Ch-10 The guild and the game
The morning light settled over Virestead like a veil—soft, pale, and faintly golden through a sky still wrapped in fog. Dew clung to the stone walkways, and the scent of clay, burnt spices, and river moss drifted lazily through the air.
Kaito moved quietly through the town's spine, the main street that split Virestead in two.
This was the first time he'd really seen it awake.
And already, something felt different.
Virestead wasn't a village—it was a town of layers. Lanes forked like tree roots, diverging into alleys packed with signs carved in dozens of languages. Some words he could read. Others looked like scratches left by talons or symbols pulled straight from ancient ruins.
Despite its haunted stillness at night, the town was alive now. Not noisy, but functional.
People moved with purpose.
Not rushing—but never idle.
---
To his left, a cluster of open-air lodges sprawled beneath awnings stitched with dyed fabrics—purples, greens, storm-grays. They reminded him of wilderness outposts: high windows, slanted roofs, smoke drifting from tin chimneys. Wooden notice boards outside them were already filling with papers, tokens, and pinned quest sigils. Above one lodge's doors, a faded emblem read:
> "The Echoed Map. Explorer's Lodge – East Desk."
It looked quiet inside, but he saw figures hunched over scrolls, maps spread across massive oak tables. One person wore goggles and ink-stained gloves. Another carried what looked like a crystal compass that floated faintly above her hand.
---
To the right, the smells of food and smoke caught his attention.
A two-story tavern called The Crooked Cup pulsed with the sound of sizzling pans and clinking mugs. Metal trays passed through open windows. Signs offered "cave-lizard stew," "firebean noodles," and something called "ember-ink coffee."
Outside, people ate quietly on stone benches—silent, not unfriendly. Some wore dust-covered armor. Others robes of faded silk. One man sat cross-legged with a scroll floating in the air beside him, turning its own pages.
Kaito kept walking.
---
What struck him most wasn't the buildings.
It was the people.
Virestead was a place where every kind of person—and not just human—seemed to exist in delicate, quiet coexistence.
He passed a trio of tall, wolf-eared warriors draped in furs, carrying axes carved with bone handles. Just beyond them, a pale-skinned woman in formal robes walked barefoot across the stone, her silver staff clicking softly as it touched the ground. Her eyes were covered by a blindfold—but she moved like she saw more than anyone else.
Two children ran past him, their skin scaled faintly along the arms, laughing in a language he didn't understand.
Near an arched walkway, a pair of merchants haggled loudly over the price of "spark-leaf" and something called "shifter root." One of them had six fingers on each hand and wore a coat that shimmered like oil on water.
Above it all, apartment towers rose no more than three or four stories high—built of black brick and pale mortar, their outer balconies lined with potted herbs, strange metal cages, and wind-chimes shaped like crescent moons.
It wasn't chaos.
It was organized difference.
A town that didn't just allow variety—it expected it.
And yet, none of it dulled the strange tension in the air.
Because no matter how many spices sizzled or scrolls floated, everyone who passed Kaito did the same thing:
They looked once.
And then looked away.
Like recognizing something dangerous but unspoken.
---
He kept walking, footsteps steady.
And as he turned another corner, he saw it:
A large wooden post planted at the intersection of four roads—weathered, sun-bleached, but still sturdy. Arrows stretched in all directions, hand-painted and carved.
> → Merchant's Hub – West Wing
→ Explorer's Lodge – Upper Level, Access Permitted
→ Hunter's Guild – Arena Block
→ Temple of the Archivist – Restricted Entry
A small note was pinned beneath them, barely legible through the smudged ink:
> "A citizen may join up to two guilds at once. Choose not with ambition—but with intent."
Kaito stared for a long moment.
Then whispered:
"So that's how this town works…"
He stepped back, eyes flicking to the directions.
He didn't have a home.
He didn't have allies.
But now… he had paths.
And whichever ones he chose—they would shape what came next.
The path to the Explorer's Lodge curved along a narrow ridge that overlooked the town's southern edge. It was taller than most buildings in Virestead, built of dark grey stone with accents of deep bronze, its upper windows shaped like angled hourglasses. From afar, it looked like a scholar's tower. Up close, it breathed like a living library.
