CHAPTER 124: CHAPTER 123: TEST (2)

Axelius gave no reply and simply turned his head forward again, walking out through the door without looking back murmurs erupted inside the guild hall.

"That was him, wasn’t it?" a whisper near the counter.

The receptionist leaned across toward the examiner. "That’s the black-haired Dravenhart... the Grand Duke’s sixth. Mana-less. I thought the rumors were just stories."

The examiner exhaled slowly, rubbing his chin. "They weren’t. That’s Axelius Dravenhart. This is the first time we seen him in town"

The receptionist leaned across the counter and whispered toward the examiner with a worried tone, "Skyclaw eggs have incredibly tough shells—It absorb a specific type of mana to break and hatch. Physical force doesn’t work. So Why did you say it like that, You’re scaring him,"

The examiner shrugged, "Exactly. If a few words scare him, how will he survive out there? A little fear now might save his life later."

"And You actually let him take it? I thought you’re gonna persuade him to take the option 1,That quest is too dangerous and he’s just a child. The last time someone chose Option Two was... was the third prince?"

The examiner scratched his chin, nodding. "Hmm The prince have potential. A few noble brats tried it too, but they all backed out once they heard what monsters they’d face."

She frowned deeper. "This one didn’t even blink."

Just then, laughter broke out from a group of adventurers seated nearby.

"Did you seriously let that twig go after a Fellfang Grizzly? he don’t have mana core, How will he fight?!" barked a rough-looking man with a chipped sword leaning beside his seat.

"That monster could use him as a toothpick!"

Another one, a female rogue with two daggers strapped to her thighs, raised her brow. "That’s the same monster that made five of us run last week. Took two fire mages just to wound it. And you’re letting some brat noble handle it?"

More voices joined in, amusement turning into mockery.

"Hope the Grand Duke’s estate already picked out a coffin."

"Maybe the guild should post a cleaning fee every time some prideful noble brat dies."

"But he’s manaless," someone scoffed. "What’s he gonna do, throw rocks at the monster?"

Yet through the laughter, the examiner remained silent, arms crossed.

The receptionist bit her lip. "You think he’ll survive?"

"I don’t know what he’s hiding," the examiner muttered. "But he didn’t flinch, didn’t brag, didn’t ask about pay or backup. Just chose the hardest path and left like it was nothing."

He looked toward the door again. "Kids like that... either die early, or change the world."

Across the room, seated near the back, a man with a jagged scar over his cheek leaned back with a scoff. "Black-haired Dravenhart, huh? I remember hearing about him." He spat to the side. "Son of the mighty Grand Duke but born cursed with no mana. What a joke."

A younger archer laughed. "I bet he’s compensating for something. Taking Option Two? Tch, classic delusions of grandeur."

An axe-wielding woman chuckled darkly. "That’s why the guild made that option so brutal. Just to deal with kids like him—noble or not. Hand them a C-rank monster and let the fear break their bones."

"He doesn’t even dress like a noble. No crest, no guards, no sword—but walks in with a maid?" someone muttered.

That sparked another wave of laughter, but one man near the front, leaning on a pillar, grinned and raised his voice, making sure the whole hall—and especially the silent woman sitting by herself—could hear.

"I say she’s the one doing all the fighting. That boy probably hides behind her skirts and cries while she begs the monster to spare him."

Everyone heard it.

Millie stepped forward slowly, each stride silent yet heavy. Her cloak shifted as she reached to her side—and in a blink, a dagger was in her hand. Curved. Black. Matte as shadow.

She spun it once with grace, then flung it.

Thunk!

The dagger buried itself in the wooden beam above the man’s head—so close a few strands of his hair fluttered from the air pressure.

The laughter stopped.

The man flinched, jerking up with a red face and a snarl, grabbing the hilt of his sword. "You think you’re tough, woman?" he spat, voice rising. "I’ll show you how we deal with arrogant little—"

He never finished.

Millie moved.

Another dagger flashed into her hand.

With a graceful twist, she let it fly—not toward his chest, not toward his face—but toward the sword just leaving its sheath.

Clang!

A perfect strike. The dagger danced off the blade and knocked it clean from his grip. The weapon clattered loudly to the stone floor, spinning until it came to a stop near the crowd’s feet.

The man froze, staring at his numb hand like he’d been struck by lightning.

"What the—"

"You idiot!" someone hissed as two other adventurers rushed in, grabbing the man and forcing him back onto the bench.

"Don’t make it worse."

"You’re lucky she didn’t take your ear off."

"That’s no ordinary maid, dumbass. No Dravenhart servants is weak so probably even main are trained."

The man knew that, he thought that Axelius is neglected. The receptionist hurried toward the fallen dagger, picking it up carefully like it was made of glass, and returned to Millie, bowing her head slightly.

"Your weapon, miss. I apologize on behalf of the guild. We didn’t mean any disrespect."

Millie took it with a quiet, "Thank you."

Then she sat back down with perfect posture—silent, proper, unshaken—as if nothing had happened.

No one dared laugh again.

***********

Outside the guildhall, hidden just around the corner and Axelius is leaning against the stone wall, Owen shook his head and let out a low whistle while sitting in his shoulder.

"Whew... I thought Millie was actually going to kill him," he murmured, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

Axelius smirk looking proud, "See? That’s the fruit of training her myself. So elegant, yet terrifying."

Pushing off the wall, Axelius stretched his arms with a yawn and began walking down the stone-paved street. Now aware of the small chaos he’d left behind, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a folded map, frowning at it as he walked.

His lips moved silently as he read the faded text on the paper. "Should be somewhere northeast... If that’s the mountain ridge, then I’m... here?"

"Go right," Owen said and going right.

He looked up, scanning the street, then back to the map. Pedestrians passed around him, some bumping him or brushing past without apology. He ignored them all—until someone didn’t just bump him.

They grabbed him.

A cloth hand clamped over his mouth and an arm yanked him back violently. Before he could even react, he was pulled into the narrow space between buildings and thrown against the dirty wall of a shadowed alleyway.