Chapter 236: Greedy Bastard Contingency

Three more days slipped by in what felt like a single breath, a fleeting stretch of time that left little room for grief to settle and no luxury for exhaustion to take root.

Greyvale City didn’t pause to mourn the fallen or linger in the shock of the Guild’s destruction; instead, it moved with a stubborn, almost defiant rhythm.

Hammers struck stone from dawn until well past dusk, chisels sang sharp metallic notes into the air, and the scent of fresh timber and mortar hung over the Adventurer Guild compound like a promise of renewal.

The once-ruined courtyard had transformed from a battlefield of shattered pride and broken ambition. Half of the main Guild Hall now stood upright again, scaffolding cradling its rising walls like skeletal arms rebuilding muscle and flesh.

The stables had been fully restored as well, their sturdy wooden frames polished and reinforced. Horses stamped with renewed vigor as if eager to erase memories of smoke and blood.

The stone roads and paths that had cracked under assault were carefully relaid, every slab fitted with deliberate precision. Even the statues, those silent witnesses to glory and folly, were reconstructed with greater grandeur than before.

At the very center of the compound stood the newly rebuilt statue of Sage, larger and more imposing than ever.

It was carved with such meticulous exaggeration that his smirk seemed almost alive; the sculptor captured his famously greedy expression so vividly that adventurers passing by couldn’t help but roll their eyes while muttering sarcastic remarks beneath their breath.

Yet their lips betrayed them with reluctant smiles because this statue embodied the Guild’s peculiar spirit, audacious, unashamed, and stubbornly unbreakable.

The irony that the man immortalized in stone lay motionless not far from where his likeness towered was not lost on anyone. Still, no one dared speak too loudly about it, as if acknowledging their Guildmaster’s fragility might invite fate to press harder upon his still form.

Since completing the soul transfer ritual, Sage had fallen into a deep coma, his body stable yet unmoving; his chest rose and fell in quiet rhythm as though he were merely indulging in an extended nap.

Cassian, who oversaw the ritual, found himself increasingly unsettled by Sage’s condition.

He examined Sage’s spiritual fluctuations countless times over those three days but found no catastrophic damage or instability within the transferred soul essence. Yet Sage remained stubbornly unconscious as if his mind had wandered beyond mortal reach.

This absence of explanation gnawed at Cassian’s professional pride. Though he maintained composure before others, moments would find him standing at Sage’s bedside with a faint crease in his brow, muttering about anomalies and unseen variables.

In contrast, Mina’s recovery was nothing short of astonishing; her grievous wounds from the attack healed within just one day. Her youthful body brimmed with vitality bordering on unnatural as she began assimilating Sage’s soul energy into her own, a breakthrough that sent ripples of awe through the Guild.

Ascending to the rank of 3-Star Expert Knight at just ten or perhaps eleven years old was an extraordinary feat that would have been dismissed as mere tavern gossip if it hadn’t been witnessed by credible witnesses.

Even with the aid of Sage’s soul energy, such rapid advancement required a level of talent so remarkable that it defied belief.

Mina herself didn’t fully comprehend the significance of her achievement; she simply felt stronger and clearer, as if a new horizon had opened up before her.

Yet beneath this rising strength lay a subtle unease, a quiet longing for the man who had entrusted her with a piece of his very essence, now silent and unreachable, as though he had paid an unseen price for her newfound brilliance.

While the Guild compound buzzed with physical reconstruction, another kind of rebuilding took place behind closed doors, where decisions would shape their future, either steady resurgence or disastrous decline.

In a modest meeting room tucked away in a quieter wing of the half-restored hall, two figures faced each other across a heavy wooden table marked by scratches and dents from years of use.

The afternoon light filtered through narrow windows, casting angular shadows that stretched like silent witnesses across the floor.

Boren sat in his green Guild uniform, which hugged his broad frame. His cheeks jiggled slightly when he shifted his weight, but there was a newfound firmness in his posture. His eyes, once perpetually nervous and darting about, now held a steady depth.

Though traces of his naturally genial expression remained, they were tempered by a seriousness forged through necessity rather than choice.

Opposite him sat Lyana, also clad in Guild green. Her long hair was tied neatly into a high ponytail that highlighted the sharp clarity of her features.

She had always maintained composure, but today there was an undercurrent of tension beneath her professionalism, the awareness that the fate of the Guild rested on capable hands not originally meant to bear such weight.

For several long moments, silence enveloped them, punctuated only by Boren’s thick fingers rhythmically tapping against the cover of a leather-bound book resting on the table before him, the sound soft yet deliberate like a heartbeat measuring the gravity of their situation.

Finally breaking the silence, Lyana cleared her throat and spoke with calm urgency: “The reconstruction is progressing faster than we anticipated. Within a week, we’ll likely have the Guild Hall fully restored and with it come expectations from the city. Missions will resume in full swing; commissioners will return with their demands; and adventurers, no matter how loyal, will begin to question our direction if uncertainty lingers too long. With our Guildmaster still unconscious, responsibility has fallen to us. What are we going to do about this, Boren?”

Her gaze remained unwavering; it wasn’t accusatory but rather probing, as if testing whether he had truly shed his former hesitations.

Boren took a deep breath, his chest expanding like a bellows drawing air for a forge that must not cool. He placed his palm gently yet firmly on the leather-bound book before him.

“It seems,” he began slowly, his voice deeper and more measured than ever before, “that the boss anticipated something might go wrong during the soul transfer. Before the ritual started, he pulled me aside. He told me a few things and simply handed me this and told me that if he couldn’t return to his duties, I was to follow the instructions inside without hesitation.”

Lyana leaned in closer, her brows furrowing slightly as curiosity mingled with relief.

Boren continued, “I didn’t open it right away. At first, I thought it was just a contingency plan, something he wrote out of habit or perhaps paranoia. But after three days of silence from him, I realized that waiting for him to wake up would only put the Guild in a risky position. So I read it.”

His fingers traced the edge of the book as if recalling its weighty contents, and a faint, almost incredulous smile flickered across his lips. “He really is shameless. Even while planning for his potential incapacitation, he found ways to benefit both the Guild and himself.”

Lyana let out a quiet breath of tension. “What does it say?” she asked carefully but eagerly, aware that whatever lay within those pages could shape their immediate future. Boren opened the book slowly; its pages creaked softly as though they too carried secrets. He began to recount the instructions not as a hurried summary but as a thoughtful unfolding of strategy.

“First,” he explained, “he anticipated that external forces would try to exploit his absence, spreading rumors about his condition or probing our defenses. He instructed us to publicly announce his temporary seclusion for advanced cultivation, emphasizing that the soul transfer required profound spiritual integration. According to him, making it sound mysterious and dramatic would deter our enemies from provoking someone they believe is emerging stronger.”

Boren’s eyes met Lyana’s with admiration shining through them. “He always understood that perception can be as powerful as steel.”

Lyana nodded slowly, her mind racing with implications. “If the city thinks he’s undergoing a transformative process, it could discourage direct challenges. But what about internal stability? Adventurers are practical, they follow strength over rumors.”

Boren nodded thoughtfully before looking Lyana squarely in the eyes with seriousness etched on his face. “Beyond that, the Guildmaster also entrusted us with an important mission.”

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