Chapter 7: Hope Drowned in Shadows

The hero dashed through the castle gates as night fell.
The stench of the city slammed into him like a wall—but he didn’t stop.
He ran straight for the Adventurer’s Guild, pushing open the heavy doors.
Every head turned.
Lowering his gaze, the hero hurried to the counter.
The cat-eared girl was there.
One of her eyes was swollen shut—bruised.
He wanted to ask what had happened...
But instead, he bit his tongue and silently offered the pouch of goblin ears.
She took it, peeked inside, and asked flatly,“Your quest form?”
He handed her the crumpled paper.
She nodded and walked to the back room.
Chains rattled softly around her ankles.
Not just the collar anymore.
She was bound like an animal.
“…Well, I guess she is part beast,” he muttered under his breath.
She returned moments later.
“For completing the quest, His Majesty King Xeus grants you two iron coins and ten bronze. Rejoice.”
Even as she spoke, her voice was devoid of emotion.
She slid the coins across the counter.
The hero reached out, hesitated—
Then, without thinking, pulled a sandwich from his bag and offered it to her.
Her eyes widened. She snatched it away and hid it under the desk.
Then she glared.“What are you, stupid!?”
He flinched.
It wasn’t meant to be anything more than kindness.
But her stare burned like a curse.
Without another word, he turned and left.

---
"So… what now?"he wondered.
He had a bit of money. Enough for two things:
1. A real bed

2. Something—anything—to dull the pain


He began walking again.
But each step felt like a knife digging deeper into his chest.
The pain grew worse. Like a sword. Then a spear.
Eventually, he had to stop.
The hero leaned against a wall, caught his breath, and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again—
He heard a scream.

---
It came from an alley to his right.
Clutching his chest, he stumbled toward the sound.
Two men had cornered a well-dressed woman.
They looked like vagrants, armed only with broken glass.
"...Maybe I’ll get a reward for this."
Drawing his sword, the hero advanced.
The men ran as soon as they saw him.
The woman collapsed.
He offered his hand.
She took it, rising shakily to her feet.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. She looked like nobility.
But then—
A violent pain ripped through his chest.
He coughed hard—blood splattered her dress.
Her face twisted in disgust.
She backed away, gathering what she had dropped.
Glass bottles.
Ones that looked exactly like the ones the priest had given him.

---
A thought crept in.
"If I take them..."
He stepped forward.
Slowly.
Silently.
Pressed the blade to her neck.
But she turned suddenly—and sliced her own throat.
Blood sprayed.
She fell, choking on her own scream.
Reaching toward him with a trembling hand.
The hero froze. Wide-eyed.
His sword hit the ground.
He clutched his head and screamed.
Then slammed his fists against his skull again and again.
As if pain could erase memory.

---
He ran.
Grabbed her bag.
Fled the scene without looking back.
His feet carried him to the city’s edge.
There, he collapsed.
Breathing hard. Chest burning. Dying.
With shaking fingers, he opened the bag.
Pulled out a bottle.
Drank.
Then spat.
“…This isn’t a potion.”
It was perfume.
He gagged.
Pulled out a juice box and drank to rinse the taste.
The rest of the bottles had ridiculous names:
Chamomile BladeDrown in RosesLove to Death
Useless. Fake. Pointless.
He slumped back, gripping his chest.
“…I’m done.”
One bottle remained in his hand—Love to Death.
He brought it to his nose.
Closed his eyes.
And waited for death.
But before it came—
A silhouette blocked the stars above.
No time to move.
A heavy blow crashed into his skull.
And everything went black.