Sanctuary: Safe Haven

Silence hung in the air as Canna stared directly at the imposing figure of the guildmaster. The tension from moments earlier had dissipated slightly, but there was still an underlying charge in the atmosphere. Nyx, sensing his master's calm, gave a low growl before retreating back into Canna's shadow, his form melting away like a wisp of darkness.

The guildmaster, who had observed the entire scene with an unreadable expression, gave a slight nod—though to whom, Canna couldn't tell. He seemed to be acknowledging something, or perhaps giving an unseen command. Moments later, a figure appeared by Canna's side, moving with quiet efficiency.

The figure was a female guild officer. She was tall and graceful, with dark brown hair tied back into a neat bun. Her uniform was pristine, a blend of dark blue and silver, marking her as someone of authority within the guild. Her face was calm, though her dark eyes held a hint of urgency. She addressed Canna with a respectful nod.

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"The guildmaster would like to speak with you privately," she said, her tone apologetic but firm. "I apologize for not stepping in earlier to assist. Please follow me."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked back toward the main entrance of the Adventurer's Guild, leading the way through the dispersing crowd. Canna glanced around and noticed that most of the adventurers had already moved on, returning to their usual activities.

The only person left visibly shaken was the man who had insulted Canna earlier, still trembling, his eyes wide with lingering fear. Canna gave him a quick look, feeling no need to address the matter further.

A few moments later, Canna found himself seated in a spacious room, resting comfortably on a long brown leather couch. The room was well-furnished, with a large desk dominating one end, covered in scattered papers and reports. Along the walls were mounted trophies from past hunts—monster heads, fangs, and claws, each marking the success of some previous adventure.

The room had a distinctly masculine air to it, with dark wood furniture and the faint scent of old leather.

As Canna sank into the couch, his eyes wandered lazily over the various trophies. The heads of different monsters lined the walls—some with gleaming eyes still intact, others with sharp fangs bared in eternal snarls. The craftsmanship of the mounts was impeccable, each head serving as a reminder of the dangers that lurked outside the kingdom's walls.

Behind the large wooden desk sat the guildmaster, a man of formidable presence, though now seated and engrossed in his papers. His green eyes flicked between various documents as he stamped a few with a heavy seal. After a few moments, he put the papers aside and turned his full attention to Canna.

"Canna Yakane," the guildmaster began, his voice low and gruff. His gaze sharpened as he leaned forward slightly. "Your Adventurer's Guild card comes from a kingdom quite far from here—a kingdom that, according to my sources, has been destroyed."

His tone was menacing, as if he were testing Canna for a reaction.

However, Canna didn't seem to care. He had long since settled into the couch, his body relaxing further as if he were on the verge of sleep. He shifted his weight back and forth, trying to find a more comfortable position. His casual movements only seemed to irritate the guildmaster more, but Canna was indifferent.

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, Canna fumbled at his waist and pulled out the longsword that Varya had given him. "It's this stupid thing," he muttered, clearly annoyed at how the sword was getting in the way of his comfort. Without a second thought, he tossed the sword across the room, where it landed with a dull thud on the floor.

For a brief moment, silence filled the room.

A vein visibly throbbed on the guildmaster's forehead, his irritation barely contained as he watched Canna continue to adjust his position, seemingly oblivious to the growing tension. The guildmaster's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white against the dark wood of the desk. He had seen his share of arrogant adventurers, but Canna's nonchalant behavior was pushing his limits.

The guildmaster rose from his chair with a heavy sigh, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor as he approached the discarded sword. He bent down to pick it up, his fingers brushing the hilt. As he lifted the blade, his eyes widened slightly in recognition.

"This sword..." the guildmaster murmured, a flash of understanding passing through his gaze. His demeanor shifted immediately, the menacing edge in his voice replaced by caution.

He turned to Canna, his expression unreadable. "I see. So you're one of them," he said, his voice filled with resignation. "I refuse to get involved in this. I'll call your clan members. I have no desire to be part of this mess."

Without another word, the guildmaster pulled out a small artifact, a glowing stone engraved with intricate runes. He whispered something into it, his voice low but steady, clearly sending a message to someone. Throughout the entire exchange, the guildmaster's eyes never left Canna, as if he were studying him, trying to unravel the mystery behind the man casually lounging on his couch.

Meanwhile, Canna had finally found a comfortable position. He laid back, his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes as if he were ready to drift off to sleep. The sword that had caused such a stir no longer concerned him, and he seemed completely at ease, despite the guildmaster's obvious frustration.

The guildmaster, shaking his head in disbelief, sat back down at his desk and waited in silence.

It wasn't long before murmurs spread throughout the Adventurer's Guild. People whispered to each other, their voices hushed but excited as they noticed a group of men entering the building. These men were no ordinary adventurers—their clothing and the emblems on their chests marked them as members of the prestigious Clan Varran.

There were five of them in total, each one exuding an aura of power and authority. Their clothes were finely tailored, a blend of dark, regal colors—black, silver, and deep red—embroidered with intricate designs. The Clan Varran emblem, a clenched fist holding a blazing sword, was embroidered onto the left breast of each of their uniforms.

Their armor gleamed under the light, polished to perfection, and their movements were graceful yet purposeful. They walked with a confidence that made people instinctively step aside.

However, one man in the group stood out. While the others wore dark, battle-ready attire, this man had opted for something entirely different—a white regal robe. His mohawk haircut was a sharp contrast to the others' more traditional appearances, and his attitude was just as bold.

"It's Clan Varran!" a voice whispered excitedly from the crowd.

"Look at them! They all look amazing," another chimed in.

"Their auras... it's just different. You can feel the power coming off them," a third voice added, awe clear in their tone.

But one question seemed to ripple through the murmurs: "Why is there someone wearing white?"

"I heard that's their latest recruit," one bystander whispered to another. "He's supposedly really strong. They allowed him to join the clan under one condition—that he wear the white robes."

"What's his name again? Mago? Mani?"n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

The man in the white robes scowled, turning his head sharply toward the gossiping adventurers. "It's Maggi, you worms," he growled, before turning back and following the rest of the clan members toward the private room where the guildmaster was waiting.

"Yikes, that guy's got an attitude," someone muttered under their breath.

"Yeah," came the quiet agreement of another.