They began the trek back to the cart, and this time… there was no tension.
Jace took a moment to check his stats, finally. He’d been neglecting it due to all his skills being siphoned he was afraid it would do nothing but piss him off.
Name: Jace Halloway
Race: Soulborne
Class: Soulreaver
Strength: 129
Dexterity: 115
Endurance: 85
Intelligence: 95
Wisdom: 94
Soulreaver Core progress
30/100
Warning…
Core Protection has been eliminated. Siphon remains active. Continued growth may result in further losses.
The air was light with laughter and quiet victory. Nyra exaggerated the story of the Veilwood Stag’s final charge, while Sylas interjected with ever-wilder tales about her “daring backflip attack.” Torak calmly dissected the flaws in their formation, and Patch punctuated each memory with his usual deadpan affirmations like a deeply judgmental GPS.
Jace froze mid-step.
The numbers. The jump. Strength, Dexterity, all of it—he’d never seen gains like that. It was like lightning had been wired directly into his veins. For one breathless moment, he felt invincible.
Then the warning hit.
And half of it vanished.
Just like before.
He earned those gains. Every inch of it was paid for in blood. His blood.
And just like that, it was gone.
Ripped away.
Stolen.
The power he’d earned, bled for, clawed toward with every fiber of his being—taken like it never belonged to him in the first place.
A low growl escaped his throat, unbidden. Guttural. Almost feral.
Sylas, a few steps ahead, slowed and half-turned. “Uh… Jace?”
Nyra’s ears flicked back. Her stride faltered, golden eyes narrowing as she glanced at him.
She stopped.
“Jace,” she said quietly, her voice sharp with concern. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
He didn’t respond.
His breath came in short bursts, each inhale like dragging glass through his lungs. His fists clenched. Shoulders tight. Jaw locked. Something inside him itched—not physically, but wrong, like his soul had been peeled open and left exposed. He felt the anger flow through his core and spread throughout his body and entire being.
He stared at the ground, unblinking.
“I’m fine,” he muttered. The words scraped out of him like gravel. “Just… System stuff.”
Nyra stepped a little closer, her tone gentler this time. “That didn’t sound like ‘fine.’ Want to talk about it?”
“No.” He didn’t look at her. “It’s handled.”
Sylas raised an eyebrow, eyeing Nyra.
Nyra gave her a quick nod, some unspoken word, and Sylas left to catch up with the others.
Jace finally looked up—just enough for her to catch the flicker in his eyes. That faint, flickering glow that wasn’t just System-born anymore. It pulsed deeper. Hungrier.
He took a slow, shaking breath, then rolled his shoulders like he could shrug off whatever just clawed at his insides.
“I said I’m fine.” The words hit like a stone. He took another deep breath. “Just having issues with my class. Don’t worry, nothing major.” He knew that wouldn’t stop the questions, but he hoped it would delay the inevitable. There wasn’t anything he could do about the stats being siphoned. At least not yet.
He steadied himself and used his old counting trick. Breath in for four seconds, hold for four seconds, and exhale for four seconds.
Slowly, he felt the rage subside.
Nyra was still watching him, her concern now etched in her expression. “Look, I’ll explain later. Right now, it isn’t a good time.”
Garrik was up with the others, yet he found his gaze turned back to the two of them.
Jace forced a smile. “It’s okay, Nyra. I am fine.” He placed a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “Thank you for your concern. It means a lot. But we should probably catch up to them before they leave us behind.”
Nyra offered him a kind smile in return. “Okay. We can talk later.”
The two of them turned to catch up with the rest of the group.
—
The group finally reached the Adventurers' Guild as dusk painted the sky in shades of deep violet and amber, casting long, warm shadows across the bustling streets. Lanterns had begun to flicker to life, bathing the stone walls of the Guildhall in gentle orange hues. A comforting scent of roasting meat and fresh-baked bread wafted from the tavern next door, making Jace’s stomach rumble despite the lingering anxiety he felt.
Garrik led the way confidently through the open doors, his large frame clearing an easy path through the crowded hall. Inside, the Guild was as lively as ever, filled with adventurers chatting excitedly, comparing loot, and arguing cheerfully about which quests to take next.
At the front counter, a young clerk with short, vibrant blue hair perked up as they approached, her smile warm and practiced. “Instructor Garrik, back already? How’d the assessment go?”
