Chapter 4: The Price of Answers

  Once the introductions were finished, Wolf didn't stand on ceremony. He dropped into a chair with a heavy thud, his eyes roaming over the untouched delicacies spread across the table.

  "Seems the hosts are running late," Wolf grinned. "The Lapsus Merchant, eh? I've heard—"

  Clap!

  A single, crisp strike of palms cut him off, snapping every head toward the door.

  A man and a woman strolled in. The lead man moved with a languid, effortless grace, his handsome features radiating the careless arrogance of high nobility. A playful, knowing smirk played on his lips. Behind him, a petite woman closed the door with the silent, fluid efficiency of a stalking cat.

  "Excellent," the man said, clapping again to ensure he held the room's absolute focus. "It seems you've all skipped the tedious pleasantries and gotten to know one another. I am the progenitor of this commission, Lucas Maxim. You may call me Lucas—though, if your sensibilities require more gravity, 'Mr. Lucas' will suffice."

  He spoke with a light, rapid cadence, the tone of a man used to pulling the strings. "That is all I have to say. As for the… monotonous details," he leaned elegantly against the wall, stepping out of the spotlight, "I shall leave the stage to my assistant."

  The woman stepped forward. She was tiny—likely the smallest person in the room—yet Ronen felt his spine instinctively go rigid. It was the survival reflex of a mercenary who had spent his life on the edge, the same internal alarm that flared when facing a high-ranking magical beast.

  This woman is dangerous.

  He studied her covertly: she wore black leather armor devoid of any insignia. Her face was delicate but etched with profound exhaustion, punctuated by dark circles under her eyes that suggested she hadn't slept in weeks.

  She cleared her throat. Her voice wasn't loud, yet it commanded the air. "Thank you for accepting. I am Alice Rollin, representative of the Lapsus Merchant."

  She paused for a heartbeat, her tired eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as if recalibrating. "Our investigation team consists of ten members. In addition to the eight of you, two members from 'The Library' will rendezvous with the group shortly."

  She moved to the center of the table and untied a nondescript canvas bag.

  Chink-clatter—

  A river of brilliant gold spilled onto the wood, accompanied by the cold, heavy melody of high-purity coinage. Dozens of gold sovereigns piled up, radiating the comforting scent of wealth.

  "Per the contract, the final compensation for each participant is fifty gold coins," Alice said flatly. "This is your advance—ten gold pieces each. Please verify."

  A predatory glint flashed in Wolf's eyes. He stood up, half-perching himself on the edge of the table with a rough grin. He snatched the bag and dumped the remaining contents, the coins ringing out like bells. Drawing his dagger with the practiced fluidness of a butcher, he used the tip to slide ten coins toward himself and ten toward Ronen.

  A single gold coin could keep a common family fed and sheltered for half a year. Seeing such a sum belonging to him sent Ronen’s heart hammering against his ribs, a spark of irrepressible excitement lighting up his eyes.

  However, Wolf didn't stop. He tapped the pile of gold with the tip of his blade. Ding. He looked up at Alice, a sharp, challenging smile on his face.

  "Now, Miss Rollin… did something go wrong with the math? A prestigious outfit like Laps shouldn't be making rookie mistakes like this." He pointed the dagger at the group, then at the gold. "We have eight people here. But this pile? It's seventy coins. The numbers don't add up."

  Alice's brow twitched. She swept her gaze across the table, then glanced at Lucas, who was still leaning against the wall.

  Lucas didn't lose his smirk. He gave a nearly invisible nod—a silent permission.

  Alice turned back to Wolf, her voice devoid of emotion. "It was indeed an oversight on my part. The deficit will be corrected immediately."

  Wolf let out a grunt of acknowledgement and fell silent. But his dagger kept moving, rhythmically sorting the remaining gold into five small stacks with agonizing slowness.

  "Right then. That's better." Wolf slammed the dagger back into its sheath and leaned forward, his expression shifting into the grim professionalism of a mercenary captain. "Let's talk shop. What do we need to watch out for?"

  Alice nodded. "The core objectives were in the posting. What you need to prioritize now is time." She looked at each of them. "Winter is descending. The 'Eye of the Blizzard' sits on the edge of the Frostlands. Our intelligence suggests daylight there is currently minimal—you may even encounter a continuous Polar Night."

  "While there is no hard deadline, if delays cause the difficulty of nocturnal exploration to spike, Mr. Lucas reserves the right to unilaterally declare the mission a failure. Therefore, I advise you to depart early and strike fast."

  "Understood," Wolf said. "Routes? Methods? Does the Guild have a preference?"

  "Your first stop should be Dragonwood Village. It is the northernmost settlement on the Imperial charts and will serve as your forward operating base. While the Tower is the objective, the village may hold residual clues."

  Wolf rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Dragonwood… I've heard stories from brothers coming back from the North. They say the folks there aren't exactly fond of company."

  "My information is limited," Alice admitted. "The village is isolated and self-governing. You can likely trade supplies for food, but their xenophobia is, as you say, legendary. Be prepared to camp in the wilds and handle your own logistics. I have prepared maps with the precise coordinates of the village and the Tower."

