After some time, Dion finally reached the town.
Two young men stood at the entrance, both appearing to be in their late twenties. They were dressed simply, each holding a spear, their posture relaxed but alert. Dion watched them quietly.
Then, something strange caught his attention.
A faint mist shimmered around their bodies—the same kind of mist he had seen before, near the magical pond in the forest. But this time, it was different. The mist didn't drift freely in the air; it clung to them, outlining the shape of their bodies, almost as if it was being contained within.
The first guard's mist glowed a soft blue, while the other's was a dull brownish hue. Dion squinted, studying them more closely. Certain parts of their bodies seemed darker, as though the mist there had thickened.
For the blue one, it was around his stomach.
'Does it still hurt?You must've gotten hit really hard…'
He frowned slightly, piecing it together.
So the darker spots… they resembled pain?
No.
Not pain exactly—more like weakness.
Those areas weren't injured; they were simply the parts of the body that weren't as strong as the rest.
Dion's gaze shifted to the second guard.
His brownish aura was darker around the right shoulder—it was probably sore.
But then another question surfaced.
Why were their colors different?
He had no answer.
Shaking the thought aside, Dion approached them. The guards watched him carefully, their eyes following his every step. For a tense moment, no one spoke. Then, seeing no threat, they stepped aside and allowed him to pass.
I should probably get to know more about my… ability, Dion thought as he entered the town.
He stopped in the middle of the street, taking it all in. The sound of chatter, the smell of food, the sight of merchants and townsfolk moving about—it all felt strange to him. He didn't know what it felt like to live in a town.
He had no memories of his life before waking up in the forest. There were fragments—basic knowledge about masters, energy, and the world itself—but nothing personal. Nothing that told him who he was.
I should find somewhere to get money…
Then he remembered—the core.
His hand instinctively went to his chest region, feeling the small, warm sphere through the fabric.
Just then, his eyes caught a poster pinned to a nearby wall.
The bold letters read:
Alliance Mercenary Guild
He spotted a merchant sitting beside the road and walked toward him.
"Good day, sir. Where's the Alliance Mercenary Guild?"
The man looked up with a friendly smile and pointed down the street. "Just keep straight ahead, then turn right at the corner. You'll see it—it's only a few minutes away."
Dion nodded in thanks and continued on his way.
When he arrived, the guild was busier than he expected. Men and women walked in and out, most wearing light armor or carrying weapons of all kinds. The air inside was filled with the sounds of chatter, clinking metal, and footsteps.
As Dion stepped through the entrance, a few heads turned his way—brief glances, curious but uninterested—before everyone went back to their business.
He looked around.
To his left, a wooden sign read "Store."
To his right, another read "Missions."
Both signs hung above long counters where guild attendants were assisting people.
Dion made his way carefully toward the store. Behind the counter, sheets of parchment were neatly arranged, listing items available for trade—each with their buying and selling prices written beside them.
Shortsword
Selling Price – 10 shekels
Cost Price – 20 shekels
Small Healing Potion
Selling Price – 50 shekels
Cost Price – 75 shekels
…
After flipping through several pages, Dion finally found it.
Grade 8 Core
Selling Price – 1000 shekels
Cost Price – Out of Stock
His eyes widened slightly. A thousand shekels. That was a lot—at least, compared to the rest of the list.
Reaching into his clothes, Dion brought out the small red core, its faint glow catching the light.
"I'd like to sell this," he said, placing it on the counter.
The attendant froze, eyes darting from the core to Dion's face.
"P–Please hold on, sir," he stammered, quickly reaching for a rectangular device on the counter.
He tapped at it nervously, and after a brief pause, straightened up.
"Please follow me, sir."
Without another word, the attendant stepped out from behind the counter and gestured toward a staircase leading to the upper floor.
As they walked, Dion could feel the atmosphere change. Conversations dimmed. People turned to look at him—some curious, others suspicious. Their gazes felt heavy, almost physical, pressing against his skin. It made him uneasy.
When they reached the top, the attendant led him to a large door with a brass plate engraved with the words:
Guildmaster's Chamber
The attendant knocked twice before pushing open the heavy door.
"Guildmaster, the young man is here," he said respectfully.
A deep voice answered from within. "Come In"
Dion stepped into the room. The air inside was still and heavy. The chamber was simple yet refined—wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and crystal containers. Behind an oak desk sat a middle-aged man with sharp features and a trimmed beard. His eyes, however, were anything but calm.
The Guildmaster leaned back slightly in his chair, studying Dion in silence. The attendant placed the core on the desk and stepped aside.
"So," the Guildmaster began, his voice smooth but carrying weight, "you're the one who brought this in?"
"Yes," Dion replied quietly.
The man picked up the core, turning it over in his hand. The red light pulsed faintly, reflecting off his face. He raised an eyebrow.
"Grade 8," he murmured. "Quite the find for someone your age."
Dion said nothing.
The Guildmaster's gaze shifted back to him—sharp, probing. "Tell me, boy… where exactly did you get this?"
"I found it in the forest," Dion replied evenly.
"Found it?" A faint smile tugged at the corners of the Guildmaster's lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You expect me to believe that?"
"I'm only saying what happened."
The man set the core down with a soft click. The sound echoed in the quiet room.
"You understand, don't you, that a Grade 8 beast is not something one simply finds dead in a forest?" His tone remained calm, but there was an edge beneath it—something testing, deliberate.
Dion met his stare but said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Finally, the Guildmaster leaned forward, folding his hands. "Very well. Whether you killed it or found it, this core is real—and valuable.
The Guildmaster continued to stare at Dion, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, a powerful aura filled the room.
Dion stiffened. The pressure settled over him like a weight, thick and suffocating. It pressed against his shoulders, urging him to kneel. The air itself seemed to hum with force.
But he didn't kneel.
He clenched his fists, his muscles tightening, yet the pressure felt… manageable. Heavy, yes—but not unbearable. He could still breathe, still stand. Still look the man in the eye.
The Guildmaster's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"Oh… you're quite the spectacle," he said, voice low and amused.
He pressed a button embedded in the surface of his desk and spoke into a small receiver.
"Bring it here."
The moment he finished, he looked back at Dion, his gaze steady and assessing.
"Have a seat," he said.
His tone was calm—too calm. The kind of calm that carried authority, and a hint of threat beneath it.