Garrik grunted approvingly, his massive paw dropping onto Jace’s shoulder with enough weight to make the bones under it reconsider their life choices. “Better than expected. I’ll need to debrief the Guild Headmaster about the Veilwood corruption.”
He turned to face the group, eyes scanning each of them slowly—deliberately.
“But first,” he said, voice low and rich with that wolfish rasp, “there’s one more matter to settle.”
His golden gaze swung back to Jace, lingering just a little too long. Then he addressed the entire party, voice loud enough to turn nearby heads.
“Congratulations are in order. You completed all assigned contracts, cleared a dungeon—”
“A corrupted dungeon,” Sylas chimed in, grinning.
Garrik’s expression soured into a glare that could cut steel. “…Yes. A corrupted dungeon.”
He paused, then gave a sharp nod. “By the authority of the Guild, I hereby promote your party to Iron Rank.”
Cheers and claps echoed behind the deskand from all the adventurers in earshot. The clerk gave a small whoop.
Garrik’s attention snapped back to Jace. The grin returned—but it wasn’t comforting.
“And as for you, Mister Halloway… you are now a full-fledged member of the Adventurers’ Guild.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave.
“May your strength serve the world—and never forget who’s watching when it doesn’t.”
Jace’s skin prickled. He nodded once.
The blue-haired clerk turned her attention to him with interest, her dark green eyes gleaming. “Well, congratulations! That’s always good news to hear.” She bent down behind the counter and returned with a beautifully etched stone tablet, its surface swirling with soft runes that shimmered like starlight.
“This is your Guild sigil tablet. It records your identity, rank, and class directly into the Guild’s System. Don’t worry—only the basics show up to others.”
Jace’s stomach tightened. He forced a smile. “How basic are we talking?”
She chuckled. “Just your name, tier, and class. Your deeper stats stay private unless you're being audited. You’re safe.”
Safe… Sure.
He hesitated, then pressed his palm to the tablet. A pulse of energy surged up his arm—cold, probing. The runes flared brightly for a moment before settling into a calm, steady glow.
The clerk blinked. “Huh. That’s new.”
She tapped the screen. “Your class shows as… ‘Vitality Reaver’. That’s not in the standard archive.”
Garrik narrowed his eyes. “That so?”
Jace forced a casual shrug, even as cold sweat itched down his spine. “Guess it’s uncommon.”
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Or the Soulreaver Core was covering his ass.
Either way, he’d take the win.
The clerk handed him a small Iron badge etched with his name and a subtle Guild crest:
Name: Jace Halloway
Rank: Iron
Class: Vitality Reaver
“This is your official adventurer’s identification,” she said brightly. “You’ll need it for contracts, gate checkpoints, and to get your pay. Keep it close.”
Jace closed his fingers around it. It was heavier than it looked.
“Thanks,” he said softly.
Nyra stepped up beside him, smiling widely. She clapped him on the back—just hard enough to knock him forward a step.
“Look at you,” she teased. “Badge and everything. Guess you’re officially stuck with us.”
Jace allowed himself a small smirk. “Could be worse.”
“Yeah,” Sylas chimed in. “You could be stuck with a boring party.”
Torak grunted. “Efficiency rating has increased.”
Patch rumbled. “Acknowledged. New party composition stabilized.”
And for the first time in a long while, Jace felt it—a place.
Even if the System didn’t know what he was.
Even if he didn’t.
Sylas folded her arms, feigning jealousy. “You’ve barely been here, and you’re already the same ranking as us? That hurts.”
Torak chittered thoughtfully. “He has demonstrated superior combat efficiency. His rapid advancement is logical.”
Patch nodded slowly, runes humming softly. “Indeed.”
Garrik interrupted their banter with a curt nod. “I’ll be heading to speak with the guild master about this corruption. Something isn’t right, and it’s spreading faster than we anticipated.” He locked eyes with Jace, silent questions lingering behind his gaze.
As Garrik turned and strode away, his long coat swaying behind him, a knot tightened in Jace’s gut.
The moment should’ve felt like victory, but instead, his thoughts spun.
Had Garrik noticed something?
The Soul Core surge. The fake class reading. The way his power twisted when he used it.
Had Garrik seen through any of it?
The doubt gnawed at the edges of his adrenaline high, coiling cold and quiet beneath his skin.
Nyra caught the change in him instantly. She stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder—warm, grounding.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Don’t go getting all broody now. You made it. We all did.”
He tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
Nyra’s grip firmed just slightly. “Seriously. We should be celebrating. Don’t forget, we can still talk later.”
He exhaled slowly, nodding once. “Yeah.”
Her amber eyes narrowed a little, not unkindly. “You’re not alone in this, Jace. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore.”
And for just a moment, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.
Jace managed a strained smile. “Yeah… just got a lot on my mind.” He shrugged, forcing a lighter tone. “But hey, maybe tomorrow’s quest will be something exciting like… hunting down a runaway goat?”
Nyra laughed brightly, her tail flicking playfully behind her. “Trust me, rookie—runaway goats are the least weird thing you’ll have to deal with.”
Jace chuckled softly at Nyra's playful jab, though his laughter was cut short as he noticed Sylas dramatically clutching her stomach.
"I'm starving," Sylas groaned, drawing out the words theatrically. "If I eat one more crumb of stale trail rations, I swear I might perish."
Patch emitted a deep rumble. "Your exaggeration is substantial, Sylas."
"You’re made of stone, Patch! You don't even know what hunger is," she retorted, wagging a finger at the towering golem.
"Patch appreciates nutritional substances," Torak chimed in, mandibles twitching with amusement. "Though he does not require them."
Patch’s runes flared briefly, an oddly embarrassed pulse. "It is true. However, I understand the sentiment."
Their playful banter was a soothing balm for Jace's nerves, but beneath his smiling facade, worry still gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Garrik's expression when they'd parted had left him uneasy, a silent promise that their instructor wouldn't forget what he'd witnessed anytime soon. Jace tried to push the worry away, focusing instead on the warmth of the camaraderie around him.
The group had just started down the path toward the tavern when a booming voice cut through the evening buzz.
“Nyra! Heard you passed your assessment already! And who's this—new blood?”
Jace nearly jumped at the sudden shout. A stout, rosy-cheeked dwarf was striding toward them, his beard braided tight and his grin wider than seemed legally allowed. Jace was almost certain he hadn't seen the man before.
Nyra turned, recognition flickering in her eyes. “Gorvin?”
“None other!” the dwarf beamed. His eyes sparkled beneath thick brows like twin gems. “And I hear you’ve gone and done the impossible!”
Nyra blinked. “How in the world did you hear about that already?”
Gorvin puffed up proudly, tapping his chest. “Well, y’see, my brother’s neighbor’s wife—you know, the one who works for the tailor? Her husband’s cousin adventurin’ with a Silver team. He was at the Guild when someone mentioned it. Word gets around.”
As Gorvin launched into his web of small-town informants, Jace’s mouth slowly dropped open. His expression slid from confused to awestruck as the dwarf rattled off a dozen different connections without taking a single breath.
Sylas leaned over, snorting. “He’s not joking. This is normal.”
Finally, Gorvin paused for air, and Jace blinked, mouth still slightly agape. “Does everyone in this town already know?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Sylas said with a grin. “Bronze ranks clearing a corrupted dungeon and getting bumped up? You’re basically celebrities now.”
Nyra elbowed her lightly. “Some of us are more like infamous.”
Gorvin chuckled heartily. “Ah, it’s always like this when rookies pull off something wild. Adventurers love a good story—especially one they can retell louder over drinks.”
Jace rubbed his forehead, the anxiety creeping back in. Fame was the last thing he needed. The more people talked, the more eyes would be on him, and it was only a matter of time before someone noticed what they shouldn’t.
“Hey, Bubbles,” Sylas cut in, her stomach audibly protesting. “We’re heading to the tavern. You joining us?”
The dwarf waved her off with a friendly shake of the head. “Another time, lass. Got an early shift at the quarry—orders don’t cut themselves, you know. Too many monsters, not enough stone!”
Jace chuckled, a genuine laugh slipping through. “Fair.”
As they turned to leave, Sylas looped her arm through Jace’s and leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you know everyone in town calls him Bubbles?”
Jace gave her a baffled look. “Bubbles? Seriously?”
Torak chittered without turning. “It is because his speech flows endlessly—like a bubbling stream.”
Sylas rolled her eyes. “Or he just never shuts up.”
Nyra smirked. “Says the kettle.”
Sylas stuck out her tongue. Torak chittered again, and for the first time since leaving the Veilwood, laughter replaced tension.
