The Guild Hall of Brew & Blade wasn't what Jace expected. It wasn't massive or luxurious. In fact, from the outside, it looked like any ordinary office building tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store. But inside, the air was electric—not with magic, necessarily, but with ambition, ego, and the faint tang of danger.
Guilds in Chicago weren't about coffee and camaraderie. They were about control: which dungeons got cleared, who got contracts, and which areas of the city were "claimed." Every faction had its own rules, its own hierarchy, and its own willingness to kill for a piece of the pie.
Avery led Jace through the building, dodging cubicles occupied by mid-level adventurers who glanced up at him like he was some odd new specimen.
"Level 2, barely alive after a rookie dungeon, and already being assigned to Level 4? You're either lucky, or the System's playing you," Avery muttered, tapping a finger against her laptop.
Jace rubbed his temple. "I don't like being a pawn."
"You'll get used to it," she said, smirking. "Guild life isn't about liking things. It's about surviving them. And knowing when to hit—and when to get out of the way."
They entered the main hall. At the far end, three people sat behind a long desk, papers, screens, and faintly glowing artifacts strewn around. One of them, a man in a pinstripe suit with eyes sharper than a hawk, waved them forward.
"Ah, Avery. And this must be…?"
"Jace Harlow. Level 2 adventurer. Pack user," Avery introduced.
The man leaned back, studying Jace with an almost predatory interest. "Level 2, yet you've already survived multiple dungeon encounters and formed a demonic bond. Most rookies don't make it past Level 1 without… incident."
Jace swallowed. "Incident?"
The man's gaze sharpened. "Death, mostly. And collateral damage. Pack users are dangerous, volatile. If you don't keep them in check, they burn through guild resources faster than a Level 5 mage can cast a city-wide spell."
Jace bristled, but Avery gave him a subtle elbow in the ribs. Not the time.
"The city isn't just shadows and dungeons," the man continued. "There are factions, rogue adventurers, system manipulators. Guilds like ours stabilize the chaos. Control dungeons, contracts, rogue activity. You want to survive? Learn how the chessboard works, Harlow."
He passed them a folder, heavy with documents. "Here. Known dungeons, faction territories, and active contracts. Study it. Know it. Mistakes at Level 4 or higher aren't just punished—they're fatal."
Jace flipped through it. Maps of Chicago overlaid with red, blue, and green zones. Notes scribbled in multiple hands about dungeon spawn points, dangerous areas, and rumored boss activity. He noticed something unsettling: a purple zone covering most of the city's downtown core, labeled "System Instability Zone – Avoid if Unprepared."
He looked up. "Downtown? That's where the biggest spawn was last week… Level 5, right?"
"Exactly," the man said. "And no guild dared intervene. Those who tried… never came back."
The System pulsed faintly in Jace's chest. Pack instincts whispered, hungry and curious. The warning didn't scare him. It intrigued him.
Avery nudged him. "Welcome to the game. Shadows aren't the problem anymore. Politics, contracts, rival guilds… those are the teeth behind the teeth. You survive the city by outthinking, not just outfighting, your opponents."
Jace nodded, the weight settling over him. Survival wasn't about killing monsters. Not anymore. It was about understanding the system—humans, guilds, dungeons, and shadows alike—and carving a space where he could grow stronger.
And maybe, if he played carefully, he could start answering the question that had been nagging at him since the System picked him: why him?
Because someone—or something—wanted him alive. Or maybe it wanted to see how far he could fall.