“The rewards.”
At this, the crowd’s energy surged, and even the most fatigued adventurers straightened, their eyes gleaming with interest. The rewards were the culmination of their efforts, the tangible proof of their participation and skill.
“The rewards will be distributed based on participation, contribution, and the monsters slain,” Edran continued, his sharp gaze scanning the crowd. “Each kill has been logged, and the spoils will be allocated fairly.”
A large ledger was brought forward by one of Edran’s aides, its pages filled with meticulous notes on the expedition’s kills. Next to it was a collection of small, weighted bags—each containing the promised gold coins. Alongside the monetary rewards were a variety of materials harvested from the slain monsters: scales, fangs, claws, and other valuable parts that could fetch a high price in Stormhaven’s markets.
“First,” Edran said, “to the groups with the highest contribution.”
He began reading off names and group numbers, the rewards handed out with precise efficiency. Each group approached in turn, receiving their share with a mixture of pride and gratitude. Some groups were met with cheers, others with respectful nods. The adventurers, for all their differences, understood the value of hard work and the respect it earned.
Elara and Cedric stood among the crowd, their expressions calm but their anticipation evident. Cedric glanced at Elara, his voice low. “We did well. Don’t let the tension get to you.”
Elara nodded, her thoughts briefly wandering to her contributions during the battle. Her frost magic had been effective, and she knew she had proven herself—not just to the others, but to herself as well.
Finally, Edran called out, “Group Four.”
Elara and Cedric stepped forward, their names among those listed. They received their rewards—a pouch of gold and a selection of monster materials. Cedric accepted the items, his posture respectful as he inclined his head toward Edran.
“Good work out there,” Edran said simply, his gaze lingering on Elara for a moment. She felt a flicker of pride but quickly composed herself, nodding in return.
As they stepped back, another name rang out, drawing a noticeable stir from the crowd.
“Adventurer Luca.”
The young man stepped forward, his scarred face calm but his black eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. His cat rested on his shoulder, its white fur pristine even after the chaos of battle. Whispers rippled through the crowd as Lucavion approached, his reputation from the day preceding him.
Eryndor watched him closely, his expression inscrutable. The ledger’s aide handed Lucavion his reward—an unusually heavy pouch of gold and a selection of high-grade materials. It was clear his contributions had been substantial.
“Your performance exceeded expectations,” Eryndor said, addressing him directly. “If this is your standard, you’ll find no shortage of opportunities in Stormhaven.”
Lucavion stepped forward, his movements relaxed, his cat perched contentedly on his shoulder. The crowd watched him closely, the faint jingling of the heavy pouch of gold in his hands drawing even more attention. He examined his reward briefly, then smirked, his sharp features illuminated by the torchlight.
“Quite a haul,” he said casually, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. “Looks like I’ll never be poor in my life.”
The remark sent a ripple through the gathered adventurers. Some laughed nervously, while others exchanged uneasy glances. The sheer weight of his reward was undeniable, the pouch brimming with gold and high-grade monster materials. Whispers spread like wildfire, the disbelief palpable.
“His haul is bigger than even the rank-5s…”
“How is that possible?”
“He’s just a D-rank…”
“That guy’s a butcher, plain and simple,” someone muttered, shaking their head. “Did you see him out there? He was cutting through monsters like they were nothing.”
Despite the awe in some voices, others carried a sharper edge of envy. For adventurers, survival often hinged on gold and resources. Seeing someone walk away with what seemed an unfair share—especially someone they didn’t fully understand—stirred greed and resentment among the crowd.
It didn’t take long for objections to arise.
“This doesn’t make sense!” a burly man from the first group of the Fourth Station stepped forward, his face twisted with indignation. His comrades murmured in agreement, their gazes fixed on Lucavion’s reward with thinly veiled greed. “Why does he get so much? We’ve been killing monsters all day, working our asses off, and our share isn’t even close to that.”
“Exactly!” another chimed in, his tone sharper. “We’re from the first group, and we haven’t even seen this guy fight. How do we know he isn’t just riding on someone else’s work?”
Lucavion’s smirk didn’t falter. He turned slightly, his black eyes scanning the dissenters with calm amusement, as if their outburst was little more than an expected inconvenience. His cat yawned lazily, entirely indifferent to the tension building in the crowd.
Captain Eryndor raised a hand, his commanding presence cutting through the commotion like a blade. “Silence!” he barked, his voice carrying the weight of authority. The murmurs subsided instantly, and the adventurers turned their attention to him.
