning against the wall, stopped laughing. The mocking smile faded from his face, replaced by a cold, heavy stare—a gaze locked motionlessly on Lioran.
Without taking even a single step forward, he said in a calm but threat-laced voice,
"Hey, moron…"
The hall gradually quieted down, as if everyone was waiting to hear what he would say.
"Since you gave us a few minutes of laughter, we'll spare your life. On one condition—leave all your money here and get the hell out, fast."
Anahita, seeing the bloodthirsty looks and smiles on the adventurers' faces, let out a short sigh. She slowly shook her head, her voice carrying a tone somewhere between pity and mockery
'Fools… you're digging your own graves…'
Lioran stopped in his tracks. He lifted his gaze from the crowd and locked it directly onto the man leaning against the wall—that same cold, emotionless stare, as if he were examining something utterly insignificant.
He kept his distance—neither stepping back nor moving forward.
His voice was short and cold.
"And if I don't give the money… what can you do?"
The man's smile faded. He gave a slight shrug, a gesture that looked more like fake pity than anger.
"I was trying to do you a favor."
He shook his head from side to side, as if talking to a stubborn child.
"I didn't want the others to jump you and tear you apart."
Then—he pushed himself off the wall.
"But now… I think I need to teach you a proper lesson."
And at that moment—
"Woooo…!"
The hall came alive again. Shouts, whistles, fists pounding on tables. Raw, wild excitement that smelled of blood.
As if not a fight, but a spectacle was about to begin.
"Whoa! Commander Siko's stepping in! I've never seen him fight up close!"
"Hope he doesn't finish it in one blow—that'd be a waste!"
"Siko's the strongest member after the Guildmaster… No way this guy lasts more than a few seconds."
Siko ignored the uproar and kept advancing. His gaze remained fixed on Lioran—heavy, calculating, merciless.
Just before the distance between them closed completely, a woman's voice—firm and cold—rang out from the corner of the hall.
"Don't kill him, Siko. I don't want this place getting dirty."
Siko paused and turned his head.
A young woman with red hair and eyes the color of fire sat on one of the chairs. An old burn scar ran from her left eye up to her forehead—a wound neither hidden nor forgotten. Beside her sat a massive, muscular man and a silent, black-haired girl.
A crooked smile curled on Siko's lips.
"Don't worry, Guildmaster."
His voice was calm, but violence simmered beneath it.
"I'm not heartless enough to kill someone without reason."
Then he turned his attention back to Lioran.
From within the darkness of Lioran's inner world, Anahita locked her gaze onto Siko, wanting to check his power.
A dense red aura radiated from Siko's body.
'He's at an intermediate level of red aura…'
Anahita's voice echoed in Lioran's mind.
Lioran stared at Siko with his cold eyes.
'So he's a bit stronger than Zubi.'