The guild hall was loud, some adventurers chugging drinks in celebration, others shouting over rewards and job offers.

  The Sunforge members stood near the central table, looking like they’d slept badly and blamed the world for it.

  One of them pressed his fingers briefly on his head, jaw tightening. “...Still ringing,” he muttered.

  The others didn't laugh, didn't even look.

  “Doesn't matter,” he said flatly. “We’ll get paid, we just need Damien to come back.

  A third member sat nearby, slowly sharpening his sword with methodical strokes.

  None of them looked particularly concerned. Because as far as they were concerned?

  The job was finished.

  Then—

  The doors opened.

  The doors opened with a slow, steady push. With footsteps following before stopping.

  One of the members at the table glanced up first, eyes narrowing slightly as recognition settled in.

  “... Took you long enough,” he said.

  No apology or surprise in his voice, just a mild irritation, like someone had shown up late to work instead of nearly being left for dead in a cave.

  The other member finally looked over, gaze sweeping at Damien once from head to toe before he gave a short dismissive exhale through his nose.

  “Finally decided to crawl back, huh.”

  The words weren't loud as they didn't need to be, the message underneath them was perfectly clear.

  You lived. Good for you. Now stop wasting our time.

  Damien stepped fully into the room.

  Calm. Posture straight.

  The Sunforge armor was still on him despite everything that had happened, though up close, faint streaks of dried up fluids marked the armor.

  Damien's expression didn't change, but something about him felt… quieter. Colder.

  Like whatever had happened in that cave hadn't bounced off him the way Sunforge party clearly expected it to.

  The member with the headache straightened slightly, eyes sharpening.

  “...Well?” He said. “You gonna stand there all night?”

  For a moment, Damien said nothing as the silence stretched, not awkwardly, but heavy. Deliberate.

  “I came,” Damien said calmly, “to settle something.”

  For a moment after Damien spoke, the guild hall didn't react.

  Well, at least not immediately.

  The noise of nearby adventurers carried on, mugs clinking, chairs scraping, conversations echoing through the hall. But at the Sunforge table, something had shifted.

  The member with the lingering headache frowned. “... Settled what?” He asked flatly.

  Damien stood where he was, posture straight, and the golden crest on his chest shining like it always had.

  For years, the crest had meant authority, reliability.

  But today? It meant something else.

  Slowly, Damien lifted hand toward the clasp of his shoulder.

  The faint metallic click was soft.

  One of the member’s brows twitched.

  “...What are you doing?” Another asked.

  Damien didn't answer. The first shoulder plate came loose with a quiet scrape.

  He lowered it carefully and set it on the table.

  This time, the sound echoed through the guild, causing a nearby conversation to quiet down.

  The man with the headache straightened, “.. Damien,” he said, slowly.

  Damien didn't even look at him as he moved to the second clasp, unhurried, like this had had been decided long before he walked through those doors.

  Another piece of armor came free, setting down beside the first piece.

  Clink.

  Silence spread outward, and slowly the rest of the guild began to quiet down.

  “... Isn't that Damien Valcrest?”

  “Sunforge?”

  The murmuring caused one of the Sunforge members to shift in his seat.

  Damien's hands didn't pause.

  The chestplate came next.

  The golden sunforge crest caught the light one last time as he lifted it free.

  For the first time, one of them stood halfway out of his chair.

  “... Damien,” one said, not out of annoyance, but confusion now.

  The chestplate touched the table.

  Clink.

  The sound echoed farther than it should have.

  Around them, more and more conversations were starting to die. People were noticing.

  The man with the headache was fully upright now, eyes narrowed hard.

  “... Cut it off,” he said, but with a thin edge under his words now. “Put it back on.”

  Damien didn't answer, just looking straight down on them.

  The coldness slid quietly in between them as the tension started to rise.

  One of other Sunforge members scoffed, a fraction too late.

  “... You think you can just walk away?”

  Damien didn't look at him. Didn't react. He simply closed his eyes and reached for the last fastening on his side.

  The final piece of outer armor came free. Beneath it remained only the dark gambeson, perfectly catching his frame, and simple compared to the weight he had just set aside.

  Human. Unarmored. Free.

  And now the guild was watching.