A stained-glass panel above the door shimmered faintly with color as Kaito approached. It depicted a road splitting into five paths—each one ending in a different sun.
He stepped inside.
Warmth.
Not from fire, but from presence. The air was thick with parchment and ink, magic and memory. Rows of cabinets lined the walls, their drawers marked with odd symbols. Maps—some animated, others tattered—hung from rafters and scroll racks. A low humming echoed through the stone, like wind moving through hollow bones.
People were everywhere—but none of them looked at Kaito like he didn't belong.
One person wore what looked like a coat made from stitched dragonfly wings. Another floated a foot above the ground, a pen scribbling midair beside him. A short woman with tattoos glowing beneath her skin debated terrain theory with a man whose face shimmered like cracked porcelain.
No one cared that Kaito wore modern street clothes.
In this town, strangeness was expected.
---
A wide desk sat at the center of the hall, shaped like a ring. Several explorers came and went, signing scrolls or handing in artifacts.
Behind the desk stood a tall woman with storm-grey hair in a loose braid, eyes glowing faintly blue. Her coat was trimmed with etched feathers, and her sleeves shimmered faintly with bound sigils. She looked up as Kaito approached.
"First time?" she asked, her voice calm but sharp—like a teacher who didn't tolerate wasting time.
Kaito nodded. "I want to join the Lodge."
She studied him for a long second. Then pointed to a hexagonal stone embedded into the floor.
"Step onto the Archive Seal."
He did.
The moment his boot touched it, the glyphs lit up—and a pulse ran through him.
Not pain. Not heat. Just a subtle sensation—like someone rifling through drawers inside his mind.
His memories flickered.
The forest.
The statue.
The deaths.
The monsters.
The girl.
The silence after.
Then it was gone.
The system chimed, but not from within him.
[Mindbind Seal Registered]
[Exploration Rank Evaluated: Copper I (Novice Grade I)]
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Copper One. That places you just above baseline. You've been somewhere meaningful, if only once."
Kaito cleared his throat. "Kairen," he said. "Register me under that name."
She nodded, not questioning it. "Alias noted. Now let me explain how the Lodge works."
She stepped around the desk and gestured to a mural of icons pinned to the wall. It resembled a branching road with colored rings beside each title:
> Tin – Unaffiliated, no exploration record
Copper I–V – Novice Explorers
Bronze I–V – Recognized Field Agents
Silver I–III – Authorized Worldwalkers
Gold – Gatebound Cartographers
Platinum – Access-Level Commanders
Obsidian – Hidden Rank, accessible only to Inner Circle Archivists
"Your rank," she said, "controls what information you can access, where you're allowed to go, and what missions you're eligible for. Every expedition you document—every discovery you log—earns you Merit Points."
"And if I don't go anywhere?" Kaito asked.
"You'll stay a Copper until you die," she said flatly.
She handed him a leather-bound scroll. Its cover shimmered faintly beneath the wax seal.
"This is your Lodgeroll. It's personalized to your rank. It will update with every authorized mission, region clearance, or submitted world fragment. Lose it, and you lose your progress."
Kaito nodded slowly, tucking it into his satchel.
---
Before leaving, he wandered the Lodge hall.
Rows of bookshelves curved like spokes around the tower's core, each section marked with sigils and color-coded locks. Some books floated on enchanted chains. Others were caged in glass. An entire wall flickered with animated maps—showing storm cycles, shifting mountains, glowing forest regions that pulsed like living lungs.
Kaito tried browsing—but at every corner, he hit the same barrier.
[Access Level: Bronze Required]
[Document Restricted – Cognitive Hazard Rating: Silver]
He gritted his teeth and settled for what he could find—a dusty travel guide on "Known Road-Edge Beasts," and a primer on "Basic Topographies of the Western Verge."
Even then, half the pages were blacked out with a red ink that smelled faintly of ash.
Still, he copied what he could into his Lodgeroll. Beast names. Map borders. Terms like "The Buried Sun," "Lurker Glens," and "Temporal Fault Lines."
