Before Mr. Roid could escort me, I informed Sara that something personal had come up. I assured her it wouldn't take more than an hour. She looked confused and asked if everything was alright, to which I smiled and nodded. Just a short meeting with an "old pal," I told her.
Thankfully, April, now joined by Ms. Kiwi, stepped in before the conversation could stretch. They both insisted their shift was almost done and suggested hanging out with Sara for a while to catch up. I instantly agreed. That would keep Sara company after I'd promised her a full day together.
Before leaving, I gave Ms. Kiwi a quick, appreciative look. She caught it and winked back. How cute... and socially aware. Not many could pick up on the tension that subtle.
The Guild building had many private quarters like Dargan's. Some belonged to officials, others were rented out to nobles or powerful guild figures. As Roid led me through the quieter wing, we stopped at a finely carved door with brass fittings—no doubt another rented quarter.
He knocked once. Only after receiving a soft, wordless signal did he open the door.
"Welcome, Lucius. I've heard a lot about you."
A voice—feminine, gentle, with the calm authority of someone who never had to raise it—floated through the air like silk. The scent of perfume and fresh flowers hit me before the room even came into full view.
Standing beside a plush, navy-blue sofa was a woman who didn't just belong to the room—she commanded it. Long black hair, silver eyes, a figure balanced between elegance and strength, and a poise so calculated it made every step feel like a statement.
More importantly, I hadn't sensed her at all.
She raised one hand—a small, dismissive gesture—and Roid walked past me, pulling out a seat for her with all the grace of a well-trained butler. She sat with dignity. I took the opposite chair silently, eyes briefly catching a small insignia pinned near her shoulder.
That symbol... I've seen it before.
"My name is Forza," she said, resting one leg gently over the other. "Forza Wal-kins. Yes, I'm the heir to the noble house that governs this city."
I offered a respectful nod, keeping my posture formal. "Lucius. Commoner. Adventurer."
She waited for more, perhaps a joke, a compliment, anything to smooth the line. But I gave her nothing. I wasn't here to impress, and I knew enough to be careful—offending someone like her meant consequences I couldn't afford, not here.
Still... If she's this influential, what business could she possibly have with me?
I reached for the glass in front of me, emptying it. It wasn't water—some sort of citrus-tinted herbal drink—but decent.
She gave me a slow once-over. I could feel her gaze measuring me—not my mana, not my threat level—just... me.
"I expected someone taller. Sharper jaw. A bit more presence... I guess my imagination runs wilder than I thought," she said coolly.
Wow. That was blunt.
"Why?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Looking for a groom?"
The moment it left my mouth, I realised it was a bit much. Her expression flickered—not quite anger, but something colder than her earlier indifference. I quickly raised my hands, palms up, to ease the tension.
"My bad. That was out of line."
She paused... then let out a soft breath.
"At ease. It's fine," she said. "I was the one who judged without knowing. I apologise."
Huh.
First Mercy, then Dargan, now her? Why were the most powerful nobles in my life also the most... humble?
Maybe the rumours about their cruelty were exaggerated. Or maybe those rumours came from snakes like Goodman—men who twisted facts to survive their own incompetence.
She shifted slightly. "I asked to meet because of a mission. A personal one."
I leaned in, interested now. "Go on."
"I'm a researcher," she said simply. "And I've dedicated my life to finding a cure for a certain disease. To continue my research at the level it requires, I need recognition—admittance as an official researcher at the Capital's Grand Academy. The most prestigious in the entire empire."
That's... ambitious. And oddly noble.
I nodded slowly. "That's a hell of a personal mission."
She nodded slowly.
"That's why—to prove myself and my qualifications—I need your help. I want to hunt down a Chimaera."
Wait.
A fucking Chimaera?!
An actual SS-ranked Terror beast?! Is this woman insane?
Chimaeras—plural of Chimaera—are SS-ranked nightmare fuel. They're like Knightcrawlers but worse in almost every conceivable way. These terror beasts live in tightly knit groups called prides. Their reputation? Massive. Monstrous. Murderous.
Picture this: four-legged hulks with tails stretching three to four meters long, and that tail isn't just for balance—it's got its own brain. The tip ends in a snake-like head, packed with venomous fangs. Not the kind that bites and lets go either—this thing can inject or spray poison like a twisted parody of a child's water gun. Instead of fun, you get paralysing agony and organ failure.
Even their heads are massive, covered in horns and lined with carnivore-grade teeth. They're the apex predators of the Outer Rim and one of the very few species to reach SS-rank without ever migrating deeper into the rims. Born and bred to dominate their terrain.
I straightened up and blinked.
This chick is nuts.
No.
Absolutely not.
I'm out. Fucking hell! Safe to say I panicked a bit, which quickly went away, just the way it came.
…Though I am curious. Why a Chimaera? And how does she think killing one proves she's researcher material? There's something off here—her ambitions sound too noble for a noble.
So, I asked.
"Why choose a Chimaera? How does killing one make you a qualified scholar?"
She answered without hesitation.
"It's simple. As you likely know, an alpha Chimaera—usually female—carries a specialised venom gland at the end of her tail. That poison is critical to a separate project I've been developing. If I can retrieve enough of it, the results would place me among the top rising researchers in the Empire. And that... that would secure me a place at Arengard's Academic Institution of Mages and Scholars."
AIMS.
Yeah, I know it. Everyone does. The holy grail of magical academia. Even imperial brats line up at the gate the moment they turn eighteen.
