As they turned to leave, mission secured and Elara emotionally recovering in a corner, the main doors of the Guild swung open, and the ambient noise dipped for a heartbeat.
Nick and Lucy entered.
Nick shone. His armor was spotless, catching the torchlight in dazzling glints. Lucy walked beside him in elegant, functional travel gear. They moved with the easy confidence of people who expected the room's narrative to bend around them.
Nick's eyes swept the room with a practiced, benevolent smile until they landed on Mordecai and Pyra. The smile didn't fade; it widened into something condescendingly friendly. He changed course, approaching them with open arms.
"Kaitoyama! My man!" Nick boomed, his voice dripping with false camaraderie.
'How does this asshole know my name?' Mordecai thought.
He completely ignored the dust, the simple clothes, the air of profound disinterest. "Look at you! Getting your hands dirty, I see. True grit." He clapped a heavy, patronizing hand on Mordecai's shoulder, which felt like being patted by a golden retriever that had studied public relations.
Lucy, however, hung back slightly. Her gaze wasn't on Nick's performance. It was locked on the cold Kaitoyama. But the mild annoyance was gone, replaced by something sharper, more appraising. Her eyes traced the line of his jaw, now set with a quiet, unyielding confidence.
They lingered on his hands, calloused and competent. There was a raw, unpolished authority to him now, a stark contrast to Nick's shiny superficiality. It was a dangerous, intriguing contrast. A slow, unmistakable heat—a lustful, curious gleam—entered her gaze as she watched him endure Nick's act with the patience of a stone wall.
She was probably trying to analyze him again.
But, in Mordecai's surprise, there was no notifications from the system about something like that. All he felt was nothing more than anger and disgust.
"Listen," Nick continued, leaning in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a tone meant to convey 'just between us bros.' "Things ended… awkwardly. My bad. Water under the bridge, yeah? Actually, it's fate running into you. Our party for the Fortress of Eternal Frost… we had a last-minute opening. Our mage got a better offer. Can you believe it?" He chuckled, as if sharing a joke. "I thought, who better to fill the spot than an old friend? You've got that… practical know-how. And Pyra!" He turned his dazzling, 'Chosen Hero' smile fully on her. "A princess of your caliber deserves a real stage. This could be a fresh start for all of us. What do you say? I'm totally sorry for what happened in the palace. I promise to... repay you." He said, blinking his right eye to her and stepping close to her, grabbing her hands.
He beamed, waiting for the grateful acceptance.
Mordecai clenched his fists.
'Oh come on, this dude can't be real. He's a complete cliched asshole.'
Pyra did not melt. She did not blush. She looked from Nick's insincere smile to Lucy's undisguised, hungry stare fixed on Mordecai. A wave of pure, analytical disgust washed over her, cold and precise.
She tilted her head and gently broke free from his 'grip', her voice not fiery, but flat and dripping with the cynicism she'd absorbed like a toxin.
Her eyes became... more red than usual, like fire.
"A cost-benefit analysis," she stated, as if reading a report. "Your party has a demonstrated 100% failure rate in interpersonal resource management and alliance integrity. The proposed mission carries extreme physical risk with non-guaranteed, narratively-inflated rewards. You are offering us a position born from attrition, not choice, framed as charity." She let her gaze, now as cold as Mordecai's, sweep over him. "Conclusion: your offer is not an opportunity. It is a liability dressed in platitudes. Its value is negative. I ask you formally to go fuck yourself." She added, in a very cold voice that echoed through all the guild hall, leaving everyone speechless.
Mordecai's eyes widened in (pleasant) surprise and confusion.
Pyroetta had drastically changed in the blink of an eye, like something was awakening in her.
Everyone stared at the scene in complete shock and mumbled something like: "Hey, did you hear that? Someone has humiliated the hero! Nothing like that has ever happened!"
The blonde mage who looked like someone suffering from ED spoke: "Oh, that's not good."
'What the hell is happening? Is there a bug in her software?' Mordecai thought.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: PYROETTA VON SERYLDA, CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT WANTED BY THE HIGHER REALMS]
'Ah, got it.'
Nick's smile shattered. His face flushed a brilliant, humiliated red. The charming facade cracked, revealing sheer, stunned outrage underneath. He spluttered, "I— you— that's not—!"
And in the moment he spoke, Mordecai didn't let him finish. He looked past Nick, through him, and gave a minute nod to Pyra. "Audit complete. The asset is overvalued and underperforming. Let's go."
Lucy, on the other hand, didn't seem surprised. Instead, she moved her right hand to her cheek and said "Ara~".
They turned and walked towards the exit, side-by-side, leaving Nick stammering incoherently in their wake. Lucy's lustful gaze followed Mordecai all the way to the door, her brow slightly furrowed, before she snapped her attention back to her fuming, humiliated partner.
"I guess... I have my answers now~" Lucy mumbled to herself, looking at Mordecai and Pyroetta leaving.
As always, Mordecai followed the HUD given by the system.
