Chapter 140 No Pay, No Glory

Back at the Adventurer’s Guild, the air still carried the unsettled weight of the afternoon’s upheaval. In a shadowed corner booth, an adventurer known as Oliver sat motionless, one big hand wrapped around a heavy clay mug of dark beer. The only clear mark of his status was the sleek platinum badge anchored to his belt, an A-rank badge, vanguard’s proof of years most in the hall would rarely reach.

He took a slow sip, bitter liquid heavy on his tongue, and watched the two trembling teens near the counter. The boy’s grip on the iron shortsword was white-knuckled. The girl’s half-empty herb satchel hung forgotten at her side. The earlier cascade of jokes had curdled into something heavier, pressing against the rafters like smoke.

With a soft sigh, Oliver drained the last of his beer and set the mug down with a dull thud. He stood. His custom-fitted iron plate shifted with a muted metallic scrape that cut through the noise. He was not a man of words. What he had was presence, duty and the knowledge that some things could not be left to official channels already beginning to close.

He walked over, massive frame towering, though he softened his posture so the plates did not loom quite so sharply. Nearby tables fell quieter still.

“Hey,” Oliver said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that settled into the floorboards. He placed a heavy, gauntleted hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. The metal was warm from his body heat. “Take a breath, cryin’ won’t bring ’em back, but it won’t also help find ’em either.”

It was clumsy consolation, more battlefield than guild hall, but his steady presence acted like an anchor. The boy’s shaking slowed. The girl wiped her eyes and looked up at the living legend before them. Platinum badges were rare. Seeing one move with purpose was rarer still.

Oliver’s dark eyes flicked once toward the crimson-sealed notice, then back to the teens.

“I’m heading out,” he stated plainly. “I’ll look for your friends, Ewan and Lira. If they’re in the Dark Cathedral woods, I’ll find ’em.”

A fresh wave of murmuring erupted sharper, more frantic. Chairs scraped as someone cursed. The B-rank scout who had been leaning against a support beam stepped forward, face tight with concern.

“Are you insane, Oliver?” the veteran scout called out. “You saw the seal. The Guild Master locked it down for a reason. Thirty-six men are gone!”

A cynical voice rose from the back tables. “An A-rank badge doesn’t make you immortal, old man. Going in there alone is just a flashy way to commit suicide.”

The scout pressed closer, gripping Oliver’s forearm. The metal groaned faintly. “Think about it, Oliver. Even if you’re a Vanguard, you can’t handle a reclassified A-rank threat without a backline. You’re a shield without a sword out there.” His voice dropped, meant for Oliver alone yet still carrying. “If they entered the dungeon… then there’s no coming out of it.”

Oliver looked at the two young adventurers. He saw the flicker of desperate hope in their tear-stained faces, a hope that would die the moment he walked away. He thought of the Miller brothers, who had once shared a booth near this corner and never returned. He thought of the rookie crews from the western branch whose names had already begun to fade. His jaw set hard.

“I’m going,” Oliver said stubbornly, brushing the scout’s hand off with careful finality. “And I’m going now.”

“Then you aren’t going alone.”

The sharp voice cut through the tension. The door to the receptionist’s office clicked open. Ulyssa stood on the threshold, arms crossed. Her professional calm masked a carefully controlled relief that someone was actually stepping up. Afternoon light caught the edges of her spectacles.

“If you refuse to listen to reason, Vanguard Oliver,” she said, each word measured, “then you will at least listen to protocol. You cannot enter an A-rank zone without a balanced formation, I suggest you form a temporary party right here, right now.”

Oliver grunted. It was a fair point. Even the best shield eventually cracked, and the Dark Cathedral had already swallowed better-equipped parties than a lone vanguard. He turned to the crowd, voice rising just enough to carry.

“Fine. But hear me loud and clear, this isn’t an official guild contract. The cathedral is off-limits. There is no bounty, no hazard pay and definitely no rewards. This is a voluntary rescue mission. If you come, you do it for the lives, not the coins!”

