Oren succeeds and returns to Noxim

The aged doors to the Adventure Guild creaks open. I stumble through, each step an agonising effort. The heavy scent of blood and sweat clings to the air around me. My body is covered in blood, cuts and bruises while my clothing is in torn shreds. My arms and legs shake with the strain of simply standing.

As I stagger into the Guild’s bustling foyer, the noise of adventurers chatting, laughing, and sharing stories fades into the background. Every eye in the room turns toward me but none dare approach. The sight of my broken and bruised frame creates an uneasy silence that spreads throughout the room. The usual clatter of weapons and boots on stone ceases, replaced by the uneasy shuffle of feet and the sharp inhale of shocked breaths.

Behind the counter, Rumith looks up from her ledger just in time to see me falter. Her face pales instantly. Her lips part, but no words come out. As I fall forwards, a burly Orc warrior catches me. Rumith rushes toward me, eyes are wide and full of concern. Normally, she’s a joyful, calm presence in the Guild - always the first to greet adventurers and the last to lose composure. But this... this is something else entirely.

"By the Gods of Averlon..." she whispers under her breath, her voice barely audible above the sudden, shocked silence of the room. She barely takes a moment to think instructing the Orc to aid me to a chair, in which he does.

I feel the faintest warmth of Rumith's touch on my arm, but it's nothing compared to the searing pain aching throughout my body. Rumith's gaze darts, eyes taking in my state. I can hear the sounds of the Guild - murmurs, whispers - fading into the background as Rumith’s voice cuts through the haze.

“What happened?” she asks, her tone soft but edged with desperation. “Where’s the rest of the Silver Edge? Did they… did they make it out?”

For a heartbeat, the room holds its breath. I open my mouth to speak, but my voice falters as if the weight of the words is too much to bear. I glance toward the floor, unable to meet her eyes. Everyone notices the way my shoulders slump, the way the air seems to grow heavier around my silence.

Rumith’s face pales even further as the realisation dawns. She swallows hard, trying to suppress the worry in her eyes, though it's no use. She reaches out, her hands now hovering near my face, as though she wants to comfort me but isn’t sure how.

“You’re safe,” she murmurs. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

But the silence that stretches between the two of us speaks louder than any words could.

In that silence, the whispers of the Guild grow louder - nervous murmurs fill the air. The adventurers nearby watch the scene unfold, but no one dares to intervene. Rumith's voice breaks through the quiet again, more insistent now.

“Please...tell me what happened.” Her hand rests gently on my shoulder.

"They...tried to kill me..." I croaked.

The Guild members share uneasy looks, as if confirming a suspicion they had brewing in their minds for some time. Even Rumith gives an uneasy nod.

"I knew something was off about them. But they presented themselves so...normal."

"That explains all the missing newbies." The Orc who helped me grunted.

The Guild members murmur in shock, disbelief and anger. A few even cry, saying names of adventurers who must've been friends now gone forever. A few begin to don their armour and weapons, ready to find the Silver Edge.

"Where are they, Oren. Tell us. We'll get you some sweet ****!" Someone shouts, many agree and even cheer to hunt the Silver Edge.

Rumith however, looks down at my hands, now trembling, and sees the blood there too. It’s not just the blood of mine - it’s of others.

"Were you... Were you the only one who made it out?" she asks, her voice quieter now, as if she already knows the answer but is too afraid to confirm it.

I nod—slow, painful, almost imperceptible.

Rumith’s expression falters, and for a moment, her eyes seem to shimmer with unshed tears. The quiet horror of betrayal lingers in the air like a dark fog, and she knows, even without me saying another word, that something terrible has happened in that dungeon. The other Guild members register it too, lowering their weapons and returning to a somber silence.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her voice trembles. “You... You made it out. That’s all that matters right now. We’ll get you patched up. We’ll—”

But her words trail off. Every adventurer there knows it’s not just the physical injuries that need mending. The hollow emptiness in my eyes, show that what happened down there is a wound that no salve or potion can heal.

I can feel the weight of exhaustion, both physical and mental, pressing down on me like a thousand-ton stone. The rest of the Guild seems to fade into the background, their faces a blur, as Rumith holds me steady. A soft, comforting presence as my vision fades to black...

The steady warmth of sunlight filters through the small window, its golden light dancing across the wooden beams of the humble room. The faint scent of pine, the rustic feel of the Guild’s cabin-style quarters, and the gentle hum of distant conversation from the Guild hall slowly bring me back out of sleep.

I'm lying on a small, well-worn bed, body wrapped in a thick blanket. My limbs are still heavy, weighted by exhaustion. My mind is sluggish, as if it’s trying to keep pace with your body. The room around me familar - the same room I've always has here at the Guild. A small table with food and water set neatly beside my bed. The air smells faintly of fresh bread and herbs, an odd comfort after the blood-soaked chaos of the dungeon.

As I begin to stir, I hear soft footsteps approaching. The door creaks open and Rumith steps in. Her face, though worn with a hint of concern, breaks into a gentle smile when she sees me awake. Her eyes soften as she crosses the room, her hands instinctively reaching to adjust a blanket that’s fallen off my shoulder.

"You’re awake," she says with a breath of relief, her voice still soft, but now more sure. "I was beginning to worry. You’ve been asleep for over a three days."

Her tone carries a warmth, but there’s an underlying uncertainty in her words—an understanding, perhaps, that the sleep was not just the result of exhaustion but of something more serious.

Rumith's hands hover near the food and water on the bedside table, but she doesn't press it on me. She simply watches for my response, waiting patiently. She offers a comforting, familiar presence, though I can tell there’s a certain hesitation - like she’s waiting for me to speak, to let her know how to help.

