The constant rattle of the wheels on dirt was replaced by the dull rumble of smooth stone. The transition was so abrupt that Hilda felt the vibration climb through the wagon’s wood and into her bones.

“There she is!” Theron’s voice, vibrant with pride, cut through the morning air. “The magnificent city of Creston!”

Paul leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. Creston’s walls weren’t the rough palisades of border towns or the ornate defenses of the capital. They were pure function: blocks of gray granite, tall, thick, and intimidating. They spoke less of glory and more of a wealth worth protecting.

“You can smell the salt in the air. And soot,” Paul muttered, more to himself than the others.

“The port and the forges,” Hilda replied quietly. “It’s the smell of a city that’s always working.”

A squad of guards in gleaming, standardized armor motioned for them to stop. Their leader, a man with a white scar across his chin, approached. He had the bearing of a professional soldier, not a thug with a spear, and a look that tolerated no nonsense.

“Documents and purpose of visit,” he said, his voice as flat and hard as the walls he defended.

Theron cleared his throat, straightening in his seat.

“Master Theron, geologist, visiting the Scholar’s Library. These are my hired escorts, the adventuring team ‘The Rose and the Sword.’ They’ve guaranteed my safe passage from Lutoa.”

The captain’s gaze shifted from Theron to Paul, taking in his muscular build, the sword on his back, and his disastrous haircut with an arched eyebrow. Then his eyes landed on Hilda. There was no deference in his look, only a cold, professional assessment. He noted the sword at her hip and the way she held herself, not with noble arrogance, but with a fighter’s alertness.

“‘The Rose and the Sword,’” the captain repeated, and for a moment, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. “New name around here. They’re talking about you on the caravan routes. Say you cleared the path of a Stoneboar pack. Good work.”

Hilda felt a warm, real pang of pride.

“Welcome to Creston,” the guard continued, his tone unchanged. “Stay out of trouble. Trouble here tends to push back harder than it does in the small towns. You can pass.”

With a wave, he let them through. As the wagon rolled into the city, Hilda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“They’re more serious here.”

“More professional,” Paul corrected. “That’s good and bad. Means you can’t bribe them with a copper piece, but it also means they know how to do their jobs.”

Theron led them through a maze of wide, clean streets flanked by multi-story stone buildings. The bustle was like that of a beehive, every person moving with purpose. Finally, they stopped before an imposing, austere building whose only decoration was a stone sign that read: “The Scholar’s Library.”

“Well, we’ve arrived,” Theron said as his assistants began to carefully unload the heavy crates. “I can’t thank you enough. Your professionalism has been exceptional.”

“A job’s a job,” Paul replied with a lazy grin. “As long as the pay is good, we’re the epitome of professionalism.”

Theron gave a dry laugh. He turned to Hilda, his eyes shining behind his spectacles.

“Miss Hilda, your talent is genuine. Don’t waste it. As promised, I will send a messenger to my old friend, Lorne the collector. I’ll inform him that two promising colleagues will be visiting to consult his private collection of geomancy tomes. That should make accessing it much easier for you. He’s a… particular man.”

“That’s very kind of you, Master Theron. Thank you,” Hilda answered, sincere gratitude in her voice.

The old scholar produced a thick leather pouch, much heavier than it looked. He handed it to Paul.

“Your payment, as agreed. And a bonus for the excellent and violent service. If ‘The Rose and the Sword’ ever needs a job that requires more brains than brawn, or simply a friend with a good wine cellar, find me at the academy. My doors will always be open to you.”

Paul took the pouch, weighed its considerable heft, and without a glance, tossed it to Hilda. She opened it. Inside, the glint of several Asuran silver coins blinded her for a moment. It was the tangible weight of her independence, earned with sweat, fear, and power.

They parted with a firm handshake that sealed a mutual respect. As Theron disappeared into his world of books and stones, Paul and Hilda were left alone in the middle of the bustling street, the murmur of the great city enveloping them.

For the first time, they weren’t running. They had arrived.

“Alright, my lady,” Paul said, breaking the silence. “We are officially adventurers with cash in our pockets in a new city. What’s the first order of business?”

Hilda secured the pouch, the metallic clink a sweet promise.

“Find a decent inn. One with a real bath and a bed that doesn’t complain every time you move. And after that… we’re going to the Guild. I want to see what kind of trouble this city has to offer.”

Paul slung an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close as they started walking.

“I like the way you think. But I think you have your priorities backward.”

The Creston Adventurers’ Guild was a different beast entirely. It occupied a two-story stone building near the merchant district. The smell of stale beer and sweat was still present—the olfactory signature of the trade—but it was layered with the scent of polished metal and cured leather. The ground floor buzzed with activity, but it was an organized chaos. The adventurers here looked tougher; their armor bore the scars of real battles, not just tavern brawls.

They approached the enormous quest board, meticulously divided by rank, from E to A.

“Look at this,” Paul whistled quietly, pointing to a request written in elegant script. “‘Rank B team or higher sought to investigate disappearances in the northern silver mines. Possible troll activity.’ Five Asuran silver coins.”

“And this,” Hilda added, her eyes fixed on another note. “‘Lesser Wyvern hunt in the Windshear Hills. Substantial reward. Proof required: the beast’s head.’”