The more he read, the more questions it raised.
And that was enough for now.
---
As he stepped out into the fading daylight, the desk woman called after him one last time.
"Be careful, Kairen."
He turned.
"Why?"
"Because the more you learn," she said, "the more likely you are to ask the wrong question in the wrong place."
Then she smiled.
But it wasn't kind.
Kaito walked slowly down the hill from the Explorer's Lodge, his boots scuffing against the stone path as the sounds of Virestead shifted from quiet study to low, guttural energy. Somewhere deeper in the town, a forge clanged metal against metal. Laughter rang out—not warm, but sharp-edged, aggressive. Something primal lingered in the air, like blood mixed with smoke.
But his mind was still echoing from the Lodge.
Copper One, he thought. Just above the bottom. And only because of that forest…
He wasn't surprised the forest was called the Forest of Illusions—the name fit all too well. According to the desk manager, its monsters were weak, but the forest itself was deceptive. A Tier-2 Hazard Zone, one step above the beginner regions. It twisted paths. Distorted memory. Made fear feel like truth.
And yet… he had survived it.
Barely, he reminded himself. But that was enough.
Still, something about the Explorer's Lodge stayed with him.
The way knowledge was hoarded behind rankings. The way each secret felt like a coin spent to unlock a bigger lie.
This world isn't random, he thought. It's built like a machine. And if I want to survive… I have to learn how the gears turn.
But knowledge alone wouldn't be enough.
He needed coin. Food. Equipment. Power.
Which is why he was now heading toward the Hunter's Guild.
---
The Hunter's Guild was a stark contrast to the quiet reverence of the Explorer's Lodge.
It wasn't a place of lofty ideals or maps. It was a place of blood, muscle, and sweat.
The Guildhall stood at the edge of town, its stone façade cracked and weathered, the walls decorated with hanging furs, skewered monster skulls, and large iron banners. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of smoke, leather, and metal.
Loud murmurs filled the air. The floors creaked under the weight of heavy boots, the clang of weaponry. Hunter types—some old, some young—milled about, either finalizing contracts or discussing strategies. Some bore wounds from recent hunts; others showed the hardened faces of veterans who had seen too many things in this world.
At the far end of the room, a large bounty board was covered with various mission requests—bright red tags marked the most dangerous. Kaito studied the bulletin for a moment, noticing the wide variety of missions: from monster culling to resource gathering, from tracking dangerous beasts to clearing out criminal nests in nearby ruins.
A few hunters passed by, carrying sacks of spoils or the lifeless bodies of beasts draped across their backs. The silence between them wasn't friendly. It was transactional—hard, businesslike. Everyone here was a commodity.
At the back of the room stood a long counter, worn by use. Behind it was a man with a face carved by years of exposure to the wild—his skin tough, eyes sharp, his jaw covered with a rough beard. He barely looked up when Kaito approached, only giving a brief nod.
"Here to join up?" the man asked, his voice gravelly, as if it had been worn down by years of shouting over battle.
"Yeah," Kaito said, taking a deep breath. "I want to register."
The man didn't say anything else. Instead, he motioned to a side table, where a red-hot brand sat next to a large iron basin of cold water.
"Sit," the man said curtly.
Kaito obeyed, sitting on the worn wooden chair. His stomach clenched as the reality of what was coming hit him.
---
The guildmaster—gruff, scarred, and soaked in the scent of steel—paused just before lifting the enchanted brand.
"You get one chance," he said, voice low but firm. "Every hunter's tag is unique. Not just in design—but in meaning. People won't remember your face, boy. They'll remember your mark."
He slid a piece of thick black parchment toward Kaito, along with a quill glowing with dim red runes.
"Draw what you want to be known for."
Kaito hesitated.
His fingers clenched the quill tightly.
He thought of the pain. The dozens of deaths. The forest of illusions. The statue that took everything. The girl. The blood. The fake smiles. The forgotten names.
And then… the void.
The shadow he was becoming.