Eryndor’s gaze was cold as he addressed the protestors. “The rewards are calculated based on contribution, not assumptions. If you had been paying attention, you would’ve seen the man’s performance on the field. He didn’t just fight—he dominated.”
“But—” the burly man began, only for Eryndor to cut him off with a sharp glare.
“You doubt the records?” Eryndor’s tone was icy, his eyes narrowing. “Every kill was logged and accounted for. Are you suggesting we fabricated the numbers?”
The objectors hesitated, their expressions wavering. Challenging a captain of Eryndor’s stature wasn’t a risk most adventurers were willing to take.
“He was in the Fourth Station, wasn’t he?” another adventurer piped up, their voice laced with suspicion. “Why haven’t we seen him?”
Captain Edran, standing nearby, stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Because he fought in the central section, where the heaviest waves were concentrated. While you were handling the perimeter, he was cutting down the beasts flooding the station’s core. Without his efforts, the Fourth Station wouldn’t have held.”
The crowd fell silent, the weight of Edran’s words sinking in. Those who had fought near the central section of the station nodded in quiet agreement, their expressions a mixture of respect and wariness.
Lucavion shrugged nonchalantly, the smirk on his lips never fading. “Seems like the numbers speak for themselves,” he said, his tone light but cutting.
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Eryndor’s gaze swept over the crowd, his voice ringing out once more. “You’ve all done well today, but let me remind you: this isn’t just about gold or materials. It’s about survival. Each of you contributed to this victory, and each of you will be rewarded accordingly. If you can’t stomach the idea of someone outshining you, then perhaps you’re in the wrong line of work.”
The dissenters shrank back, their grumbles fading into uneasy silence. The tension in the air began to dissipate as the rest of the adventurers turned their attention back to their rewards, their excitement outweighing their lingering jealousy.
Lucavion, meanwhile, pocketed his reward with a satisfied nod. His cat stretched lazily on his shoulder, and he turned to leave the platform, his presence still commanding attention even as he moved back into the crowd.
******
The guild hall was a whirlwind of activity that evening, the dim lighting casting warm hues over the polished wooden floors. The air hummed with the energy of adventurers returning from the expedition, their voices raised in bargaining, camaraderie, or thinly veiled frustration as they jostled for space to sell their spoils.
Lucavion stepped through the heavy oak doors, his movements unhurried despite the chaos around him. The flickering lanterns highlighted the sharp lines of his face, his scar catching the light as his cat, Vitaliara, perched on his shoulder, her tail swaying idly.
The moment he entered, a subtle ripple passed through the room. Heads turned, and whispers began to weave through the crowd. His earlier performance still lingered in the minds of the adventurers, a mix of awe and envy sparking renewed curiosity.
Corvina Farrow, the Guildmaster, stood at her usual post near the central ledger, her sharp eyes scanning the bustling hall. Her fingers tapped lightly on the edge of her desk, her thoughts momentarily distant as she processed the day’s influx of activity. But the moment her gaze landed on Lucavion, her expression shifted—her usual composed demeanor sharpening with interest.
“Ah,” she murmured to herself, straightening as she motioned discreetly to one of her aides. “Clear the counter.”
The young aide, startled but obedient, quickly moved to make space at the main counter, shooing away a pair of adventurers who had been arguing over the value of a Thunderhawk pelt.
Lucavion approached with his usual relaxed stride, his smirk already in place. Corvina stepped forward to meet him, her voice calm yet carrying an undertone of authority that cut through the surrounding noise.
“Luca,” she greeted, deliberately using the name he had chosen earlier. Her gaze flicked briefly to the cat on his shoulder before settling on him. “I trust your expedition went well?”
He inclined his head slightly, his smirk deepening. “Well enough, Guildmaster. I thought I’d lighten my load—figuratively, of course.” His tone carried a playful edge, though his dark eyes glinted with unmistakable intent.
Corvina gestured toward the cleared counter, her expression neutral but her gaze lingering on him with barely concealed curiosity. “By all means. Let’s see what you’ve brought this time.”
Lucavion placed his gloved hand inside his coat, retrieving a spatial ring with a practiced flourish.
But then before he could do anything, Corvina acted immediately.
“Cough….Let’s not do it here….”
She was about to make a huge mistake…..
Thankfully she had restrained herself.