Ethan finally turned away from Karl's crumpled form and fixed his gaze on the small figure peeking out from behind Seloria.

"Sylvie," he called, his tone calm now. "I suppose you've recovered some mana?"

Sylvie blinked, startled by the sudden attention. She nodded quickly, Seloria gave her a gentle nudge on the shoulder to calm her.

"Y-yes, Master," Sylvie said.

"Then come here."

Her steps were hesitant at first, but when she reached his side, Ethan's hand rested lightly on her head. His eyes shifted to Karl, whose face was swollen and bloodied.

"So," Ethan said quietly, "what was she to you?"

Karl's voice cracked as he croaked, "A… a kind lady…"

"Yes," Ethan replied, his voice edged with irony. "And now this kind lady will show you some kindness." He looked down at Sylvie. "Heal them."

Sylvie's small hands glowed with a soft, pearly light.

[Luminous Mend]

One by one, she went to Karl's companions, laying her palms over their battered forms. Broken noses straightened, bruises faded, breath returned to steadier rhythm. Even Karl, whose face had been reduced to pulp, felt his skin knit, bones shift back into place, and the ache dull into nothing but memory.

He touched his cheek in disbelief, his hands trembling. To be healed—by the very man who had beaten him into the ground.

Ethan's voice cut through his daze.

"I suppose juniors should pay the fee for a lesson well taught. Don't you agree?"

Karl looked up, still kneeling, bloodstains on his clothes despite his body being whole again. His voice shook.

"Y-yes?"

Ethan tilted his chin toward the wall nearby, where a deep crater marred the stone, spiderweb cracks. Dust still crumbled from it. Karl followed his gaze.

"Absolutely!" he blurted, bowing his head. "We will pay for it!"

Ethan's lips curled faintly. "Good."

With that, he turned, his coat swaying as he walked toward the inner halls. Lirael followed at his side, her smile as serene as if she hadn't just beaten men into the floor. Seloria gently guided a still-flustered Sylvie along, the girl clinging to her hand after the sudden intensity of it all.

The guild hall was silent, stunned. Adventurers whispered in low, awed voices, some staring at Karl's group with pity, others at Ethan with wary respect.

Just as Ethan reached the steps leading deeper inside, the receptionist called out, her voice nervous but firm.

"Sir Ethan! Why don't you stay for a while? More parties will be arriving soon, and I expect the official raid will be organized before the day is out. It may be… convenient for you to remain here."

Ethan paused mid-step. He thought for a moment, then gave a single nod.

"Very well."

Without another word, he led his companions deeper into the guild, disappearing from view.

Behind them, the guild remained frozen in uneasy silence—Karl clutching his badge with shaking hands, the dented wall a grim reminder, and the whispers of Ethan's name spreading like fire.

But no one noticed the clenched jaw Karl had formed subconsciously. Bastard just you wait...you were only able to do that because I was caught while my guard was down.

Beside him his companions also had same expression. Their faces twisted with humiliation, fear and anger.

---

Ethan had just lowered himself into a chair, ready to exchange words with Lirael and Sylvie, when a panicked voice split through the air like a blade.

"Monsters! They've been spotted near the city walls! A tide is coming!"

The guild's murmur collapsed into chaos. Boots scraped, mugs clattered to the floor, and dozens of voices rose in overlapping cries.

"Shit, no…"

"My gear—my sword broke in the crack!"

"I just got healed—I can barely stand, let alone fight!"

Ethan's ears filled with the sound of fear thick in the air. The scent of sweat and healing medicine mingled, making the hall feel stifling. Those who had barely survived the dungeon crack gripped their bandaged wounds, their faces pale. Healing magic had closed flesh, but it did nothing for the fatique in their limbs or the wearyness of their mind.

Before the panic could spiral further, a commanding voice boomed over the noise:

"Quiet! All high-ranked adventurers will convene immediately. We will decide on strategy. The rest of you—focus on healing and recovery! As soon as you regain your strength, report to the walls!"

The words cut through the uproar like steel, steadying frayed nerves. Adventurers exchanged glances, swallowed their fear, and began preparing what little they could.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Time to level up again." he murmured.

---

Not long after, the call came. Ethan made his way to the meeting chamber where the high ranked adventurers had gathered. The atmosphere was heavy, saturated with mana. B-ranked adventurers filled most of the seats. Only two sat apart from them—Ethan himself and another A-ranker who had come after hearing about the dungeon type crack in hopes of testing his luck, and it seems he got what he was looking for.

Xarion.

The draconian's horns radiated restrained power. His dark-scales flexed on his some parts of body here and there. His golden eyes scanned the room, reptilian pupils narrowing with scrutinizing gaze.

Dragonkin naming conventions drifted through Ethan's mind as he studied the man. Draconians—mixed bloods—carried only a single name. Pureblood dragonkin were granted two. And the anomalies, maybe blessed with power or cursed with weaken, bore three. It wasn't a matter of culture, but of fate. A name was etched into their very being, resonating in their minds at birth. To deny it, to claim another and throw away the original due to dislike or just 'didn't like it', was to invite Heavenly Smite—obliteration from the heavens themselves. Though if they are powerful enough, they can indeed choose a name to their liking.

There was only one way for a draconian to shed the burden of being "lesser"—to ascend by drinking the blood of a True Breed dragon. Yet such moments were rarer than miracles. True Breeds were pride incarnate, seeing the mixed as slaves or vermin, yet even so, draconians were among the most coveted of warriors. Their strength outstripped the common races by leagues.

And Ethan could feel it. Xarion's presence was like standing near a slumbering volcano, heat radiating from him even in silence. He was clearly a fire type draconian.

The room grew still as eyes shifted between eachother as to gauge strenght of each present.

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