THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The Adventurers' Guild was never this crowded.

On any other day, the hall would be filled with small parties of mercenaries looking for commissions, merchants hiring escorts, or fresh recruits eager to sign up. But today, it was chaos. The entire guild buzzed with voices—hardened veterans, rising elites, and desperate newcomers, all cramming the main hall in hopes of securing a spot in the Leviathan's Abyss Raid.

The Leviathan's Abyss was one of the most infamous dungeons in Lysora County, opening at set intervals throughout the year. But despite the countless expeditions into its depths, no one had ever conquered it.

The reason? No one had ever found the dungeon boss.

Each time the abyss opened, it unleashed monstrous horrors—beasts of shifting shadows, abyssal serpents, and eldritch abominations with no names. Yet, without a confirmed boss, the dungeon remained incomplete, forever resetting when the time limit expired.

This cycle made it a gold mine for experienced adventurers. Veterans who had fought its creatures before knew how to farm the dungeon efficiently, amassing monster cores, rare materials, and valuable loot to sell at exorbitant prices. For some, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make a fortune—if they survived.

The Adventurers' Guild, Valhalla, profited just as much as the adventurers. Entry into the dungeon came at a cost. The guild enforced two taxation methods—either adventurers paid an upfront fee per party member, or they surrendered 30% of their loot upon exiting the dungeon. The remaining 70% was theirs to keep.

With only ten days left before the next cycle, the demand to register was at its peak.

"WAKE UP, IT'S TIME FOR YOUR SHIFT!"

Behind the registration counters, deep within the guild's offices, a female receptionist stormed into a back room. Her eyes locked onto her colleague—a young man slumped over his desk, snoring.

"Just five more minutes…" he mumbled, turning his face into his folded arms.

June's brow twitched. This idiot.

With a sharp kick to his chair, the young man yelped, falling onto the floor with a loud thud.

"OW! What was that for?!" he groaned, rubbing his back.

"Quit whining, Oliver. I'm exhausted too, but we don't have time to slack off." June crossed her arms, scowling.

Oliver slowly picked himself up, yawning. "Yeah, yeah… why do I always get the worst shifts?"

"That's called consequence for slacking off."

Grumbling under his breath, Oliver dragged himself to the front desk, preparing to deal with the never-ending wave of adventurers. But as soon as he stepped into the hall—silence fell.

The noise, the shouting, the bickering—all gone.

A chill ran down Oliver's spine as he peered over the crowd, his eyes widening in alarm. Without hesitation, he bolted back to the office, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"JUNE! You need to get out here. Now."

June sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What is it this time? Another fight?"

"No…" Oliver swallowed nervously. "It's officials. From the castle."

June's eyes sharpened. Castle officials? Here?

Lysora County's government already took 20% of the guild's revenue, while the Empire itself demanded another 10%. The thought of more interference from nobles made her blood boil.

Still, she composed herself and walked briskly to the front counter.
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As June stepped into the main hall, the first thing she noticed was the formation of armored soldiers.

They wore the sigil of the Archon, standing in a rigid defensive line, forcing adventurers to clear a path. The tension in the air was thick—no one dared to challenge the might of the Archon's personal guard.

And then, from between them, a cloaked figure stepped forward.

His gait was slow, confident. The thick woolen cloak obscured most of his form, but when he reached the counter, he let his hood fall.

June's breath hitched.

Golden eyes, sharp as a predator's, gleamed beneath a cascade of crimson hair—mid-length, wavy, and unruly. His face was striking, his features refined with a mischievous smirk that carried a hint of danger. He placed a small, metal badge onto the counter, tapping it lightly.

Then, with a voice as smooth as silk, he spoke.

"I'm here to see the old man."

June blinked. "Old man? Who—"

The red-haired stranger chuckled, lifting a single finger and pointing upward.

June's stomach twisted in realization. He meant the Guild Master.

He meant The Old Wolf.

This was bad.

Quickly composing herself, June stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing politely.

"…Right this way, Sir."

She led the crimson-haired man down the hall, ignoring the whispers and stares from the adventurers behind them. Whoever he was, he wasn't just some noble lackey.

Previously…

Within the depths of Lysora's grand fortress, three figures sat within the war room—a chamber reserved for discussions of imperial significance or county-wide crises.

At the centre of the chamber stood a massive, imposing map table, its surface intricately engraved with detailed topography that showcased mountain ranges, rivers, forests, and valleys, marking strategic locations, fortified structures, and perilous danger zones.

Small wooden blocks, some carved into the shapes of towers, banners, and shields, were meticulously placed across the map, representing various strongholds, treacherous dungeons, military encampments, and advancing forces to the south.

At the table's head sat the Archon, her presence commanding. Elara va Ironblade, draped in her ceremonial coat, leaned forward, her blood eyes narrowing as she studied the placement of a small block of wood—positioned deep within Leviathan's Abyss.

Across from her sat Salomonis, his crimson hair and golden eyes illuminated by the crystal light . His fingers tapped idly on the armrest of his chair as he exhaled a slow breath, gaze drifting toward the third figure in the room.

Seated opposite him, wearing her usual calm expression, was Luna.

"Tell me, Luna…" Salomonis finally spoke, his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. "What information did David leave us before he fell unconscious?"

Luna tilted her head slightly, resting her cheek against her palm.

Casually, she answered, "My master implanted the directions to the boss's room."

Silence.

Both the Archon and Salomonis stiffened, their eyes snapping toward her in utter disbelief.