The streets of Blackedge Town were bustling with noise and activity.
Bright sunlight spilled onto the smooth bluestone pavement. Vendors along the roadside loudly hawked fresh berries and roasted meat, the market filled with the unique vibrancy and clamor of the surface world.
Allen walked with steady steps, heading toward the Adventurers' Guild.
Two tall Dolls followed behind him, their footsteps clacking against the bluestones, gleaming with an unusual luster under the sunlight.
Pedestrians on both sides of the street halted their tasks.
The old woman selling berries gaped, the blacksmith's apprentice nearly dropped his hammer on his own foot, and even the old hunting dog basking by the roadside pricked up its ears.
Everyone stared curiously at the two Dolls, whispering and murmuring among themselves.
"Look at those two humanoid monsters… what in the world are they?"
"They look like Alchemical Golems, and the craftsmanship is so refined."
"Wait, isn't the person walking ahead, Allen, the mage from the Silver Blade Squad? Why has he returned alone? Where are the others?"
These last words pierced Allen's ears.
He kept his head lowered, remaining silent, clutching the hem of his robe, his palms slick with cold sweat.
His heart pounded in his chest, a constant reminder that he was walking a tightrope paved with lies.
Must not expose the Castle Lord's secret… Allen repeated to himself in his mind.
Unbidden, images of the Labyrinth flashed through his thoughts, and his body shuddered involuntarily.
Before long, Allen pushed open the heavy oak door of the Adventurers' Guild.
Accompanied by the clear chime of a bell, the previously noisy hall fell silent in an instant. Countless gazes converged on him and the two imposing Pure White Dolls behind him.
Familiar adventurers immediately crowded around, clamoring with questions about the whereabouts of the other Silver Blade Squad members.
Allen took a deep breath and delivered the half-truth, half-lie he had prepared in advance. He deliberately made his voice tremble and sound utterly despairing:
"At the abandoned plaza on the sixth floor... those statues weren't ordinary decorations at all. That fool Jack tapped one's wing with his dagger, and then they all came to life. All of them..."
Hearing the word "Gargoyle," the adventurers in the hall stirred uneasily.
Some turned pale, others unconsciously took a step back. In adventurer lore, Gargoyles were notoriously troublesome foes, with extremely high dual resistances; ordinary physical attacks and magic were ineffective against them.
"I hit over a dozen head-on with Destructive Fireballs, and it was useless."
Allen shook his head, his smile full of self-mockery. "My High-Level Magic couldn't even singe their skin. Trying to melt an iron mountain with a torch would be more effective."
His body swayed violently as he was thrust back into the bloody battlefield. Vividly describing the gruesome scene, his legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees.
"Captain Reg covered our retreat, holding off the charge of all the Gargoyles alone. His Tower Shield shattered, his Battle Aura exhausted, but he still drew his sword and charged into the horde of monsters."
"...His last words were, 'Split up and run. Don't look back.'"
Allen's voice choked with sobs.
"Sol was smashed down from the air by an elite gargoyle, his entire chest caved in. Marcus went mad when he saw Sol fall, threw away his shield, and charged forward, only to be surrounded and torn apart by three gargoyles. Jack was swatted away; I don't know what happened to him after that..."
"All I know is that I ran, I ran desperately until my legs went weak, until I couldn't see anything anymore..."
By the end, his voice had dropped to an almost inaudible whisper.
The hall was utterly silent.
The receptionist had long been weeping uncontrollably. She took out a pure white handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose, her shoulders trembling with each sob.
In her three years on the job, she had watched the Silver Blade Squad rise from Iron Rank to Silver Rank. Every time they returned from a mission, Jack would shamelessly sidle up to the front desk to chat her up, only to be shooed away with an eye roll.
Now that annoying voice would never be heard again.
The bearded warrior's eyes also reddened. He clenched his fists in anger, turned, and slammed one fist onto the nearby oak table.
The table let out a dull groan. The mugs on its surface bounced up and crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.
"Damn gargoyles!"
He shouted, his voice full of rage and grief. "That stubborn mule, Reg, always saying the quieter a place is, the more dangerous it is. Well, he proved his own point, didn't he? With his life."
"Then how did you survive?"
A calm voice came from the crowd. Everyone turned their gaze toward the two silent, standing Pure White Dolls behind Allen.