His hand moved almost of its own will—lines drawn without hesitation. A sharp, broken curve. A vertical gash through the center. Watching dots. A clawed edge pointing downward like a falling blade.
It wasn't a symbol of glory.
It wasn't hope.
It was survival. Cold, merciless survival.
The guildmaster stared at the sketch for a long moment, then looked up.
"What'll you call it?"
Kaito didn't speak right away.
He looked at the glowing forge nearby, the heat reflecting in his eyes.
He saw, for a flicker of a second, every version of himself that had died to get here.
Then he said it—quiet but unwavering:
"The Mark of the Hollow Shadow."
The guildmaster raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly.
"Fitting."
He held the paper up to the flames. It caught instantly, not burning but absorbing the fire into itself. The runes on the branding iron flared in response.
And then—
"Hold still."
---
The man dipped the brand into the basin, steam hissing up, and Kaito felt the air in the room grow heavy. The brand was an old-fashioned thing—rectangular, burnished with a strange black aura that seemed to hum with some kind of magic.
"Imprinting's permanent. There's no going back once you wear this," the man said. "You'll carry the mark for the rest of your days. Everything you kill, everything you take, is yours to claim—but you gotta work for it."
Kaito swallowed, his fingers curling tightly into the chair's armrests. "I understand."
The man's eyes flickered with a half-smile as he set the brand against Kaito's chest, just above his heart.
Pain exploded into his chest. Kaito's breath caught as the magic worked its way into his skin. The sensation wasn't just heat—it was like something was being engraved into his very flesh, branding him with purpose. The iron burned through his clothes, leaving a trail of fire across his skin that felt like it was carving something permanent into his body.
The imprint seared deeper, until it felt like his heart was a part of the mark itself.
---
When it was done, the man removed the brand. Kaito's skin now bore a dark sigil—a set of interwoven lines and dots that formed a strange symbol, glowing faintly in the dim light.
"There," the man grunted, stepping back. "Your tag. It's magically bound to your body. You'll be able to see your progress as you complete bounties. Only those with the tag can claim kills. Without it, you're invisible to the Guild's records."
Kaito reached up, feeling the strange mark. It was a tattoo now, but he could still feel the burn of magic coursing through it—alive, tracking, waiting. It wasn't just a tattoo. It was a tool.
A symbol of his new life.
"Now you're part of the system," the man said, wiping his hands. "Go get yourself something to hunt."
---
Kaito stood, eyes still on the tag as it pulsed beneath his skin. The pain had faded, but a sense of finality remained. The Guild's grip on him had already begun.
He walked over to the large bounty board, where a list of recent hunts was pinned. There were high-value targets—great beasts, legendary predators—but Kaito's gaze fell on one in particular: a creature called the Hollow-Talon Wolf.
It was an elusive creature, reported to kill but leave no visible wounds. The bounty was high. Dangerous.
But it's my first kill, Kaito thought. It has to be.
He reached out, tore the request from the board, and handed it to the Guildmaster at the counter.
"I'll take it."
The man gave a small nod. "Hunt well, Copper. Your tag will verify your kills."
---
Kaito left the Guildhall, the weight of the mark heavy on his chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling—like something had changed inside him, binding him not just to the Guild, but to the world itself. The streets of Virestead were waiting. The Guilds had given him a place, a task, a path.
But what was the real price of that path?
The streets felt different now.
Not louder. Not busier. But heavier—like a curtain had been pulled back just enough for Kaito to see the gears turning behind the stage.
He walked past the central square where guild signs swayed in the breeze, past bulletin walls that buzzed with low-tier bounties and courier requests. Everywhere, people moved in set rhythms—traders haggling in hushed tones, adventurers negotiating supply prices, children darting past with marked scrolls clutched in hand. There was no chaos here.
Just rules.
Unspoken. Enforced.
Kaito paused at the edge of a small fountain. Its water was murky but still, and the stone rim was carved with faint glyphs—faded, old. He leaned against it, the memory of the Hunter's Guild brand still burning faintly beneath his skin.
He looked at the town again, but now, he saw the patterns.
The way the Merchant's Guild controlled storefronts with "approval plaques."
