The Adventurer's Guild was as bustling as ever when Caelann pushed open its heavy oak doors. The familiar hum of chatter, the clinking of mugs, and the sight of adventurers hunched over maps or recounting tales of glory instantly brought a smile to his face. It felt good to be back.

"Caelann!" A familiar voice called from across the hall, and soon others chimed in.

"Hey, he's alive!"
"Look who's back from the dead!"
"You alright, mate? Heard you took a beating."

Caelann chuckled as adventurers came up to pat him on the back, offering everything from mock condolences to genuine concern. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, just a scratch," he said, waving them off. "I've had worse... probably."

The adventurers laughed, a few clapping him on the back as he made his way through the hall. The warmth in their greetings was a stark reminder of how close he'd come to not walking through those doors again.

However, not all conversations were jovial. A group of adventurers crowded near the guild's noticeboard, speaking in hushed tones. 

One of them gestured to a crude map, and Caelann caught snatches of their conversation.

"They found another hideout near the old mill," one said.

"Yeah, but it was already cleared out by the time we got there. These Huntsmen bastards are slippery."

"City guard and kingsguard are coordinating on this next operation," added another. "Things might finally start moving."

Another group of adventurers in battered leather and chainmail entered the guild house, their expressions grim. They bore the insignia of the city guard on their arms, marking them as temporary auxiliaries.

"More heading out to raid another hideout?" Caelann asked, nodding toward them.

A nearby silver-ranked adventurer, leaning on his spear, nodded. "Yeah. Commander Fredrich and Captain Caleb are all over this Hunt business. Guild's helping where we can, but it's been messy. Last raid turned up nothing but abandoned supplies."

Another chimed in, "That bastard Johann always seems to be one step ahead of us. You'd think with all the checkpoints and the curfew, we'd have cornered him by now."

"Like he always knows when and where we'd hit. It's frustrating," says another. 

Caelann frowned but forced a light tone. "Well, good luck to you guys, and the rest. I'm leaving this matter to the pros."

The weight of the Hunt's recent actions loomed large in the guild. The ambush on Caelann, the raids, and the reports of their leader, Johann, left no doubt about the danger they posed. Still, the thought of diving back into such high-stakes situations made Caelann's stomach churn.

He made his way to the taskmaster's desk, where a grizzled man with a bushy mustache greeted him with a broad grin. "Caelann! You're a sight for sore eyes. How's the arm?"

"Better," Caelann replied. "Still attached, so that's a win."

"Glad to hear it. Thought you might be itching to get back out there."

"You have no idea." Caelann tells him. "Got any quests for someone looking to ease back into things?"

The taskmaster raised an eyebrow, his expression almost amused. "Easing back, huh? Thought you'd be up in arms, going after the Hunt after what they pulled on you."

"Princess Elowyn and the healers advised me not to overexert myself." Caelann leaned on the desk. "Besides, with my recent experience, I think I'll stick to taking care of the locals. At least until I get better with a sword."

The taskmaster chuckled and gestured for Caelann to follow him to the quest board, which was covered in parchment of varying sizes. Each quest detailed tasks ranging from mundane errands to more perilous adventures.

"We've got a fresh batch," the taskmaster said, motioning toward the board. "Nothing too heavy, since I'm guessing you're not keen on tangling with bandits again anytime soon."

Caelann scanned the options, his eyes flicking over the scribbled summaries:

• Collect medicinal herbs from the Elmsgrove Forest

• Escort a merchant caravan to the neighboring village

• Investigate missing livestock near the western farms

He tapped his chin, mulling over the choices. "Relaxing, huh?"

The taskmaster smirked. "Hey, I didn't say they were exciting."

Caelann plucked all three parchments from the board. "Alright, let's ease back into things. Can't have the guild losing its rising star."

The taskmaster barked a laugh. "You've got a long way to go before you're stealing the spotlight, kid. But I like the enthusiasm. Sign here."

...

With the herb-collection quest in hand, Caelann made his way to the Elmsgrove Forest, a short journey from the capital. The familiar sights of his hometown warmed his heart — cobblestone streets bustling with traders, children chasing each other, and the faint aroma of freshly baked bread from the village bakery.

The forest itself was as serene as he remembered, its dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Armed with a satchel and a basic guide to medicinal herbs, Caelann crouched near a cluster of plants and frowned.

"Is this Glowroot or Sungrass?" he muttered, flipping through the guide. The illustration didn't help much. "They look exactly the same."

Nearby, a squirrel chirped from its perch on a low branch.

"Oh, don't start judging me too," Caelann quipped, shooting the squirrel a glare.

After gathering what he hoped were the right herbs, Caelann made his way back to the village apothecary, who greeted him with a cheerful, "Oh, thank you, young man! These are perfect."

Caelann gave a relieved smile. "I totally knew what I was doing."

The apothecary tilted her head. "You do know this is Glowroot and not Sungrass, right?"

He froze, scratching the back of his neck. "...Of course! Just keeping you on your toes."

The apothecary laughed as she handed him a pouch of coins, and Caelann set off back to Valoria.

