Chapter 30: Chapter 30: Before the Breach
Selene didn’t knock. Two fingers, a look, and the latch drifted open like it was trying to earn praise.
The office was nothing like the rest of Central. High windows spilling daylight over shelves that actually had spines cracked by hands, not decorators. A desk with knife scars. A kettle breathing slow steam beside a plate of unopened letters.
Maps lined one wall—Arcadia, its districts, red pins marking gates that looked more like wounds.
Behind the desk sat the kind of man the city didn’t make anymore.
Silver hair, not white. Weathered skin, not tired. Shoulders still built for armor. A presence that made the room remember manners. You didn’t feel heat from him; you felt gravity. The air near him had opinions about posture.
"Mr. Cross," he said. His voice was oak and low thunder. "Tea?"
I blinked. "Is that a test?"
"It’s tea," he said, pouring. "Tests come later."
He poured two cups, passed one across the desk. It was actual ceramic, not paper. Civilization’s way of saying I’m not here to kill you yet.
Selene leaned against the wall, arms folded. Guardian statue mode.
The tea smelled like honey and something sharp underneath. "Thank you," I said, trying not to sound like a man interviewing for parole.
He watched me over the rim of his cup. "Your file says F-rank."
"It’s a popular genre," I said.
"Two A-rank clearances in less than two weeks," he went on, not rising to the bait. "One solo. One with a team that should’ve been buried. Both verified by us." He put the cup down. "That’s not supposed to happen."
"I’m very industrious," I said. "And possibly cursed."
"Curses I can work with. Miracles, less so." His eyes didn’t move, but the air shifted. "We ran your resonance twice. You register as F-rank baseline. No mana channels beyond the standard. No second signature."
"Scanners are overrated," I said. "Sometimes they miss the good parts."
"Then tell me what they missed."
He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t lean forward—but the words carried like a front line order. I felt it in my ribs. A guildmaster who could’ve been a war hero if he hadn’t decided paperwork was the greater monster.
I took a slow sip of tea, buying a heartbeat. "After the Fog-Mire sweep... I got hit by something inside the anomaly. When I woke up, I had a skill I didn’t have before. Rank: A. Something that doesn’t show on scans."
His brow creased once. "You reawakened."
"Maybe. Or maybe the swamp just liked me." I forced a half-shrug. "It lets me read material structure—metals, monster cores, organic compounds. More utility than offense. But in a fight, it helps."
He let that sit. The kind of silence that asks if you’re sure you want to lie again. Then, "Smelt Sight. A-rank. Doesn’t appear on scan logs?"
"Correct."
"That’s rare," he said quietly. "Reawakenings aren’t supposed to happen. When they do, it’s usually... violent."His eyes met mine, steady. "And people die near them die."
I didn’t look away. "They almost did. Mikey almost did too."
Selene’s reflection twitched at that. The guildmaster’s didn’t.
"You understand," he said finally, "why we’ve been watching."
"Because I make great coffee and save on insurance?"
"Because you’re an unknown A-rank," he said. "A solo. The kind of story tabloids call The Hidden Slayer."He leaned back. "And stories like that attract attention we can’t afford."
"High up government attention?"
"Worse." His tone cooled. "People who trade in power the way others trade in organs. The blackmarket syndicates. The ones who buy unregistered hunters, strip their relics, sell their corpses to labs across the border."He folded his hands. "There’s one group in particular. You’ll hear their name eventually, so you might as well hear it from me."
"Let me guess. Something cheerful like The Sunshine Collective."
"Deathspace," he said simply.
I laughed once, badly timed. "Okay, less cheerful."
"They’ve been operating out of the dark zones for years," he said. "Smuggling cores, running illegal gates, selling awakened blood to anyone who’ll pay. Their leader—if rumor can be trusted—is an SSS-rank who calls himself Deathspace. His skill is called Matter Manipulation. He can rewrite molecules with thought. Most who’ve seen him didn’t survive long enough to describe what that actually means."
I tried to joke. "Sounds fun at parties."
His eyes didn’t change. "If he’s taken interest in you, it won’t be parties."
Selene finally spoke. "He won’t be stupid enough to go recruiting in Central."
"He doesn’t need to," the Guildmaster said. "He sends dreams, data, offers. The kind of whispers that make hungry hunters sell their souls for one rank higher." His gaze returned to me. "And now there’s an unregistered A-rank making headlines. If you were him, wouldn’t you be curious?"
I set my cup down carefully. "So I’m bait."
He smiled, small and sad. "You’re opportunity. If we protect you, we learn who comes sniffing."
"That’s comforting," I said.
"It wasn’t meant to be."
The silence stretched just long enough to taste heavy. Then he changed tones like he was changing weather.
