At the word "punishment," Shirley and Anna jolted in alarm and turned to Noah in unison.

Anna, flustered beyond measure, blurted out, "Miss Monica, I mean… any normal person who dies would hope to be resurrected, right? This shouldn’t really count as a sin?"

"Digging up graves and desecrating bones is something only Heretic Deviants would do."

Monica turned her head coldly, her shadowed gaze settling silently on Anna. "You desecrated the grave of the great Mediator’s father—tantamount to insulting the Pulwen Clan’s honor. If this gets out, how many would call you innocent?"

Her words were sharp, her tone relentless. Anna shrank back, neck tucked, utterly unable to form a rebuttal.

After all, she couldn’t deny her part in digging up the Pulwen ancestral tomb.

Meanwhile, Shirley quietly raised her avian claw. "Um… Miss Monica? Only Anna desecrated the grave. Shirley had nothing to do with it…"

Anna’s eyes widened. "Since when did you, you silly bird, learn to frame others and shift the blame?"

Monica half-closed her eyes and shot Anna a glance.

Anna clamped a hand over her mouth, blinking rapidly—*I’ll stay quiet, I promise.*

Shirley, thinking she’d narrowly escaped, was just about to sigh in relief when Monica’s icy voice cut through:

"In this incident, you and Anna are bound accomplices. You went to the cemetery together. If we weigh guilt? You’re equally culpable."

The silver-haired Avianwing Clan girl froze, then murmured with wounded innocence, "But… this happened because Miss Monica’s intel wasn’t clear…"

"Intel?"

Monica’s gaze sharpened. Then, as if recalling something, she narrowed her eyes. "You mean the location of Belial… the Mediator’s tomb? That was just idle gossip I heard. Yes, the area once belonged to the Pulwen Clan—but Lord Belial left no will to be buried there. You took my post-dinner chatter as solid intel and acted on it."

"G-Gossip?!"

Shirley wilted completely.

Anna, watching nearby, twitched the corner of her mouth. *So much for digging up another grave…* She’d even hoped to resurrect Noah’s son for a father-son reunion.

Monica let out a cold snort, turned back, and—like flipping a switch—resumed her perfectly respectful demeanor.

"Therefore… O great father of the Mediator, how would you wish to punish these two sinners?"

Noah lifted his head, eyes falling on the two girls behind Monica.

Oppressed into silence, they weren’t idle. Anna shot Noah frantic, wordless glances, fingers forming urgent gestures: *Say something nice for me!*

Shirley’s tactic was simpler—rooted in place, eyes wide and glistening, staring at Noah like she might cry any second.

Clearly, they were genuinely terrified of the maid.

Otherwise, based on Noah’s first impression, they’d have spun two hundred excuses to glorify "digging up an ancient legend’s dad."

"To be honest," Noah said calmly, "I don’t care much about the grave-digging. As they said—I’m deceased, but not yet ready for eternal rest. Their actions were… unconventional, yes. But they pulled me back from the God of Death’s grasp. In that light, they’re my saviors."

Anna and Shirley let out matching sighs of relief and silently flashed Noah thumbs-up.

Noah gave a wry chuckle. He wasn’t *just* defending them.

Truth was, he feared where Monica’s logic might lead next—like, "To atone, I shall personally escort you back to your coffin."

"Thank you for your mercy," Monica said without hesitation. Her reverence toward Noah contrasted starkly with her treatment of the girls—like two different people.

Noah grew curious. *Is my son truly that revered… that even his long-dead father gets heavenly reputation upgrades?*

Just as he meant to ask about Mediator Belial, Monica spoke again:

"Now that you’ve returned to this world, you must feel disoriented. If you don’t mind… stay at our guild. We’ll handle all your needs—food, shelter, clothing. Entirely free."

*Free.* The word carried weight.

Noah was, quite literally, without legal identity. Beyond this robe, he owned nothing. Wander the streets? Deportation awaited.

For others, deportation meant homeland. For him? Straight back to the coffin.

Staying here *was* the sensible choice.

But—

Noah studied Monica meaningfully. The kneeling maid kept her head bowed, hiding her expression.

After a pause, he glanced at Anna, then back at Monica.

"What do you need from me?"

No free lunch. Free things cost dearly.

Noah knew both truths. He disliked beating around the bush.

Monica hesitated, then kept up the act: "You need do nothing. As the reborn father of the Mediator, excellent treatment is your due."

"But I need legal status."

Noah met her eyes squarely. "I know you’re a graceful, eloquent lady. But right now? Straight talk gets me settled faster. I don’t believe a resurrected corpse like me can roam the streets freely."

Monica fell silent. Surprised by his bluntness, she nodded after a beat. "I see. I understand."

She rose slowly, retrieved a stack of documents from the counter. A faint, knowing smile touched her delicate features.

"In that case… we have an opening. You may officially register with our guild."

*Of course it’s not that simple.*

Noah’s eyes caught the bold word on top: **CONTRACT**.

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to join the guild?"

"Yes. It secures your town residency." Monica dropped the pretense, gaze steady. "And precisely—"

"I hope you’ll become our guild master."

…

…

"Guild master?"

Noah blinked. *Not an employee contract. A boss contract?*

Monica bowed slightly, voice soft yet firm. "You are the great Mediator’s father. Sole survivor of the Pulwen Clan. No role beneath guild master suits your stature. And… we urgently need one. With your aid, we’ll support you wholeheartedly."

Noah frowned. "Aren’t *you* the guild master?"

To him, Monica clearly held absolute authority. Anna and Shirley wouldn’t dare breathe wrong near her.

Monica shook her head. "Every guild member’s role was sworn upon joining—oaths to the Radiant Goddess. Unbreakable." She placed a hand over her heart. "I am the steward. Until dissolution, I remain the steward. As they remain members." She glanced at the girls. "Thus… the guild master seat awaits another. You are the ideal candidate."

*What a rigid rule.*

"And… what *is* a guild?"

Monica’s expression flickered—*right, he’s from twelve centuries ago.*

"Think of it as an organization with familial social standing. Join, gain certification, and the state recognizes your status. Guilds vary: some smith, some adventure, some master culinary arts…"

Noah glanced at Anna and Shirley.

*Yours specializes in antics.*

"So joining guarantees safe residency?"

"Yes." Monica smiled, handing him the contract.

The choice was his.

He stared at the paper. Memories surfaced: another world, this strange era, dug from a grave—*by people who even picked the wrong corpse*. His mind needed time to settle.

But staying made sense.

And… Anna and Shirley *were* his saviors.

He took a slow breath, looking at the two girls.

Anna nodded vigorously, eyes blazing at the contract—*sign it, sign it!* Her expression screamed one thing: *credit*. She’d dug a guild master candidate from a tomb at the guild’s most desperate hour. Major merit.

Shirley beamed too—just because Anna did. She didn’t know why, but *go with it!*

Noah’s gaze shifted to the poised maid, then back to the paper.

He made his choice.

"Where do I sign?"