I try to sit up, but the effort feels draining. My body responds reluctantly, as if even the simplest movements are a reminder of everything I've survived. The memories of the dungeon flood back, and I blink rapidly to push them aside.

That’s when I notice a small weight in my hand. It’s small, cold, almost foreign. I glance down, and my breath catches in your throat.

The Ring of Eldrathar rests in the palm of my hand, nestled there like a cruel reminder. The same ring I had taken after killing my Party. After killing them. My mind flashes to that moment, the struggle, the chaos, the realisation that I had been betrayed and **** to defend my life. The guilt, however, doesn’t seem to care about self-defence. No matter what I tell myself, I know deep down that I still made the choice to sacrifice them.

My stomach churns at the thought. The nausea surges within me but I swallow it back. I can’t throw up. Not now. Not like this.

Rumith, noticing the shift in my demeanour, moves closer, sitting gently at the edge of my bed.

"I know it’s hard," she begins softly, her voice low and reassuring. "You’ve been through... unimaginable things." She pauses for a moment, her gaze flicking down to the ring. “But this isn’t the end, you know."

Her words are comforting, but they also carry the weight of something unspoken. A completion of a contract. But also a reminder of bloodshed, of betrayal, of the unbearable cost of survival.

"You were sent to retrieve this ring. The client is expecting it, and the reward... it’s yours. For completing the task." Rumith whispers softly.

"Rumith...I...I killed them." I horsely admit.

I feel her eyes on me, but her gaze is steady, not judgmental. "I know, but you need to finish what you started. The guild can help and support you with whatever comes next, but this... this task is yours. No matter what happened you can still complete it."

My gaze drops to the ring again.

"When you’re ready," she says quietly, "I’ll take you to the client. The job’s complete. You’ve survived, and you can walk away from this. But you have to let yourself walk away, too."

And as her words settle over me, something shifts inside. The guilt isn’t gone, but the weight of the ring in my palm - the weight of this particular task - feels just a little lighter.

The next day, Rumith takes me to the client.

The narrow, winding backstreets of Noxim are a far cry from the bustling interior of the Adventure Guild. The air here is thick with the damp smell of sewerage, the sound of distant voices muffled by the walls that seem to lean inward, closing us off from the rest of the world. Rumith walks ahead, her small frame cutting through the gloomy roads.

She eventually stops and knocks on a weathered door, its wood chipped and stained with time. The faint sound of movement from inside follows, and after a beat, the door creaks open...

The client stands in the doorway. Tall, gaunt and pale, his unkempt hair framing a face that bears the tiredness of someone who has spent too many hours in the dim light of study and experimentation. He wears a loose-fitting, stained lab coat, and the faint smell of potions and dust seems to linger around him.

"Dr. Jaccol, at your service!" The man proclaims.

"Evening, Dr. Jaccol. I've escorted Mr Faride here to collected payment on your B Rank listing posted to the Adventure Guild."

His gaze flickers over Rumith first then shifts to me. His eyebrows raise and for a brief moment, surprise flashes across his face. He wasn’t expecting me. He was expecting the Silver Edge. He takes a slow breath, as though calculating his next words before he speaks.

“You,” Dr. Jaccol says, his voice laced with surprise. “I was expecting the Silver Edge. Not... not you.” It’s clear that I'm are not the one he envisioned coming through his door today.

That feeling hits me like a slap across the face. Betrayal.

The feeling that the client had known all along about the cost of the ring, the sacrifice, and still he must have told the Silver Edge of what had to be done. My blood runs cold at the thought. The pieces fall into place. The Silver Edge had come to this man for a job, but they hadn’t come back. I had. My chest tightens as anger coils in my gut.

I take a step forward, voice low and controlled, but sharp with accusation. “You told them, didn’t you? You told them about the sacrifice. About what it would take to claim the ring.”

Dr. Jaccol blinks, caught off guard by my sudden intensity. He holds up his hands, defensively, though there’s a hint of unease in his posture.

"I merely informed them of the fact," he says, his tone calm, as if trying to distance himself from the consequences of his own actions. "I didn’t encourage them to... act on it. I just gave them the information they asked for. I didn’t suggest what they should do."

Rumith, standing just behind me, steps forward as her eyes flicker between me and the client. She gives me a subtle, almost imperceptible glance that speaks volumes. It's one that conveys the complexities of the Adventure Guild’s listings and the thin line between culpability and neutrality. She knows what’s happening here. But in technicalities, he's not in the wrong.

My fists clench. I know it’s not his fault - he didn’t directly order the betrayal. But the truth of is, he still played a part in this. He knew what the ring required. He knew what it would cost.

Dr. Jaccol shifts his weight nervously, clearly uncomfortable under my gaze. He gestures toward a nearby table where a stack of coins is neatly arranged. A leather pouch sits on top, sealed with wax.

"Your reward," he says, his voice more careful now, though his hands are trembling slightly. "As agreed. 100,000 coins. For the ring."

I glance at the pouch, my gaze lingering on it for a moment. The glint of gold now offers nothing but promise of food and shelter. I take the pouch slowly, as though it burns my hand. Without a word, I reach into my pocket and pull out the Ring of Eldrathar, the very artifact that has been the cause of so much. I hand it to him without ceremony, and Dr. Jaccol accepts it eagerly, almost greedily.

As the ring leaves my fingers, it feels like I've shedded a piece of yourself. One I can’t reclaim.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, I speak.

“Pull something like that with anyone else," I say, the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud, "and I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”

Dr. Jaccol's eyes widen as the full weight of my words sinks in. He nods quickly, his hands shaking as he takes a step back. “I-I understand. I won’t-”

I don’t give him a chance to finish. I turn and storm back through the streets. Rumith falls into step behind me, her eyes lingering on the client one last time as she walks past. The damp, stale air of the alley greets me like an old friend.

The B Rank listing is complete.