For the remainder of the expedition's 24-hour cycle, Trevor and Alister remained inside the Stronghold medical tent, putting on a masterclass performance of extreme warshock and trauma.
Alister sat shivering in a blanket, staring blankly at his warm tea, while Trevor stood motionless near the window with a hollow, distant gaze. To any outside observer, they looked like two traumatized rookies who had barely survived a horrific massacre by B-Rank Saufischer.
When 10:00 AM arrived on the second day, the expedition officially concluded. Apex Squadsubmitted their spatial bag for tallying:
Meat & Monsters: 3 Warthogs, 9 Beetle Prawns, 6 Mud Crabs, 4 Salamander Eggs, 5 Mouse Deers.
Ingredients: 8 Jazbay Grape Combs, 12 Tree Sap Bottles, 13 Green Gingers, 28 Crowned Mushrooms.
Out of all 2,300 participants, Apex Squad was the only team that managed to complete their entire hunt log and allegedly escape a B-Rank beast encounter alive.
The Elven Inspectors patted their shoulders, offering gentle words of encouragement and praise for their remarkable survival instincts. Little did the inspectors know, the two "traumatized" recruits were complete psychopaths, inwardly chuckling at how effortlessly they had duped the entire guild command structure.
Because of their stellar haul, they were awarded a massive cash prize of 12,000 Terra Coins. The Head Inspector even officially gifted them the Guild Spatial Storage Bag as a reward for their bravery and performance.
Back in Terra Nova, inside their middle-class hotel suite, the tragic, shell-shocked facades melted away instantly.
Alister tossed his cloak onto a chair and burst into howling laughter, slamming his palm on the table. “I can't believe they bought that entire warshock act! We should've been actors!”
Trevor smirked, dumping the heavy pouch of 12,000 Terra Coins onto the desk and counting out 6,000 for each of them. “Splitting it down the middle, as agreed.”
Though their ranks weren't upgraded this time, both agreed the expedition yielded something far more valuable: a hard lesson on the true nature of their fellow adventurers.
“Next time...” Alister said, leaning back, “I'm definitely going to be way more careful when recruiting temporary party members.”
Trevor paused, turning his head. “Please don't. You're going to kill all the fun.”
Alister blinked, then burst into a mischievous grin. “Right... my bad! But hey, are you sure about splitting all the bounty money equally?”
“When we earn even more,” Trevor said smoothly, “you can rent your own private apartment.”
Alister frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Wait... does that mean you don't want me around?”
“Don't take it the wrong way, kid,” Trevor replied casually. “I just know that sooner or later, some tavern chick is going to hit on you, and you'll want to take her back to your bed. Be practical about your privacy.”
Alister rubbed the back of his neck, a smirk creeping back onto his face. “Hmm... I guess you've got a point.”
“So from now on,” Trevor declared, “all expedition earnings split equally between us—and with any future members.”
“Got it,” Alister nodded. “I'll go back to the recruitment board tomorrow.”
Trevor grinned coldly. “Make sure you pick another criminal, okay?”
Trevor unbuttoned his coat and pulled back his undersuit, exposing his lower back where Vernon's dagger had struck. Opening a heavy metallic case from his pack, he released a swarm of miniature Robotic Termites. The metallic micro-drones poured out, crawling over his open cybernetic chassis with high-frequency buzzing sounds, welding internal seams and recalibrating armor plates.
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Alister winced, pulling a disgusted face. “Shit... that is genuinely disgusting to watch, Trevor.”
“Then don't watch,” Trevor deadpanned as the swarm hummed against his frame. “They're fixing me.”
Alister cleared his throat, pulling out the extra spatial pouch. “Oh, by the way... the Head Inspector let us keep the Guild Spatial Bag. It's super handy! We can store camping supplies, cooking gear, and long-term rations in it now.”
“Excellent,” Trevor said.
“And... the weapons and gear from those two C-Rank pursuers I vaporized are still in here,”Alister added.
“Then sell them,” Trevor replied. “Pure profit.”
Within minutes, the robotic termites completed their repairs and retreated back into their housing unit. Trevor zipped up his suit, slinging his crimson coat over his shoulder.
