Chương 13: Still Here

The moment Rayne's party stepped out of the portal, the clamor outside the entrance rose sharply.

"They're out! It's Greyhound's group!"

"Good gods, look at the state of them…"

"What the hell happened in there after the change?" The adventurers waiting in line all rose to their feet and crowded toward them. There had already been quite a few people gathered in the camp. Over the past few days, Blackstone's name had spread farther and farther, drawing more adventurers by the day. That was exactly why, when the crowd saw the state Rayne's party was in, all that eager excitement seemed to catch in their throats at once.

Anyone could tell at a glance that the party had just been through a brutal fight. Barton's left arm was slung at his side in bandages. Several fresh dents marked the rim of his shield, and one side of his breastplate had caved in. Tyren was still muttering curses under his breath, but the fingers gripping his bow kept trembling and refused to stop. Serin's face was frighteningly pale, while the cuts on Asar's face were still faintly seeping blood.

Even Rayne, whose name was known throughout Blackstone Town, was covered in dust and grime, his expression grim enough that he looked as if he had just crawled out of a pile of rubble. A few sharp-eyed adventurers fixed their gazes on the shortsword in Rayne's hand, their expressions shifting slightly. Greyhound Rayne never used a shortsword as his main weapon. At least, not when he had any other choice. The crowd fell silent for an instant. Then an even greater commotion surged up.

"Hey, Greyhound, at least give us a warning or two, would you? We're going in soon too!"

"What changed inside? Don't keep it all to yourself!"

"You're all beaten up this badly. The least you can do is let the rest of us prepare, right?" Questions came rushing in like a tide. Some were genuinely concerned. Others had a gleam in their eyes, as if they wanted to dig every last bit of information out of him on the spot. Rayne knew that look all too well. The concern and curiosity were real enough, but beneath them was the same old greed: the desire to profit from someone else's wounds.

He opened his mouth, about to say something to smooth things over for the moment.

"Move aside." A hoarse, unquestionable voice sounded from behind him. Greer slowly walked out of the portal, leaning on his cane. He did not even glance at the adventurers gathered around them. He simply kept walking forward. Even so, the authority he had built over the better part of his life made the crowd instinctively retreat half a step.

"G-Guildmaster…"

"Want to know what's inside?" Greer said without lifting his head as he walked.

"Then go in and explore it yourselves. Stop blocking the entrance." The crowd froze at once.

"Someone else's information is only worth trusting seventy percent." The old man snorted coldly and struck his cane hard against the ground.

"Any fool who bets his life on another person's words will stay a third-rate adventurer for the rest of his life." He raised his eyes and swept his gaze over their awkward faces.

"Want to know what Blackstone has become? You have legs of your own." With that, he ignored the crowd as they sheepishly scattered and looked back at Rayne's party.

"You lot. Come with me." ◆ ◆ ◆ Even after Rayne's party had disappeared behind the temporary outpost, the low murmuring outside the entrance still did not die down. Greer led them back to the temporary wooden hut the Guild had set up at the edge of the camp. Calling it a hut was generous. In truth, it was little more than a few wooden boards and a canvas sheet hastily thrown together into an outpost.

Afternoon sunlight slanted in through the gaps, drawing thin strips of light across the floor, while the air carried a faint smell of dust and ink. Camilla was already seated behind the long table in the corner. A thick record ledger lay open in front of her. At the sound of footsteps, she looked up. Her gaze paused for an instant on the battered state of Rayne's party before she silently picked up her pen.

Greer swept his gaze over the group, then sent the clerk at the door to fetch the healer stationed at the camp.

"Sit." Greer settled into the main seat and rubbed his aching lower back.

"First, let's see what you brought out." Rayne understood and drew the two tokens from inside his coat, placing them on the table. Greer picked up the two tokens one after another. Two lines of small text lit up in turn. [Prisoner's Token (1/3)] [Prisoner's Token (2/3)] The room fell quiet, leaving only the scratch of Camilla's pen against paper.

"Guildmaster," Rayne asked, "what do you plan to do with these?" Greer did not answer right away. He tapped his fingers lightly against the table, and only after a moment did he slowly speak.

"For now, don't let word of this spread." Rayne was not surprised.

"One of three. Two of three." The old man tapped the two numbers.

