The town center was very crowded today.

  Well, it was a big day. All of Daelin’s citizens had gathered here to make a decision that could change their future forever.

  Viktor was sitting on one of the wooden benches, with Rhea beside him, shifting restlessly. Claire, Jeanne, and Cedric’s party stood nearby, and the girl had told them it was wrong for her to sit while they stood. Though they insisted on giving the seats to the youngest members of the group, she probably still couldn’t shake off the lingering discomfort.

  Viktor, on the other hand, had no such qualms. He simply leaned back, his arms casually resting on the back of the bench as he observed the crowd. What was Rhea’s problem, anyway? They were lucky enough to find a vacant spot, as all other seats had already been occupied and most people had no choice but to stand. If she wanted to get up, fine, he would just stretch his legs across the bench. What other posture would be more fitting for him as he watched the drama that was about to unfold?

  His eyes moved to the raised platform at the center of the square, where Mayor Marcellus and other members of the town’s council watched over the proceedings. The debate would likely take place there as well. Afterward, two boxes would be brought out for the people to cast their votes.

  One of the Mayor’s servants ran to them and handed Claire a shiny yellow stone. She thanked him, and he hurried away, distributing the stones to other people.

  “That’s the ballot?” Cedric asked.

  “Yes,” Claire replied. “When we vote, each of us will place our stone into one of the two boxes to make our decision known.”

  Lucian frowned. “Why doesn’t Jeanne get one?”

  A very good question. It made sense that Cedric’s group couldn’t vote, considering they had only just arrived here recently. But Jeanne? She had been living in Daelin for years.

  The red-haired pyromancer laughed, freckles dancing across her porcelain skin. “Guess I’m not counted as a citizen.”

  All eyes turned to Claire, and she shrugged. “Well, the Mayor said that only those born here and over fifteen could vote.”

  That would disqualify most adventurers. Basically, the group most likely to support Gideon was not allowed to participate. So much for fair and square. But that was fine. It was something Viktor could use to his advantage.

  His gaze wandered across the square. He saw some old men, backs hunched low, who must have put a lot of effort into getting here to cast their votes. He saw a bunch of children playing, who obviously had no business here, likely just accompanying their parents. He saw some young men and women laughing and talking loudly nearby, their hands holding the meatwraps sold by the Southern man, who must have made a fortune today. He saw the adventurers gathering in large groups at the edge of the square, muttering among themselves in dissatisfaction. They were the ones most affected by the decision that would be made here, and yet, they were not allowed a say in the matter.

  And he saw a woman, who leaned against a tree in the far corner.

  It was her, the woman with skin of bronze who had followed Clovis here, and who he had assumed to be the fat man’s Riftwalker.

  What was she doing here? Was she observing the vote to report back to Iskora?

  As if she could sense his gaze, the woman turned to him. Her lips curled into a smile, and she gave him a slight nod.

  What the hell is her deal exactly?

  So many things had happened since their last meeting that he had forgotten about the woman. But who was she, really? And more importantly, what did she want from him?

  Viktor found himself in a predicament. He knew this was someone he shouldn’t ignore, but what was he supposed to do? She was an outsider who had been to Daelin only once and for a very short time, and had no connection apart from Clovis himself. There were no roots, no ties, no trails to follow. Gathering information about her was impossible.

  Well, sometimes the most direct approach was the best one. Maybe he should just go straight to her and strike up a conversation. Yes, he was going to do it after the event was concluded.

  Suddenly, the murmurs of conversation quieted, and all eyes swung toward the edge of the square.

  Rennald had arrived.

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  Just like the last time, the Overseer wore a long coat of exquisite silk, richly embroidered with golden thread and tailored to fit his frame flawlessly. He strode forward with the confidence of a man who had never worried about losing anything, and behind him, his attendants shuffled along, their own finery only a little less magnificent.

  Marcellus hurried to greet him, moving as fast as his creaking, brittle bones would allow. His servants scrambled to keep up, anxious that the old man might trip.

  “O-Overseer Rennald!”

  The man gave a nod. “Mayor,” he said, scanning the crowd. “Gideon is not here yet?”

  “It... it seems so.”

  Their gaze shifted to Calyssa, who stood nearby. A trace of unease crossed the bespectacled woman’s face, and she leaned toward a Guild employee, whispering something. The man nodded and rushed off, probably to fetch Gideon.

  Lucian let out a sigh. “So he does have a hangover.”

  The people murmured again, their hushed voices filled with speculation about the Guildmaster’s unexpected tardiness. Marcellus’ eyes darted nervously between Rennald and the restless crowd. He took a small step forward and tried to smile, though it came out more like a grimace. “P-Please wait for him a bit. H-he is coming, I’m sure.”

