“Ah…” Orben groaned, sinking deeper into the bed’s worn fabric. The room around him was stark and plain, the faint scent of herbs and sterilized tools clinging to the air. He was in a medical clinic, one owned by the city’s most renowned healer—Celeste. As head of the healer’s school and a follower of the Order of Sanctity, her reputation was unmatched, though her demeanor was… less than welcoming.

  A sharp clack echoed down the hallway, the sound of deliberate, heeled steps approaching. The door opened, revealing Celeste herself. Tall and willowy, she exuded an aura of dominating authority. Her pristine white medical attire, tailored with meticulous precision, framed her lean form. Long, pale hair swept back into a neat tie further accentuated the sharp lines of her face—a face both intimidating and elegant, with eyes that seemed to dissect whoever they landed on.

  She stepped into the room carrying a tray laden with instruments—needles, scissors, neatly rolled bandages, and a collection of multi-colored vials. Each item gleamed under the room’s spell-lit light, spotless and neatly arranged.

  “You’ve certainly gotten yourself into a mess, Orben,” she said, setting the tray on a small stand beside the bed. Her movements were smooth as she pulled a chair closer and sat down. One leg crossed over the other in a posture that bordered on daring, yet her poise made it seem effortless. Resting her cheek against her hand, thumb under her chin, she tilted her head slightly, studying him.

  “Ha… ha…” Orben’s breathy laugh was more exhale than amusement. “I’ve been in better shape, Miss Celeste.” His eyes were shut, but he managed brief blinks, head tilted toward the ceiling as if surrendering to exhaustion.

  Celeste’s gaze didn’t soften. “You were due several days ago to deliver supplies to another city, weren’t you? Quite a long trip too, if I remember correctly. You had a group of mercenaries with you, and yet… none of them are here. What happened, Orben?” Her tone was cool and inquisitive, each word carrying an edge that bordered on accusatory.

  Orben, long accustomed to Celeste’s sharp tongue and even sharper stare, barely flinched. To anyone else, her presence might have felt suffocating enough to extract a confession on the spot. But for him, the intimidation had long since dulled. He’d been to the clinic many times, delivery supplies or to complete other menial tasks handed to him.

  He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before speaking. “You’re right. I was traveling with a small team of F-rank mercenaries. We were headed to Bardine with food supplies. I’m sure you’ve…” He paused, catching his breath. “…heard about their food situation. Poor soil for crops.”

  Celeste nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “I have. A bounty of fish, near endless sustenance from the sea—yet cursed by the gods with barren soil. A cruel twist of fate. I pity them.”

  “Well… have you heard about the bandit problem around Talo? I assume you’ve noticed the influx of injured coming through your clinics,” Orben asked, his voice strained.

  “My healers have certainly been treating more wounded lately,” Celeste replied, her tone measured. “However, as far as I’m aware, the southern routes are where the bandits have been concentrated. Bardine lies to the west. Unless you mean to say…” Her sharp gaze bore into him, her words hanging in the air like pinched fingers on a blade waiting to fall.

  “Yes, you’re correct,” Orben admitted with a slow nod. “It seems the western routes are now being targeted as well. I ran into the Klamor bandits. They’ve been wreaking havoc on the southern roads, but I was unlucky enough to encounter one of their groups in the forest.” His voice wavered slightly as he recounted the memory. “It was a small group—five of them, I think—led by a man named Jakk. They killed all the mercenaries traveling with me and left me for dead. The Klamor bandits aren’t just sticking to the southern routes anymore. They’re tightening their grip, encircling Talo from multiple sides.”

  “I see.” Celeste shifted her posture, recrossing her legs with precise movements. Her gaze drifted to Orben’s arm—a mangled mess of bloodied flesh and bite marks, crudely bandaged and resting in a compartment attached to the bed to prevent the blood from soaking the sheets.

  “Your injuries, Orben. They don’t match what I’d expect from a typical bandit attack. Could one of them have been a summoner?” she asked, her eyes focused on the wounds.

  Orben shook his head weakly. “No, nothing like that. They were just the usual bandits—a ranger, a magic-user, and their leader Jakk, who fought up close with a sword.” He glanced briefly at his arm, a flicker of bitterness crossing his face. “These injuries… they’re from a boar. After I escaped the bandits, I got lost in the forest, and without supplies. That’s when a boar spotted me. I fought it off, but… well, boar bites really hurt,” he added with a faint, dry chuckle.