Allen turned and pointed at the dolls behind him, obeying Labrynth's command to conceal all information about the Ivory Labyrinth and the Demon Castle Lord.
"I was fleeing blindly and stumbled into a Dungeon hidden room passage. At the end of the passage, I happened to find a secret chamber. Inside were the remains of a deceased alchemist and these two alchemical golems in a dormant state."
He deliberately kept his tone light, his voice carrying the relief and exhaustion of one who had narrowly escaped death.
"That alchemist left behind a control manual, some magic crystals, and these two alchemical golems. It took me several days to figure out how to activate them."
"These golems possess incredibly strong physical defense. They helped block the monsters and escorted me all the way from the sixth floor back to the surface. I survived purely by luck."
Everyone looked at the two Pure White Dolls, emanating a cold aura, and showed expressions of sudden understanding.
Alchemical golems were not rare in this world. The material and craftsmanship of these two seemed far superior to the norm, but considering they were found in a deep Dungeon hidden room, it made sense.
No one doubted Allen's flawless account.
A young adventurer who had recently emerged from the Dungeon squeezed to the front and spoke hesitantly.
"Mr. Allen, about Jack... are you sure there's no chance he survived?"
"Yesterday, someone posted a missing person notice on the guild's request board, specifically looking for Jack. It was the girl who sells flowers east of town, what was her name... Ella?"
Allen's body stiffened for an instant.
Ella. Of course, he knew Ella.
The girl who sold daisies at the crossroads east of town. Seventeen or eighteen, with brown hair always braided into two pigtails, and shallow dimples when she smiled.
Jack would buy a bouquet every time he passed by her flower stall, then pin the flowers to his dagger sheath, saying even assassins needed some romance.
Jack had never confessed his feelings to her. This scoundrel who dared to tap a Gargoyle's wings with his dagger in the Dungeon couldn't even string together a complete sentence in front of a flower-selling girl.
And now, that girl was still waiting for him to return.
Allen closed his eyes, his face contorting with intense grief.
"When Jack was swatted away by the Gargoyle, several of his ribs were broken. I glanced back as I ran… he was lying in a pool of blood, with more Gargoyles chasing after him."
"The chances of surviving in such a situation are extremely low..."
He paused, his voice growing very soft.
"If you ever get the chance, please tell that girl for me... say that Jack went fast, without much suffering."
Lies.
Jack had suffered more than a hundred deaths, but some truths only bring more pain to the living.
The young adventurer nodded silently and retreated into the crowd.
"Luck is also part of strength."
The bearded warrior sighed deeply, bent down to help Allen up from the ground, and patted his back with a hand much gentler than before.
"The fact that you survived is already a miracle. Reg would be happy for you, watching from above."
Allen steadied himself and faced all the adventurers in the hall. He straightened his back, his expression turning grave.
"Everyone, aside from reporting my team's deaths, I have something important to announce today."
The hall fell silent. Everyone could sense the aura of despondency emanating from Allen–he seemed utterly devoid of vitality.
"I've had enough."
Allen's voice suddenly became calm, so calm it felt almost cold. "I don't want to live this life of licking blood off a blade anymore."
"From today onward, I am officially retiring as an adventurer."
This decision caused an uproar in the guild hall.
"Allen, have you lost your mind?"
A familiar adventurer shouted in protest, pushing his way to the front with an anxious expression. He grabbed Allen's arms and shook them vigorously.
"You now possess two powerful Alchemical Golems–an opportunity that comes once in a century! You could easily form a stronger team and even dream of reaching Gold Rank! Why give up?"
"That's right, Brother Allen! If you're willing, our Stonehammer Squad would welcome you! With those two golems, we could stroll through the fourth floor without a care!" another voice called from the back of the crowd.
The crowd surrounding Allen turned twofold, overhearing the Dungeon's hidden room and Allen's own current combat prowess.
Allen shook his head helplessly.
His eyes were vacant, all his fighting spirit gone.
This demeanor wasn't entirely an act. Everything he had experienced in the Ivory Labyrinth had thoroughly extinguished the adventurous fire in his bones.
Now, even the sight of white walls made his heart race, let alone setting foot in the Dungeon again.
"It's no use. Every time I close my eyes, I see Captain Reg being torn apart... My hands are trembling so badly I can't even hold my Staff steady. In this state, going into the Dungeon would be suicide."