The hall fell dead silent. The combination of “no pay” and “A-rank threat” made most men take a step back, as boots shifted. A few found sudden interest in their drinks. The weight of thirty-six missing names settled heavier than any iron plate.

Then a chair scraped near the far wall.

“I’m in,” a raspy voice called out.

Gideon, the gaunt B-rank plague-doctor and apothecary, rose slowly. Dark leather coat shifted around him, glass vials and sealed pouches lining the interior. A crow-beaked mask rested on his shoulder. His sharp, clinical eyes fixed on Oliver without flinching.

“If thirty-six men vanished,” Gideon continued, voice dry as old parchment, “the survivors will need immediate medical attention. If we do find them along the way.” He adjusted a strap. “Besides, a curse is just a disease waiting for a cure. You know how it goes.”

A lively voice chimed from the rafters.

“Count me in too, big guy.”

Jax, a nimble C-rank scout and crossbowman, swung down from a beam and landed lightly. Leather bracers already adjusted, a cocky but determined grin on his face. Compact crossbow across his back, bandolier of bolts at his hip. He brushed dust from his shoulder and looked up without hesitation.

“Someone’s got to watch your blind spots, Oliver. And my bolts don’t care about A-rank titles.”

From the hearth, a tall woman stood. Her heavy iron-shod staff struck the stone with a sharp echo. Valeria, a stern C-rank pyromancer who had been brooding by the fire. Dark robes practical and scorched in places. Faint trails of orange light flickered across her knuckles.

“Hollow cries underground usually mean undead or worse,” she said coldly, eyes fixed beyond the walls. “They need to be burned out. I will provide the fire you’ll need.”

Oliver nodded once at each of them. A vanguard in heavy plate. A medic who walked with death’s tools. A scout who moved like shadow and string. A mage who carried controlled flame. Makeshift, cobbled together under the eyes of the entire hall, but it would have to do.

“Alright,” Oliver said. “I suppose we all halt to get ready. We’ll begin our advance in five.”

The next minutes passed in controlled motion. Gideon returned from a side storeroom with extra bandages, antitoxins, and stoppered vials. Jax checked his crossbow string, counted his bolts three times, and secured climbing gear and signal flares. Valeria murmured under her breath until the air around her staff shimmered with residual heat, then secured fire-resistant pouches and adjusted the iron shoes of her staff. Oliver simply checked his plate straps, settled his tower shield across his back, and ran a gauntleted thumb once along the edge of the heavy blade at his hip.

The two teens remained near the counter, watching with wide, exhausted eyes. The boy looked as though he wanted to speak, perhaps thank them, perhaps beg them to be careful but the words never left his throat. The girl clutched her herb satchel tighter.

When the five minutes passed, the four stood at the heavy oak threshold, fully equipped. The crowd that had earlier erupted into speculation now broke into a chaotic mix of send-offs.

“Don’t come back in pieces!” someone mocked from the tavern side, the cruelty in the laugh not quite hiding the nerves. “We don’t want to have to clean up a platinum badge from the dirt!”

“Show that cathedral what an A-rank looks like, Oliver!” a younger rookie yelled near the quest board, voice full of awe and fragile hope.

“Bring ’em back alive!” another called, rough sincerity cutting through the rest.

Oliver did not look back. He pushed the doors open with one armored shoulder. Fading afternoon light spilled across the threshold, painting his plate in dull gold and long shadows. Behind him, Gideon adjusted the crow mask one final time, Jax rolled his shoulders and settled his crossbow, and Valeria’s staff tapped once against the stone as she stepped into formation.

Together the four marched out into the cooling air, heading straight toward the dark, whispering woods of the eastern border where the trees stood too close and the ground had already begun to forget the names of the living.

***Authors Note***

Good morning Everyone, How's it been going?

It's Friday and everyone might be excited for the weekend.

If this chapter hits please leave a comment below or feedback which ever you prefer.

Thank you!