  Celeste raised a brow, unimpressed. “How exactly did you manage to escape a group of bandits? If they killed your mercenaries, they would have had no trouble dealing with you. You’re a civilian, Orben. Did you run before the fighting even started?”

  His eyes met hers, a hint of exasperation cutting through his exhaustion. “You know… your words sting more than your medicine.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Celeste replied flatly, her expression unmoving.

  Orben sighed, his breath slow and heavy. “I was about to die,” he began. “But then something came out of the forest. A skeleton. But not just any skeleton—it was massive, taller than me by several heads, with bones as thick as an ogre’s. It even had a sword and went straight for their leader. While that was happening, the other bandits were being attacked by something else—spikes erupting out of the ground. I hid behind a tree while the chaos unfolded. I saw one bandit lose a leg, and another get impaled. They were completely distracted, so I ran. And I’ve been running ever since.”

  “Most certainly… perplexing. Why a skeleton would come out just in the nick of time, saving you, while the other bandits were attacked,” she said slowly, her tone heavy with contemplation. Her fingers tapped lightly against her chin as she pondered. “Those putrid undead are mindless monsters, but from what you’ve described, this sounds more like a coordinated assault.”

  Orben shifted uncomfortably in his bed. “It did feel deliberate. The way that skeleton fought, and the timing of those spikes… It’s like it all happened to give me the chance to escape. But why? I don’t know.”

  Celeste’s sharp gaze narrowed, her distaste evident as her lips pressed into a thin line. “Why indeed.” She stood from her chair, moving toward the nearby counter where the array of medical tools from her tray rested in perfect order. Her hands hovered over them, though her mind was elsewhere.

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  “You know, Orben. Just a day ago, one of my healers was working on a young boy. An aspiring adventurer. However, his leg was shattered, rendering him unfit for such activities.”

  “What happened?”

  Her eyes were still focused on the medical apparatuses, prepping them for use to heal the man’s arm. “This young boy was supposedly attacked by a skeleton. I know not many details of the event as the boy was discharged by the city’s War Paragons after he was stabilized. I had merely assumed a stray skeleton had appeared in the forest and attacked the boy. However, given your recounting of events just now… perhaps some greater evil is befalling Talo.” She poured two separate vials into a small bowl, swirling them around into a light green concoction.

  She spoke again, her voice steady but laced with a growing edge. “Skeletons, even the stronger varieties, do not act with such purpose. They’re crude beings, remnants of death that stumble about with only the faintest echoes of intent. What you describe is no ordinary undead. It acted with strategy, with purpose.”

  Her expression darkened as the pieces began to form an unsettling picture in her mind. “Such behavior doesn’t originate from the creature itself. No, this reeks of necromancy—a foul art that corrupts the natural order. If this skeleton was as you say, it wasn’t acting alone. It had guidance, a master directing its movements.”

  Orben’s eyes widened. “You think someone was controlling it? Sending it after the bandits? Why would they help me, then?”

  Celeste turned to face him, her pale hair catching the glow of the room’s light. “That is the question, isn’t it? Perhaps it was mere coincidence—you happened to be spared by a more significant confrontation. Or perhaps…” She paused, her sharp gaze boring into him. “Perhaps you were spared for a reason.”

  The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faint clink of her tools as she prepared fresh bandages. Celeste’s thoughts churned, her growing suspicion a weight on her shoulders. Necromancers were rare, but not unheard of. The Order of Sanctity had long warned of their insidious practices—twisting the dead into weapons, defying the gods' natural laws. They were one of the arbiters of unholiness, that and the demon races.

  She finally spoke, her voice low and deliberate. “Though I highly doubt you are involved in such plans. Whatever the case, this is troubling news. If necromancers are involved, it is a danger not just to you, Orben, but to Talo itself. The bandit problem is bad enough, but if the undead are becoming their allies—or worse, their enemies—then we have far graver concerns.”

  “What are you going to do?” Orben asked, his voice cautious.

  Celeste finished tying off a fresh bandage on his arm before meeting his gaze. “I will report this to the Order and then to the city lord. Given Talo’s recent dealings with bandits, I doubt the officials will do anything. However, the Order will most certainly send back a prompt response. They will investigate. If a necromancer has been loitering around Talo, they will be found. And dealt with.”