  “No need,” the Overseer said flatly. “There is no reason to wait for someone who is not on time. I’ll start my speech now. Gideon can address my points once he arrives.”

  Claire and the others stared in silence as Rennald ascended the platform, growing unease etched deep into their brows. They were all probably thinking the same thing: what the hell was Gideon doing?

  “Are we going to be alright?” Rhea asked, her voice trembling.

  “Don’t worry,” Viktor said with a grin. “The Guildmaster will carry us to victory.”

  As the Overseer arrived at his designated spot, he turned with theatrical grace, his commanding gaze sweeping over the crowd. “People of Daelin,” he began, “you’ve come here today to make a choice. The time for indecision is over. We’ve waited long enough. The future of our town will be decided—today.”

  The last remaining murmurs went silent. All eyes in the square were now fixed on Rennald, all ears listening to his every word.

  “I’m sure everyone here has already heard what Guildmaster Clovis from Iskora offered us, so I won’t bore you with the details of the deal. I only want to discuss with you what we stand to gain and what we may have to cede.”

  He paused for dramatic effect. “Let’s start with what we have to give up first. The dungeon, obviously. I know that the discovery of the first dungeon in the region after three hundred years is exciting news indeed, and everyone is eager to chase the dream of getting rich quickly. But...” His eyes swept over the people in the square again. “Such a dream comes with a terrible cost. The employees of the Guild should know this better than anyone, but the number of dead adventurers has surged sharply in recent weeks. Of course, we know that death is an inevitable part of adventuring, but the loss of life is always regrettable. And it is not just about the dead, but also the emotional toll on those who are left behind.”

  Fair points, Viktor thought, glancing at the girl who sat next to him. Rhea looked paler than a ghost, her small frame shaking like a leaf in the wind. Well, no surprise there. Rennald’s words must have cut her deeper than anyone else here.

  The Overseer’s speech went on. “Just ask yourself. Why do you want to chase that dream so badly? Isn’t it because you’re desperate? You live in poverty, so you put your life on the line to escape it. I know, it might come off as condescending when those words come from someone like me. ‘How the hell does a rich bastard like you understand? You never have to fight for food scraps just to survive.’ Well, it’s true. I don’t have the right to judge your methods. But the fact remains that a new path has opened for you. You don’t have to make that deadly gamble anymore.”

  “There’s one more thing I’d like to discuss with you all,” Rennald added. “Thanks to the dungeon, a large number of people are rushing to Daelin. Not just adventurers, but also merchants, craftsmen, men of trade. It’s great, of course. The town gets bigger, business flourishes, new opportunities emerge. But...” His tone shifted. “The influx of people is a mixed blessing; there are the complications that come with it. Those who arrived here come from all corners of the world, with different backgrounds, and they bring with them their old rivalries and past grudges. Just three weeks ago, there was a fight in the street between adventurers from Arstenia and Beryn. They clashed in broad daylight, right in the middle of our town. Thankfully, no one died. But make no mistake, we were merely lucky. Such incidents will happen again, and next time, we may not be so fortunate.”

  Viktor eyed Cedric’s party, who was visibly unsettled after being called out so directly. But he was certain they had no rebuttal to the Overseer’s argument. His logic was sound.

  “I’m not against the adventurers coming to Daelin, of course,” Rennald continued. “As some of you might already know, I have a plan. We’ll use the money we received from Guildmaster Clovis to clear the dense forest around the town. The wood has long been a breeding ground for bandits and monsters alike, and it’s time we finally do something about it. Then, we’ll turn our attention to the dark creatures lurking beneath the One Thousand Streams. You don’t need me to tell you about the dangers that hide in those waters. We all remember what happened seven years ago. And to face them, we’re going to need a large force of powerful warriors and mages. We’ll aim for quality, not quantity. This way, Daelin will grow steadily and—”

  Rennald stopped.

  Furrowing his brows, the Overseer gazed over the people before him, staring at something far away. The confused crowd turned to follow where he was looking, and they saw a man running frantically toward the square. The very same man whom Calyssa had sent to find Gideon.

  “What’s going on?” Claire whispered. “He couldn’t find the Guildmaster?”

  Calyssa stepped forward to meet the man. He stopped before her but didn’t speak right away. He bent forward, hands resting on his knees, breathing heavily.

  “What happened?” the Chief Secretary demanded. “Where’s the Guildmaster?”

  “He... he’s...”

  “What happened to him?”

  “H-he is... dead.”

  “What?”

  “I... I found him dead in his room,” the man said, his face pale, sweat dripping down his forehead. “I think... I think he’s poisoned.”

  The crowd froze, struggling to process what they had just heard. Everyone was shocked by the news of the Guildmaster’s murder.

  Well, everyone except one.