Within the northern city of Glacia, the Frosthold Guildhall stood as a gathering place for adventurers from all across the region. However, today, silence gripped the hall.
All eyes fixed on the lone figure standing in front of the guild's reception table—a young man with a mix of black and white hair, a scar over his left eye, and an unwavering gaze.
Standing beside him was, Cyrus Voss, the notorious blonde leader of the Iron Talon, sneered as he sized up the boy he had just unhooded.
"Hey, you!" Cyrus barked. The boy met his gaze without flinching, and Cyrus's irritation grew. "What? Are you too dumb to speak?" He taunted. "Well allow me to educate you then!"
"My name is Cyrus Voss, and what's yours? Oh, wait, I forgot—you don't have one! Hahaha!"
Laughter then erupted across the guildhall as the adventurers joined in, mocking the boy. Galen and his party exchanged bewildered glances.
"I don't get it," Thorne muttered. "What's so funny?"
Galen's eyes narrowed as realization dawned in. "Wait… he doesn't have a name."
Raine, catching on, whispered, "So… What is his a Null?"
Still laughing, Cyrus wiped the tears from his eyes and stepped in closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. "What are you staring at, you cursed bastard?" He growled, after he grabbed the boy by the collar, pulling him closer.
"Think you're too good for us? Well guess what, in this world, you are nothing. So you should just disappear, you freaking monster." Tightening his grip, Cyrus pulled back his fist, preparing to strike the boy. "Cause if you won't leave, I'll just have to make sure you do!"
Just then, Raine spoke up. "Alright, that's enough—"
However, a thunderous voice cut through the whole hall. "THAT'S ENOUGH!"
The entire room stilled, and Cyrus froze, fist mid-swing. All heads then turned to see a figure descending the stairs—a man with dark hair, piercing black eyes, and a scar etched across his face.
He wore an impressive suit of armor that bore the marks of countless battles. This was Magnus Thorne, also known as the Iron Vanguard, one of the guild's most respected and formidable warriors.
"No way… that's Magnus!" murmured one adventurer.
"Yeah, it's the Iron Vanguard himself!" whispered another in awe.
Magnus's voice was calm but commanding as he approached Cyrus, the boy gripped in his hand. "Cyrus, let the boy go. Now!"
Cyrus scowled but held his gaze with Magnus. "Oh yeah? Or what?"
The two locked eyes for a tense moment, but Magnus's stare remained steady. With a grunt, Cyrus released the boy's collar, muttering, "You know what, not even worth my time anyway."
Magnus stepped forward, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Are you alright?"
The boy nodded his head. "Yes, I'm fine."
Magnus gave him an approving look before turning to face the entire guild. His powerful voice rang out, capturing everyone's attention. "Tell me, all of you—what do you see before you? A boy? A beast? A monster?" He asked the crowed.
The guild members looked at each other in silence.
Magnus raised his fist. "I'll tell you what I see before me: I see a warrior. A young adventurer who has faced countless trails to stand here among us. Just like each one of you here, he strives to grow, to overcome, and to achieve greatness.
So instead of tearing each other down, let us remember why we're here—let us fight together to achieve each of our dreams!"
"FOR WE ARE ADVENTURERS!" He roared, lifting his fist high in the air.
The whole hall then erupted in loud cheers, the voices of the guild members ringing out in unison. Magnus turned back to the boy, giving him a reassuring nod. "You're not alone."
However, the boy's eyes held a quiet sadness. He pulled his hood back up and slipped away through the cheering crowd, heading towards the exit. Moreover, as he passed Raine, their eyes met for a brief moment, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Nevertheless, he said nothing, simply continuing his path out of the guild.
Outside the guild, the boy wandered the streets of Glacia, his mind clouded by dark memories of his past. Echoes of jeering voices filled his mind—taunting him, calling him a monster, a demon.
As flames danced in his vision, searing reminders of his past. He stumbled, gasping for air, clutching his chest as he tried to shake off the haunting images. Steeling himself, he continued walking on, eventually arriving at a small weapon shop tucked away in a quiet corner of town.
The shop's door creaked open, and the owner, a sturdy, broad-shouldered man with a bushy beard and sharp, kind eyes, turned around with a welcoming smile. "Well, well…Would you look who it is?"
The boy's expression softened as he stepped inside and pulled down his hood. "Hello, Borin."
Borin, a blacksmith let out a hearty laugh, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "I haven't seen you in a while, kid! Come; come. Let's see if we can find something worthy of you today."
As Borin led him into the shop, the boy felt a rare warmth in his chest, as a quiet sense of belonging filled him—one that had despite his struggles, kept him going on.
End of Chapter 11.