Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 125

As Walm’s darkened vision rapidly cleared, his return to the surface was met with a squad of guards brimming with murderous intent. Although Merrill, who had gone ahead, had assured him there was no threat of assault, Walm remained cautious, keeping his halberd at the ready.

“H-Hey! That’s a drawn weapon!”

“Lower your weapon!”

As a result, he found himself in a standoff with numerous armed guards. Silently apologizing to Merrill in his heart for complicating matters, Walm answered without raising his voice unnecessarily.

“I mean no harm. I was attacked in the waiting room, so I’m just being cautious.”

Fortunately, covered in blood as he was, Walm’s composure was far from that of a bloodthirsty maniac. Aside from his tense expression, he remained calm. Slowly, Walm lowered his halberd and covered its tip with a leather sheath. After a pause, the guards began sheathing their swords as well.

“You’re Walm, right? We’ve prepared a private room for you. Follow me.”

The command left no room for discussion. Yet, given the already unfavorable first impression, Walm complied in silence. Surrounded by guards, he was escorted through the passage connecting the teleportation room to the waiting area. When they emerged, Walm couldn’t help but sigh. The already crowded waiting area had become a chaotic mess due to the commotion.

“Clear the way! Stay back!”

The guards dispersed the onlookers as they escorted Walm. While Walm had experience guarding others, being surrounded like a high-profile criminal or dignitary was entirely new to him. Glancing over at the reception desk, he noticed Lizzy and the other staff staring in shock. This was undoubtedly disrupting their work—yet another hassle he had caused.

Bombarded by countless stares, Walm was led deeper and deeper into the guild house, to areas he normally wouldn’t have been allowed to enter. Though his wounds were being held together by a magic barrier, suppressing the bleeding, some blood still seeped through.

By the time the weight of his body began to feel unbearable, the guards finally stopped.

“We’ll treat your injuries inside. Hand over your belongings.”

Their phrasing was polite, but the underlying request was clear—they wanted him to disarm. Walm refused outright.

“I appreciate the offer, but I won’t feel at ease if I let go of my weapons. I’ll keep them by my side.”

The guard’s face contorted with displeasure, but no force was applied. Seated on an examination table, Walm began removing his clothes in full view of everyone—hardly any different from a public display.

“You made him walk in this condition? What’s the point of stretchers? Without the magic barrier, he’d have bled to death.”

Fortunately, the healing mage seemed neutral and made a snide remark toward the guards who had brought Walm in on foot. Though Walm wanted to applaud the mage’s comments, he held back to avoid worsening his already poor standing with the guards.

As the healer’s examination proceeded, more wounds were revealed. Predictably, some ribs had been fractured despite his armor. Not only his slashed throat from Faust, but the entire manhunting party clearly knew how to break the human body with precision. Warmth spread through him as healing magic took effect, dulling the pain. However, full recovery was far from achieved, and any sudden movement could reopen the wounds.

Before Walm could fully enjoy resting his battered body, he was subjected to questioning by guild staff. They asked about every detail—from the flow of battle to his encounter with Faust. Some questions were repeated so often it began to test his patience. Given the gravity of the incident, the interrogators were persistent, and Walm felt they might start asking about his personal preferences and measurements if things went on any longer.

After over an hour of relentless questioning, Walm was finally allowed to rest under supervision. Taking small sips of water to quench his thirst, he lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the air. Every move he made seemed to draw the guards’ attention. Even though they had given him permission to smoke, their tense stares never wavered. With this level of attention, Walm figured he might as well start working in a circus sideshow.

Half an hour later, the door swung open, and an unfamiliar man entered. He carried papers filled with notes from Walm’s interrogation. Large and round-bodied, the man’s tailored uniform was impeccably maintained. The badge pinned to his chest marked him as a high-ranking guild official. His pompous manner, accompanied by attendants trailing behind him, suggested someone used to authority.