His walk towards the first place he had seen was... pretty long and annoying.
Pyroetta kept staying silent for all the walk, like she got possessed by the demon of silence.
The annoying tsundere mosquito was gone, and for the first time Mordecai felt a lot of peace.
One of the recommended taverns, "The Leaky Bucket," was deserted even at this hour of the morning. Perfect for clandestine meetings with the deceased.
'So, Ugo, you just told me that I have to go there for a meeting, right?' Mordecai spoke with telepathy.
'Yes. I managed to contact one of the best I could find.' He replied.
'Okay. And what about Larry?' Mordecai asked.
'He's... working out.' Ugo said, with a glimpse of confusion in his voice.
'Working out? What?' Mordecai was more confused than his personal AI underrealm assistant.
'My leader, he politely asked me to not say anything. It's a confidential information between colleagues.' Ugo replied.
'Okay. See you later.' Mordecai said, telepathically closing the Discord Call.
Of course, Pyroetta didn't notice Mordecai doing random gestures while walking. She was too busy in her own world.
It took them one hour of walking to get to their destination.
From the outside, the place seemed like a normal place, but inside, it was quite the opposite.
The aura around the tavern literally screamed "DANGER".
'If I have to talk with the dead, I have to leave Pyroetta here.' He thought.
"H-Hey, K-Kaitoyama..." Pyroetta said, in a shy voice.
Mordecai turned his gaze to her and noticed a blush on her face.
"What is it?" He asked.
"Why did you take me to such... an isolated place...? Don't tell me you want to-" She tried to say, but Mordecai interrupted her immediately.
"Wait here, I'll deal with it in a minute. Stay on guard. I trust you." He said, in a cold voice, not realizing that one of his eyes was glowing of an intense purple.
"O-oh... so you... trust me... like... a... lover... hahaha...." Pyroetta mumbled to herself, while rubbing her legs together, with some saliva drooling from her mouth.
Mordecai didn't even watch the scene.
He just ran inside.
The place was a complete mess, full of dust and broken wood everywhere.
"Okay, spirits, let's get over it. We have to talk about work."
Mordecai took a corner table and waited.
"Ugo, where is the spirit?" Mordecai asked.
"My leader. I've already sent a reminder to the owner of this place. He should show himself in moments. He's dead, efficient, and motivated by commissions from beyond the grave," Ugo said.
On cue, the air in front of him shimmered, and Geoffrey, the Specter of 'CasaTomba' Realty, materialized. He was a ghost in a severely moth-eaten spectral suit, a translucent tie knotted perfectly at his neck. He clutched a clipboard made of solidified gloom.
"Ahem," Geoffrey intoned, his voice like the rustle of old mortgage papers. "Good evening, sir. Ugo sent me. I understand you're in the market for a property with... character. And a strong connection to the denizens of my current residential bracket."
He floated three spectral parchments onto the table.
"Option One: The Villa of Lamentations," Geoffrey announced. "Stunning gothic architecture, built-in choir of weeping banshees (excellent for atmosphere), prime necrotic ley line convergence. However... a bit flashy."
Mordecai glanced at the illustration of a towering spiked nightmare. "It looks like the cover of a budget symphonic metal album. No. Next."
"Option Two: The Crypt of the Forgotten King. Solid stone construction, historically significant, includes original royal sarcophagus. The downside? The previous owner—the king—is still in residence. Complains about the damp. Constantly. Significant spectral tenant rights issues."
"Union disputes with a dead monarch. Pass," Mordecai dismissed. "Final option."
"Ah, the pièce de résistance," Geoffrey said, his ghostly voice gaining a salesman's zeal. "Fort Blackstone. A compact fortification on a blighted hill. Excellent foundational curses, zero amenities, total isolation. The previous owner, a minor necromancer, went into... let's call it 'spiritual bankruptcy.' The land is rich in necrotic telluric veins, and due to its 'permanently accursed' designation, the annual property taxes are virtually nil. It's a fixer-upper's dream!"
Mordecai studied the simple, brutal schematic. A square keep, a wall, dead land. No frills. All potential.
"It has operational efficiency," he stated. "The logistical benefits outweigh the lack of aesthetic appeal. I'll take it. Draw up the purchase agreement and a spectral power of attorney."
Geoffrey beamed (a chilling sight). "A wise choice, sir! I'll have the papers to you by the witching hour!" He dissolved into a wisp of cold mist, the parchments vanishing with him.
Mordecai stared at the empty space, placing his legs on the table. "Ugo, is everything alright? What do we have to do now?"
In the blink of an eye, Ugo materialized in front of him and bowed his head.
"My lord, We secured a fiscally responsible headquarter," He spoke. "Now for the partnership agreement. We have to go to Fort Blackstone and talk with the old owner."
"Good. Let's go then." Mordecai replied, standing up.
"But first, I deeply suggest to go back to the Guild to grab my Archivist core. It should be a great way to pay." Ugo replied, in a professional voice, like a seller of vacuum cleaners.