...

The next day, Caelann found himself guarding a caravan of jovial merchants heading to the neighboring village of Grathor. The trip was supposed to be uneventful, and it delivered on that promise.

Caelann walked alongside the lead wagon, chatting with a burly man who seemed more interested in telling bad jokes than worrying about bandits.

"So, a knight, a thief, and a goblin walk into a tavern," the merchant began, grinning ear to ear.

Caelann gave a patient nod, already bracing himself.

"The knight orders an ale, the thief asks for wine, and the goblin says, 'I'll have a water.'" The merchant paused for effect. "When the bartender brings the drinks, the goblin pipes up and says, 'Hey! Where's my water?'"

"'How do I know YOU don't have it?,' the bartender says, 'Maybe it's just right behind you!'"

The merchant chuckled. "But when the goblin turns around, poof! — the thief already swiped it! Ha!"

Caelann raised an eyebrow. "So the punchline is... predictable racial stereotyping?"

The merchant blinked. "Uh, well, I suppose—"

"Got it. Hilarious," Caelann deadpanned, his smirk making the merchant squirm. "Now I know why goblins like holding merchants up more than they do adventurers."

The merchant cleared his throat awkwardly and decided to keep quiet for the rest of the journey.

Hours passed without incident, the wagons creaking gently as they rolled along the dirt path. At one point, the only excitement came when one of the merchants accidentally sat on a crate of ripe tomatoes, earning roars of laughter from his companions.

When they finally reached Grathor, the merchants showered Caelann with thanks, a handful of coins, and, oddly enough, a single tomato.

"For your troubles," the burly man said, winking.

Caelann twirled the tomato in his hand. "If I ever open a fruit stall, you'll be the first to know."

...

The third quest brought Caelann to the western farms, where a frantic farmer greeted him at the gate.

"They're just disappearing! No tracks, no sounds, nothing!" the man exclaimed, pacing back and forth.

Caelann nodded sagely. "Don't worry. I'm here to solve the case of the vanishing sheep."

The farm was quiet, save for the occasional bleat from the few remaining sheep in the pasture. Caelann set up a stakeout that evening, positioning himself near the barn with a lantern and a stick he deemed "sheep defense."

Hours passed.

Then, at the stroke of midnight, he heard rustling.

Heart pounding, Caelann peered into the shadows... only to see a particularly determined sheep squeezing through a gap in the fence.

"Seriously?" he muttered, chasing after it.

It took half an hour, but he managed to wrangle the runaway back into the pen. As he hammered the fence closed, he grumbled, "Next time, I'm bringing a net."

When he reported back to the farmer, the man burst out laughing. "That's the third time this week! You'd think they'd learn!"

"Well, fence repairs aren't exactly in my skill set," Caelann replied, shaking his head.

The farmer handed him his reward and patted him on the back. "You've earned it, lad."

...

Caelann handed over all three completed quest parchments, each one signed by their respective employers, back to the taskmaster behind the counter. The taskmaster took them with a nod, flipping through each one before setting them aside in a neat pile.

"Well, that's three quests wrapped up without a hitch," the taskmaster said with a satisfied grunt. 

He glanced at Caelann over his desk, a raised eyebrow adding a bit of curiosity to his voice. "How did the 'adventure' treat you? No monsters or bandits this time?"

Caelann chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair. "Nothing worth writing home about, thankfully. Got a few vegetables and some herbs, dealt with a few non-missing sheep, and convinced a merchant to stop making bad jokes. Standard fare."

"Guess we can all use a bit of quiet now and then." The taskmaster let out a short laugh. "So, what about the coins? You're flush now, aren't you? What do you plan on doing with them?"

Caelann hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his disheveled hair. It had been a long stretch since he'd bought anything for himself, especially after losing everything in the ambush. The thought of getting back to some semblance of normalcy was appealing.

"Well, I was thinking about heading over to the blacksmith," Caelann said, a thoughtful smile creeping onto his face. "I need a new sword. Something solid, you know? My old one... well, I can't exactly ask the Hunt for it back."

The taskmaster chuckled, the lines on his face deepening as his smile widened. "Ah, so you've finally given up on the idea of tracking those bastards down and getting your gear back?"

"Maybe someday," Caelann shrugged, "but for now, a new blade sounds better. I could use something that'll actually hold up on the road, not like my last one. Besides, a sword's a man's companion, right?"

The taskmaster nodded sagely. "That's a good choice. A weapon's like a second skin to an adventurer. Can't be too careful."

Caelann raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. "It'd help if I didn't spend half my time getting out of my skin, though."

The taskmaster snorted at the quip. "You've got a point. But getting yourself set up again might be the best way to prepare for what's next. More quests, more adventures."

"I'm looking forward to it," Caelann said with a gleam in his eye, his excitement returning as he thought about the future. "But first things first — new sword, and maybe something shiny to add to the collection, eh?"

"Can't argue with that. Go ahead, get yourself sorted." The taskmaster waved him off, still grinning.