"That clearly means there is a third. And right now, no one knows what will happen once all three are gathered."

"Once word gets out, it will set off a scramble," Asar said quietly.

"More than a scramble." Greer shook his head.

"Most adventurers chase profit above all else. Something like this looks far too much like a fragment of some treasure. To complete the set, there will absolutely be people who charge in without caring whether they live or die. Some may even set their sights directly on the two tokens in your hands." He paused and gave Rayne a meaningful look.

"No one truly dies inside Blackstone. That does not mean no one dies outside it." That sentence left everyone in the room silent. Inside the dungeon, Trial Return was there as a safety net. But once they stepped outside, adventurers drawing blades in the camp over a single token was not out of the question.

"I understand." Rayne nodded. He thought for a moment, then added, "But, Guildmaster, I have an idea." Greer raised an eyebrow.

"Keeping these two tokens quiet for now is fine." Rayne looked at the tokens on the table.

"But I'd like to wait until we collect all three and see for ourselves what happens after the set is complete. After that, we can decide whether to make it public." He looked at his teammates. Only after they had all nodded did he continue.

"Until then, we don't even know whether these things are useful. Deciding anything now would be too early." Greer stared at him for a couple of seconds. A faint trace of surprise flickered in the depths of his clouded eyes. This kid… had more to him than just the nerve to throw himself into danger.

"Observe first, decide later." The old man repeated the words in a low voice, then slowly nodded.

"Fine. We'll do it your way." He turned toward the corner.

"Camilla."

"Already recorded." Camilla did not lift her head, her pen never stopping.

"Two tokens, numbered one of three and two of three, obtained by Greyhound Rayne's party. For the time being, they will be filed as an internal record and not disclosed to the public." She wrote the final stroke, then finally looked up at Greer.

"Guildmaster, I will seal this record for now. But you understand that the seven-day deadline will not stop just because we have sealed it. No matter how far the investigation has progressed by then, this record must be submitted."

"I know." Greer waved a hand, his expression unchanged.

"If anything happens, I'll take responsibility." Camilla glanced at him, said nothing more, and lowered her head back to her work. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Before long, the healer stationed at the camp hurried over. He was a young, unfamiliar priest, probably transferred from town over the past couple of days to provide support. The moment he stepped through the door and saw Rayne's party covered in wounds, his expression changed.

Without another word, he had them sit down one by one, a gentle emerald light kindling in his palms.

"These are no light injuries…" The young priest clicked his tongue as he examined Barton's left arm.

"There's a crack in the bone. Good thing it didn't snap clean through, or this would be much more troublesome. It'll take me two or three hours to treat properly." Barton gave a muffled grunt in response. The healing went on for quite some time. Round after round of pale green divine light swept over their wounds. Bruises slowly faded, and torn flesh gradually knitted itself back together. By the time the ache buried deep in their bones finally eased, the sun outside had already begun to sink westward.

Serin's color had improved quite a bit as well. The magic she had exhausted earlier had not fully recovered, but after resting for this long, she at least no longer looked like she might collapse at any moment.

"Guildmaster, we'll head out, then." Rayne stood and nodded to Greer.

"Go on." Greer waved a hand.

"Tomorrow's business can wait until tomorrow. Get a proper rest tonight." ◆ ◆ ◆ Outside the hut, most of the earlier commotion had already died down. The setting sun painted the entire camp in warm orange. Cookfire smoke curled up between the tents, mingling with the smell of roasted meat and ale. Over the past few days, the once-desolate ground outside the dungeon had gradually taken on the feel of a market.

Supply merchants, blacksmiths, and all sorts of peddlers had gathered here, drawn by Blackstone's growing fame.

"Let's exchange these for coin first." Rayne hefted the bulging linen sack. Over the past few days of dungeon clearing, they had gathered a sizable pile of blue magic crystals from the corpses and bosses. They had not had time to deal with them earlier, so now was the perfect chance to sell them all at once. At the edge of the camp stood a Guild-certified buying tent. The clerk in charge took out an appraisal crystal and checked the magic crystals they poured out one by one. After a moment, he named a number.

When Tyren heard it, his eyes nearly went red.

"S-Seven hundred and thirty-two silver coins—!"

