City of Draevenhold the capital of Serathal– Midmorning
The streets bustled with market chatter, the clatter of carts, and the ever-present stench of ambition. Among the vendors shouting their prices and nobles gossiping inside the expensive boutiques, a small flower cart rolled steadily toward the city square. Behind it walked a beautiful teenage girl in a sun-faded cloak, her face partly shadowed by a wide straw hat.
"Fresh bloom-lilies! One silver a bunch!" the girl called out with a practiced, sweet tone.
She was a familiar sight here—the flower girl who always smelled faintly of iron and ash.
Her name was Litchzel Hornford. Most people thought her a commoner, maybe a street orphan. Few remembered the name Hornford, and even fewer would dare speak it aloud.
But if they knew who she really was, the whole city would hold its breath.
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Meanwhile… Beneath the Adventurer's Guild, Regional Command Chamber
In the depths of the continent-spanning Adventurer's Guild, seven regional guildmasters sat in a sealed, torchlit chamber. Around the circular table, documents lay open, sealed with red wax. A crystal ball shimmered faintly at the center—its surface slowly clearing to reveal the image of a cloaked figure slaying a massive hydra single-handedly.
One of the older masters exhaled a whistle. "That's the fourth S-class dungeon she's cleared this season. Alone."
Another frowned. "And she refuses public recognition again?"
"She doesn't want to be bothered"
A pause.
The youngest master leaned forward, voice low. "We're really letting a kid like her outrank all of us?"
"She's not a kid. Not anymore," the grandmaster said. "She's the Silent Crest. You saw what she did at Roulmere."
They all remembered Roulmere. A city that should've been overrun by a Demon-class horde, saved overnight. No witnesses. No casualties. Only burned corpses and a cracked dungeon gate. Only the king himself had dared ask who was responsible.
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Back in the City – Flower Cart, Alley Behind the Square
Litchzel parked her cart near the bakery and handed over two bundles to a passing maid. The payment was exact. She bowed, exchanged polite words, and kept moving.
Then—once hidden behind crates in an alley—her posture shifted.
The softness in her eyes hardened. Her back straightened. Her hand, trembling from holding back power, flexed as if itching for a sword that wasn't there.
She pulled a slip of parchment from her cloak. A mission seal—coated in red wax with a black crown stamped in.
" A dungeon rift detected in the East Vale. A potential S-class breach. Requesting immediate Silent Crest engagement. Priority: Absolute."
She exhaled.
"Guess I'm skipping lunch."