  Sunforge, the party everyone dreamed of joining, stood frozen at their own table.

  The headache member's jaw tightened. “... You're not serious.”

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  Damien rested one hand lightly against the discarded armor

  For a moment, he said nothing.

  Then— he turned and walked.

  The Sunforged members stiffened, watching their anchor walk away like it was nothing.

  “Where are you going?” One demanded.

  “You need us,” another said.

  But behind those words, there was no loyalty, no concern, just pure desperation.

  Damien finally turned his head, just slightly.

  His gaze moved across them, calm and steady, and far, far colder than anything he had shown in the cave.

  No anger, just a quiet certainty.

  A certainty that something in the room dropped, not visibly, but a certainty everyone felt it.

  The headache member's fingers curled slowly against the table.

  For the first time— nobody had a quick answer.

  Damien turned back toward the door.

  His boots began to move, with each step breaking him free of the Sunforge party, each step soft against the guild floor.

  “...Damien—!” One member shouted, slipping out before he could stop it.

  Damien stopped.

  He turned just enough for his gaze to pass over them, calm, steady, and colder than anything he had shown before.

  It was not anger that froze the guild, it was certainty.

  The space he left behind felt… weird, quiet, exposed.

  For the first time since Sunforge, uncertainty sat heavy on the table, right beside the armor.

  As Damien stepped out into the street, rumors began spreading behind him.

  “Why did he leave?”

  “Was he recruited by the imperial army?”

  “I heard the Top Seven are scouting potentials."

  The murmurs followed him only briefly before the guild doors shut, sealing the speculation inside.

  —

  —

  “No. A chicken skewer is clearly superior,” I said firmly, pointing at Rok with complete confidence.

  Rok folded his arms, unimpressed. “Steak sandwich. More meat. Better value.”

  “Value?” I scoffed. “Flavor matters more than value.”

  “Meat is flavor.”

  “Croak.”

  Mr. Rocky shifted on Rok’s shoulder as if offering his own judgment, eyes wide and unhelpful.

  I opened my mouth to argue again, but stopped.

  Damien was standing a few steps away from us near the entrance, silently watching.

  “…Oh,” I blinked. “You’re done.”

  I walked over to him casually and gestured back toward Rok.

  “Explain to him why chicken skewers are superior.”

  Rok scowled. “Steak better.”

  Damien didn’t answer immediately. His gaze moved between us, slow and assessing.

  The tension from inside the guild hadn’t followed him here.

  For the first time since I met him, his shoulders looked… lighter.

  “One of them continued to complain about their headache,” Damien said, looking at Rok, “I’m guessing it’s your work?”

  Rok scoffed, folding his arms. “Next time I swing, I won’t hold back.”

  Damien continued to look quietly at Rok before breaking the silence.

  “Skewered meat maintains better heat distribution and is easier to consume while mobile,” he said, calmly.

  I froze, Rok froze, Mr. Rocky puffed up like he’d personally won something.

  A complete, unexpected surprise, especially coming from Damien, the guy who’s all perfect and clean.

  I should’ve been nervous about his casualness, but hey, if it helps me win, I couldn’t care.

  I slowly turned my head toward Rok, smile reaching my eyes.

  “… I would like the record to show,” I said carefully, “that Damien here agrees with me.”

  Rok clicked his tongue in deep disappointment.

  “Steak still bigger.”

  “That is not the point—“

  I stopped mid argument, because Damien was watching me.

  Like he was trying to understand something.

  The noise from the guild behind us was distant now, the earlier tension fading away.

  Then Damien exhaled quietly, barely there.

  “…You always argue like this?” He asked.

  “No…” I said, as he looked at me with that look.

  I couldn’t help but feel discomfort as he continued to look.

  Within a few seconds I broke, “ok fine… maybe sometimes, but not often,”

  Rok nodded once. “Keeps brain sharp.”

  “Croak,” Mr. Rocky said in agreement.

  Damien went still, before his gaze shifted forward again, the calm returning to its usual place like nothing happened.

  He adjusted his gloves slightly, and in that same composed tone, he spoke.

  “Lead me to your guild.”

  I blinked. Rok blinked. Mr. Rocky tilted his head as Damien walked past us.

