Chapter 181: Incoming Storm

Chapter 181: Incoming Storm The two weeks following Aldric Goldfeather’s departure were anything but peaceful, yet neither did they unfold with the theatrical flair one might expect as a precursor to a war against a Lord Beast.


Instead, they crept in like a tightening noose slow, methodical, and unyielding, each day compressing the Adventurer Guild into a state of controlled tension that seeped into every corridor and every hushed conversation wafting through Greyvale City.


From the outside, the Guild radiated success.


Its gates swung open at dawn and remained opened long after dusk, allowing an unrelenting flow of adventurers, merchants, mercenaries, and opportunists, all drawn by tales of glory and fortune.


The Gryphon District had long shed its old skin, transforming entirely into the Adventurer District, where the clash of steel rang through the air, contracts exchanged hands with lightning speed, and ambition thrived as effortlessly as breath.


Taverns overflowed with laughter and raucous tales every night. Inns were booked weeks in advance. Smithies blazed with the heat of demand. To the casual observer, this was a golden age.


Yet beneath that veneer of prosperity, currents of movement thrummed. Preparation. Calculation. And yes, fear.


First to sense the shift were the scouts.


They were not dispatched in grand legions, nor were they warriors charged with conquest. They were quiet professionals, observers and trackers whose duties was simple: to see without being seen.


They were sent into the Evergreen Mountain Range in staggered waves, they traveled light, and armed with strict orders to avoid direct confrontation at all costs. Their mission was purely intelligence-gathering, nothing more.


For the first few days, reports flowed in steadily.


The outskirts of the mountain range revealed nothing unexpected: a dense tapestry of ancient forest and rugged terrain where 1st and 2nd Order beasts roamed in predictable patterns, occasionally disrupted by the audacity of a third-order predator testing its luck.


Mana concentrations fluctuated naturally throughout the landscape, thickening around streams and thinning over rocky ridges, tracing the invisible veins lying beneath the land like the pulse of a living organism.


Then the scouts ventured deeper into the inner regions. The inner regions painted a different picture.


Here, the forest grew darker and older, with twisted, colossal trees whose roots split stone and drank deeply from mana-rich soil. The food chain was dominated by 3rd and 4th Order beasts, their territories a volatile mosaic enforced by instinct and violence.


Scars marred the land, deep claw marks scratched into cliff faces, scorched clearings where fire-based beasts had clashed, and vast stretches of forest abandoned by the lesser creatures, driven away by an unseen terror.


And beyond that... the reports thinned to a trickle.


Those daring to approach the core region sent back fragmented observations: oppressive mana pressure, heat distortion dancing through the air, and an overwhelming sense of being under scrutiny.


The territory of the Crimson Abyssal Lion was found as well. There was no beast nearby except for its lackeys. No birds dared fly overhead. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath when passing through its domain.


By the end of the first week, the Guild have already gathered a significant amount of information.


Maps were redrawn continuously.


Each new piece of intelligence forced adjustments, territories expanded, danger zones widened, and fallback routes obliterated entirely.


The Crimson Abyssal Lion was no stationary beast. It prowled, it patrolled. It hunted with the patience of a predator and the authority of a monarch, reshaping the ecosystem with every move it made.


Those maps, scrawled with charcoal and drenched in desperate revisions, eventually covered the central planning table of the Guild’s second floor, layered one atop the other like pages of a doomed prophecy.


During these two weeks, Gregor and the others apart from planning and strategizing their battle plan, they also dedicated most of their time to training in the Mana Cultivation Tower which has already been opened.


Valeria went to the fifth floor to trained as it was the only place that have a significant impact on her strength.


The fifth floor is exclusively reserved for those who had achieved the threshold of a 5-Star High-Level Knight, it had remained untouched since the tower’s inception.


The mana on the fifth was simply dense, too dense that it even formed mist. Just by breathing here is equivalent to cultivating for one hour outside.


Valeria trained there alone after all in the whole Guild she was the only 5-StarHigh-Level Knight.