"Mmmh. Okay. Thank you, UgoGPT." Mordecai said, while Ugo vanished back into the void again.
"Don't forget to properly manage the heros' souls into the sword. I'll probably need the help of Sir Galadron later." He ordered, walking out from the tavern.
"Yes, My leader. Your wish is my command." Ugo said.
Once he was outside, Mordecai noticed that Pyra was standing completely still, not moving an inch, with a strange expression on her face. Cold, calculative.
"Pyroetta, is everything alright?" He asked, curious.
The girl immediately snapped back to reality, moving her gaze towards Mordecai.
"Y-Yes. I'm alright... I think." She said, with a trembling voice, still rubbing her legs together.
"We're done here. We gotta go back to the inn. I forgot an important item." He said.
Pyroetta nodded and they walked back to the guild.
During their walk, Mordecai communicated with Ugo through telepathy, asking him to write a 'specific' contract for Pyroetta.
Back in his inn room, Mordecai gestured for Pyra to sit. She did so, back straight, heart pounding like a war drum.
'This is it. The moment. He's going to... to acknowledge our bond! After my brilliant performance!'
Mordecai placed a single, crisp document on the table between them. The header read: ["STRATEGIC ALLIANCE AND CO-HABITATION PACT"].
Pyra's excited fantasy screeched to a halt. She blinked. "A... pact?"
"The Fort is the asset," Mordecai explained in his flat, briefing-room tone. "It requires a public-facing narrative. You are a Princess, a figure of social legitimacy. You will be the 'eccentric noble' restoring a family ancestral holding." He pointed to a clause. "I will act as your technical and administrative advisor, handling the 'renovations'. This defines our shared responsibilities, cost allocations, security protocols, and dispute resolution procedures."
Pyra scanned the dense legal text, her initial confusion giving way to a slow, deep blush as she reached Section 8: Non-Essential Interpersonal Interactions.
"...activities undertaken to maintain optimal operational morale, to be scheduled at mutually agreed-upon times, subject to quarterly performance review and potential renewal..."
Her mind translated the legalese instantly. 'Scheduled time together... for morale... reviews...' He wasn't rejecting her. He was systematizing her. He was creating a framework for them. It was the most unromantic, clinical, and utterly perfect declaration she could have imagined. He was offering her a permanent, contracted place in his world of logic and rules.
Tears of sheer, overwhelming joy pricked at her eyes. She snatched the quill he offered.
"Where do I sign?" she breathed, her voice trembling.
With a flourish that would make any court scribe proud, she signed her full title: Pyroetta Von Serylda. The ink gleamed.
Mordecai nodded, filing the document away into his coat. "Good. Operations begin tomorrow. First task: clearing the unstable specters from the stables. We'll follow Ugo's Manual of Spectral Workplace Safety. Dismissed."
Pyra floated out of the room, her feet barely touching the ground. 'He wants to work together... he made a contract for us... it's official... we're a team... a partnership... and then... we're gonna be married... with a lot of babies...'
The door clicked shut behind her.
Mordecai looked at the signed pact. A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION - QUEST ACCEPTED: FOUNDATION OF THE HOUSE OF RAVENLOFT.]
[OBJECTIVE: OBTAIN A LEGAL SEAT OF POWER - 0/1]
[OBJECTIVE: RECRUIT A CORE HOUSEHOLD - 1/1 (Pyroetta Von Serylda)]
[OBJECTIVE: ESTABLISH A SUSTAINABLE REVENUE STREAM - 0/1]
[REWARD: TITLE - LORD OF THE ASHEN MANOR. AUTHORITY TO LEVY TAXES (ON THE DEAD)]
Outside the Sleeping Basilisk INN, in the deep shadow of a nearby alley, two figures watched the lit window of Mordecai's room.
Nick's fist was clenched so tight the leather of his glove creaked. The humiliating scene in the Guild played on a loop in his mind. "There's something wrong with that failure," he hissed, his voice low and venomous, stripped of its usual heroic cadence. "He humiliated me. Me. The Chosen Hero. He manipulated that girl to reject me in front of everyone..."
Lucy stood beside him, her arms crossed. Her gaze was on the window, thoughtful. "Maybe... maybe we should just focus on our own mission, Nick. The Fortress of Eternal Frost is—"
"No," Nick cut her off. His face, half-lit by a distant streetlamp, lost its boyish charm. The set of his jaw was hard, his eyes glinting with a cold, focused light that had nothing to do with divine purpose. "Before the Fortress, we settle this. If he's a worm, we'll crush him underfoot. If he's something more..." A slow, unsettling smile spread across his lips. "...well, I've always wanted a real enemy. A proper darkness against which to measure my light."
For a fleeting moment, he didn't look like a pompous idiot playing hero. He looked like a sharp, dangerous instrument of the Narrative, finally pointed with intent.
Lucy shivered, and this time it wasn't from the cold.