The way two Hunters—one Bronze, one Iron—passed each other without speaking, but deliberately averted their eyes. Some kind of silent pecking order.
The way townsfolk shifted out of the way for a woman in a shimmering red sash and never spoke until she was gone.
Everyone here belongs to something, Kaito realized. And everything has a cost.
---
He stopped by a weapons vendor—an older man with brass-rimmed goggles and smoke-stained gloves. Kaito browsed quietly, noting how many of the weapons were modified or bound with strange crystal fragments.
"Looking to kill something?" the man asked without looking up.
"Trying not to die," Kaito replied.
The merchant smirked. "Same thing, really."
Kaito picked up a jagged dagger with bone inlay and a hollow hilt. The merchant watched him handle it, then nodded.
"Careful. That one sings to monsters. Makes 'em twitchy. Good if you're trying to draw blood first."
He put it back.
I need information more than weapons right now.
---
As he moved toward a quiet corner of the Guild square, he noticed a small pavilion with faded symbols on its cloth. An old woman sat there, hunched over a ledger. A single sign hung above her booth:
> "Status Merging & Rank Confirmations – Guild Registry Only"
She didn't look up as he passed—but he noticed the thick ledger beside her had only one open page:
A list of names.
Half of them crossed out.
What happens if someone breaks the rules? he wondered. Or disappears?
---
Later that day, Kaito returned to the Explorer's Lodge to study the beast he had taken a bounty for.
The Hollow-Talon Wolf.
There were no public documents on it—just a reference note behind a locked shelf. He requested access, but the archive keeper barely glanced at his badge before shaking her head.
"Bronze Two or higher," she said. "That's classified."
"Why? It's on the bounty board."
She didn't answer.
Just turned and walked away.
---
He exited the Lodge empty-handed, irritation flickering in his chest.
The system was clear now: if you didn't climb, you didn't learn.
If you didn't learn—you died stupid.
But what if the system wasn't built just to control knowledge?
What if it was meant to keep people blind?
He crossed the square again and glanced back at the tall spires of the Temple, still silhouetted against the sky. A sharp gust of wind hit his face.
From somewhere far above, a single bell gave a hollow, metallic clink—not a ring, not a chime. Just a warning.
He didn't know what it meant.
But something was watching.
And it didn't want him asking questions.
The Lodge was quieter at dusk.
Candles floated above the reading tables now, flickering gently with runes that pulsed like breathing lungs. The map wall had dimmed, showing only the most stable borders. Most of the higher-ranked explorers had already retired—leaving behind the copper ranks to scavenge what scraps of knowledge remained before curfew.
Kaito wasn't supposed to be in the back stacks.
He had slipped past the shelf guards when one of the archivists got into an argument with a Bronze-ranked researcher near the front desk. It wasn't locked—just marked Copper Access Prohibited. That meant it was just out of reach.
And those were the ones that always mattered.
The back area was colder. Dustier. Older. Shelves sagged beneath the weight of hand-bound tomes, scroll cylinders, and leather-clasped journals. Most bore no titles. Others were labeled in dead languages, their ink faded into bruised stains.
Kaito moved silently through the rows, running a hand along the spines until something called to him—a crooked volume jammed between two larger alchemy ledgers.
It had no title on the cover. The edges were frayed. Its spine was cracked.
But when he opened it…
He found notes. Loose sketches. Scraps of field logs and marginalia written by dozens of hands. There was no index. No order. Just experiences crammed together.
And somewhere around halfway through, wedged between two field notes on shifting dunes, he found the section that stopped him cold:
A torn page marked with faint blood stains and the word:
"Eastern Ridge - Classification REDACTED"
It wasn't a full entry.
But it mentioned the Hollow-Talon Wolf.
That was enough.
---
Most of the page was illegible.
But near the bottom, a red-stamped heading read:
> BURIAL CODED: ACCESS - BRONZE IV
Field Report Excerpt – Eastern Ridge (Status: REDACTED)
"The subject left no visible wounds. Tracking sigils failed. Screams stopped mid-breath. Recommend denial of Copper-level access…"
And below that—scratched hastily in the margins:
> "They mark those they hunt. Watch for the eyes."
