Three full days had passed since the Lich Siege incident. With testimony from the portly Lord Raphael Lester, the Adventurers’ Guild made an unprecedented exception: they promoted Coburn William’s rank directly from E to B.
Such a feat would normally warrant an immediate promotion to S-rank. But the sheer horror of the event’s details had eroded its credibility. Even with the lord’s sworn testimony, the Guild could only justify a two-tier jump—a rarity in their strict history.
Inside Lord Lester’s council chamber—
“What the hell?!”
Coburn stared dumbfounded at the 10 million gold coin IOU in his hand. His father’s signature and fingerprint were unmistakable. Fury surged through his skull, scorching and directionless. His jaw clenched tight.
“Is *this* the 10 million gold coins you promised, my lord?”
“O-of course!” Raphael’s heart pounded like a drum at Coburn’s glare—he’d witnessed the youth’s demon-like fury firsthand. Coughing twice to salvage his dignity, he added, “I know you need coin desperately. But I’m just a minor lord. As you see, your father Jonathan already borrowed 10 million gold from me. I have nothing left to give.”
“Fine. You win, my lord.” Coburn’s hand trembled slightly as he pocketed the IOU. *How far will that old man go to ruin his own son?* Yet blood debts were blood debts. He could only bow stiffly and turn to leave.
“Wait.” Lord Lester’s voice stopped him. “Though I can’t give you 10 million gold… I *can* offer compensation: information about Jonathan.”
“Jonathan? My lord—you know where my father is?!”
All rage evaporated. Coburn whirled around, eyes blazing with hope. *Ten million gold? Nothing compared to finding him.*
Raphael cleared his throat twice, sensing leverage. He settled into his chair, lifted an ornate teacup, and blew gently on the steam. He inhaled the aroma leisurely, ignoring Coburn burning with impatience. Only after a slow sip to moisten his throat did he continue:
“Your father, Jonathan William, was a shrewd businessman. Every move was calculated—he earned everyone’s trust. But a month ago, he abruptly borrowed 10 million gold from me. I assumed it was for business. Then… he vanished.” The lord paused, sipping tea again. “Unthinkable. A man like him abandoning his enterprises? His own son? Fleeing with the funds? No one believed it at first. But the evidence… it points that way.”
He set down his cup.
“Later, I recalled one odd detail he mentioned: *Rathmur*.”
“Rathmur?” Coburn frowned. *What is that?*
“My mages scoured ancient texts,” Raphael continued. “Rathmur—the birthplace of Yggdrasil in primordial legends.”
“How do I reach it?” Coburn pressed urgently.
The lord shook his head regretfully.
“The path is unclear. But the texts say this: journey ever westward, toward where the sun sets. One day… you will find it.”