Her sessions stretched for hours, sometimes pushing deep into the night, her crimson armor exchanged for practical gear bearing the scars of countless battles. Every strike was deliberate, not for beauty but for sheer lethality.


Each movement was honed for efficiency, conserving stamina while maximizing damage. She drove her body to its limits repeatedly, allowing exhaustion to claim her only long enough to recover before plunging back into the fray.


Those who witnessed her emerge from the tower later spoke in hushed tones, describing eyes colder than steel and an aura heavier than before. She didn’t grow louder or more imposing; she honed her edge.


Gregor trained differently. Where Valeria pursued precision, Gregor reveled in excess.


He pushed his body recklessly, treating recovery as an inconvenience. He sparred without relent, cycling through opponents until none remained willing or able to face him.


Wind mana crackled around him, responding violently to his emotional state as he forced it beyond comfortable limits. His movements accelerated, grew sharper, more unpredictable, as if he were trying to outrun an invisible predator snapping at his heels.


More than once, Sage have to buy him a bunch of healing potions when he collapsed from mana exhaustion, muscles trembling, lungs gasping. Each time, he brushed them off with laughter, waving them away, determined to return to training as soon as he could stand.


Vanthrice and the others which have been chosen to be participate in the mission were also not idle at all, all of them were busy honing their skills and improving their strengths as fast as they can.


Through it all, Sage remained a watchful sentinel.


He stood at the heart of the Guild’s transformation, overseeing operations with a calm facade that concealed his growing unease.


Under his guidance and through the tireless efforts of Boren and Lyana, the Guild operated with unprecedented efficiency. Recruitment flourished beyond expectations. Reception desks on both floors buzzed with activity, effortlessly managing an unending influx of adventurers.


The Adventurer Inn blossomed into a staple of the district’s nightlife, its rooms perpetually full, and the common halls alive with laughter and camaraderie.


Mama Arya, now head chef of the Guild’s restaurant, ran her kitchen like a battlefield command center, serving hundreds nightly with meals that restored strength and lifted spirits.


Mama Arya was the woman, Sage went to eat food on credit after he used all his money to buy the building to establish the Guild. Sage find her food quite delicious so he personally went to her and hired to be the head chef for the Adventurer Restaurant.


The smithy roared without pause. Fifty blacksmiths were hired during these two weeks, they labored in shifts, their hammers ringing like war drums as they forged, repaired, and reshaped weapons for an ever-growing clientele.


At the center stood the Adept Rank Blacksmith Gregor had brought in, which is Heph. According to Gregor he begged and even knelt down before Heph accepted his proposal to come and work for the Adventurer Guild.


Under his guidance, even ordinary equipment emerged from the forge carrying a subtle edge that adventurers sensed the moment they wielded it.


The Mana Cultivation Tower became the heartbeat of Greyvale.


Rooms sold out within hours, and waiting lists formed despite the prohibitive costs. Warriors spoke of breakthroughs achieved in mere days that would have taken months elsewhere. Some emerged from the tower transformed, their presence heavier, their eyes brighter with newfound confidence. Power concentrated, and with it came ambition.


From the outside, it reeked of success.


From Sage’s perspective, it felt like a momentum that was slipping from his grasp.


It was during one of his routine inspections, walking the expanse of the first floor, exchanging nods with staff and adventurers, that he knew that something was starting to feel strange in the Guild.


New registrations flowed in neatly, credentials in order, fees paid without a second thought. Yet something about them felt... off. Their histories were vague, their origins inconsistently documented. Too many shared similar handwriting patterns. Too many averted their gaze when casually questioned by receptionists.


Sage had Pax and his men investigate those he found suspicious but now concrete evidence was found which makes things even more suspicious.


Sage did not confront them.He simply observed. And as the sun dipped below the horizon over Greyvale City on the fourteenth day, casting long shadows across the Adventurer Guild’s banners, a quiet certainty settled in his chest.


The Guild was no longer merely preparing for a hunt. Something else was stirring. Something that had already taken notice of them.


And whatever loomed beyond the Evergreen Mountain Range was not the only impending danger drawing near.