Chapter 53: The Interrogation and the Deal

  The morning air in Xenor was crisp, the city alive with the usual hustle of merchants and adventurers, yet a palpable weight hung over Marcus as he prepared for his interrogation. The previous day’s events—the brawl, the chase, and the last-minute intervention by Fillia Kelcrest—had already placed him under enough scrutiny. Now, the real challenge began.

  Thalron stood beside him just outside the doors to the Guild’s grand meeting hall, adjusting his armor, his expression calm but unreadable.

  "Are you ready for this?" he asked.

  Marcus flexed his fingers inside his gauntlets, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah," he said simply.

  Thalron gave him a long look, then nodded. Without another word, he pushed open the doors.

  The chamber was vast, built with towering stone walls lined with banners of the Adventurer’s Guild. A grand circular table sat at its center, and at it, three powerful figures were seated.

  Fillia Kelcrest, the Elf Grandmaster of Xenor’s Guild Branch, sat with her usual air of efficiency, her golden eyes assessing Marcus with a sharp gaze.

  Beside her was Desmoin Heller, the Astorian Guild Leader, a human of noble bearing, with slicked-back dark hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to scrutinize Marcus before he even sat down.

  And then, at the head of the table, was Espiron Hillmanar—the Executive Chief Officer of the Adventurer’s Guild, a lion beastfolk with a flowing red and black mane. His sheer presence was overwhelming, a wise and commanding aura radiating from his massive form. He wore a deep, crimson-lined cloak, and though his golden feline eyes were calm, they held the weight of decades—if not centuries—of experience.

  Thalron stepped forward and formally presented Marcus. "Marcus Elder, as summoned."

  Espiron nodded once, his deep voice like rolling thunder. "Sit, Marcus."

  Marcus sat.

  Desmoin leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "We’ll begin with the smaller matters first."

  They questioned Marcus about Jedarth’s March and other dungeons that had collapsed. Marcus denied any involvement, answering each question with as much composure as he could manage.

  Then—Sirius Dungeon.

  Fillia spoke next, her tone unreadable. "What do you know about the collapse of the Sirius Dungeon?"

  Marcus exhaled slowly. "I don’t know if I caused it."

  The table went silent.

  Espiron narrowed his eyes, interested. "Explain."

  Marcus, careful with his words and with Stem guiding his thoughts, gave them the simplest version of the truth.

  "We chose Sirius Dungeon after hours of deliberation," he explained. "It was our best chance to gain levels, and it had a unique trait—guaranteed core drops." He paused before adding, "The Sentinels inside were stronger than expected. Boruk gave his life holding them off."

  Fillia, who had reviewed reports of Boruk’s "death" and revival, nodded solemnly.

  Marcus continued. "The reward for our survival was a revival item. We didn’t question it—we just took it and got the hell out. But something was wrong with the dungeon."

  Desmoin frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Marcus met their gazes evenly. "The system that ran it was corrupted."

  The three guild leaders exchanged glances.

  Desmoin leaned forward, intrigued. "And what does that mean?"

  Marcus hesitated—not because he didn’t know, but because he couldn’t tell them the full truth. He couldn't mention Stem, and he certainly couldn't tell them that beyond the dungeon's entrance was his old world—Earth.

  "The dungeon system was aware of us," Marcus said instead. "It… spoke. Mocked us, even. I don’t think it was operating like a normal dungeon should."

  Silence.

  For the first time in a long while, Marcus saw genuine uncertainty in Fillia’s expression.

  Espiron folded his hands, his claws tapping against the wooden table. "That is… troubling."

  Desmoin rubbed his chin. "If dungeons can be corrupted like that, it could affect the entire economy. We rely on dungeons not just for resources, but for stability."

  Fillia nodded. "We will have to investigate further."

  After another round of questioning, the final verdict was given: Marcus Elder had no direct involvement in the Sirius Dungeon collapse or any other dungeon-related anomalies.

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  Espiron leaned back, satisfied. "Thank you, Marcus. You may have just given us insight into something far greater than we expected."

  Marcus exhaled. He wasn’t entirely off the hook, but at least he wasn’t being thrown into a dungeon cell.

  Fillia and Desmoin were dismissed.

  "Marcus," Espiron rumbled, "stay. There is another matter to resolve."

  The Thane of Xenor arrived shortly after, flanked by his entourage of armored officials. He was a gorilla beastfolk, massive and imposing, his dark fur streaked with gray, and his uniform lined with silver—a symbol of his station.

  He greeted Espiron professionally. But when his eyes landed on Marcus, there was nothing but disdain.

  Without preamble, the Thane spoke. "Xenor does not recognize orc claims to land in and around its borders. And thus, this… outsider"—he gestured dismissively at Marcus—"cannot invoke the right of First Delver to lay claim to a dungeon on their behalf."

  Marcus leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Sounds like you’re mad I found it first."

  The Thane’s nostrils flared.

  Espiron, however, raised a hand. "Tell me, Thane… why has Xenor never contested the orcs’ claim to their other dungeon?"

  The Thane hesitated.

  Espiron shuffled through papers, then smiled knowingly. "Ah, I see. Because that dungeon is a ‘Shift Dungeon’—a high-risk, high-mortality zone that’s not worth Xenor’s time. The orcs, however, have braved it. Built their stronghold through blood, sweat, and relentless bravery."

  The Thane clenched his jaw.

  Espiron’s grin widened. "And now that the new dungeon is a resource dungeon… you want it."

  The room tensed.

  Marcus tried not to laugh.