"You do realise I'm an A-ranked mage, right?" I said flatly. "I don't have the strength—or death wish—to fight a full-fledged Chimaera. And it won't be alone. They never are. Chimaeras are regenerative monsters. That alone makes this mission suicidal. What's your plan, assuming you're still dead-set on this?"
Forza frowned. She exchanged a glance with the silent butcher behind her, then turned back to me.
"Aren't Chimaeras considered one of the weaker SS-ranked species?" she asked, tone half-genuine, half-dismissive.
I stared.
This was going to take some explaining.
"Compared to beasts in the Middle Rim? Sure. But they're still way above anything in the Outer Rim. Their agility, their mana sensory range, their group intelligence—they make for hellish opponents. Add regeneration and neurotoxic claws, and you've got a walking nightmare. They're not the strongest, but they're killers for a reason."
I paused, watching her face. She didn't flinch.
"I can handle one," she said quietly.
"A single Chimaera, maybe. But they don't wander alone. Only males get exiled from prides, and the males don't have the venom you're after," I countered.
She didn't respond immediately. I kept it polite, not because I feared her, but because I wanted to leave this conversation without offending her, especially if she turned out to be another mad heiress with too much money and not enough sense.
But then she said something that changed everything.
"Actually... we've tracked one. Alone. An ex-alpha. She's old, cast out of her pride. Still dangerous, but vulnerable. If we move within the next two days, we can handle her ourselves."
I blinked.
An ex-alpha?
Now that changes things.
In a Chimaera pride, there's only ever one alpha, always female. If another female challenges her, it's a fight to the death. Sometimes, the loser survives—barely—and flees before the final blow lands. If what Forza said was true, this Chimaera was not only without her pride but also past her prime. Vulnerable. Exiled.
What she had… wasn't a suicide mission. It was a rare opportunity.
"How many people are in your hunting team?" I asked, my tone a bit more serious now.
"Just the two of us. No one else. This mission can't become public. Especially not to my family."
She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Just two people. To take down a creature that eats A-ranked squads for breakfast.
And here I thought she was different then the rest of her sex—sensible, realistic, and whatnot.
Nope. Too soon to judge. My bad.
Still…
Do I want in?
Yes. Absolutely.
Do I want to die a slow, brutal death? No thanks. I've got other things on my calendar.
So, no. I'll pass. I decided.
But one question still nagged at me.
Why me?
There are other hunters out there—actual specialists who live for this kind of mission. Why risk asking someone like me?
I decided to voice it.
"...Why me? You could've hired someone else. You should have. There's a reason people don't like working with me unless they're my friends." I leaned back slightly. "I take a big cut of the hunt—almost always the mana core. And if I were to come with you, that's the price."
I didn't sugarcoat it.
She had already let slip that her family couldn't know about this mission—a very useful card to hold if things turned sour after I refused her offer.
But still…
I needed to hear her answer. Because, for some reason, this strange, stubborn woman had asked me, and that alone meant something wasn't quite what it seemed.
"One simple reason. Trust. I cannot trust anyone, just like you. I don't have friends, allies, or companions to rely on. I've only got Mr. Roid here, who, alongside his ex-wife, raised me since I was a kid... Plus, I heard you took down an actual Valgura alongside Captain Mercy. That makes you worthy of my attention—of my mission."
Damn. Those first words hit harder than expected. No friends and no family? I mean, what good does having a family do if you end up relying on strangers like me anyway? Still... not really my concern.
What is my concern is Sonic—that loudmouth bastard. He was supposed to keep his mouth shut. Looks like I'll have to pay him a little visit. Not to hurt him, just… remind him that snitching on me comes with consequences. Then again, if she really knows Sonic, that means she's got a good eye. Sonic's lowkey, barely known, but his work? Solid as mana-forged steel.
"Captain Mercy won't be able to join us," I informed her, keeping my tone neutral. "And without his help, there's no way we're taking down even a weakened, past-her-prime Chimaera. Unless you, my lady, are much stronger than you look. A lot stronger..."
I threw that out expecting her to falter—she's a scholar, a researcher. Definitely not a combatant, right?
VOOOOM.
Her answer came not in words, but in sheer force. Raw mana pressure flooded the room like a storm front—dense, suffocating, alive. My instincts kicked in instantly, the kind that most people don't even realise they have until they're crushed by a pressure like that. Hers wasn't just forceful—it was refined, honed, and full of intent.
Even Captain Mercy's mana didn't press this hard. She wasn't bluffing earlier when she claimed she could handle a Chimaera. She wasn't just strong—she was a damn powerhouse.
'She's a wind mage... and she's stronger than Captain Mercy. By a lot.'
Despite the sheer weight of it all, I stood still, unflinching. Not out of pride, but habit. I'd felt worse. Much worse. The kind of mana that doesn't just weigh you down—it suffocates your soul, tears your instincts to pieces, forces your body to fold and your brain to beg for mercy.
This? This was manageable.
I didn't move.
She noticed.
With a subtle flick, she retracted her mana force, clearly intrigued—maybe even a bit surprised I hadn't flinched or broken into a sweat.
"You're strong," I commented, still feeling the residual hum of her energy crawling over my skin.
"So are you," she replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. She probably thought I had some rare resistance or immense strength of my own. Not quite. I was just used to it. Used to enduring.
Used to monsters.
And in that moment, one thing became clear—Forza wasn't some naive scholar trying to prove herself.
She was dangerous.
And if I said yes to this mission… I'd be hunting alongside a beautiful predator.