"Blackstone's magic crystals are purer than what you get from ordinary dungeons to begin with." The clerk pushed the coin purse over, completely used to this kind of reaction.

"There's been a lot of output lately, so the price has actually dropped a little. If you'd brought them in two days earlier, you would have gotten a bit more." Before this, aside from Rayne, most of them had only just reached the threshold of Black Iron. Yet after a few dungeon runs, the money in their hands had already surpassed what they had saved over the past half year.

"We're rich…" Tyren murmured, his hands trembling as he held the coin purse.

"We're actually rich."

"Don't get too excited yet." Rayne said that, but the corner of his mouth had already lifted.

"We still need to replace gear and restock supplies. Whatever is left after that, we split." The coin purse had felt heavy when they first received it, but as they bought the breastplate, longsword, arrows, and supplies one after another, it quickly grew lighter. Once the necessary expenses were settled, Rayne divided the rest among them. The amount was not huge, but it was enough to make everyone's purse noticeably heavier. What came next was only natural.

Barton's breastplate was too badly dented, so he simply replaced it with a new one at the blacksmith's. Rayne finally got himself a longsword that fit his hand. The new blade was heavier and sharper than the broken old one, clearly of a higher grade. Tyren refilled his half-empty quiver, and Asar even helped him pick out a few specialized armor-piercing arrows while they were at it. When it came to Bonecrusher's Thumb Ring, Rayne simply pressed it into Barton's hand.

"Here. You're the best fit for it." Barton blinked.

"This… is it really all right to give me something this valuable?"

"What else? Sell it off?" Rayne raised an eyebrow and clapped him on the shoulder.

"We're the lead clearing party now. Of course we need to arm ourselves to the teeth. If not you, then who?"

"Either way, Barton's buying drinks tonight. That much is settled!" Tyren hooked an arm around his shoulders from behind. Serin and Asar nodded along as well. Barton was quiet for a moment. Then he carefully slid the cold iron ring onto his thumb. At first, it felt a little heavy. But after a short while, when he clenched his fist again, he realized the familiar weight on his body felt slightly lighter than usual. He pressed his lips together, and in the end, all he said was a quiet, "… Thanks."

While the group was still picking through the blacksmith's stall, Tyren somehow slipped away to a nearby armor stall. He browsed furtively for quite a while, then came back with something in his arms and shoved it in front of Serin.

"Here. For you." Serin froze. It was a light mail shirt. Finely made and light in weight, it was the sort designed specifically for spellcasters who stayed behind the front line. It could be worn beneath a robe without restricting movement, and at a critical moment, it might even block a fatal blow.

"This…"

"Don't get the wrong idea." Tyren quickly turned his face aside and muttered, "Last time… you helped me pick out that dagger, didn't you? This is just me returning the favor. I happened to have some extra coin, so I picked it up on a whim. Doesn't mean anything." The more he explained, the more obvious his awkward attempt to cover himself became. Serin looked down at the light mail shirt. She knew perfectly well what was hiding beneath that so-called "whim."

She kept her face stern, but the tips of her ears had turned faintly red as she reached out and accepted it.

"…Thank you." Her voice was so soft that it was almost swallowed by the noise of the camp.

"Huh?" Tyren hadn't heard clearly and instinctively leaned closer.

"What did you say? That was way too quiet—" Before he could finish, an oak staff came down squarely on the top of his head. Thunk.

"I said thank you!" Serin snapped, mortified, her face flushing all the way down to her neck.

"Did you hear me this time?!"

"I heard you, I heard you!" Tyren wailed, clutching his head.

"You hit way too hard!" Off to the side, Rayne and Asar exchanged a glance, then turned their heads away in perfect unison, their shoulders still shaking. Barton stood where he was, watching the two of them bicker. On his usually silent face, the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. ◆ ◆ ◆ Night fell. Because they had taken on the Blackstone clearing assignment, the Guild had set aside a small room behind the crude hut for them to rest in. It was not large.

A few canvas cots on wooden frames lined the walls, leaving only a narrow patch of open space in the middle. The group sat in a circle at the center, quietly eating supper by the light of a single oil lamp. It was Guild fare, nothing particularly impressive. Hot soup, black bread, and a few pieces of jerky roasted until crisp and fragrant. But for people who had just come through a brutal fight, the meal was especially satisfying. No one talked much. They were simply exhausted.