“This is where you forge a reputation,” Paul murmured, his eyes shining with ambition. “This is where we stop being runaways and start becoming legends.”

“They’re dangerous, Paul. A wyvern… we’re not ready for that.”

“Not yet,” he conceded. “But we will be. For now, we’re just registering. Letting the Creston branch know that ‘The Rose and the Sword’ is in town.”

They walked to the counter. Behind it, a silver-haired elf with an expression of profound boredom stamped documents with monotonous speed. She didn’t look up.

“Team name and rank,” she said, her voice a melody devoid of emotion.

“The Rose and the Sword. D-rank, just transferred from the Rikarisu branch.”

The elf finally looked up. Her violet eyes scanned them with disinterest, then she stamped a form and slid it across the counter.

“Registered. Try not to die in your first week. It creates a lot of paperwork. Next.”

They were invisible. In a city this big, their small-town fame meant nothing. They were just another crew with big dreams and a high probability of ending up as monster food. And to Hilda, that anonymity felt like the purest form of freedom.

They found an inn called “The Bronze Gryphon.” It was a place for professionals: mercenaries, traveling merchants, and adventurers who took their work seriously. The room was clean, spacious, and most importantly, anonymous. It had a large bed with white sheets and a window that overlooked a quiet alley.

As Paul dropped his pack with a thud and threw himself backward onto the bed with a sigh of pleasure, Hilda stood by the window, watching the shadows lengthen.

Paul propped himself up on an elbow, his usual arrogance replaced by genuine concern.

“You’re not worried?” he asked, his voice softer than usual. “A city this big… news travels faster. It’s easier for your father’s men to find our trail. This is an ocean, but hunters know where to cast their nets.”

Hilda didn’t turn around. Her silhouette against the fading light was like a statue, serene and firm.

“You don’t understand, Paul,” she replied, her voice calm, almost academic. “They’re no longer looking for Philip Boreas Greyrat’s fiancée.”

He frowned, sitting up completely. “What do you mean?”

“That girl ceased to exist in the first inn we slept in,” she continued, now turning to face him. Her gray eyes held no sadness or regret, only the cold clarity of a strategist surveying the battlefield. “Among high nobles, an arranged marriage isn’t a union of love. It’s a business contract. A treaty. And the most valuable asset, the main clause of that contract, is the bride’s guaranteed purity.”

She walked toward the bed but didn’t sit. She stood over him, like a teacher delivering a harsh lesson.

“A virgin bride guarantees that the receiving house’s bloodline won’t be contaminated. It ensures the first heir is, without a doubt, of their own line. It’s the cornerstone of the entire political alliance. Without that guarantee, the contract is void.”

Paul stared at her, comprehension dawning in his eyes. It wasn’t an understanding of shame or honor, but of the brutal, merciless mechanics of power.

“The woman who was supposed to marry him became a mere anecdote,” Hilda said, her voice like ice. “Politically, I’ve lost all my value for that specific arrangement. I am… damaged goods. To present myself to the Boreas family now wouldn’t be the fulfillment of a deal, but an intolerable insult.”

“So…” Paul murmured, the word feeling strange. “The hunt has changed.”

“Yes,” she replied instantly, the sharpness in her voice making him sit up straighter. “The nature of the hunt has changed. They’re no longer looking for me to deliver me to the altar. I’m not a prize to be recovered; I’m an embarrassment to be hidden. A stain on the honor of House Fleurmont and, by extension, my own family. The offense is no longer a runaway bride, it’s a dishonored daughter. They are looking for me to bring me before my father to be judged.”

She paused, looking at him again.

“They’ll want to make an example of me so that no other young woman in the family dares to dream of freedom. The mission has shifted from recovery to punishment.”

Paul rose slowly and walked toward her until only inches separated them. He saw the cold intelligence in her eyes, the acceptance of a reality that would have shattered any other woman of her class. He felt a surge of admiration so intense it nearly stole his breath.

“So you’re no longer a valuable asset they need to protect,” he said, summarizing the situation with a precision that proved he had understood perfectly. “You’re a threat to their prestige that they need to neutralize.”

“Exactly,” Hilda nodded, and for the first time, a small, bitter smile curved her lips. “And that’s why I’m not afraid. Because a noblewoman with no political value, unless she’s a legendary warrior or an archmage, is a decorative figure. Disposable. They won’t move the kingdom’s armies for me. They’ll send hunters, assassins, maybe even that captain, Gideon. But it will be a covert operation, not a crusade.”

She took the final step that separated them, her hand finding his.

“And they’re looking for a frightened lady. They don’t know that lady is learning how to make the earth tremble. I’m not a princess who needs rescuing anymore, Paul. I’m a battle mage who will fight back. And I have you.”

The weight of her words filled the silence. Paul squeezed her hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around hers. He looked at her, and in that moment, he didn’t see the noble he had seduced or the apprentice he had trained. He saw his equal. His partner.

“Then our goal has changed, too,” he said, his voice a vow. “It’s not just about running anymore. It’s about becoming so strong, so powerful, and so famous that your family’s judgment becomes completely irrelevant. It’s about making the name ‘The Rose and the Sword’ carry more weight than any noble house.”

She squeezed back, her gray eyes shining with a new, dangerous determination. The hunt was still on, but now, she felt the balance of power beginning to shift.