"There’s another reason I called you here."He stood. Not tall—but the kind of solid that made the air align itself."You’ve cleared two A-rank gates. You understand what happens when a dungeon reaches critical time?"
"Dungeon break," I said. "All the monsters come flooding out. Street buffet."
"Correct." He walked to the map, touched a pin at the edge of the river. The metal pulsed faint red. "We have one. S-rank. East Industrial. Thirty-seven hours before rupture."
My throat tightened. "You’re short-staffed?"
"Desperate," Selene said from the wall. "Every S-rank in the city’s already deployed."
He nodded. "Which brings us here. I’m assembling a crash team. Two S-ranks. One A+. And now, you."
"Because I look great in disaster footage?"
"Because you survived twice where you shouldn’t have once," he said. "And because you’re reckless enough to try again."
I tilted my head. "Who’s the rest of the circus?"
He started listing, and the air changed with each name."First: Elise Renard. Codename Phoenix. Fire manipulation. Rising star, A+ rank. Her mana output borders on S, but her control isn’t mature yet. She’ll lead offensive."
"Second: Lucien Vale. Healing Hands. S-rank medic. His regen fields can stabilize half a platoon."
"Third: Varga Keene. Absolute Defense. Full tank specialist. Barrier constructs, kinetic nulls, complete immunity for short bursts."
"And me," I said. "F-rank paperwork, bad sense of humor, unpaid rent."
"And you," he said. "Because someone needs to improvise when the rulebook burns."
Selene’s lips quirked. "Also because you don’t break when things hit too hard."
"Flattering," I said. "What’s the gate like?"
He tapped the red pin again. "S-rank gates aren’t caverns or buildings. They’re... worlds. Each one forms its own dimension—a closed ecology, a self-writing system. The current one’s classified as a Crimson Verge. Expect volatile mana atmosphere, unstable terrain, and hostiles with territorial intelligence."
My brain needed a second to translate. Then it hit.S-rank. Not approaching S. Not borderline. Actual S.
"You mean," I said slowly, "one of those ’we lose cities if we sneeze wrong’ gates."
He nodded once. "Correct."
"Fantastic," I said. "Because the last two A-ranks only almost killed me. I was starting to worry I’d lost my streak."
Selene’s mouth twitched like she couldn’t decide between a smirk and sympathy.
He didn’t react. "We believe the boss creature is a Class Omega. Minimum intelligence level: human. Body type: unknown. It’s been feeding for months. If it breaches, half the eastern district goes with it."
"Half the—?" I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You couldn’t have started with that part? You open with ’world-ending monster’ and then maybe tell me it has a diet plan."
"And you want me to help stop it."
"I want you to help keep people alive," he said. "If your skill is what the reports say, you can cover gaps the others can’t afford. You’re not the strongest. But you’re the hardest to kill."
I barked out a laugh that sounded more like stress. "That’s not encouragement. That’s a recruitment slogan for people who don’t get retirement plans."
Selene muttered, "He’s not wrong."
He ignored us both, pouring another cup of tea like he wasn’t describing Armageddon. "You’ll report here at dawn tomorrow. We’ll brief at the East Gate Hub. The team will move at first light. I’d suggest you rest. Eat something nice."
"Sure," I said. "Maybe I’ll eat something that’s about to die terrified. Get in the mood."
He looked up at that—almost smiling, but not quite. "Ethan," he said. "Whatever you really are—don’t waste it on hiding. The city eats people fast enough without help."
"I’ll keep that in mind," I said, trying to keep the joke from cracking. "And I’ll try not to be the appetizer."
"You already are," he said. "Make it useful."
Selene pushed off the wall. "Come on, rookie. Let the man finish his tea."
"Right," I said, following her out. "Gotta rest up before the suicide field trip."
Outside, the hall felt quieter than before. The hum of the tower pressed like weather.
"He likes you," Selene said.
"He likes my probability of surviving things that should kill me."
"That too."
We walked. The elevator groaned like it wanted to judge us. I stared at the city lights bleeding through the glass and tried not to think about S-rank gates turning into worlds that wanted me dead.
"What’s Deathspace really like?" I asked as the floor count ticked down.
Selene’s jaw flexed. "You don’t say that name loud," she said. "He’s the kind of thing even guilds pretend not to see."
"Comforting."
She looked at me then, eyes gray and sharp. "If you see him—run."
"I don’t run well."
"Then make it art," she said. "See you tomorrow, menace."
The elevator doors opened to the city. Arcadia was breathing fog again, streetlights reflecting off puddles like broken moons.
I touched the knives under my coat, felt them hum like heartbeats waiting for work.
S-rank gate. New team. World inside a world.
Rent was due.
And I had a job.