He extended his right hand for everyone to see–it was trembling slightly, his fingertips twitching uncontrollably.
Seeing Allen in this state, the voices of persuasion faded away. The adventurers felt regretful, but they also understood how deep the psychological scars would be for a survivor who had witnessed the annihilation of his entire team.
Such incidents were not uncommon in the adventurer community, and there was a specific term for it: "Adventurer's Aftermath." Many adventurers who had experienced a team wipe could never pick up a weapon again for the rest of their lives.
"Forget it, forcing things never works."
The bearded warrior patted Allen's shoulder, his voice filled with helplessness.
"Since you've made your decision, we respect your choice. Staying alive is more important than anything else."
The other adventurers nodded in agreement, casting understanding glances toward Allen.
Allen walked up to the front desk and retrieved his Silver Rank adventurer badge from a hidden pocket inside his robe.
It was a silver shield-shaped badge, about the size of a thumb, engraved with crossed swords and a Staff on the front, and his name and registration number on the back.
The silver surface had dulled from wear, and there was a small chip on one corner.
He placed the badge on the wooden counter of the front desk, his fingers lingering on the silver surface for two seconds before letting go.
The receptionist took the badge and efficiently recorded the retirement in the register.
Her pen paused briefly in the "Reason for Retirement" column before finally writing five more words: Retired Due to Combat Losses.
"Mr. Allen, the formal retirement procedures with the Adventurers' Guild have been completed."
Her voice still carried a hint of nasality as she tried to maintain professional composure.
"According to guild regulations, your Adventurer Insurance and the unpaid mission rewards for the Silver Blade Squad will be transferred to your account at the Merchant's Guild within three business days. Additionally, if you change your mind in the future, you may re-register."
"Thank you," Allen said softly, turning to leave.
Just then, a woman rushed in through the guild doors, panting heavily.
She appeared to be around thirty years old, wearing a dark blue cotton dress with a gray apron over it, her hair wrapped in a floral scarf. It seemed she had hurried over from some busy place.
Her face was red, sweat beaded on her forehead, and her chest heaved.
"Allen!"
Her voice was sharp, carrying the explosive intensity of emotions that had been suppressed for too long finally finding an outlet.
Allen's footsteps halted.
He turned around and saw the woman pushing through the crowd, heading straight for him.
"Sister Margaret..."
Before he could finish speaking, a loud slap struck his left cheek.
The crisp sound echoed throughout the hall.
Allen's head was knocked to the side, a bright red handprint rising on his left cheek.
The silver mark beside the handprint was quite noticeable, but everyone's attention was captured by this sudden scene, and no one noticed the detail.
"Margaret Farrell!" the receptionist exclaimed in surprise.
"You bastard!"
Tears welled up in Margaret's eyes as she grabbed Allen by the collar and pulled him close.
She was nearly half a head shorter than Allen, yet she erupted with astonishing strength.
"It's been almost a month! A whole month! Do you have any idea I thought you were dead!"
Her voice grew louder and sharper, completely changing in tone by the end.
"Every day Hans goes to the guild for news, and every time he comes back saying there's still no word from the Silver Blade Squad."
"I couldn't sleep at night, and every day I went to the temple to light a Prayer Lamp for you! Do you know how much a Prayer Lamp costs? Thirty copper coins! I lit twenty-seven of them!"
She cried and scolded him at the same time, her fists pounding against Allen's chest. The blows weren't heavy, but each one carried nearly a month's worth of pent-up fear, worry, and anger.
Allen stood motionless.
He just stood there, letting his sister's fists fall on him.
Gradually, his eyes reddened again, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line, and his Adam's apple bobbed several times, but not a single word could come out.
What could he say? That he had been captured by a Demon Loli in the Dungeon and made into a slave?
That he now had a brand on his face that could turn his brain into mush? That he returned because this demon needed a Surface Subordinate?
His body had already been molded into someone else's shape, tragically...
He couldn't say anything.
"Sis, I'm back."
In the end, he only managed these three words, his voice so soft, as if afraid of shattering something.
Margaret's fists stopped.
She looked up, her tear-blurred eyes taking in her brother's face, which had grown noticeably thinner, the deep dark circles under his eyes, the chapped skin on his lips, the shocking tears and dark brown bloodstains on his robe.
And she could hold back no longer. She threw her arms around Allen, buried her face in his chest, and burst into loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
"You bastard, if you dare die out there, I'll go into the Dungeon, dig up your corpse, and beat you up again."