  “We have work to do—“

  “Where are you going?” I asked, both of us grabbing his shoulders.

  Damien stopped and slowly turned his head.

  “To your guild.”

  Rok glanced up at him. “No.”

  Damien stared at him. “…No?”

  While keeping eye contact, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a heavy leather pouch and opened it.

  Gold gleamed in the sunlight.

  Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly, “… What is that?”

  “Our promised reward,” I said proudly. “Harassed directly out of the elders.”

  Rok nodded once. “Aggressively negotiated.”

  “Croak.”

  Damien looked from the pouch to us. “You extorted them.”

  “That is such a harsh word,” I replied. “We applied pressure.”

  “…And you intend to do what with this?”

  I smiled slowly. Beside me, Rok cracked his neck.

  “We have a reputation to maintain, we can’t have you be seen like this.”

  Rok nodded. “You need supplies.”

  I leaned closer. “We’re going shopping.

  Damien froze, “…That will not be necessary.”

  “Very necessary.”

  “I require nothing.”

  Rok looked him up and down, “you look expensive.”

  “That is not—“

  “You also look under-equipped.”

  Damien stared at him, “I am not.”

  I pointed at his gloves, “those are captain gloves.”

  “Yes.” He replied.

  “You are not a captain anymore.”

  Silence, a very dangerous silence hit as Rok took the pouch from my hands.

  Tossing it up and down, “shopping.”

  Damien fully turned around, “I am capable of managing my own—“

  I pressed a finger lightly against his chest. “Damien.”

  He went silent.

  “You are no longer part of the Sunforged party,” I said more quietly, leaning in. “This is now the Elias Kane party.”

  Rok nodded once. “We outfit you properly.”

  Mr. Rocky croaked dramatically.

  We all smiled, unsettling, quiet, and a little evil.

  Damien looked between the three of us, and we managed to do something that the ants or the Sunforge party failed to do, we made Damien look at us with concern in his eyes.

  Damien opened his mouth— then stopped.

  The legendary former captain of Sunforge was dragged down the market district like a hostage.

  For someone who had just dramatically severed ties with one of the most respected parties in the region… Damien was walking entirely too calm beside us.

  Like being forcibly escorted through the busiest market district at night by two questionable adventurers and one frog was simply part of his evening routine.

  The district was alive, shopkeepers calling out sales and the smell of meat and bread drifted through the air.

  And in the middle of all of it… we had a mission.

  “Left,” I said, already steering.

  “I said—“

  “Left,” Rok repeated, gently but firmly redirecting Damien by the shoulder.

  Damien exhaled slowly through his nose, not in annoyance, just enduring.

  Which, honestly, was starting to feel like a challenge.

  We stopped in front of the first outfitter, a shop stuffed with leather cloth and belts.

  Damien’s eyes flicked to the sign, then to me.

  “…Explain,” he said flatly.

  I smiled. “We are upgrading you.”

  “I did not request an upgrade.”

  Rok folded his arms. “Elias Kane party.”

  “That is—“

  “Elias Kane party,” I added helpfully.

  Mr. Rocky croaked in agreement.

  Damien went very still, and for a brief moment, I swear his eye twitched.

  Rok pushed him inside.

  The shopkeeper looked up, looked at Rok, looked at Damien, then looked at me, clearly wondering how much trouble we were about to bring into his store.

  “…How can I help—“

  I slapped the gold pouch onto the counter, hitting the counter with a heavy, beautiful thunk.

  Seeing this, the man’s posture and expression changed seriously.

  We all looked at each other with a serious look, while Damien closed his eyes.

  “Follow me,” the shopkeeper said.

  And what followed… was chaos.

  Absolute chaos.

  Rok rejected anything that looked “too soft.”

  I rejected anything that looked “too boring.”

  Mr. Rocky rejected things for reasons known only to whatever frog council he reported to.

  And Damien… Damien endured.

  At one point he emerged from the changing area wearing something aggressively noble.

  I squinted. “… You look like you’re about to attend a royal dinner and judge the peasants.”

  Rok shook his head. “Too shiny.”

  “Croak.”

  Back he went with the next outfits.

  “Too stiff.”

  “Too decorative.”

  “Too loud.”

