CHAPTER 129: THE WAY BACK TO VALEMONT

He tilted his head slightly, gaze steady, expression unreadable. "Tell them it collapsed because it met me."

For a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe. The confidence in his tone wasn’t arrogance; it was something heavier, born from certainty and blood. Her lips parted, but no words came. When she found her voice again, it carried a soft laugh to cover the warmth rising in her cheeks.

"Of course. I’ll note that exactly."

Viera’s quill lay forgotten beside the ledger. The soft scratching of others writing around the hall faded into distance, like noise behind glass. She couldn’t stop looking at him. There was no exhaustion in his face, no tremor in his hands. Men who returned from lesser dungeons usually staggered in, pale and shaking from mana bleed. Xavier looked as though he’d stepped out of a storm that had chosen not to touch him.

He rested an elbow on the counter, posture loose but eyes sharp. "You said the Association verified it. How long before word reaches the Capital?"

"Hours," she admitted. "By nightfall, the high guild in the Capital will know your name. They’ll send letters. Maybe envoys."

She paused, tilting her head slightly. "You don’t seem pleased."

"I don’t work for fame," he said simply. "But if it opens doors, I won’t complain."

He glanced toward the other side of the hall. Two adventurers quickly pretended to study a bounty poster. "It’s already making noise."

"They’re terrified," Viera murmured. "They’ve never seen anyone like you. There are stories already. Spread by a few that managed to survive the Silver Spire before you raided it. Half of them are nonsense, but the rest..."

Her voice softened, eyes narrowing in quiet fascination. "...the rest might not be."

He smiled faintly. "People see what they want to believe. Let them."

Then, almost lazily, "The Spire wasn’t a normal dungeon. It felt alive. Watched. Every step was a question, and it demanded answers in blood."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "And you answered every one."

He didn’t respond immediately, only rolled the badge between his fingers, the gold catching the lamplight. "I survived. That’s answer enough."

Viera leaned on the desk, curiosity getting the better of her composure. The scent of ink and faint perfume met the cold trace of silver that lingered on him. "What did it feel like—being inside it? Clearing something none of us have even mapped, clearing such a dungeon solo?"

He looked at her for a long moment before replying. "It’s a double dungeon with a wide variety of beasts. The first had golems, mutant snakes, a lot. The second was even more interesting, with hollow armed knights invulnerable to normal physical attacks. To push through beasts of such calibre, I had to improvise."

A small pause, the ghost of a smile. She was curious but didn’t press; she knew that would mean asking for sensitive information.

She drew a quiet breath, her pulse quickening at the way he said it. There was power in those two words—unshaken, final, the kind that made her chest tighten.

"Then you’ve earned this," she said softly, nodding toward the badge again. "Gold Rank isn’t given, it’s feared. Some spend a lifetime and never touch it. And you..." she hesitated, voice lowering, "...you made it sound like a stroll."

He chuckled, low and warm. "It wasn’t. But I’ve learned not to show the pain until I’m alone."

That single admission shifted something between them. Her eyes flickered to the faint marks along his forearms—the shallow cuts where moonlight had burned rather than healed. Without thinking, she reached for a cloth, dipping it lightly into water and extending her hand.

"Here," she said quietly. "You shouldn’t go around with battle dust still on you. The guild has a reputation to keep."

He didn’t move away. Her fingers brushed his wrist, tentative at first. The contact was small, but her breath caught. His skin was warm—too warm—and the energy under it pulsed like something alive. She cleaned a streak of ash from the edge of his hand, and for a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

"You don’t flinch," she murmured.

"Should I?"

"Most do."

She smiled faintly then, setting the cloth aside. "You really are different."

He met her gaze. "That a good thing?"

"I’ll decide later," she said, though her tone betrayed her amusement.

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. "Xavier."

He looked over his shoulder.

"There’s a rumor," she said, stepping closer, her tone low enough for only him to hear. "That the Spire wasn’t just a dungeon. That it held a fragment of something divine. People are saying the energy wave that pulsed from it wasn’t decay—it was transference. Whatever power was sealed there might have followed the one who conquered it. It must have been a labyrinth, so what do you think?"

He regarded her steadily. "You believe that?"

Her eyes searched his face. "I don’t know. But you came back changed. You walk different. You breathe different. The air around you hums." A pause. "So maybe I do."

He studied her for a moment, the edge of his mouth curling. "Then keep it quiet. The last thing I need is worshippers."

Viera laughed softly, though her gaze didn’t leave his. "Velmora’s already half there."

He slid his dagger back into its sheath, the motion smooth as thought. "Then maybe I’ll give them something worth believing in."

Her heart skipped; she masked it with a smile. "You already have."

He nodded once, as if sealing the conversation. Then, almost an afterthought, "If anyone asks, tell them the Spire was worth the trouble."

"I’ll tell them," she said. "And Xavier—"

He paused mid-step.

"Try not to vanish again. I don’t think the city could handle another mystery that big."

He looked back, and for the first time, his grin was genuine. "No promises."

He turned and walked through the hall, the faint sound of his boots echoing under the vaulted ceiling. Heads turned as he passed. Some out of respect, others out of fear. The golden badge gleamed at his chest, its light trailing faintly across the marble floor until he reached the doors.

Viera watched him go, her hand resting over the ledger that now felt irrelevant. Her pulse was still racing, her thoughts tangled between admiration and something she couldn’t name. When the heavy doors closed behind him, the room seemed to exhale, voices rising once more. She leaned back against the counter, whispering under her breath—half a sigh, half a confession.

"What are you turning into, Xavier?"

Outside, the city was bathed in the dying amber of dusk. Xavier looked toward the horizon where the Silver Spire had once stood. The air shimmered faintly there, a scar of silver that refused to fade. He touched the badge at his chest, feeling its weight, its heat, the quiet hum of acknowledgment within his veins.

"Gold Rank," he murmured. "That’ll do for now."

Then he turned away, the last light catching the sharp line of his jaw, and disappeared into the evening crowd—one step closer to the power that waited beyond even gold.

The sun was sinking when he left the guild. Its last light spread like liquid gold over the rooftops of Velmora, tinting the stone streets with a faint, sleepy warmth. The city had changed since morning; merchants were shuttering their stalls, adventurers heading for taverns, smiths dousing their forges. But even among the drifting crowd, Xavier’s presence cut a quiet path. Heads turned as he passed, some out of curiosity, others out of the strange pull that followed him now, a weight that felt too steady, too composed, for a man who had just come back from a dungeon no one had ever cleared.

He moved through the city like a shadow wrapped in dying sunlight. The golden badge gleamed at his chest; every glint drew whispers that rippled and faded behind him. Yet his thoughts weren’t on the guild or the eyes watching him. They were already ahead, reaching toward the house on the hill where two figures waited, one impatient and bright as a flame, the other silent and watchful as a moon behind clouds.

The road curved upward, lined with lilac trees that shed their petals with each faint breeze. By the time the estate of Valemont came into view, dusk had deepened into a dark velvet blue. Lanterns flickered to life along the outer walls, their light catching the silver crest carved above the gate. For a moment he paused, letting his gaze trace the familiar curve of the archway, the faint hum of warding runes, the faintest echo of her mana signature that always lingered in the air around the mansion.

Home, he thought, though he had never truly belonged anywhere. And yet the scent of the place—faintly floral, faintly electric, had become something he associated with quiet peace.

Inside the estate, the atmosphere was different. The servants had been restless since midday when news spread that the portal to the Silver Spire had vanished.