The adventurers around them watched the scene in silence. Some turned away to wipe the corners of their eyes. The bearded warrior sighed heavily, waving a hand to signal everyone to disperse and give the siblings some space.
Allen raised his hand and gently patted his sister's back.
His gaze drifted over Margaret's head, settling on an inconspicuous table in the corner of the guild hall.
A young man and woman sat there, isolated from the noisy surroundings, standing out like a sore thumb.
The white-haired, dark-skinned youth was frowning slightly, holding a map in his hand, but his eyes kept darting toward the Pure White Doll behind Allen.
The golden-haired girl sitting beside him was happily munching on a huge meat bun, her cheeks puffed out, grease smeared around her mouth.
"Albaz, what are you looking at?"
Ecclesia held the bun out toward the youth, her big eyes blinking.
"This meat bun is really super delicious, do you want a bite?"
Albaz shook his head, lowering his voice.
"Don't you think those two Alchemical Golems seem a bit off?"
"Huh?"
Ecclesia followed his gaze, carefully examining the two Pure White Dolls. Her chewing slowed for a couple of beats before she continued eating the bun.
"No Mana core fluctuations, lacking traces of standard alchemical formulas. A bit strange."
She mumbled, taking another big bite, while Albaz continued.
"But maybe it's some lost ancient technology. We should hurry up and figure out how to investigate the unknown creatures on the fourth floor."
"We've been waiting for days... Mmm, I can't wait any longer."
Albaz withdrew his gaze. He faintly sensed that the Pure White Dolls were emitting an indescribably abnormal aura, an aura that instinctively triggered a faint sense of alertness in him.
Allen had no idea he had just brushed shoulders with a legendary adventurer. His mind was fully occupied with his sister's sobs and Labrynth's orders, leaving no room for anything else.
After Margaret had cried her fill, Allen helped her out of the guild.
Before they left, the receptionist hurried out and pressed a paper package into his hands, saying it was a condolence gift from the guild for the families of fallen adventurers.
Allen thanked her and, with his sister and the two Pure White Dolls in tow, headed south along the bustling street.
As they walked, Margaret kept wiping her tears with her apron, muttering over and over, "It's good you're back, it's good you're back. Hans will be over the moon when he finds out.
"Just the day before yesterday, he was saying maybe we should spend our own money to hire someone to look for you in the Dungeon.
"That fool, he can't even handle a first-floor Slime, and he wants to go looking for people."
Allen forced a smile. "Where's brother-in-law now?"
"Watching the shop.
"The cloth business hasn't been easy lately. The kingdom introduced some new policy, said they're bringing in something new called 'Electricity' from some faction up north in the Great Desert.
"Lots of workshops are retrofitting their equipment for something called Mechanical Textile. It's getting harder and harder for small businesses like ours."
"Electricity?" Allen was taken aback.
"It's a derivative of Thunder Element, I think. I don't really understand it," Margaret said offhandedly. "The kingdom is also recruiting talented young people from all over to go to the capital to study this thing. I hear the benefits are really good.
"If you're not going to be an adventurer anymore, maybe you should give it a try? You did graduate from the Kingdom Divine Arts Branch, after all. You should qualify."
Allen shook his head helplessly. Right now, going to the royal capital was out of the question; even staying peacefully in Blackedge Town was a problem for him.
Then Margaret said something that made his heart sink.
"Oh, right, the atmosphere in town hasn't been right lately.
A few days ago, a merchant caravan came from the north and said Demon Race activity along the border is getting more and more frequent. Several villages have been attacked.
"The Count has increased patrols, and the Adventurers' Guild has received a joint defense notice from the kingdom. Do you think the Demon Race is about to attack again? Another Human-Demon War?"
The Demon Race!
Allen's heart clenched. Subconsciously, he touched the silver brand on his left cheek. As his fingers brushed the pattern, a faint, stinging sensation shot through.
He was now working for a demon… a genuine, bona fide demon.
And the relationship between demons and the Demon Race was anything but ordinary.
If the friction between humans and the Demon Race really escalated into a full-scale war, what would that make him? A traitor? A spy?
"It won't happen..." Allen replied stiffly, lowering his hand from his face. "There's border friction every year. It won't come to war..."
He wasn't sure if he was comforting his sister or comforting himself.
...
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