  “Too… something?”

  Minutes turned into far too long, even Damien’s legendary patience was starting to show microscopic fractures.

  We all looked at each other, disappointed.

  But then, the shopkeeper would bring out one more set.

  “…Perhaps… this?”

  Looking at it, it was simple, black leather, clean lines, fitted without being restrictive.

  Reinforced at the shoulder and threaded through with yellow accents.

  Not bright. Not flashy, but cool enough.

  Damien stepped out wearing it.

  And the entire room… paused.

  “It works…” I whispered.

  The dark base sharpened his silhouette, the yellow cut thought just enough to give presence without noise.

  And against his silver hair and blue eyes… it looked… dangerous.

  Rok gave a small nod. “…Good.”

  Mr. Rocky puffed up in approval.

  And I— I leaned back slightly, studying him.

  “… Yeah,” I said quietly. “That’s the one.”

  Damien looked down at the outfit, testing.

  His expression didn’t change much, but something in his posture changed.

  Like the weight he’d been carrying had finally shifted.

  “I assume,” he said calmly, “this concludes the unnecessary portion of the evening.”

  Me. Rok. And Mr. Rocky smiled slowly— hands moving up and down.

  “Oh.. oh no… not even close.” I said.

  Rok nodded and Mr. Rocky croaked ominously.

  Damien’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, before we carried him out again.

  The former captain of Sunforge looked mildly concerned.

  And honestly? That alone was worth the gold.

  By the time we finally escaped the market district, Rok and I were carrying enough bags to legally qualify as traveling merchant caravans.

  I shifted the weight of my shoulder with a quiet grunt, with the strap digging into my palm as another bundle threatend to slide off entirely.

  Rok walked beside me completely unbother, three times my load hanging from his arms like a decorative accessories.

  Mr. Rocky sat proudly on top of one of the bags like a very small, very judgmental supervisor.

  Behind us, Damien walked empty handed, perfect posture.

  Freshly outfitted in black and yellow leather that caught more than a few eyes.

  I narrowed my eyes slightly as we walked. “... You know,” I said slowly, “most people would at least pretend to help carry things.”

  “I was not consulted during the purchasing phase,” Damien replied smoothly.

  “That is because you would have said no.”

  “I did say no.”

  Rok nodded once. “Repeatedly.”

  The streets grew narrower as we moved, the bright merchant lights giving way to the stone paths.

  Damien's gaze shifted subtly, observing the forest we entered.

  “... You're guild,” he said calmly, “is located in the wilderness?”

  “Define located.”

  Damien's eyes narrowed slightly.

  Behind me, Rok kept walking like this conversation was not about to become extremely inconvenient.

  We turned one corner before stopping.

  The underground guild entrance looked like it always did.

  A dark entrance that makes wanderers think twice before entering.

  Damien meanwhile went still beside us.

  “…This,” he said slowly,” is your base of operations?”

  “Nah.”

  Damien took a calm breath, “that’s good—“

  “It’s further ahead,” I said. “Come on.”

  Damien went quiet for a long moment. “… You are serious.”

  “Deeply.”

  We started walking, inside a familiar light dimmed as we entered the lobby, a bunch of deals, muted conversations, the soft clink of coins changing hands in a way that was definitely very legal.

  His eyes were moving across the room. “… I see,” he said quietly.

  I was just about to say something extremely reassuring and probably misleading when a familiar voice cut through.

  “Finally you are here.”

  We all froze when we saw Sylvia walk toward us.

  Sylvia stood a few steps inside the guild, arms folded and looking entirely too pleased with herself.

  Her gaze flicked between us before landing on Damien.

  And with the causal energy of someone commenting on the weather she asked. “I wanted to asked, how did you two manage to recruit the prince of Valcrest?”

  Me, Rok and Mr. Rocky froze, thinking our ears got damaged during the cave.

  “The what now?” I said, turning my head slowly.

  Damien looked at us with narrowed eyes, before bowing.

  “My apologies, I should have clarified,” he said, putting one hand on his chest. “My name is Damien Valcrest. First prince of the Valcrest family.”

  We all dropped our bags while Sylvia looked at us in confusion.

  “THE WHAT!?” we all said in unison.