Kaito leaned in closer.
His fingers grazed the parchment's edge.
His mark—The Hollow Shadow—tingled beneath his skin.
As if responding to the text.
---
He took the document to the archivist desk, half-hoping someone would notice, but the attendant was dozing, her hand still holding a levitating quill mid-scribble. No one saw.
No one cared.
Or maybe… they pretended not to.
Kaito copied what he could into his Lodgeroll, scribbling it in shorthand beneath his mission notes.
> Hollow-Talon Wolf – no confirmed anatomy – leaves no visible trace
Possible connection to memory disruption / psychic distortion
Suggested mark-based tracking? Eyes? No vocal confirmation.
Archivist-level redaction. Why?
The more he read, the more the tag on his chest began to throb—just slightly, like a heartbeat slowing before a kill.
---
Outside the Lodge, night had fully fallen. The wind was colder now, sharper.
As he stepped past a stone bench near the old guild signpost, he froze.
There—scratched faintly into the back edge of the wood—
Three overlapping arcs inside a broken ring.
The Gate's mark.
But smaller.
Subtler.
Almost like it had been left there... recently.
He ran his thumb across it.
And in that moment—just for a breath—his vision flickered.
He wasn't standing in Virestead anymore.
He was in a forest, but it wasn't the Forest of Illusions. It was darker. Wider. And something was breathing on the back of his neck.
Then—
Gone.
---
Kaito stumbled back, chest heaving.
What did I just see?
The mark on the bench was still there.
But the moment was not.
A whisper brushed his thoughts—one he couldn't be sure was his own.
"Not all hunts end with death. Some end with remembering."
He turned and walked away—faster now, heart pounding.
Because he'd seen enough to know:
The Guilds were watching the monsters.
But something else… was watching him.
Kaito didn't sleep that night.
He sat in the corner of the rented attic room Thalen had helped him find—bare walls, thin sheets, cracked window. But it was high enough that he could see the lights of Virestead flicker below, and the distant peaks that framed the world like broken teeth.
He watched the stars. Or tried to.
But all he could feel was the pulsing heat beneath his chest. The Mark of the Hollow Shadow.
He pulled down his shirt, revealing the dark sigil etched into his skin. It didn't glow. It didn't hum.
But it was… waiting.
He'd seen enough magic by now to know that some things only responded to intention.
So he focused.
On the bounty.
On the name.
On the beast.
Hollow-Talon Wolf.
Nothing happened.
Then—
A whisper in the back of his skull. Like static. Then clearer:
> [Tracking Initiated]
[Mark Responding]
[Linked Signature Identified – Subject: Hollow-Talon Variant 03]
[Danger Rating: Tier-3 – Adaptive]
[Cognitive Warning: Memory Displacement Possible. Avoid prolonged visual contact.]
Kaito blinked.
The air in the room had shifted.
He stood, slowly, and approached the window.
In the far, far distance—across the hills that rolled toward the east—he saw it.
A flicker.
Not light. Not movement.
Just… absence. Like a part of the world had been erased for a breath. Then redrawn.
The tag on his chest pulsed once.
> [Target Acquired. Engage at Will.]
But that wasn't all.
A second notification flickered into his vision—faint, faded like an old echo:
> [Explorer's Lodge: Limited Task Update Unlocked]
[Field Reference Opportunity: Classify and Confirm Unknown Predator]
[Reward Tier Increased if Survivor Testimony Added]
[WARNING: Survivor Rate – 18%]
He stared at it, lips dry.
Two quests. One kill.
One for knowledge.
One for blood.
And both systems—the silent world-builders behind the Explorer's Lodge and the Hunter's Guild—were watching. Recording. Waiting to see which part of him would win.
The part that wanted to learn…
Or the part that wanted to kill.
---
He stepped away from the window, grabbed his gear, and slung the Lodgeroll over his shoulder.
He was done being a pawn.
If the world wanted to test him—fine.
He'd make it bleed for trying.