Once Athena vanished up the stairs, the noise came back like a wave. Washing over everyone in the guild. I turned back to the counter and noticed three adventurers were in front of me, causing me to think. Hopefully, this doesn't take long.
After a short wait, I reached the front of the line. An older elven woman stood behind the counter, her sharp features set in an expression of practised severity. I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with the crisp efficiency of someone who had already said these words a thousand times.
''Prince Arthur,'' her voice carried the faintest trace of dry amusement beneath the formality. ''Your Adventurer's card and rank are prepared. You will begin at F-rank, the same as every other newcomer. Titles buy you wine and dancers, not monster parts.''
She slid a simple, shiny black card across the polished wood, meeting my eyes steadily. ''Is that understood?''
''That's fine. Can I still go to Hollowend?''
''Yes, the guildmaster allowed entry after speaking to your mentor,'' she revealed, narrowing her eyes as a strange smile crossed her face. ''He signed the waiver to allow you in there.''
Are they planning to kill me or something? That smile sent a shiver down my spine!
''Thank you.''
I lifted the sleek black card from the counter, noting how my name, Arthur Verona, was etched in precise silver lettering across its surface. It felt surprisingly light, almost weightless, despite the faint magical hum emanating from it. Just as I turned to leave, the elven woman cleared her throat sharply.
''One moment, Prince,'' her tone was clipped, brooking no argument. ''You must infuse it first. Only then will it bind to you and function properly.''
She tapped the counter with a long, manicured finger, eyes fixed on me expectantly. ''Please smear it using some blood. It will recognise you as its owner. Do it now, please. We don't allow unbound cards to leave the premises.''
I was amazed at her words, but nodded and used a dagger to slice my fingertip, allowing the blood to hit the card. It glowed for a second before going back to normal, causing the guild receptionist to speak. ''Now you're set to explore the dungeons and take up any quests on the boards over there.''
''Thank you,'' I replied.
Following that, I stepped outside only to be greeted by Garrick and Marcus, who were watching their surroundings. The older man turned to me, grinning. ''Looks like you've taken the first step to becoming a powerful warrior.''
''Huh?''
The two men laughed. Marcus explained, still chuckling. ''My Prince, you've clearly changed, for the better, and we've all seen it. I hope you get your magic in the dungeon. Some people only unlock it after their first real brush with death, unless you've got the expensive pills, of course.''
''Yes, father wouldn't waste the resources on me,'' I muttered in frustration.
Garrick's heavy hand landed on my shoulder, firm and warm. ''You'll become someone truly great, Arthur,'' he said quietly, voice rough with something like pride. ''I can feel it. And I'm damn grateful I'll be alive to see it happen.''
Marcus stepped forward, eyes blazing, grin wide and wild. ''The rise of Verona's third prince!'' he shouted, throwing a fist into the air.
The surrounding soldiers erupted into hoarse cheers, fists pounding on their shields. For a heartbeat, the guild square felt less like a place of cold calculations and veiled threats, and more like the start of something dangerous and real. Seconds later, the cheers died down slowly, like a fire settling into embers.
The soldiers, my soldiers, I reminded myself, began to fall back into loose formation, still grinning, still buzzing with energy. Garrick gave my shoulder one last squeeze before letting go. ''Come on, then,'' he said. ''Hollowend's not going to crawl to us.''
We started moving. The square emptied behind us as we threaded through the winding streets of Riverrun. It felt different this morning, sharper, more watchful. People stepped aside when they saw the black-and-red cloaks of the Legionnaires, eyes flicking from my face to the weapons at their hips and back again.
Marcus walked on my left, humming something tuneless under his breath. Garrick stayed on my right, hand never far from the hilt of his longsword. Behind us, twenty men formed a loose wedge, enough to look like an escort, not enough to look like an invading force. The rest had peeled off earlier to handle supply wagons and horses.
The streets grew narrower, then opened onto the old river road. Stone gave way to packed dirt and broken flagstones. The air turned cooler, damp with the smell of moss and moving water. Ahead, the land sloped down toward the gorge where Hollowend waited. I could feel the dungeon long before I saw it.
A low thrum of mana in the bones, like standing too close to a drum. It prickled the skin. By the time we crested the final rise, the entrance was in full view. A jagged tear in the cliff face, framed by blackened stone that looked scorched rather than carved. Vines had tried to reclaim it once; now they hung withered and brown, as though the place had poisoned them.
Standing in front of it, blocking the wide path down into the gorge, were the Riverrun Town Guards, fifteen of them, maybe sixteen. Chainmail polished to a dull gleam, halberds planted, blue-and-silver surcoats flapping in the wind off the river. Their captain, a man with a scarred cheek and a moustache that looked like it belonged on a walrus, stood front and centre, arms folded.
They hadn't drawn weapons yet. But they hadn't stepped aside, either. Garrick slowed first. I noticed his hand drifted to his sword again, casual, like a man scratching an itch. Marcus went quiet; the humming cut off mid-note. I kept walking until I was maybe ten paces from the captain, then stopped with narrowed eyes.
The Legionnaires fanned out behind me without a word. The captain's eyes flicked over us, lingered on the black cloaks, then settled on me. He didn't bow. Didn't salute. ''Prince Arthur,'' he said.
His voice carried the careful neutrality of someone who'd been told exactly what to say. ''This entrance is under the authority of the Riverrun Guard until further notice. By order of the town council.''
I tilted my head. ''I have the guildmaster's permission, and I'm an adventurer?''