Jace didn’t say it aloud, but the sound felt good.
As they walked further along, Jace's gaze drifted casually around, absorbing the bustling town around them. Lanterns were beginning to light up along the cobbled streets, casting warm pools of amber light onto the worn stone pathways. Merchants called out from their stalls, hawking fresh bread, smoked meats, and exotic fruits. The aroma of roasted meats and sweet spices drifted from roadside vendors, mingling tantalizingly with the sharp scent of forge fires burning in nearby smithies.
Jace’s thoughts were jarred from their wandering as his instincts prickled. Standing across the street was a towering figure. At first glance, Jace thought it was just a man, but when he looked closer, he froze.
The figure was leonine, his fur the color of burnished gold, with a thick, regal mane framing sharp, intelligent eyes. A beastkin, clearly, but one of a type Jace hadn’t encountered before. The lion man’s piercing gaze locked onto Jace’s, filled not with outright hostility, but something… cautious, wary, perhaps even calculating.
Jace's heart skipped, a subtle dread sinking into his gut. That was the second time he'd caught someone staring at him like they knew more than they should. Like they knew exactly what he was hiding.
The lion man’s eyes lingered just a moment longer before breaking away and scanning the street elsewhere, his golden mane glowing faintly under the soft glow of the lanterns lining the avenue.
Nyra gently touched his shoulder, noticing his discomfort. "You alright, Jace?"
"Yeah," he said quietly, forcing a smile he didn’t fully feel. "Just not used to all this attention."
Sylas laughed, nudging him. "Oh, trust me, you'll get used to it. You’re our shiny new hero, remember?"
Nyra glanced back at where the lion man had been, now vanished into the crowd. "Maybe we should keep an eye out, though. You never know who might be watching."
Jace nodded, his nerves finally settling a bit. They continued toward the tavern, the evening crowd growing livelier around them. Despite his best efforts, however, Jace couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes following his every step.
Jace stepped into the tavern alongside his companions, the comforting warmth washing over him, chasing away the biting chill of the night. The familiar scent of roasting meat, spiced ale, and smoky wood soothed his tense muscles. The moment they crossed the threshold, the lively murmur of patrons fell to silence, all eyes turning their way.
“MY FAVORITE PARTY RETURNS!” boomed the gravelly voice of the tavern keeper, a broad grin splitting his bearded face. He raised a tankard, the froth spilling onto his hand. “The heroes of the hour have arrived!”
The patrons erupted into cheers and applause, tankards and glasses raised high. Sylas bowed exaggeratedly, soaking in the attention, while Nyra waved shyly, ears twitching in mild embarrassment. Patch gave a gentle nod, and Torak merely chittered awkwardly, uncertain how to respond to such enthusiasm.
“Ah, it feels so good to be appreciated,” Sylas said, elbowing Jace in the ribs gently.
Jace let out a half-hearted chuckle, but the smile he wore was tight, brittle around the edges. He have felt exhilarated—maybe even proud. They’d survived. They’d won. He was officially part of the Guild.
But his mind wasn’t celebrating.
It was still replaying Garrik’s lingering gaze. The flicker of that man in the shadows outside the Guild. The System’s warning. The stats he’d gained—and lost. The weight of everything since the moment he’d woken in this world, clawing his way from blood and darkness.
He tried to roll his shoulders, to shake it off, to pretend it didn’t sit like a rock in his chest. But the tension stayed.
Clinging like a shadow. Heavy. Unspoken.
As they made their way deeper into the tavern, a wave of warmth and noise swept over them. Patrons clapped them on the back, raising tankards and calling out congratulations like they'd just returned from slaying a dragon instead of surviving a dungeon. The air buzzed with cheer, ale, and exaggerated retellings of their feat.
He couldn't help but marvel at how fast news traveled here. Word of them clearing a corrupted dungeon and getting a promotion on top of that had already become a public celebration. This was a time for joy, for laughter, and belonging. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. No one was chasing him that he knew of. No one knew his class, or the voice, or any of that.
He shook his head and focused on the small Iron badge in his hand, turning it slowly between his fingers. The metal caught the soft lantern light, glinting with a warm, golden hue. Etched into its surface was the Guild crest—a shield crossed with two swords. A symbol of strength. Of protection.
Sylas leaned in over Jace’s shoulder, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Don’t lose that, rookie. Replacements come with a lecture—and a fee.”