  Her tone left no room for argument, but as she returned to her seat, there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. Concern? Frustration? Anger or fear? It was hard to tell. For all her confidence in the Order, she knew the implications of what Orben described.

  If necromancy had truly come to Talo, it was only a matter of time before the city would feel its full effect. Nothing good ever came with necromancy.

  “Coordinates confirmed. Opening portal,” stated a man in a crisp white uniform. He stood within the adventurer guild’s portal room, monitoring a return signature flickering on a glowing console.

  At the center of the room, a shimmering portal materialized above a raised platform with immaculate white stairs leading up to it. A moment later, a group emerged, stepping through the swirling energy. These were the hunters who had registered the grounds for the day.

  “I don’t feel so good…” Enya muttered, one hand clutching her stomach, the other covering her mouth. Her face had turned an alarming shade of green, and her eyes wavered with the unmistakable urge to empty her stomach.

  Josier cleared his throat as he strolled into the room, composed despite the journey. Meanwhile, Pell and the rest of Enya’s skeletal minions stepped through without so much as a wobble.

  “Teleport sickness,” Pell explained, glancing down at the girl with an air of indifference. “Happens to a lot of folks. Getting sent somewhere numbs your mind a bit, but coming back? Feels like your insides want to eject themselves.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Moments like this make me glad I’m a skeleton.”

  “Good… for you…” Enya groaned, her voice strained. She staggered toward the nearest trashcan before unceremoniously emptying out rainbows into it.

  Pell sighed, his bony shoulders slumping. “Kids these days…” he muttered. But his musings were interrupted as one of the guild officials stepped forward. His tone was sharp and accusatory.

  “Hey. I know your group entered as two humans and some skeletons,” the man began, his gaze narrowing, “but is that a spiderling monster that thing is holding?” He pointed at Muffins, who stood rigidly, its bony hands securely gripping the captured Crystal Spiderling Queen in a bone-prison.

  The official’s tone grew firmer. “You’re allowed to bring back dungeon materials, but transporting live monsters is against guild policy unless you’ve been granted prior approval.”

  Pell’s jaw clicked in irritation, and for a moment, he seemed ready to fire back. The man’s dismissal of Muffins as a mere “thing” grated against him, especially since he, too, was a skeleton. But before Pell could speak, Josier smoothly intervened.

  “Please address this matter with Lorrin Veyd or Lord Clament,” Josier said, stepping forward with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to navigating authority. He gestured toward Enya, who was still hunched over the trashcan, her miserable retching echoing faintly in the room. Josier’s expression faltered for a moment, his lips tightening at the pitiful sight, but he quickly regained his composure.

  “The young lady is a guest of the city,” he continued, his voice firm. “She expressed a desire to acquire a pet during the dungeon excursion. Any paperwork required to finalize this arrangement can be directed to either of those individuals. They will ensure it is properly approved.”

  The guild official blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the name-dropping of such high-ranking figures. His gaze flicked between Josier, the stoic Muffins, and the obliviously retching Enya, before he grudgingly stepped back.

  The Portal-Master, one of the adventurer guild’s staff specifically tasked with managing the portals, remained silent for a moment. His sharp eyes studied Josier, gauging his expression. When no sign of deceit or hesitation appeared, he gave a slow nod.

  “Very well, Sir Josier. I will forward a request to Lorrin for confirmation. However, under no circumstances can this monster be allowed to roam the city unsupervised. If any issues arise, it will be your head on the block. The guild will not shield you.”

  “We have no intention of letting it roam freely,” Pell interjected, his voice firm but calm.

  The Portal-Master cast a brief, withering glance at Pell, the subtle curl of disdain unmistakable despite his measured tone. “Very well. I hereby acknowledge that both parties are in agreement and fully understand the conditions stated.”

  Josier gave a polite nod, turning to Pell. “Shall we proceed to the front desk?”

  Pell’s gaze flicked to Enya, who had finally stopped throwing up but was still hunched over the trashcan, her face pale and exhausted. “Perhaps… we clean her up first.”

  Turning back to the Portal-Master, Pell asked, “Where’s the restroom?”

  The Portal-Master’s expression tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing in faint irritation. After a brief pause, he pointed down the hall. “Take a left, then the first right. Two doors down. It’s marked.”

  “Thank you,” Pell said with a sharp smile. Then, as he turned away, he added with a subtle, mocking tilt of his head, “Human.”

  The Portal-Master’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing, his gaze cold as he watched the group make their way out.