Zealth sighed. The guild matter was done.
Unfortunately.
He stared at the system prompt one last time, then dismissed it with a tired swipe of his hand. There was no point glaring at it any longer. The agreement had been registered. Slater had caught him with curiosity, polished words, and the kind of trap that wore a friendly smile.
He adjusted the black sword at his waist and picked up the small wrapped box containing the seal charm.
"Fine," Zealth said. "I'll pretend I made a wise decision."
Slater stood behind the counter, smiling like a man who had just sold someone a rope and convinced him it was a bridge. "Self-deception is the foundation of confidence."
"That explains your whole personality."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't praise."
"I accept many forms of payment."
Zealth sighed and opened the transaction panel. "How much?"
Slater tapped the counter twice, and a neat invoice appeared between them.
Black Netherrose Sword — 4,000 Callis
Ganymede Candy x500 — 5,000 Callis
Temporary Unique Skill Suppression Charm — 1,500 Callis
Total: 10,500 Callis
Zealth stared at the figure.
His soul stared with him.
"Ten thousand five hundred," he said slowly. "You know, there are thieves with more shame than you."
Slater smiled. "Thieves lack documentation."
Zealth lifted his hand and started tapping through the transparent panel in front of him. His remaining money dropped in a way that hurt more than Glen's bullet.
"Done," he muttered. "I transferred the fee."
Slater checked his own panel. A soft chime rang on his side. His smile brightened.
"Received." He tilted his head. "A cheapskate like you chose revival over survival. Five hundred Ganymede Candy is excessive, even for someone with your talent."
"I need those candies."
Slater studied him for a moment.
The joke on his face remained, but his eyes sharpened underneath it.
Zealth looked away first.
My battle will be impossible just to survive.
He did not say it aloud.
Slater did not press, though the silence suggested he understood enough.
"Then good luck," Slater said, returning to his lighter tone. "Whatever odd job you're about to do, try not to consume all your candies."
Zealth picked up the item pouch. "That is the worst blessing I've heard today."
Zealth turned toward the door.
Behind him, Slater added, "And Zealth?"
He paused.
"What?"
"Welcome to the wrong side of history."
Zealth did not look back.
"Yeah," he said. "Sounds unpleasing."
The bell above the door chimed as he stepped outside.
The town greeted him with noise and movement. Carts rolled over the stone road. Players argued near a potion stall. NPC children chased each other between adults who scolded them without much conviction. Somewhere farther down the street, people were shouting about the Ascension Circuit again.
Zealth ignored them and opened his map.
A translucent display spread before him, layered over the street. Markers glowed across the known region—towns, roads, hunting grounds, abandoned ruins, danger zones.
His finger moved toward a personal marker.
A spot near the western marches.
Ten kilometers away from the Humadlays' struggling state.
The moment his finger touched the marker, the map zoomed in. Sparse forest. Broken terrain. Old ruins. A mountain path. A place he had been avoiding for quite sometimes.
He took a scroll from his inventory.
This one was not like the town-return scroll. The paper was thicker, smoother, lined with silver and blue ink. A mid-range teleportation scroll, expensive and precise. Too expensive to use casually.
Naturally, he was about to use it casually.
He pinched the seal between two fingers.
From inside the shop, Slater shouted, "Hey, Zealth!"
Zealth froze.
"What?"
"Don't use scrolls inside town unless you want to regret it loudly."
Zealth looked at the scroll.
Then at the paved road beneath him.
Then closed his eyes.
"…Right."
He had almost forgotten.
Inside towns, teleportation scrolls were useless. Normal paper. Expensive decoration. The system had restricted any kind of scrolls after a group of players decided terrorism in form of pranks. Several explosion scrolls had been planted around major towns. Shops were destroyed. NPCs died. A fountain became a crater. Someone uploaded the chaos with dramatic music and called it social experimentation.
Players complained when the restriction came down.
Ganymede, Jupiter01's administrator, had not cared.
Her statement had been short and merciless.
Town scroll restrictions will remain. NPC safety takes priority inside the major settlements. Further abuse will result in harsher punishments.
Players argued.
Ganymede stayed firm.
For once, Zealth had agreed with her.
He slid the scroll back into his inventory and started walking toward the gate.
"Thanks," he called over his shoulder.
Slater's voice followed him. "I prefer gratitude in cash."
"Die poor."
"Impossible. I am wealthy, emotionally and physically."
Zealth kept walking.
The gate guards noticed him again when he approached. The sleepy one straightened too quickly, knocking his spear lightly against the ground. The other gave a stiff nod, trying to look professional and failing only slightly.
Zealth lifted a hand.
"Relax. I'm just leaving."
"Yes, Sir," the guard said.
The title still made his skin itch.
He passed through the gate and stepped beyond the safety boundary.
The air changed at once.
Town noise softened behind him. The road widened briefly before splitting into smaller paths. Grass grew along the edges of the stone. Beyond the fields, the land rose toward distant mountains, their peaks wrapped in pale mist.
Zealth walked until the system boundary marker faded from his map.
Then he took out the teleportation scroll again.
"Time to face the boss," he muttered.
He tore the seal.
The paper split.
Blue light poured out, folding into a circular portal that hovered a few inches above the road. The surface rippled like water, showing a fractured glimpse of gray mountains and old stone.
Zealth stepped through.
Cold swallowed him for a breath.
The town disappeared behind him.
One breath ago, Zealth had been standing beyond the gate, with the road still warm beneath his boots and the town walls rising behind him.
Now the ground was uneven.
Loose stones rolled under his steps. Cold mountain wind brushed against his face, carrying the scent of damp moss, old rain, and earth that had not been disturbed for years. The sky above was pale, half-covered by slow-moving clouds.
Zealth stepped forward as the portal collapsed behind him.
Ahead stood a ruined stone pillar.
It leaned at a slight angle, half-buried by grass and crawling roots. Ancient symbols covered its surface, carved deep into the stone but worn by time until they looked less like letters and more like scars. Moss filled the cracks. Vines wrapped around the base. To anyone passing by, it would seem like a forgotten relic. A broken marker from some dead civilization.
But Zealth knew better.
This was not a marker.
It was a door.