“I lost mine once,” Torak chimed in, chittering between sips from the two mugs he held—one in each of his four arms. “Devoured by a bulldog. Not metaphorical.”
Jace raised a brow. “Noted. I’ll be sure to avoid hungry canines and kleptomaniac dungeon rodents.”
He tucked the Iron Rank badge into a secure inner pocket of his new leather vest, patting it once for good measure.
“Probability of theft by vermin or other hostile fauna remains… acceptable,” Patch added with a low rumble, his version of a chuckle.
Nyra laughed. “Even dire rats have standards, Sylas.”
The rogue gasped in mock outrage, pressing a hand to her heart. “Excuse you. I am very collectible.”
“Like a bad habit,” Jace muttered, earning a snort from Torak.
The laughter faded into the tavern’s warm background hum, but Nyra didn’t take her eyes off Jace. Her smile lingered, but her gaze was sharper, measuring.
“So,” she said quietly, voice just for him, “how does it feel?”
Jace shrugged lightly, though the truth was complicated. Relief flooded him—he was officially part of something, something tangible in this foreign world. Yet beneath that relief simmered apprehension. He was still hiding so much from them, secrets that weighed heavier with every passing moment. “Better than being alone, that's for sure.”
Her ears flicked, tail curling slightly. “Well, just wait until we're Silver rank. Real food, decent lodging, discounts at the Guild—it’s like living the high life.”
“Well now,” Sylas chimed in, "We don’t have to worry about scraps. No, we are on our way to that high life. No more finding missing goats."
Torak's mandibles clicked softly as he joined the circle, taking turns drinking from each of the mugs of ale from each of his four arms. “Every contract completed brings us closer to advancement.”
Patch nodded once, a deep rumble vibrating from his chest. “Progress. Step by step.”
“Speaking of next steps,” Jace cut in, using the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the tangle of thoughts in his head, “what now? Do we just pick up the first random job off the board and hope for the best?”
Nyra grinned. “Pretty much. The more contracts we complete, the faster we climb. Iron Rank’s all about proving consistency—reliability, teamwork, and surviving long enough to be considered useful.”
“So… chasing down someone’s runaway chickens,” Sylas said, deadpan. “Riveting.”
“Some chickens bite,” Patch rumbled without irony. “Do not underestimate them.”
Torak’s mandibles clicked thoughtfully. “Patch is correct. I have sustained injuries from hostile poultry encounters. Beaks are deceptively sharp.”
Sylas howled with laughter, clutching her stomach and leaning on Nyra for support. “Hostile poultry?! Oh, we’re absolutely taking that contract. Torak versus The Cluckening.”
Jace chuckled, the sound escaping before he could catch it. It surprised him.
He looked around at them—Nyra’s steady confidence, Sylas’s unfiltered joy, Patch’s deadpan wisdom, and Torak’s unnerving sincerity.
Nyra nudged him gently, her voice softer now, attuned to the subtle shift in his mood. “Come on, rookie. Let’s get some food in you. Tomorrow’s our first official day as a team—we’ll check the board, see what the world throws at us.”
Royal Road Exclusives!
just for Royal Road readers (and maybe Patreon down the line ??). These won’t be in the final published version, so enjoy them while they’re here. They’re the tavern snack platter before the main course.
A Few Tables Away…
Grumbly Adventurer:
sips ale loudly, “Why do they always sit near us? Every time. Every damn time.”
Cheerful Adventurer:
“Maybe the tavern just knows we like front-row seats to a soap opera with swords.”
Grumbly Adventurer:
“They cleared one dungeon and suddenly it’s loud laughter, sarcastic flirting, and existential soul-core monologues every night.”
Cheerful Adventurer:
“Come on. They’ve got flavor. That golem said ‘nutritional substances’ like it was a love poem. And the bug guy? Four swords and zero social cues? Iconic.”
Grumbly Adventurer:
“Last week, I heard the rogue threaten to stab someone with their own loot. That’s not flavor, that’s a liability.”
Cheerful Adventurer:
“Yeah, but it’s fun to watch. I’m not saying I’d join them—but I’d absolutely follow their drama like it’s a serialized bardic epic.”
Grumbly Adventurer:
“...I hate that I agree with you.”
See you in the next episode of Harmony of the Fallen!
How do you feel about the party’s first “We’re Iron Rank now!” celebration?