  Espiron leaned forward, his golden lion eyes gleaming. "I didn’t write the laws. I only enforce them. And as per Adventurer’s Guild regulation, Marcus Elder’s claim of First Delver stands. If you have an issue with that…" He gestured dismissively. "Take it up with the orcs."

  The Thane’s fists curled, his rage barely contained. "You won’t get away with this."

  Espiron smirked. "I already have."

  As the Thane stormed out, Espiron turned to Marcus, his expression approving. "You intrigue me, Marcus Elder. I look forward to seeing you rise through the ranks."

  Marcus nodded, standing. "Guess we’ll see how that goes."

  Espiron chuckled. "Indeed."

  As Marcus stepped out of the meeting chamber, he let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension. The conversation with Espiron had gone about as well as he could have hoped. Not only had he secured the orcs’ claim over the dungeon, but he’d also left the Thane fuming—a bonus in his book.

  Just as he was about to make his way toward the Guild barracks, a voice stopped him.

  "Marcus."

  Turning, Marcus found himself face-to-face with Desmoin Heller, the human Guild Leader of Astoria. The man’s sharp blue eyes were studying him intently, his expression unreadable.

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind?"

  Desmoin crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. "Where are you from?"

  The question caught Marcus off guard. It wasn’t what was being asked—it was how Desmoin asked it. There was no casual curiosity in his tone, no friendly attempt at conversation. This was scrutiny.

  Marcus kept his expression neutral. "What makes you ask?"

  Desmoin’s eyes never left his. "Because I know all the dark-skinned humans in this region. And you’re not from Astoria. In fact, I’d wager you’re not from anywhere I know."

  Marcus fought the urge to glance at his surroundings. This wasn’t the first time someone had noticed how different he was, but the way Desmoin phrased it made it clear—he wasn’t asking. He was verifying.

  Stem? Marcus thought, keeping his face carefully blank.

  The AI’s voice hummed in his mind, cool and composed. Human racial demographics in this world are limited to two primary ethnic lineages. “Dark-skinned humans” are rare, often a result of magical ancestry or the uncommon intermingling of humans and merfolk. Based on Desmoin’s knowledge, your presence is an anomaly.

  Marcus exhaled slowly. You got a believable backstory for me?

  Of course.

  In an instant, Stem fed him a fabricated history, one that Marcus could recite naturally without hesitation.

  With a small smirk, Marcus replied, "I’m from a small settlement far east of here, near the coast. Barely a speck on most maps. Not exactly a thriving metropolis."

  Desmoin studied him for another long moment, as if measuring the truth behind his words.

  Finally, he nodded. "Mm. I see."

  Without another word, Desmoin turned and walked away, leaving Marcus standing there with a slow exhale.

  That had been too close.

  You should be more careful, Stem warned. Certain individuals will notice inconsistencies. It may not be wise to provoke unnecessary interest in your origins.

  Marcus sighed. Noted.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Desmoin was going to keep an eye on him.

  The next morning, Marcus, Vira, Boruk, and Ragn stood at the city gates, ready to depart for the orc stronghold. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows over the quiet streets. The air was cool, crisp, a contrast to the chaos that had unfolded the day before.

  Across from them stood Thalron and Arixa, the two staying behind in Xenor.

  Thalron, ever composed, adjusted the belt of his blade. "I assume you’re heading straight to the Chieftain with the good news?"

  "That’s the plan," Marcus confirmed, shifting his pack over his shoulder.

  Boruk grinned. "The old man’s going to lose his mind when he hears Marcus secured the Dungeon for us."

  Vira chuckled. "He might actually hug you, Marcus."

  "Gods forbid," Marcus muttered.

  Arixa snorted. "I still don’t get why you’d go out of your way for them. This whole sovereignty thing sounds like a headache." "You could stay here with me we'd train, adventure, and make powerful offspring"

  —Vira frowned

  Marcus ignoring the last bit of Arixa's statement, shrugged. "Because the orcs are my family."

  Arixa narrowed her eyes. "You really believe that?"

  Marcus met her gaze evenly. "Yeah, I do."

  For a moment, Arixa held his stare. Then she scoffed and looked away, arms crossed. "You’re weird."

  Marcus smirked. "You’re just figuring that out?"

  Thalron shook his head with a faint chuckle before turning serious. "Be careful on the road back. The Thane might not be able to act against you here, but that doesn’t mean he won’t send someone after you once you leave Xenor."

  Marcus nodded. "Yeah, I figured. If anything happens, my party and I can handle it."

  Thalron studied him, then gave a rare, approving nod. "I don’t doubt that."

  Arixa crossed her arms. "Try not to get yourself killed before I get a rematch."

  Marcus grinned. "No promises."

  Vira smirked. "You do realize he barely tried last time, right?"

  Arixa glared at her. "I will fight you next."

  Vira winked. "Ancestors grace— you have no—idea how MUCH I, Look forward to it."

  Boruk and Ragn exchanged grins before stepping forward, each clasping Thalron’s forearm in a firm warrior’s farewell. "You’ll be good without us?"

  Thalron smirked. "I’ll manage."

  Arixa, however, merely waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, go already."

  Marcus took one last glance at the city walls behind them. Xenor had been a whirlwind—a city of battles, politics, and unexpected alliances. He had gained powerful enemies, but also powerful allies.

  And now, it was time to return to the orcs.

  "Alright," Marcus exhaled, turning to his party. "Let’s go tell the Chieftain the good news."

  With that, they stepped onto the road, leaving Xenor behind.

  The journey forward was uncertain.

  But for now?

  They had won.