“I'm heading out to check the markets,” Trevor said.
“I'm gonna take a bath first, then head out too,” Alister called out from the bathroom door.
“Right. Buy yourself some proper protective gear while you're at it,” Trevor said, stepping into the hallway.
Trevor spent the early evening browsing the crowded central marketplace, purchasing several heavy glass flasks of high-grade castor oils for maintenance and mechanical lubrication.
Curious about regional rumors, he drifted into a dimly lit, high-tier tavern known for hosting veteran mercenaries. Sitting at the mahogany bar, he ordered a flask of rum and a plate of grilled meats, keeping his ears open to the surrounding chatter.
Sitting next to him was a tall, muscular youth with sharp eyes and a massive double-edged claymore strapped to his back. His chest bore a polished silver badge: A-Rank.
“You're asking the right questions, friend,” the youth said, leaning over with a grin. “Name's Gildas.”
Trevor glanced at the badge. “An A-Rank Adventurer?”
“Yep!” Gildas smirked, tapping his glass against the counter. “I'm 20 years old, been in Terra Nova for three years now. Buy me another drink and some of that roast, and I'll spill all the juicy details you won't find on guild boards.”
Trevor gestured to the bartender. “Bring him a full platter and a bottle of rum. I like where this conversation is going.”
“I'm a Priest,” Gildas said casually, patting the giant claymore at his side.
Trevor stared at him, raising an eyebrow. “A healer wielding a two-handed greatsword? That's a weird combination.”
Gildas let out a booming laugh. “Haha! Oh, I'm way weirder than you think, pal! Fact is... no one in this world can kill me.”
“How come?” Trevor asked.
“Reach A-Rank first,” Gildas winked. “Join a high-tier raid with me, and I'll show you how I manage this build.”
“Fair enough,” Trevor nodded. “Let's get back to those rumors you mentioned. You talked about a rogue adventurer town out in the wilderness beyond Terra Nova's jurisdiction.”
Gildas’s smile faded into a grim, serious line. “Yeah. It's real. They run an entire settlement outside the law, doing things worse than you can imagine. Human, Elven, and Dwarven women are captured, abused, and sold into pleasure slavery. That's the real reason why human, dwarf, and elf clans in Terra Nova stay divided—nobody trusts each other.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed, his cybernetic core pulsing with a cold chill. “Fuck... How do they maintain an operation like that without the Guild stepping in?”
“Simple,” Gildas spat softly into his cup. “Rich surface nobles and corrupt Guildmasters back them from the shadows, buying their illegal monster drops and black-market loot.”
“Do you know who's leading them?” Trevor asked.
“Nobody knows their exact identities,” Gildas whispered, leaning in close. “It's an underground syndicate. I've been a Clan Leader for a year now, and even the official Adventurers' Association can't track down the masterminds behind these murderers and thieves.”
Trevor leaned back, taking in the revelation. “So... we aren't just fighting wild beasts out in the wilderness. We're fighting our own fellow adventurers.”
“Tragically, yes,” Gildas sighed. “And take a word of advice from me: Do not trust the Guildmasters. Something is rotten at the top.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because if a Guildmaster doesn't like where you're heading,” Gildas said, his eyes turning cold as ice, “they'll set you up on an impossible dungeon contract to have you quietly erased. They've already tried it on me twice... and failed both times.”
Trevor kept his expression neutral, though his mind raced. “Are you sure about that?”
“I'm alive, aren't I?” Gildas grinned fiercely. “I don't know every face behind the curtain yet, but when I finally pin down who's pulling the strings... me and my entire clan are going to launch a full-scale revolt against the Guild itself.”
Trevor immediately glanced around the noisy tavern, his voice dropping. “Shit... don't say something like that out loud in public.”
Gildas blinked, then let out a hearty laugh, slapping Trevor’s shoulder. “Ooppss! Hahaha! You're right! Let's just drink, my friend!”
Trevor clinked his glass against Gildas’s mug, a dark smirk forming beneath his scarf. He had come looking for market supplies—and instead, he had just made a powerful new ally: Gildas, Leader of Clan Insurrection. end of chapter