Charles, still glowing faintly from his Legendary breakthrough, stared at his empty plate.
He was sweating. Shaking. Floating somewhere between spiritual euphoria and digestive collapse.
And yet...
His stomach rumbled.
The craving hit like a second awakening. His body wasn't just asking—it was begging. The spice, the heat, the umami... It wasn't food anymore. It was power. It was need.
He reached slightly toward the counter.
Bishop Rafayel calmly placed a hand over his.
"Your Majesty... please don't."
Charles glanced at him, eyebrow raised. "Why? I can handle another portion."
"That's not the issue."
The bishop leaned in slightly, voice dropping.
"It's the cost."
Charles frowned. "What, the food? I'm the Emperor. I can afford lunch."
Rafayel looked almost apologetic. "This place doesn't deal in coinage you're familiar with."
A pause.
Then the bishop said the words.
"Soul coins."
Clink.
Charles's goblet slipped from his fingers and hit the table. Water spread slowly across the carved runes.
"You did not just say soul coins."
Rafayel nodded solemnly.
"You mean the same soul coins that drop only from level 8 monsters? The ones we've been treating like cursed paperweights?!"
"They're not paperweights anymore," Rafayel said gently. "The Dragon Queen redefined the market. One soul coin is now worth one million gold."
Charles leaned back, blinking. "So that's why the world went mad…"
The coin rush. The border wars. The absurd surge in monster-hunting contracts.
Now it made sense.
His eyes drifted to the red-haired woman lazily chewing her rice. A divine aura still radiated faintly around her. His face went pale.
"That's her, isn't it."
Rafayel didn't answer.
"That's Elizabeth III," Charles whispered. "You brought me into the same room as her and didn't tell me?"
Rafayel cleared his throat delicately. "I was afraid you'd say no."
Charles stared. "You kidnapped me into a million-gold lunchroom."
"I invited you. You followed. Legally, that's consent."
Charles inhaled sharply. "How many soul coins do I even owe right now?"
Rafayel tapped his fingers thoughtfully.
"There are eight of us. That's eighty coins. You got an extra portion—so, ninety. And you'll need to bring one back for the Empress or she'll vaporize the palace staff again… so let's round up. One hundred soul coins."
Charles felt his heart skip a beat.
"I didn't bring any."
"Then your bill is overdue," Rafayel said calmly.
The emperor slumped in his chair, overwhelmed by the cost of lunch.
He was still internally spiraling when the tavern door knocked gently.
The hobgoblin at the bar stopped polishing his enchanted glasses, shuffled over, and cracked the door open.
After a short pause, he stepped back and let someone inside.
It was a child.
Barely ten. Clothes torn, skin bruised, eyes dazed. She trembled with every step.
No one asked questions. No one interrupted.
The black-haired man behind the counter moved first.
With a flick of his fingers, a glowing bed unfolded onto the tavern floor. Soft green light pulsed from beneath.
Charles sat up straighter.
"That's… Legendary-grade inventory magic."
He'd only seen it once before. And that time it had belonged to a high elf archmage who accidentally turned a mountain into soup.
Rafayel was already moving, kneeling beside the child. He pressed two fingers to her neck, then summoned a slow, golden glow that wrapped around her body.
Her breathing steadied. Color returned.
From the far side of the tavern, a woman cloaked in ivy and feathers emerged silently. A druid. She placed a glowing golden pear in the child's hand, helped her chew.
The child's aura pulsed. Her stamina stabilized. Her mana returned.
The black-haired man gave both healers a casual nod.
Another flick. Two small green coins materialized—glimmering, real.
He handed them out.
Ten each.
Soul coins.
Charles's mouth fell open.
He turned slowly to Rafayel. "What kind of coins were those?"
"Soul coins," Rafayel replied.
"I thought you said those were payment for food."
"They're used for everything here," the bishop said, brushing off his robes. "Food. Healing. Blessings. Assassinations. Spiritual counseling. You name it."
The emperor's gaze snapped back to the child, now curled up peacefully on the summoned bed.
He frowned. "Who was she? And why were you and that druid paid?"
Rafayel offered a faint smile. "I forgot to mention, Your Majesty... I'm an adventurer."
Charles blinked. "You're a bishop."
"And a Rank A healer in the guild."
The emperor just stared.
"Want me to explain?" Rafayel asked mildly.
Charles didn't answer. His expression did.
Rafayel's Explanation: The Guild
"The Everlasting Adventure Guild isn't a tavern," Rafayel said, folding his arms. "It's the oldest, most influential organization on the continent. Maybe beyond."
"Seekers—like that child—are people with vital knowledge. Monster locations. Forbidden ruins. Prophecies. Sometimes just a strange dream that turns out to be real. If their intel checks out, the guild pays them. Sometimes with protection. Sometimes with food. Sometimes, when things are really bad, with silence."
"Hunters are the muscle. They take on quests ranging from S-class monsters to hunting rogue royalty. You'd be surprised how often those overlap."
"Healers, like myself, are deployed when things go sideways. We don't work for nations. We answer to the guildmaster."
"Crafters. Curse-breakers. Archivists. Oracle translators. You name it—we have it. Every role ranked. Every coin earned."
"And soul coins? They're pure essence. Forgery-proof. Value-bound. The guild doesn't trust gold. Gold burns. But monster soul essence? That's eternal."