The streets of Virelia were as loud and alive as Kael remembered, but today they felt different. Perhaps it was the tall, cloaked figure walking beside him — the very picture of barely contained malice.
Belphegor's hood was drawn low, yet it did little to hide him. He was impossibly striking — too symmetrical, too flawless, with sharp, predatory features that looked carved from marble and an otherworldly grace to his every movement. His crimson eyes glowed faintly beneath the hood, as if mocking the sunlight. He looked like something humans were never meant to behold — beautiful, but dangerous.
Kael had never thought of himself as plain. In fact, he'd been called handsome more than once, with his dark hair and confident grin. But beside Belphegor, he looked painfully ordinary.
The crowd noticed too. Whispers followed them like shadows. Merchants stared. A pair of women paused mid-conversation, eyes fixed on the figure beside Kael until he was gone.
"Are we nearly there?" Belphegor's voice was deep, smooth, and cold.
Kael nodded. "The guildhall is just ahead. If you're serious about earning power and coin, this is where you start."
Belphegor grunted, unimpressed. "You make it sound like worship. Do you expect me to kneel?"
Kael smirked. "Not to them. But if you want missions, equipment, and access to higher ranks, you play by the rules — at least until you're strong enough to ignore them."
That made Belphegor chuckle — a low, dark sound that sent a shiver through a nearby peddler, who turned and pretended to rearrange his goods.
The guildhall loomed ahead, a broad wooden structure crowned with banners bearing the crest of the Adventurers' Guild — a sword and quill crossed over a shield. The doors opened to a storm of sound and motion: armored men and robed mages shouting across tables, merchants hawking potions and charms, and drunken adventurers laughing at some bawdy song.
As Belphegor stepped inside, the noise faltered for just a moment. Heads turned. Eyes lingered. His presence was like a torch in a dark room — impossible to ignore.
Belphegor's lip curled in faint amusement. "Mortals celebrating their own weakness," he muttered.
Kael shot him a warning glance. "Keep it down. This is neutral ground — you don't want to start a fight here."
They approached the front desk. The clerk, a young woman with bright eyes, spotted Kael and smiled. "Kael! You're back!"
Then she noticed Belphegor. Her words caught in her throat.
"And you've… brought a friend?" she said carefully.
Kael leaned against the counter. "A recruit. I'm here to register him."
The clerk blinked, her gaze darting between Kael and Belphegor. "You? Recruiting? This should be interesting." She handed Belphegor a quill and parchment.
Belphegor looked at the paper like it was an insult. "I am not writing anything."
Kael sighed and began filling in the form himself. "Standard procedure," he explained. "They keep track of who takes what quest. You get paid when you succeed, blacklisted if you fail too many."
Belphegor leaned closer, his height forcing the clerk to crane her neck to meet his gaze. "And what do I get if I succeed?"
The clerk swallowed hard. "Coin, equipment, reputation… the higher your rank, the greater the rewards. Rare contracts are sometimes issued by nobles or royal messengers — they pay better than most jobs."
Belphegor's lips twisted into a dangerous smile. "Coin and power. That is enough."
Kael led him toward the quest board. There were dozens of requests pinned to it — from mundane hunting jobs to higher-tier investigations.
"Start small," Kael suggested. "You don't want to draw too much attention yet."
Belphegor ignored him, tearing a parchment from the higher-rank section. It was marked with the royal crest.
> Mission: Investigate the raiding parties harassing the Northern Trade Route.
Reward: 50 gold pieces and a royal favor upon successful report.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Bold choice. Most rookies avoid noble contracts until they've got a team."
"Then let us find a team," Belphegor replied, his eyes glowing faintly.
Kael smirked. "You'll like them. Or hate them. Either way, you'll need them."
He led Belphegor to a table in the far corner where three people sat. A wiry archer glanced up first, sharp-eyed and suspicious. Beside him was a calm-faced woman in healer's robes, and a burly warrior who looked like he'd rather be punching something than drinking ale.
"This is Belphegor," Kael said simply.
The warrior grunted. "Big one."
The healer tilted her head, studying him. "Dark aura. But I sense no malice directed at us."
Belphegor smirked. "Not yet."
The archer's mouth twitched. "Charming."
Kael clapped his hands once. "Good. You'll get along just fine. We've got work to do."
As they sat to discuss the contract, Belphegor found himself listening more than speaking. Kael and his companions planned routes, supply needs, and fallback points. They argued over tactics, then compromised.
Belphegor leaned back, studying them. In Hell, power was taken, never shared. Here, they built it together.
He would never admit it, but something about that intrigued him.