Garth tried to shrink under the scrutinizing gazes of the Raiding party, doing so with moderate success. However, the former Raid Leader's occasional glances in his direction suggested suspicion—perhaps of thievery or something else.

  The carriage jerked to a stop.

  "Raid Leader! You've got to see this!" a booming voice called from outside. The urgency in the coachman's tone sent a ripple of unease through everyone within the carriage.

  Their curiosity and apprehension skyrocketed, and without hesitation, they hurried outside in pairs.

  Garth already knew what awaited them, yet he feigned ignorance, his expression a perfect mask of confusion.

  As expected, the ground before them was nothing but an expanse of plain sand. The Void was gone.

  "Where’s the Void?" the former Raid Leader was the first to ask, his voice sharp with disbelief.

  "What happened?" The new Raid Leader turned to Garth.

  "I don’t know," Garth replied, his tone carrying a trace of guilt.

  "Could one of your party members have eliminated the boss demon?" the new Raid Leader questioned the former one.

  "No," the older man responded firmly. "That demon was far beyond their capabilities. Anyone who stood against it... died... instantly." His gaze drifted toward Garth, suspicion creeping into his features. "Except... you."

  At that, the rest of the Raid members shifted their attention to Garth.

  He simply shrugged. "I ran. That’s all I did." He kept his eyes downcast, refusing to meet their stares.

  A long silence followed as the group processed the situation.

  "I see," the new Raid Leader finally said. "No need to dwell on it. The important thing is that the Void is gone. We’ll report back to the guild and hopefully get paid."

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  Without further discussion, he turned and climbed back into the carriage, and the others followed—except for the former Raid Leader.

  The man lingered, studying Garth intently. It was clear he wanted answers, and that realization irritated Garth.

  He climbed into the carriage without another word. "You coming or what?" someone called out from inside.

  After a brief hesitation, the former Raid Leader stepped forward and boarded the carriage.

  The journey home began.

  The Guild’s Price

  Contrary to Garth’s expectations, the former Raid Leader did not continue staring at him. Instead, he turned away, lost in thought.

  The rest of the trip was uneventful, heavy with unspoken questions.

  As soon as the carriage passed through the capital walls, Garth was eager to separate himself from the Raiding party.

  Unfortunately, they had other plans. He was required to provide a statement and hand over any demon cores he had collected.

  He scowled at the small pouch in his hands—six Sparrow-grade Demon Cores. It was a pitiful haul, given what he had truly earned. Anger flared within him, but he knew better than to protest. These people were far beyond his league. Resigned, he followed them into the guild.

  After completing all formalities, he received his payment—twenty Shakles.

  It was a small sum, but the guild had at least acknowledged that he returned with cores despite the raid's disastrous outcome. Otherwise, they would have given him far less.

  On a regular day, he earned just two Shakles.

  Yet despite this higher-than-usual pay, his frustration only grew. Had he been able to sell the cores himself, they would have fetched at least sixty-six Shakles.

  Now, he had almost nothing.

  Still, Garth smiled.

  It didn’t matter. He would raid again. Gather more cores. Slip away before the battle ended, making it seem like sheer luck.

  As he walked home, he calculated the risks. If he repeated this scheme too often, the guild would catch on. He would be arrested, possibly worse.

  To avoid prison, he would have to stop after three more times—no more. By then, he needed an alternative.

  He only wished he had one now.

  A Shadow in the Streets

  So lost in thought was Garth that he failed to notice the man trailing him.

  The former Raid Leader had been following him ever since he left the guild.

  The man had initially attempted to retrieve Garth’s information through the guild, but his request was denied. He had expected as much, but it was worth trying.

  Since that route failed, he resorted to the simplest method—tracking Garth himself.

  Something in his gut told him this boy was no ordinary man.

  A Familiar Presence

  Oblivious to his pursuer, Garth reached home—and immediately, his tension melted into an even broader smile.

  The air was filled with a mouthwatering aroma, rich and comforting despite its simplicity.

  And, best of all, it came from his own home.

  He knew exactly whose hands were behind the meal.

  For over ten years, those hands had cooked for him.

  Excitement surged through him. He dashed inside, and his grin widened further when his suspicions were confirmed.

  Rachael was in the backyard, tending to a large black pot of bubbling sauce.

  "I knew it," he murmured, barely containing his delight. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the backyard.

  His father sat on a bench beside their water drums, rising the moment he saw him.

  "Garth," his father choked out, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He rushed forward and pulled his son into a tight embrace.

  "Where did you go? Where have you been? Why didn’t you leave a letter?"

  A sharp pang of realization struck Garth.

  He had completely forgotten to inform them of his absence.

  They must have been worried sick—especially after he failed to return for a night.

  "Forgive me, Father," he said quietly. His gaze shifted to Rachael, who had yet to take her eyes off the simmering pot.

  Her movements were steady, but her posture betrayed the emotions she was trying to suppress. Worry. Fear. And above all, anger.

  But she held herself together, refusing to let it show.