After keeping their nerves taut for the entire day, finally letting them loosen made even speaking feel unnecessary. The soft clink of spoons against bowls and the faint crackle of the oil lamp gave the little room a rare sense of peace. Asar was the one who broke the silence.

"Rayne." He set down his soup bowl, his tone calm.

"May I ask you something?"

"Mm?"

"Once this investigation is over." Asar looked at him.

"Do you still plan to leave our party?" Every movement in the room stopped at once. Tyren's mouth opened slightly, Serin's hand froze in midair with her spoon, and even Barton lifted his head. Rayne did not answer right away. He lowered his gaze to the reflection wavering in his bowl and stayed silent for a long while. The truth was, that thought had been with him from the very first time he led these newcomers into the dungeon. Finish this run, then leave.

Once they could stand on their own, he would go find the next batch of newcomers. He had lived that way for years now. Ever since that time… The party he had poured everything into had fallen one after another before his eyes. In the end, he had been the only one to walk out alive. From that day on, Rayne had never dared to truly let anyone into his heart again. He trained newcomers and taught them the skills they needed to survive. Then, the moment their wings were strong enough, he pulled away.

No deep connections. No bonds left behind. That way, if something ever went wrong again, he would not have to bury another name deep in his memory with his own hands. He had hidden himself away in Blackstone Town and played the role of "Greyhound" for years. But this time was different. This time, once again, he had failed to keep everyone standing until the end. He had watched with his own eyes as they fell, one after another, before that gatekeeper. And yet, in the end, they had all come back. Not one fewer.

Not dragging a cold corpse behind them. Not him alone walking out of the darkness. Everyone was still here. Blackstone had given them a chance to start over. And it had given Rayne one as well. It was in that moment that Rayne faintly felt it for the first time—that the old wound festering in the dark inside him for so long might finally have a chance to heal. Maybe, with these people in front of him, he could walk farther than he had ever imagined. Rayne lifted his head.

Meeting Asar's calm gaze, he slowly forced a stiff smile onto his face.

"I'm not leaving," he said. His voice was quiet, carrying the faintest tremor.

"If you'll still have an old man like me, that is." After a brief silence—"Who the hell would mind?!" Tyren was the first to jump up. He threw an arm around Rayne's neck, every trace of exhaustion swept from his face.

"I knew it! I knew old Greyhound couldn't bear to leave us!"

"Hrk—let go first!"

"Thank goodness." Serin let out the words as if a weight had lifted from her chest, the corners of her lips curving upward. The slight tension in her expression softened at that moment as well. Barton said nothing. He only quietly raised the water cup in his hand toward Rayne. It was a wordless answer. Asar watched the scene and smiled softly.

"Then it's settled." The group traded a few more quiet jokes and laughs. This humble supper had no wine and no dishes worth praising. But to Rayne, it felt like something he had thought he had lost many years ago. A party. A group of teammates who were still alive—still able to joke, still able to bicker, still able to complain about one another. He lowered his head and took a sip of soup that had already gone a little cold.

The suffocating tightness that had gripped his chest for so many years finally loosened, little by little. After a while, Rayne gently blew out the oil lamp.

"Get some sleep," he said softly, lying back down on his cot.

"We've got another hard fight tomorrow." The room sank into darkness. ◆ ◆ ◆ Deep within Blackstone Dungeon, Owen's consciousness slowly drifted across the third path. Rayne's party had already obtained the first two tokens. Only the final one remained. At the end of the third path, that cold, gloomy prison remained as deathly silent as ever. A tall, gaunt figure sat motionless in the darkness, its head lowered.

Its limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, as if they had once been forcibly broken, then healed over long years into the wrong shapes. A ragged prison uniform hung from its body. Its withered fingers rested against its knees, completely still. Then, at a certain moment, it suddenly raised its head. Deep within its hollow eye sockets, something like a broken glimmer of light seemed to flicker.

"…Cassandre." The voice was dry and hoarse, as if it had not spoken in years.

"…Forgive me." In the next instant, a strand of broken sword intent quietly kindled in the darkness. Owen watched it in silence. Good. The hatred that had slept within the prisoner for so long, along with the opening scene Owen had arranged for it, was unfolding exactly as planned. The third prisoner had officially awakened.