Caelann gave him a thumbs-up before turning to leave, his boots clacking against the wooden floor of the guild. He was already looking forward to getting his hands on a new blade. It was time to get back in the game.

...

Caelann made his way through the city streets, his boots echoing on the cobblestones as he weaved through the crowd. 

The city seemed as busy as ever, despite the tension in the air from the ongoing investigation into the Hunt. He was more focused on one thing: getting his hands on a decent sword.

As he approached the blacksmith's shop, the familiar smell of hot iron and burning coal greeted him, and the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal rang out from inside. The forge was always a welcome sight, a place where steel and craftsmanship came together to create the weapons that adventurers and soldiers relied on.

Pushing the door open, Caelann stepped inside, feeling the heat of the forge hit him immediately. The blacksmith, a broad-shouldered man with arms like tree trunks, looked up from his work as Caelann approached.

"Well, well, look who's back on his feet," the blacksmith said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "You survived that ambush after all, eh?"

Caelann chuckled dryly, his fingers absently brushing against the scar on his side where the Hunt's dagger had pierced him. "Barely. Lost my old sword in the process, though."

The blacksmith's eyes narrowed with understanding. "A shame. Good swords don't grow on trees." 

He wiped his hands on his apron and gestured to the back of the shop. "But I've got a few good ones that might suit you."

Caelann followed him to the back of the shop, where racks of weapons lined the walls. 

There were swords of all shapes and sizes, but none of them held the same weight of history that his old blade did. That sword had been with him through thick and thin, and losing it in the ambush had been a hard blow — not just to his gear, but to his sense of self. He'd always been proud of that sword.

The blacksmith stopped in front of a rack with several finely crafted blades. He grabbed one from the wall, testing its weight with a practiced hand. The steel gleamed in the light, the hilt wrapped in worn leather.

"This one's a good fit for someone your size. Balanced, light, and sharp," the blacksmith said, handing the sword to Caelann. "Perfect for quick strikes and swift maneuvers."

Caelann took the sword, feeling its weight in his hands. It wasn't the sword he'd lost, but it would have to do. He swung it experimentally, the blade slicing through the air with ease. It felt right, the balance perfect.

"Not bad," Caelann said, nodding approvingly. "How much?"

The blacksmith gave a knowing smile. "For you? Half off the usual price. It's not often we get a good adventurer with a sense of humor. Besides, you've been through enough."

Caelann grinned. "I'll take it." He placed the coins on the counter, exchanging the shiny bag of coins from his completed quests for the sword. It felt good to have a solid blade in his hands again.

"Pleasure doing business," the blacksmith said, securing the sword with a leather strap and handing it over to Caelann. "You're good to go."

With a new sword at his side, Caelann made his way out of the shop, the weight of the weapon settling comfortably against his hip. The air felt fresher now, the familiar sound of the city more welcoming. It was good to be on his feet again, and now he was ready to get back into the swing of things.

But as Caelann walked down the street, a nagging thought tugged at him. The Hunt was still out there, somewhere. Johann, the bandit leader, and whatever plans they were plotting. It was only a matter of time before Caelann would have to face them again. And this time, he wouldn't be caught off guard.

****

The dim light of the dungeon flickered as the final echoes of footsteps faded down the hallway. The guard who had been standing watch all afternoon was relieved by a new figure—a fresh shift for the night.

"Evening," the guard said with a yawn, stretching his stiff arms as he gave the other a brief nod. "You're a bit early tonight, aren't you?"

The replacement guard gave a nonchalant shrug. "Had a few extra minutes to spare. Nothing to complain about."

The relieved guard gave a small chuckle. "Fair enough. I'll be off then. Take care of the place."

The shift-change was a small, routine moment, and the relieved guard made his way toward the exit. He had no reason to suspect anything unusual about the early arrival of his replacement. He was glad to leave the cold, damp dungeon behind and head toward the warmth of a tavern.

Meanwhile, the replacement guard stood still for a moment, listening to the silence of the dungeon. 

The faint sound of water dripping in the distance was the only noise, and for a moment, he simply savored it. Then, with deliberate steps, he moved forward — his boots echoing faintly in the corridors.

The guard walked past several cells, each holding some poor soul imprisoned for various crimes, but he didn't stop until he reached one particular cell at the end of the hall. 

The guard peered through the bars, and the prisoner looked up from where he was sitting.

"You Garett?" the guard asked, his voice low, but with an odd tone that didn't belong to a regular city guard.

Garrett's eyes flickered with a spark of recognition. He smiled, a cocky grin stretching across his face. 

"Ah, you're here to spring me, right?" Garrett said, a note of triumph in his voice. "Johann's not going to come after me, right? You're letting me go, aren't you?"

The guard said nothing, but Garrett, eager for any kind of chance at freedom, shifted forward, ready to be released.

The guard didn't hesitate as he reached for the keys at his belt, unlocking the cell door with a soft click. As it swung open, Garrett began to rise, a smirk still on his lips.

"Johann sends his regards," the guard said coldly, his voice flat as he drew a gleaming dagger from beneath his cloak.