Houshao'nao nodded, understanding. "I get it, Master. I'll leave immediately."
Sheffield handed him the envelope, smiling. "This contains the client's address. Please read it here, then destroy it—only you and the client will know the details."
Houshao'nao's hands trembled—what secrets lay inside? Who was this client? What impossible task awaited?
He opened the envelope: *"Felin Hotel."*
"A… hotel?" he blurted.
*"Giles' damn hotel? What's that (fatty) up to?"* Sheffield cursed inwardly, keeping his tone light. "The client's cautious, avoiding traceable addresses. Go with confidence—I'll handle any issues."
"O-okay." Houshao'nao tried summoning fire to burn the letter, but his hands stayed cold. Sheffield snapped his fingers, igniting the paper. Houshao'nao fled, embarrassed, as the ashes fluttered.
"Gods, what have I done?" Sheffield groaned, rubbing his temples.
Felin Hotel stood in central Mecca Town, meters from the mercenary tavern. Houshao'nao rushed inside, only to be shoved out by a (waiter).
"Scram, beggar—we don't serve filth."
"I'm not here to eat! I'm here for a client who posted a mission—"
"Client? We've no paupers here. Leave."
Before Houshao'nao could protest, a portly man emerged. The (waiter) instantly groveled: "Boss, this guttersnipe tried to enter—"
The man—Giles—glared at the (waiter), then his eyes lit on Houshao'nao. "Fool! We serve all who enter. Get lost." He turned to Houshao'nao, voice warm: "Sheffield sent you, didn't he? Come in."
In a back room, Giles' smile vanished. He wet his eyes with saliva, feigning grief. "I… I'm the mission client."
"You?!" Houshao'nao staggered.
"Yes. Years ago, I—"
"Boss, I'm here for the mission, not your life story," Houshao'nao interrupted, head pounding.
Giles scowled, annoyed at his ruined act. "Fine. Listen closely: find a 16-year-old girl at Aifar Magic Academy. She wears a ruby necklace. No one can know—especially Sheffield."
"You know her necklace? Why not find her yourself?" Houshao'nao sensed danger.
Giles pulled out a thick envelope: "I can't. Here's your acceptance letter, funds, clues… and a contract."
"Contract?"
"To prevent you from stealing my gold and running." Giles shoved papers and ink at him. "Sign or press your handprint."
"I can't write—"
"Perfect. Handprint works." Before Houshao'nao could object, Giles pressed his palm into the ink, sealing the deal.
"Wait—there's a clause: you'll also attend classes with my son," Giles smirked.
Houshao'nao cursed inwardly but nodded. *"Trapped like a rat."*
Back at the guild, Dier saw him and rushed over, ignoring leering drunks. "Did you take the mission?"
"Yes, but it feels like a scam."
"Scam? Tell me—"
"Can't—it's invisible."
She nodded, hiding disappointment. "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow."
"Then… we'll be apart for ages." Her cheeks pinked.
"I'll visit often, Dier."
"Really? I'll wait every day! Let me treat you to dinner tonight."
"No, I should—"
"Please. It's a farewell."
That evening, Dier waited in the tavern corner, out of her uniform. Houshao'nao arrived, bag in hand.
"Sorry, I had to—"
"No need." She pushed a mug of ale his way. "Drink up. Tonight, we toast to your return."
He downed it in one gulp, ale spilling down his chin. Dier laughed, soft and sad. "Slow down. We've all night."
"Right. All night…" He grinned, heart pounding at her gaze—warm, hopeful, *aching*.
Outside, the donkey brayed, unaware that by dawn, its cursed companion would be en route to a academy (academy) of secrets, where a princess with a blood-red necklace awaited, and a destiny far darker than any fire Anna could conjure loomed.
Somewhere, Sheffield pored over maps of Aifar, Giles counted his coins, and Anna scrawled a letter home, pausing to draw a stick figure with a lopsided grin. And somewhere, Dier pressed a hand to her chest, where a faint blue mark pulsed—the mark of an elven princess, unaware her "friend" carried the key to a past she'd forgotten.
The journey began with a toast, a handprint, and a lie. The storm, long predicted, had finally broken.