I put the pen down after reading through the entire agreent one more ti. The inked letters looked cold beneath the crystal lamp, yet the promises written there felt warm to . A clear role, safe boundaries, and paynt generous enough to make my eyebrows rise.
The terms were simple and in my favor. I would only have to act as the Guild Master during public events and etings. I wouldn’t fight. And if anything ever felt too dangerous, I could refuse without facing any direct consequences. The benefits alone felt like Ruth was giving more than she should.
Ruth looked up and down and asked, "What na should I write for your new identity?"
I paused. A familiar na flickered in the back of my mind, a mory of a man who sotis visited in my dreams.
"Freyden," I said.
Ruth blinked in surprise. "Freyden? That’s... your father’s na. You’re really going to use it?"
My father used to be very famous, so it was no surprise that his real na was known to many people.
I nodded silently. There was nothing else to explain. With that, Ruth signed the docunt and stamped the guild seal onto the bottom corner. The deal was official. Binding.
I couldn’t always pretend to be Iron Knight, or I’d be found out, and using my real identity was out of the question. The only solution was to create a new persona and join Crimson Dawn under that na. From there, access to dungeons, and every path leading toward my goal would be mine.
Ruth leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Did you catch the attention of the Guardian Council during that eting?"
I shook my head.
She closed her eyes for a mont, considering sothing far larger than us. "The Divine Archer wants to recruit you for a secret mission. The rewards are... extraordinary. An opportunity that could raise your status faster than anything else."
"You already know my answer."
"Don’t be too quick to shut it down," she urged gently but firmly. "Rejecting a Council mber outright would raise suspicion. Every Hunter wants to be in their good graces. Turning them away now would only make people question us."
"No matter what they promise, I’m not the Iron Knight," I replied. "Getting involved with the Council is too risky. And it goes beyond the terms we agreed on."
Ruth held my gaze, then let out a small, knowing smile. "I figured you’d say that. I already refused on your behalf. I told them Iron Knight is currently focusing on recovering from injuries and undergoing intense training. I’m only telling you this so you’ll be more careful."
As agreed, I would receive two Rank A artifacts and exclusive access to one dungeon per day. Only . No sharing. No oversight.
A privilege far greater than it sounded.
I kept my satisfaction hidden, though I could feel it humming beneath my ribs. This was more than I could have hoped for.
In a city this large, dozens of low-level dungeons sprout every single day. Sotis in tiny alleyways, sotis underground, sotis right in the middle of crowded buildings. If a dungeon goes undetected and the tir runs out, a Dungeon Break follows. Monsters flooding into the real world.
According to Ruth, a Tier IV guild like Crimson Dawn is officially granted only two or three dungeon slots per day by the Hunter Global Authority. Giving one completely for myself was an enormous sacrifice on her part.
After all the paperwork, Ruth led to the Hunter Trade District. A marketplace restricted to licensed Hunters only, guarded by heavily ard enforcers. Without the proper papers, the massive iron gates would never open.
Despite living in this city for years, it was my first ti walking inside.
Imdiately, the world changed.
Colorful stalls and busy shops filled every corner. Potions bubbled with strange energy inside crystal bottles. Artifacts pulsed with dim light as if a heart still beat inside them. Monster crystals vibrated softly, as though so feral force waited to break free. In so places, massive fangs and bones were hung like trophies or grotesque ornants.
But the loudest sound of all was the clanging of blacksmiths’ hamrs. They struck heated tal with rhythmic violence, forging weapons that glead with power. The sll of hot steel, oil, and a faint hint of blood saturated the air.
It was hard to look away.
Ruth eventually stopped in front of an old shop with its wooden sign peeling. The place was called Old Man Emporium. Compared to all the luxurious shops around us, her choice looked... humble. Which told enough. This must be coming from her own pocket.
Inside, the scent of aged wood and rusty tal drifted in. The shelves were packed with weapons, trinkets, and mysterious items I couldn’t even begin to identify. Skull-shaped boxes with glowing runes. Glass orbs showing reflections that didn’t match the real world. Dragonhide gloves hanging from the ceiling like sleeping bats.
The shopkeeper, an elderly man with silver hair and a thick beard, lit up as soon as he saw us.
"Welco, welco! Are you looking for a recovery potion? A physical enhancent artifact? Perhaps sothing rare from the eastern dungeons? Oh, I also have Frost Salamander potion, very popular nowadays," he said, firing words like rapid arrows.
"I need a Rank A dagger," I cut in.
He froze, then offered a sheepish smile and shook his head. "Rank A daggers are out of stock. But I have exceptional Rank B alternatives that are practically just as good."
He quickly presented two blades.
The first had a dark handle with shifting engravings, like shadows reshaping themselves. "Crafted from Shadow Panther claws. Light, fast, razor sharp. Rank B armor would crumble like paper."
The second had a serrated greenish edge.
"Forged from a Basilisk fang. The toxin still lingers inside the tal. One scratch can paralyze a Rank C monster in seconds."
I nodded vaguely, unimpressed.
Ruth suddenly turned to . "Why not a sword? Your father is the Sword Saint. The greatest blade master in the world."
The question struck like a blade itself. My throat tightened.
"It reminds of him," I muttered.
Ruth seed ready to pry further but stopped when she saw my expression.
I exhaled once, steadying myself.
Ti to face what I had run from.
I looked at the shopkeeper. "Old man, show the Rank A sword you have."
His eyes glead with excitent. He bent down and carefully produced a long black scabbard, well cared-for despite its age. Slowly, he revealed the blade.
A curved saber. Midnight black. It swallowed the light around it, reflecting nothing. Faint patterns slithered across the tal like living shadows.
My heartbeat kicked up.
This was no ordinary sword.
The old man snapped the scabbard shut again, almost nervously.
"This sword’s na is Mindrender. It has the power to drive anyone struck by it into madness," he whispered. "And if the wielder is not strong enough, it whispers into their mind until sanity frays. No one truly knows who loses themselves first. The victim... or the owner."
The description of the sword caught my attention.
"I’ll take it," I said without hesitation.
Ruth stared. "You’re certain?"
"Completely."
A shiver crawled up my spine just from gripping the scabbard.
"You’re sure, boy? I have warned you," the old man insisted.
I nodded again.
The shopkeeper looked absurdly relieved, like he had finally rid himself of a cursed burden.
Once the sword was mine, I turned back to him.
"For the second Rank A artifact, do you have a rope or restraint of so sort? Sothing capable of binding or incapacitating a Rank S Hunter."
Ruth whipped her head toward , eyes narrowed. "Why would you ever need sothing like that?"
I t her gaze and let a slow, aningful smile curl on my lips.
"I need it to discipline my older sister."
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