Ebonreach, the City of Ballads.
Music and literature form the eternal rhythm of this place. Countless poems and songs are born here and flow along the Honeywind River, carried by the innately romantic bards to every corner of the continent of Cyselyth. Even the proud elves reluctantly acknowledge the occasional masterpiece produced by humankind.
Adrian was just an ordinary man, devoid of any artistic talent—and tone-deaf to boot. He couldn't even sing "Happy Birthday" without making the birthday celebrant want to assassinate him. Yet he remained blissfully unaware of how terrible he sounded.
Strolling through the streets of Ebonreach, the gentle breeze seemed to carry the whispers of melodious notes. There was the sound of an accordion, then a small harp. A little farther ahead, the tune might change again. You could never tell which window might hide a musician or a poet behind it.
But Adrian wasn't here to soak in the arts—he had serious business to attend to.
Each of the five major cities had their own intelligence dealers, some controlled by players, others by NPCs. Adrian was looking for a place called **Blue Gentian**, a tailor shop whose owner was secretly in the information trade. Players who enjoyed unraveling the main storyline and solving mysteries had once investigated this NPC, and speculated that the well-known information dealers in all five cities were part of the same network—possibly under the command of a shadowy mastermind.
Regardless, these informants often played key roles in advancing plotlines.
The system would never just hand out a quest directly. If you wanted intel, you had to seek them out and buy it yourself. After all, this was a full-immersion MMORPG. You were expected to act like a real adventurer, one who actively explored the continent, made decisions, and solved problems—not one who waited around for the system to spoon-feed everything.
The storyline of The King's Bride had just gone live, and the clues pointed to the evil witch Alice. If she had truly appeared in Ebonreach, players might not notice—but the tailor shop's NPC owner just might know something.
Thinking about those clues, Adrian felt both frustrated and annoyed.
The West Tower of Grams had completely collapsed. It all started when players, lured by the sound of an explosion, rushed over thinking they'd uncover clues. But they found nothing—no plot trigger, no storyline—nothing at all. Instead, members from rival guilds ended up in the same place, tensions flaring as old grudges reignited. Sparks flew in their eyes—literal sparks, practically—and naturally, a fight broke out.
And just like that, the West Tower was destroyed in the crossfire.
If any clues had once existed there, the only ones who might know were the bounty hunter who first arrived—and Cosmos.
But Cosmos was out of the question; he was the guildmaster of the top-ranked guild. As for that bounty hunter, Adrian didn't even know his name.
Adrian made his way toward the tailor shop. It was tucked away in a narrow alley, its decor outrageously flamboyant. Just as he reached the entrance, someone happened to walk out. They crossed paths—
Whoa. Another familiar face from the leaderboards.
Ranked fifth on the guild leaderboard: Pentagram, guildmaster of "Prime Element."
Class: Alchemist.
Pentagram wore a stern expression. He glanced briefly at Adrian, said nothing, and walked right past him.
Adrian mused that this guildmaster might be the most thematically on-brand of them all—a mad scientist roaming a fantasy world, always serious, but never specifically hostile to anyone.
"With all due respect, even the paramecium I've synthesized with my alchemy circle has more intellect than you."
That quote was something Charlie had dug up from a forum thread and gleefully shared with Adrian. Adrian, for the record, did not consider himself gossipy. Not at all.
Shaking the stray thoughts from his head, Adrian pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The tailor shop wasn't large, and since he'd been here before, he instinctively turned to the counter directly across from the entrance. He opened his mouth, ready to call out "Boss!"—only to freeze as several people at the counter simultaneously turned around.
Black Diamond – Guild ranked #2. Famous for its wealth and force. Guildmaster: Orange Soda.
Bounty Alliance – Ranked #3. As the name suggests, a coalition of bounty hunters. Guildmaster: Gabriel.
Pink Elephant – Ranked #6. Known for its high concentration of female players. Smallest in number among the top ten, but incredibly strong. Guildmaster: *Pink Lady*.
