Returning to Town – Trouble is Brewing

The gates of town loomed in the distance, the sun dipping lower in the sky as Arlan's group trudged forward, exhausted from the dungeon and the fight on the road. The weight of their loot bags should have been satisfying, but there was an unspoken heaviness between them.

No one had said much since the ambush.

The first time they had fought humans.

Tomas had taken the lead, grumbling about how Gerald saved his life (again), while Leila made half-hearted jokes to keep the mood light. Mira had been uncharacteristically quiet. Beren, as usual, just walked forward, acting like none of it affected him.

Arlan kept his hood up, fingers twitching at his side. He could still hear the scream.

The [Shadow Bolt] The burning, rotting flesh.

And worse?

How good it had felt.

The Guild – Selling the Loot & Chaos Ensues

The guild was packed when they entered—adventurers crowding the quest board, merchants negotiating over rare dungeon finds, and a group of hunters loudly bragging about taking down an oversized boar.

The usual noise should have been comforting.

But something felt off.

People weren't just chatting. They were whispering.

Some cast uneasy glances toward the far side of the hall, where two heavily armored paladins stood near the entrance. Their golden tabards gleamed in the firelight, and even from across the room, Arlan could feel the weight of their presence.

They were watching.

Mira tensed beside him. "Holy Order."

Arlan forced himself to look casual, keeping his expression neutral. "They're looking for something."

Leila whispered, "Or someone."

Tomas clapped his hands together. "Well, let's just sell our loot and pretend we're the least suspicious people in this room."

The group made their way to the counter, where Ludwin, the ever-drowsy guild clerk, barely lifted his gaze as they approached.

"You again?" he muttered.

Leila dropped their loot bag onto the counter with a thud. "Stalker fangs, stalker carapaces, and some other dungeon junk. Give us the best deal."

Ludwin lazily flipped through some notes. "Mmh. Stalker parts are still selling well, you'll get a fair price." He paused. Then lowered his voice. "But listen. If you have anything to hide… leave soon."

Mira stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Ludwin didn't look up. "The Holy Order. They're not just asking questions anymore."

Arlan's stomach twisted.

Tomas leaned on the counter, still keeping up his usual relaxed posture. "What exactly are they doing?"

Ludwin's eyes flicked to the side—toward the paladins.

Then, outside the guild doors—someone screamed.

A Warning & a Beating

The group turned as a commotion erupted in the street.

A civilian was on the ground, hands raised in weak defense, as a paladin slammed an armored fist into his ribs.

"I told you to answer." The paladin's voice was cold.

The man coughed, wheezing. "I—I don't know anything!"

Another hit.

The townsfolk nearby looked away. No one interfered.

Leila clenched her fists. "They're beating him."

Beren's jaw tightened. "It's not our problem."

Mira looked sick. "This isn't right."

Arlan forced himself to stay still. Intervening would be suicide.

Then—he saw her.

A young barmaid.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, eyes wide, hands shaking.

She looked directly at them.

Arlan's blood ran cold.

She was from Duskhaven.

One of the survivors.

Would she say something?

Tomas exhaled. "We need to go."

The group turned away from the scene, walking deeper into the guild instead of watching what happened next.

As they passed, Ludwin muttered one last warning.

"Get out while you can."

The Inn – Chaos, Gerald, & Fire

Back at the inn, tension still clung to the group, but Tomas—being Tomas—immediately lightened the mood.

"Alright, we've got money, we're still alive, and most importantly…" He raised Gerald above his head.

"My boy is INDESTRUCTIBLE."

Leila smirked. "Yeah? Prove it."

Tomas grinned. "Gladly." He set Gerald up against a chair. "Throw something at it."

Leila picked up a piece of fruit from their meal tray. And hurled it.

THUNK. The fruit exploded on impact, juices splattering across the room.

Tomas whooped. "HAH! Gerald remains UNSCATHED!"

Mira groaned. "Gods, you're worse than a child."

Leila grabbed another fruit. "Round two."

"Bring it on."

Arlan sat back, watching the ridiculousness unfold. For a moment, the stress of the day faded.

Until—

WHOOSH.

A fireball suddenly ignited one of the chairs.

Everyone froze.

All eyes turned to Mira, who had been reading her skillbook.

She blinked. "Uh."

Tomas gawked. "Did you just—"

Mira slammed the book shut. "I didn't mean to!"

Leila laughed. "Mira, did you just set the chair on fire?"

Mira scowled. "I said I didn't mean to!"

Beren calmly poured his drink over the flames.

Sizzle.

Tomas grinned. "New skill?"

Mira groaned. "Yes. It's called [Emberwave] And apparently, it's very touchy."

Arlan smirked. "Good to know."

Mira huffed, crossing her arms. "This is your fault."

"How?"

"I don't know. But I'll figure it out."

Tomas chuckled. "This night just keeps getting better."

Arlan's Wand – A Dark Power

Later that night, when the group had gone to bed, Arlan sat alone in his room, turning his new wand in his hands.

The Withering Wand.

He had felt its power earlier.

He closed his eyes, channeling magic into it.

A low, eerie mist curled from the wand's surface. The air grew colder.

His breath caught. Stronger.

The wand amplified his magic.

But the mist…

Something felt wrong.

Shade, hovering in the corner, watched silently.

Arlan turned to him. "You're quiet."

Shade's voice was barely a whisper.

"Dangerous… but yours."

Arlan's fingers curled around the wand.

His magic was growing.

But so was the danger.

And the Holy Order was getting closer.