The captain's jaw worked for a second. ''The Riverrun Council has reconsidered safety concerns. Monsters have been more active. We can't risk civilian lives.''
''Civilians?'' Marcus barked a laugh. ''You're looking at the Third Prince of Verona and his sworn Legionnaires. We're not here for mushrooms and sightseeing.''
The captain didn't flinch, but a few of his guards shifted their weight. Halberds and swords tilted a fraction. Garrick spoke next, calm as lake water. ''Step aside, Captain. Or we'll have a conversation about whose authority actually matters here.''
I raised a hand before things could escalate further. The thrum from the dungeon was louder now, vibrating up through the soles of my boots. Whatever was waiting inside didn't care about town councils, princes or waivers. It just waited. I met the captain's eyes as a smirk crossed my face.
''I'm going in,'' I said quietly. ''You can either let me pass, or you can explain to the guild, and my father, why a Prince of Verona was denied entry to a dungeon he has permission to enter.''
Silence stretched. Wind whistled through the gorge. Somewhere deep inside Hollowend, something rumbled in answer. The captain's gaze dropped to the black card hanging from the cord at my belt. The silver lettering caught the weak sunlight. He exhaled through his nose.
Then, slowly, he stepped to the side. ''Clear the path,'' he ordered.
The men parted like water around a stone. I didn't smile or thank them. I just walked forward, past the line of halberds, toward the dark mouth of the dungeon. Garrick and Marcus fell into my shoulders again. Behind us, the captain muttered something I didn't catch. Ahead, the darkness waited.
Now it's time to see what magic I have!
For the first time since I'd stepped into that guild hall, I felt the shiver down my spine. I noticed the darkness swallowed the light the moment I crossed the threshold. One step, and the gorge wind cut off like someone had slammed a door. The thrum in my bones sharpened into a steady, alive, almost welcoming pulse.
My eyes adjusted slowly; the entrance tunnel was wide enough for three men side to side, walls of rough black stone veined with faint, glowing blue cracks that looked like lightning frozen in rock. The air tasted metallic, thick with old blood and ozone. I didn't look back at first.
I just walked. But I heard them. Boots scraping stone behind me. Garrick's tread was heaviest, the familiar rhythm of a man who'd walked into worse places than this and come out the other side. The others followed in a loose column, weapons loose in their hands but ready.
No one spoke. The only sound was the faint clink of armour, the soft scrape of leather, and our breathing. I stopped after maybe twenty paces, just where the tunnel began to slope downward. The blue veins in the walls pulsed brighter here, throwing cold light across everyone's faces. I turned.
Ten Legionnaires, Marcus and Harrick. Not a full escort, just the ones who'd been closest in the dungeon's entrance. Their black cloaks were already dusted with the grit of the gorge, but their eyes were bright and steady. Garrick stood at the front of them, one hand resting on his sword pommel, the other raised in a small, almost apologetic gesture.
''Can't let you have all the fun, My Prince,'' he said quietly.
No grin this time, just that rough, honest look he got when he'd already made up his mind. I glanced past him. The entrance was still open behind us, a pale rectangle of daylight framed by the jagged tear in the cliff. The Riverrun Guards were silhouettes against it, watching. They hadn't followed.
They hadn't tried to stop us either. Marcus wasn't here. He'd stayed topside with the rest of the Century; someone had to keep an eye on the town council's next move. Garrick had picked the core group without asking. I exhaled through my nose. ''I told you I'd go in alone,'' I said, reminding the older man.
I exhaled slowly, the sound loud in the sudden quiet between us. ''Garrick. I appreciate it. More than you know. But if I'm going to be anything more than a prince playing at being an adventurer, I need to walk the first steps alone.''
His jaw tightened, the lines around his eyes deepening. For a second, I thought he might argue, might pull rank the way he sometimes did when he thought I was being stupidly noble. But then he just gave a single, slow nod.
''First floor only,'' he warned, voice rough. ''You feel anything wrong, anything at all, you shout. We'll be right behind you. And if you don't come back out in two hours, we're coming in hot. No discussion.''
I met his eyes. ''Fair.''
Garrick shifted his weight and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "reckless princeling bullshit," but he didn't try to stop me either. They both stepped back. The rest of the small squad followed suit, forming a loose half-circle just inside the entrance, weapons still low but ready.
I turned away before the moment could stretch into something sentimental. The black sword at my hip, plain, single-edged, nothing like the ceremonial pieces back at the palace, felt reassuringly familiar as I drew it. The leather grip had already started to take the shape of my palm from the hours I'd spent drilling forms in the courtyard at dawn.
No enchantments, no family crest, no bullshit. Just good steel. I stepped forward. The tunnel sloped gently downward for another thirty paces before it opened without warning. One moment, I was walking between cold stone walls veined with blue light. Next, I stood at the edge of a forest that shouldn't have been able to exist underground.
Massive pines stretched upward into a false canopy of shifting green-gold light that filtered through leaves that had no business growing here. The air smelled of pine sap, wet earth, and something faintly musky, animal. Ferns brushed my shins. Somewhere distant, water trickled over stones. I took one careful step onto the needle-strewn ground.
The dungeon thrummed again, deeper now, like a heartbeat that had finally noticed me. I started walking. The path was barely there: a faint deer trail winding between the trunks. I kept my sword in a low guard, point forward, elbow relaxed. Every few steps, I paused, listening.
The forest was quiet in the way that dangerous places were silent, no birdsong, no insects, only the soft hush of needles underfoot and the occasional creak of branches settling.