The Vulgar Gentlemen – A niche elite guild headquartered in Ebonreach. All members speak in rhymed triplets. Guildmaster: *Temptress*.
Including Pentagram, who had just exited moments ago, that made **four** top-ten guildmasters currently present—and with Temptress included, this was shaping up to be quite the gathering of powerhouses.
That's… a bit much.
Why is it that these days all the guildmasters have to take point personally?
Where are the rest of your members, your brothers and sisters in arms?
You're all making *me*, a complete nobody, seem totally out of place.
And I'm someone who can normally blend into any group like a drop of water into the sea.
Just like this.
Adrian's gaze slid naturally past the group of guildmasters and landed on the shopkeeper behind the counter. He raised a hand and smiled, greeting him cheerfully, "Good afternoon, Donald."
"Good afternoon," Donald replied, flamboyant as ever in his colorful feathered hat. Thanks to a 35% favorability rating between them, his response was warm and friendly. "Looking to buy something today? Or going with the usual arrangement?"
As he spoke, he gave Adrian a wink.
"Yes," Adrian nodded.
Donald pointed toward a garish pink formal dress hanging on the rack and said, "That one suits you perfectly. The fitting room's free—go on, try it."
Donald, the tailor and information broker, had a simple rule: one outfit for one piece of intel. The price of the clothes varied according to the value of the information. And thanks to his own twisted sense of humor, you couldn't refuse the outfit he picked, and you had to wear it out of the shop.
The intel exchange took place in the fitting room, where a guestbook hung on the wall. You just had to write down what you wanted to know in it. If Donald happened to have relevant intel, a price would appear on the page. Accept the price, drop the right amount of coin into the wall slot, and the info would magically appear. Very convenient.
Adrian stepped up to take the outfit—essentially cutting in line ahead of the guildmasters. That finally prompted *Orange Soda* to speak up.
"Hey bro, you look like a regular here?"
"Not exactly," Adrian replied, scratching his nose a bit sheepishly. "I did some quests here before. Boosted my favorability with the boss hoping to get a discount."
Orange Soda asked with interest, "Did he give you one?"
Adrian's smile froze. "Nope."
"Pfft!" Orange Soda burst out laughing, resting one arm on the counter—completely ignoring the shopkeeper behind it. "The boss is a sly one. But hey, raising favorability still worked. He's clearly a lot friendlier to you than to us."
Anyone who made it to guildmaster wasn't dumb. In the time it took for them to banter, they'd already cast appraisal spells to check Adrian's ID and level.
This player named *SweetWineVendor* showing up here now—99% likely tied to the *King's Game* questline. Regardless of how he cleared the first stage, if his timing was this fast, he definitely had some skills.
"Orange, don't block the man from doing his quest," said *Gabriel*, guildmaster of Bounty Alliance, in a deliberately theatrical tone—like a gender-swapped French duchess dubbed in a bad anime. "Or… have you not given up on your grand idea of buying up all the intel on Alice? So wealthy\~"
Charlie had once ranted to Adrian about how he couldn't understand how the posturing, try-hard Bounty Alliance ever picked *Gabriel* as their guildmaster.
Why hasn't someone murdered him yet? was the exact quote.
Orange Soda echoed the same sentiment now: "How come Pentagram didn't kill you just now?"
Gabriel sneered. "Why don't you go bring him back?"
Off to the side, *Temptress* shrugged toward Adrian and said, "Don't mind them. They're always like this. Inter-guild drama is old news. Nothing surprising. You can go ahead with your quest—we won't interfere."
Gabriel quipped, "You know, the more members a guild has, the lower their collective integrity. How many people does *your* guild even have?"
Temptress answered coolly, "Not many. But enough to assassinate *you*."
Orange Soda jumped in: "Wrong again. If someone posted a bounty on Gabriel today, the line of people signing up would stretch from the Ember Wastes to Poporo Island. Even if the reward was only one coin each, *I'd* still go bankrupt covering the cost."
Temptress couldn't help but glance sideways at that.