They did not return to the city as a party.
The patrol escorted what remained of them through the outer roads, boots crunching against dirt and broken leaves. Bran was carried on a stretcher, his wound tightly bound, his face pale and slick with sweat. He was alive, but only just. The others were not given stretchers. Their bodies were wrapped, lifted, and moved without ceremony.
Nev walked behind them.
No one spoke to him.
When the gates came into view, word had already spread. The guards straightened when they saw the patrol insignia. Their eyes dropped to the sealed container carried between two senior Holders. Whatever lay inside was heavy, not in weight, but in meaning.
They were taken directly to the Holder Registry.
Most people called it the Holder's Hall.
The building stood at the heart of the district, stone walls darkened by age and weather, carved with symbols that represented order, authority, and restraint. Inside, the air was always cool, always controlled. This was where quests were issued, rewards granted, failures recorded, and deaths made official.
As Nev stepped inside, the usual noise of the hall faltered.
Conversations slowed. Chairs scraped softly as people turned. A few Holders stopped mid-argument, their eyes following the patrol. Blood on armor was not unusual here. What unsettled them was the tension carried by the men escorting Nev.
At the central counter, the container was placed down.
A senior registrar approached, grey-haired and sharp-eyed. He opened the seal and lifted the lid.
The core lay inside.
Large. Dense. Pulsing faintly with residual energy.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then someone laughed, short and nervous.
"That's a joke."
Another voice followed. "That can't be real."
The registrar ignored them. He lifted the core, examined the structure, the energy signature, the fracture patterns left by the final blow. His fingers paused for a fraction of a second.
Then he looked at Nev.
"Name," he said.
"Nev."
"Registered Tier?"
"One."
A ripple went through the hall.
The registrar exhaled slowly and nodded to the clerk beside him. "Record it. Tier Three confirmed."
The room erupted.
"That's impossible."
"A Tier One can't—"
"Who helped him?"
"I heard Soulbound was nearby."
"No, the patrol said—"
Nev did not stay to listen.
The reward was issued efficiently. Gold coins stacked into a sealed pouch. Several items placed beside it. The core itself returned to him after documentation was completed. No applause followed. No praise. Only looks.
Some filled with disbelief.Some with suspicion.Some with unease.
Nev accepted everything with the same calm motion. His face did not change. His hands did not shake.
When he turned to leave, the noise swelled behind him like a wave breaking against stone.
By the time he reached the outer streets, the rumors were already alive.
Some claimed the story was exaggerated.Some said the registrar had been bribed.Others whispered about the birth of a new powerful Holder.
A few were simply afraid.
A Tier Three monster had appeared too close to the city. Too close to safety.
Nev returned home as the sky darkened.
He closed the door to his room and leaned against it, letting the silence settle. The sword rested against the wall, its edge still faintly stained despite being wiped clean. The scent of blood lingered, impossible to fully erase.
He slid down until he sat on the floor.
The question came quietly.
Was it because of me?
If he had not joined the quest, would they still be alive? If he had moved faster, struck differently, chosen another angle, could he have saved them? His mind replayed the clearing again and again, each time finding another failure.
I couldn't protect them.
His chest tightened. No tears came. Only a heavy pressure that refused to lift.
Training had not been meaningless. He knew that. Without it, he would have died instantly. Without it, no one would have lasted even seconds.
But knowing that did not change the outcome.
Strength mattered.
And he still did not have enough.
Nev stood and picked up his sword, fitting it back into its sheath with care. His reflection in the darkened window showed a face that looked older than it should have been. Calm. Controlled. Hardened.
A Tier Three monster had crossed into territory it should not have reached.
That was not an accident.
Someone had failed.Or someone had allowed it.Or someone had placed it there deliberately.
Nev turned away from the window.
If the systems meant to protect Holders were breaking, then answers existed beneath the surface. In the records. In the guilds. In the shadows no one wanted to look at too closely.
And he would find them.
Not for revenge.
But because the dead deserved a reason.