Imperial Guild Office, Branch 48,
nestled quietly at the edge of a sleepy trade town. Once a lively hub for aspiring adventurers, loud morning briefings, and the familiar clash of wooden swords during training sessions, it now stood still, cloaked in a kind of lingering silence.
Ever since Canis had left for the hunt, the branch had been unofficially shut down. No new missions were posted. No adventurers came knocking. Dust had started to gather along the windowsills, and ivy from the outer walls crept slightly past the shutters.
But the place wasn't entirely deserted.
Inside the main office hall, at a round wooden table that had seen better days, sat three familiar figures locked in an intense game of cards: Grell, Juna, and Yoric.
They were a party—warriors once known for their reckless bravery and unmatched coordination in battle. Their names were among the first ones Aron heard when he set out on his journey as a Warrior. But ever since the tragic death of their comrade Duren, the team had quietly stepped away from active duty, fading from the eyes of the Guild and the battlefield alike.
"AHA! I got it!!!" Yoric's voice cut through the silence like a blade, his fists raised triumphantly in the air as he slammed down his winning hand.
"Damn it!" Grell grunted, leaning back in his chair with both hands on his face. "How the hell are you this lucky every time?"
Juna burst into laughter, nearly spilling the tin cup of lukewarm tea in her hand. "Come on, Grell, don't act like he just killed your dog. You lose like this every day."
Yoric leaned smugly toward Grell, already reaching for the modest pot of silver coins at the center of the table. "Maybe you should stick to swordplay and leave the gambling to professionals."
It had been weeks of this—pointless games, shared memories, and hollow laughter—an attempt to fill the void left by battle, by loss, and by the one man who used to tie all these pieces together.
After a long silence, Juna spoke again, more softly this time. "So… how long are you really planning to wait here, Grell?"
She didn't look at him directly, just stared at the fading Guild emblem on the wall.
"Canis isn't coming back anytime soon," she added.
Grell sighed. "I don't know."
He paused, gazing out the nearby window where the afternoon sun slanted in through the dust.
"But he left this place to me. The office. His home. His horse. All of it."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "It felt like more than just a favor. It felt like… he was asking me to keep something alive."
"And he gave you a lot of coin for that," Yoric muttered, half-joking, but with genuine curiosity behind his tone. "More than enough to keep this place running for years. It doesn't make sense."
"I know," Grell said, shaking his head. "I've been with the Guild for over a decade. I've seen paychecks, I've seen mission bonuses… but what Canis gave me? That's not 'extra coin.' That's a nobleman's treasury."
Juna looked up. "You think he was someone else before all this?"
"I don't know what I think anymore," Grell replied. "All I know is… he never once bragged. Never once talked about his past. But the way he fought… the way he moved when danger came knocking…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
The silence that followed said enough.
Then—
Outside.
Not on the ground, but far above it.
High in the sky, a shadow stirred. Cloaked in wind and altitude, a figure stood mid-air as if gravity itself had forgotten about him. His long coat fluttered like torn banners in a storm, and his hands remained buried casually in his pockets.
Eyes narrowed, lips curled into a quiet smirk.
He had been watching the office from afar for some time now.
Baron, the Living Blade.
"So this is where that bastard's been hiding…" he muttered to himself.
There was no malice in his voice—only amusement. The kind of amusement one feels after tracking a rare animal through impossible terrain, only to finally spot its den.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on the silent building below.
Then, he smiled.
A wide, predatory grin—
the kind a man wears when he's just found treasure that shouldn't exist.
-----
The three were still mid-conversation—casual laughter mingling with the soft clatter of cards and the occasional sip of tea—when it happened.
A sudden chill.
It crawled up their spines like the breath of something ancient and monstrous. The air thickened, dense enough to choke on. Grell's laughter died in his throat. Juna instinctively reached for the hilt of her blade. Yoric stiffened, the color draining from his face.
It felt wrong.
Like something from the deep layers of Fallen Heaven had crossed into their world.
"…Do you feel that?" Juna whispered, her voice barely audible.
The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
Then—
Creeeeak…
The front door of the Guild Office creaked open.
No one had touched it.
The hinges groaned as it swung slowly inward, revealing the figure of a man framed by fading sunlight and long shadows. He stepped inside with deliberate calm, boots tapping softly against the wooden floor.
And for a moment, none of them moved.
None of them could.
They had never seen him before.
And yet… something deep in their instincts screamed at them—Run.
The man was tall and lean, clad in a dark, wind-worn coat that fluttered slightly behind him. His hands remained casually in his pockets, but the pressure in the room—the sheer weight of his presence—was unbearable.
Baron.
The Living Blade.
As he entered, an invisible force pulsed outward.
Mana—raw and overwhelming—erupted from his body in a silent shockwave.
CRACK!
A glass cup on the table shattered into shards.
CREAK—SNAP!
The old wooden walls groaned and splintered, forming deep cracks as if the entire structure was recoiling in fear.
Grell dropped his cards and stood, eyes wide. "What the hell is—"
"Don't move," Juna hissed. "Don't."
But Baron didn't look at them.
Not once.
He walked into the center of the room like it belonged to him—like nothing in this place could touch him. His gaze swept slowly over the walls, the rafters, the stairs… as if searching for something hidden. Or someone.
Then he stopped.
And for the first time, he spoke.
Voice low.
Unhurried.
Deadly.
"…So this is where the Black Death used to live."
The name hit them like a punch to the gut.
Yoric gasped. "Wait—you mean Canis?"
Still, Baron didn't turn to them.
"I came to kill him," he said simply, as if announcing the weather. "Nothing more."
The three stood frozen—caught between the instinct to flee and the impossibility of leaving Canis's sanctuary unguarded.
But deep inside, they knew—
This wasn't a battle they could win.
Not against a monster like him.
Chapter 64 End.