  "Ha! Thought of everything. I love working with big spenders," Wolf grinned, then his face hardened. "The Tower itself. What do we know?"

  "The Eye of the Blizzard is a research facility focused on Etheric environments and Ice-elemental activity. Fourteen personnel are confirmed missing." Alice's voice lowered. "Thirteen of them are mages. Academic types—likely limited combat capability. I have compiled their dossiers for you."

  "Fourteen?" Wolf's ears perked up. "You said thirteen mages. Who's the ghost?"

  "Ace Noyce," Alice explained. "A Laps Guild employee. Since we fund the Tower's research, he was stationed there to handle auditing and coordination."

  Wolf let out a sharp breath. "So, this poor auditor vanished right along with the wizards?"

  Alice paused, a heavy silence confirming the fact. "As far as we can tell, yes."

  Wolf nodded, satisfied. He turned to the group. "My questions are done. Anyone else?"

  After a moment of hesitant silence, a slender hand drifted up.

  "U-um..." Mary, the quiet apprentice, spoke up. Seeing everyone's eyes snap to her, she ducked her head like a startled fawn. "Is it… will it be dangerous? I mean… thirteen mages already disappeared..."

  "On that point, you may rest easy," Alice said, turning a gentle gaze toward the girl. But the words that followed made the air turn to ice. "We guarantee that should any of you meet with an unfortunate end during the mission, your full commission will be delivered to your designated next-of-kin without delay."

  How is that supposed to make anyone feel better?! Ronen thought.

  Mary turned pale, her hands gripping Zoe's arm so hard her knuckles turned white.

  "Ahem!" Wolf coughed loudly to break the tension, forcing a reassuring smile. "Listen, kid. Mercenary work and danger go hand-in-hand. We dance on the edge of a blade—that’s the job. But this is just an investigation. We go in, look around, see what's what. If things look hairy," he made a retreating gesture, "we turn around and leave. If you're truly terrified," he looked at Alice, "you can back out now. I'm sure the Guild would understand?"

  Alice bowed her head. "Correct. If you withdraw now, the Guild will not seek any breach-of-contract penalties."

  Mary looked imploringly at her mentor, Ethan. But the Archmage met her gaze with an icy, displeased glare. She instantly withered, tucking her chin into her chest and refusing to say another word.

  A thick silence fell over the table as the weight of the task sank in.

  "Since there are no more questions," Alice continued, "I suggest you elect a leader. I will hand over the maps, dossiers, and the remaining gold to that individual."

  She gestured to the feast. "This meal is a courtesy from the Guild. Please, enjoy. You will be sleeping under the stars soon enough. Good luck to you all."

  She stepped back, her eyes meeting Lucas's for a fleeting second. Lucas pushed off the wall and walked back to the center of the room. He didn't mention the mission. Instead, he looked at them with those mocking, bored eyes and asked a question that seemed to come from nowhere:

  "Tell me… do you all like cats?"

  The room went silent. No one knew how to react to such a bizarre non-sequitur.

  Lucas seemed to relish the confusion. "Personally… I find the creatures quite distasteful," he said slowly, his gaze drifting across every face in the room. "So, if there are any cat-lovers among you, please… do keep a close eye on your pets."

  Without another word, he turned and walked out.

  Alice followed, pausing at the door. "Once you have chosen a leader, you may find me in the 'Snow Moon' suite upstairs." She gave a refined bow and vanished after her master.

  The silence that followed was heavy with confusion.

  "Well," Wolf said, breaking the quiet with a spark of hidden cunning in his eyes. He lined up the seventy gold coins on the table. He flicked one with his dagger, making it ring—a prelude of authority.

  "About this 'leader' business," Wolf said, his voice ringing with absolute confidence. "We've got scholars, mages, and warriors here. but when it comes to leading a pack in the wild, tracking, and surviving the unknown… I, Wolf Magel of the White Tiger's Fang, have more years in the dirt than the rest of you combined."

  He pressed his thumb onto a spinning coin, stopping it dead.

  "If there are no objections, I'll take the headache of leading. Thoughts?"

  The room was still. Ethan's brow furrowed. By rank and social standing, he—the Archmage—should have been the one in charge.

  Ethan's lips thinned, his gaze darting between Wolf's scarred, ferocious face, the cold steel of the dagger, and the gold. But a wise mage knows when to fold. In the frozen wastes, a veteran mercenary was worth ten times his weight in academic theory.

  He adjusted his monocle. "…Very well. Having a seasoned man like Mr. Wolf coordinate the group is the most logical choice. We shall leave the liaison with Miss Rollin to you."

  "Good man!" Wolf grinned, flipping his dagger back into its sheath. He slid a stack of gold toward Ronen. "Pocket your pay, kid."

  He stood up, his voice booming. "Since time is burning, we move at first light!"

  He clapped Ronen on the shoulder. "Come on, boy. Let's go see what kind of toys the little lady has waiting for us upstairs."