Chapter 13
Under Yenoa’s gaze—thick with unmistakable warning—Roland and Silva never took that step. They spent the night sleeping quietly, not daring even the slightest unnecessary move, terrified of glimpsing those dead-fish eyes outside the window again.
The next morning, they checked out and headed to the Adventurers’ Guild branch in the capital. It was Silva’s sudden whim: she wanted to live the adventurer’s life, so she pestered Roland to register her.
Roland, unable to refuse, brought her along. He wasn’t worried about her safety—she was an Archmage trained by the royal family. Her power was formidable, her magical knowledge vast. Don’t let her delicate, beautiful appearance fool you; she had far more tricks up her sleeve than most imagined.
Roland knew he still hadn’t figured Silva out. A girl destined for the throne could never be as simple as she seemed. He’d investigated her long ago—she was simply too famous. Beyond her stunning looks, Silva remained deeply enigmatic. No intelligence agency on the continent could uncover her true depths. Only basic, pre-existing records existed—and even those might have been deliberately leaked by her. She was shrouded in mist.
She’d done many good deeds for the people, earning immense popularity. Over ninety percent of the populace supported her ascension. Many called her kind-hearted—but that was only the image Silva allowed them to see.
Traces of her involvement surfaced in numerous infamous continental incidents. Yet whenever Roland dug deep, the clues vanished. He knew one thing for certain: Silva was far cleverer and more mysterious than he’d ever imagined.
Yet before him, she was always the lovestruck maiden, the devoted wife—nothing like the imperial princess secretly weaving webs across the continent, her influence spreading like shadow, quietly claiming the empire.
Roland glanced at Silva, obediently clinging to his arm, a sweet smile gracing the beautiful maiden’s lips. He dismissed his doubts. He knew she cared for him. That was enough.
Unaware of his thoughts, Silva bubbled with eager anticipation for her first taste of adventurer life. Raised in the palace, she’d adored the fantastical tales spun by Bards—her favorite childhood bedtime stories.
Once, she’d even wished to be carried off by a dragon like storybook princesses: waiting for a handsome hero to slay the beast, rescue her, and live happily ever after.
Alas, no dragon dared touch a princess. Those foolish enough were blasted to mincemeat, had wings clipped to guard gates, or roasted for dinner.
In the end, no dragon came—only an evil sorcerer. No hero arrived—only a Bard.
Yet the ending remained the same: the hero saved the princess, the Bard rescued the imperial princess. They lived happily ever after.
Silva peeked at Roland, then ducked her head with a soft, blissful laugh—her smile glowing with a sweetness she’d never known before.
They reached the Guild hall. Spacious, nearly empty. No high-bounty missions lately; otherwise, adventurers would’ve flooded the place like a tide.
Roland led Silva to a counter. Registration finished in a flash—too fast for her to process.
“Is… is it really that simple? Am I an adventurer now?” Silva stared at the novice badge in her hand, disbelief in her voice.
“Modern folks value speed,” Roland said nonchalantly. “The Guild’s busy. Trivial stuff? Handle it quick.”
“Can I take missions now?” She glanced at her badge, then the large board listing ranks and tiers.
“Adventurer ranks: Novice, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Violet Gold, Black Gold,” she murmured. “Mission tiers: C, B, A, S, SS, SSS. Low-tier adventurers can’t accept missions above their rank… Silver and below count as low-tier.”
“You’re Novice now—only C-rank missions. But with your Archmage cultivation? Leveling up’s a piece of cake.” He pointed to distant boards filled with simple C-rank tasks.
The boards were Arcane Gear. “Like screens,” Roland explained, “but magic-powered, linked to the Arcanet—kinda like the internet.”
The Arcanet had existed barely a year or two, yet swept across the Human Empire. Roland figured it’d become as vital as the internet someday.
Silva checked the boards, returned shaking her head. “Too easy. I want something hard.” She paused. “Roland… aren’t you an adventurer too? Let’s team up! We can take higher-tier missions and boost my rank.”
“Here. Pick for yourself.” Roland pulled a sleek black badge from his coat—it gleamed with refined luster.
Silva took it, beaming.
Ten minutes later, Roland stared at the SSS-rank mission slip in his hand, deep in thought.
“Come on, Silva. Let me gear you up.” He sighed after a long silence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Worried you’ll die on the mission.” He rolled his eyes, pulling a dagger from his coat.
An eerie chill and palpable killing intent radiated from the blade—undeniably ominous.
“This is the Blade of Ill Omen. Pretty ominous, right?”
