The bronze badge felt heavier than it had any right to.
I stood in front of the Adventurers' Guild quest board, eyes scanning rows of parchment fluttering softly in the mana-charged air. Most were routine—escort jobs, monster culls, supply runs.
Safe.
Useless.
I needed something close to forgotten magic, but not so blatant it would tear another hole in the city.
My gaze stopped on a single notice pinned slightly crooked.
[Investigation Request]
Location: Old Canal District
Details: Repeated reports of memory loss and disorientation
Reward: Modest
Rank Requirement: Bronze
Memory loss.
The Authority Fragment pulsed faintly.
[Resonance detected: Low.]
"This one," I murmured.
I tore the notice from the board.
At the counter, the red-haired clerk glanced up when she saw the quest.
"You're new," she said. "Canal District isn't dangerous, just… strange."
"Strange works for me."
She raised an eyebrow, then stamped the paper. "Try not to die, Echo."
I nodded and turned away.
The Old Canal District sat at the edge of the city, where water channels cut through aging stone and neglected buildings leaned together like tired old men. The air smelled damp and stale, and fewer people walked the streets here.
Good.
I followed the canal until the noise of the city faded into a distant hum.
That's when I felt it.
A faint pressure at the back of my mind.
Not a fragment.
Not a seal.
A leak.
[Notice.]
[Residual erasure effect detected.]
I slowed my steps.
A man sat on the edge of the canal, feet dangling above dark water. His clothes were clean, his posture relaxed—but his eyes were empty, unfocused.
I approached cautiously.
"Excuse me," I said. "Are you alright?"
He looked at me slowly, confusion knitting his brow.
"…Do I know you?"
"No," I replied gently. "What's your name?"
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
His lips moved, but no sound followed.
My stomach twisted.
[Minor erasure ongoing.]
This wasn't a forgotten spell.
This was fallout.
Someone—or something—had used erasure magic recently.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
He blinked, staring at the water. "I don't remember."
Of course he didn't.
I clenched my fists.
This is what happens when no one intervenes.
I reached out carefully, extending a thin thread of mana—not to erase, not to seal, but to anchor.
A Guardian technique surfaced in my mind, old and half-remembered.
[Guardian Technique — Memory Anchor: Basic]
The moment I activated it, a dull ache spread through my skull.
[Memory erosion: Very Low.]
A small price.
The man gasped softly, his eyes focusing.
"My… name is Taren," he said slowly, as if pulling the word from deep water. "I was… walking home."
Relief washed through me.
"You should go home," I said. "And avoid this area for a while."
He nodded shakily and stood, walking away without another word.
I exhaled.
So I can fix damage too.
Not just clean up catastrophes.
But the pressure didn't fade.
If anything, it grew stronger.
The leak was spreading.
I followed the canal deeper into the district, senses sharpened, until I saw it.
A crack in the stone wall near the waterline.
Thin. Almost invisible.
But from it seeped a faint, colorless distortion—reality fraying at the edges.
[Source located.]
[Type: Unstable erasure residue.]
I crouched beside it, studying the crack.
No seal.
No construct.
Just damage.
"Something used forbidden magic here," I whispered. "And walked away."
The Authority Fragment pulsed—slow, heavy.
This wasn't an accident.
It was practice.
I straightened, eyes darkening.
Another Guardian.
Or someone trying to become one.
Either way—
This was no longer just my choice.
It was my first mission.
And it had only just begun.