“I am Raffaele, Deputy Branch Manager of the Bergana Adventurers’ Guild. You’ve caused quite a stir in the branch master’s absence.”

His tone implied Walm had committed some crime. Walm couldn’t help but wonder what nonsense would spill out of his mouth next.

“I’ve read the interrogation reports. I find it hard to believe Faust’s party engaged in a manhunt. They were model adventurers known for mentoring newcomers and contributing significantly to the guild. Even with the ‘Three Magic Attack’s report, it feels unreal.”

Despite having no visible scars, Raffaele’s rough fingers and worn palms suggested years spent handling documents rather than weapons. Walm wondered how someone with a body as soft as a barrel would have fared in his place.

“And you expect me to believe that you, alone, took down two of the labyrinth city’s oldest and strongest adventurers? The more I hear, the less believable it sounds.”

Up until now, Walm had cooperated with the questioning—enduring repetitive interrogations without complaint. But this level of disbelief was starting to wear on his nerves.

“Maybe that ‘oldest party’ remained at the top because they hunted their fellow adventurers.”

“Watch your tongue, drifter.”

Clearly struck by Walm’s accusation, the deputy’s suspicion deepened. Walm’s voice sharpened with frustration.

“You seem to have your doubts, but cutting someone’s throat and slicing up their body seems like a pretty severe response for a mere misunderstanding. What’s next? Strip me down and toss me in a cell? You’ve surrounded me with many soldiers—are you sure that’ll be enough?”

His narrowed gaze challenged Raffaele, daring him to act. The tension in the room spiked as a nearby guard reached for his weapon. Surprisingly, Raffaele raised a hand, signaling restraint without breaking eye contact.

“Hmph… I never said I thought you were lying. That’s why we’re taking this in the form of a formal investigation.”

Their prolonged stare-down seemed to have paid off, as Raffaele’s demeanor softened ever so slightly. At the very least, it appeared that reason and regulations still held sway, preventing any arbitrary punishment based purely on suspicion.

If, hypothetically, Faust’s party were truly the victims, then their complete disappearance—without even protesting the loss of their comrades—was inexplicable. If one were to defend them by suggesting Faust was merely hiding temporarily out of fear of Walm, it would be laughable enough to warrant a round of applause.

“Aren’t you thoughtful. Still, telling the same story multiple times isn’t doing me any favors. I’m an injured man, you know.”

Walm made a point of exposing the freshly healed scar on his neck. Raffaele, finally realizing further questioning would be pointless, shifted his stance.

“We can’t say for sure whether you’re innocent or guilty yet. Until the matter is resolved, you’ll remain in a guest room at the guild.”

“A prison cell, you mean?”

“If you prefer a cell, I can arrange that. But be grateful—it’s a guest room meant for dignitaries. Certainly more comfortable than whatever floor you’re used to sleeping on in the labyrinth. You won’t be bound, but your movements will be monitored. For your safety, of course. Escort him.”

Raffaele left first, and the guards, alongside guild staff, escorted Walm like a noblewoman being led to a grand hall. Such ‘hospitality’ from the Adventurers’ Guild was almost laughable. The room they brought him to had no windows, just a single door for entry and exit. Knocking on the thick walls revealed how soundproof it was—a room well-suited for private discussions or holding important individuals.

Ironically, having to explain the situation repeatedly while preparing the report helped Walm organize his thoughts. Most likely, the reason Faust had targeted him was because, as a lone adventurer, he was an easy mark—carrying a magic bag and, for an individual, a considerable amount of wealth.

“I guess he wasn’t just bragging.”

Leaning back in the chair, Walm grudgingly admitted that Raffaele’s words had some merit. Even a simple leather-upholstered chair was more comfortable than the labyrinth floor or a cheap inn bed. Without even making it to the bed, Walm surrendered to unconsciousness. Sleep when you can—that old habit from his days in the Highserk Empire was deeply ingrained in him.

Translator – Lyxxna