“Today’s the day!” Orel celebrated at the dinner table.

“You finally got a job?” Tuja asked with a proud yet anxious voice.

“Yes, and we are going to see what it is once the office opens.”

“Have fun there. Make sure my boy won’t get in trouble, Tobias.” Tuja warned lightheartedly.

“We’ll see.” Norman sipped coffee.

“Ooh, will they have that nice drink again?” Andras was excited.

Inside, a similar comfy couch, elaborate furnishing, and a glass of champagne for each. The Guild office was welcome to accept the party inside and let them hear what the offer was from the manager himself. Hannes, the manager, was intelligent and considerable enough not to offer a glass to Orel and instead gave Andras the rest. Norman was smug about all of it while Andras was enjoying another taste of champagne. Hannes sat back into his seat like a gremlin trying to search for the papers, though it took a while until he could clear the workbench’s towering documents.

“Please sit there. I need some time to clear this.”

The three watched the chaos unfold. The office job is not for the weak-minded or those who can’t stand paper cuts.

“What do you think the job will be?” Orel whispered to Norman.

“He did not tell over the phone. Maybe it is a secret mission.” Norman guessed jokingly.

“We have to ask where he gets this stuff.” Andras leaned over to whisper with the bottle in hand.

“Here it is!” Hannes lifted the paper from underneath the giant pile he toppled.

He passed it to Norman without hesitation, who immediately read it as if it would force him to accept the terms and conditions. It was a telegram, usually copied to every Guild office, but this was a special invitation.

“As requested, you are the first to read this quest offer. May I ask why you are interested in a job specifically from Albion?” Hannes asked while lighting a cigar.

“We have always wanted to travel there.” Norman smiled over the paper.

“Whatever your reason may be, please do not cause any trouble while there. Guild wants to keep its relations well with Albion at all costs. Of course, I do not doubt that a person like yourself would ever do such a thing.”

“How did you secure this job just for us?”

“Well, I had to ask my superiors, but it was relatively easy. Unless told otherwise, many quests are local, meaning they are sent only to the closest offices. Alanland’s office is one of three in Pohjola, meaning our range is fairly large. Even though this office is not as close as some in the Milieu region, their offices were more than glad to offer you to take it rather than keeping it for themselves. We prize good relations with Albion, yet not many parties are willing to accept guests from there. Of course, your name also played a crucial role in this, Sir Tobias.”

“Do not worry, Mr. Parameum. Voyagers can be trusted. Also, please drop the formalities.” Norman tried his best to remain calm and collected.

“Of course, mister Norman.”

“That’s not what I meant, but whatever.” Norman sighed. “This Lionel Elyan Claudin sounds familiar. Does he belong to a mage family?”

“You do not know? Claudin is one of the great houses of Albion, and Mr. Lionel is the head of it!”

“Does that mean he is a duke as well?” Orel asked.

“Ah, yes. This quest places you in the northeast part of the island, the center of Albion’s forestry. If I recall, the region is called Gaunnes. Sir Lionel is quite influential of all the dukes.”

“What does the great duckie have for us?” Andras leaned in to take a look at the papers.

“The forests of Gaunnes have reported sightings of Barghest, a mythical black hound. The people are so afraid that they asked for help from the Duke.”

“Who then happily delegated the job for the Guild.” Norman could see what had happened.

“The Duke is a busy man. He did not specify exactly how he wanted to handle it, but I suggest you prepare for hunting. There are sure to be clearer instructions once you arrive.”

“Is it dangerous?” Norman raised an eyebrow.

“I do not have the slightest of an idea, but for the Duke to have recognized it as a problem, it most certainly should pose some challenge. In Guild guidelines, a single medium-sized magical beast should be no more than C-rank in difficulty without further information.”

“I haven’t heard of Barghest, but I do know a bit about evil spirits.”

“Well, are you willing to accept this guest?” Hannes leaned over his workbench.

Norman looked at Orel and Andras. “Let’s talk.”

They formed a circle to discuss the situation. They leaned on each other’s shoulders, though Andras could cover the two by bending over.

“I was not expecting that we would get a job from a duke,” Norman confessed.

“How will we catch that dog?” Andras asked.

“Okay, we have a lot to think about, but the most important thing is if we do this or not,” Orel briefed.

“Nicely said, Orel. Gaunnes seems like a good place to start, but this hunting business seems odd.”

“But how long it would take for us to get another one?” Andras thought.

“Then, what will we do? Orel?”

Hannes watched the three get back in their seats. They glanced at each other for a second, smiled, and slammed the paper to the table.

“We take it,” Orel declared.

“Splendid! The Guild will provide you with transportation and passes to the country, as you may already know. We should be able to arrange one for tomorrow. Please read the instructions provided for entering Albion.”

Orel wrote his name and passed the paper along to Norman.

“We are already familiar with the terms.” Norman pointed out as they wrote their signature.

“Good, you have prepared already. A ship should be waiting at port B2 tomorrow at 11 AM. I have nothing else to say other than good luck, gentlemen.” Hannes took the paper and slammed the Guild stamp on it.

“We’ll be there,” Orel confirmed.

Once the trio got home, nothing needed to be done. Even if the three did not tell each other, they had already packed for the trip. They were all more than excited about the new adventure, even though how dangerous it would be. Once Tuja returned from work in the afternoon, the essential part of embarking was ahead.

“So, how did it go?” Tuja asked.

“We took it, and we’re leaving tomorrow," Orel said.

“Really? And I thought I would have the time to knit you some clothes.”

“Mom.” Orel did not like the pampering.

Then Tuja sneaked in for a hug. Orel was about to tell her off but then felt how much she hugged him and decided to join. They wrapped their hands thingly over each other, as it could very well be their last. It was a peaceful moment, something Orel wanted but couldn’t ask. She then patted him lightly as she looked him in the eyes.

“Be safe out there.” Tuja held back the tears.

“Of course, mom.”

“You too,” Tuja glanced at Andras and Norman.

“You can count on it!” Andras declared.

“I'll try.” Norman smiled sheepishly.

The next day they all carried their luggage to Deras’ ship, which took them to the port in Alanland. Orel and Norman looked at each other like two kids excited for their first day at school, all packed up and ready.

“what’s with the getup?” Andras took notice.

“You mean my vest and sweater? It’s for the chilly coastal weather, and I heard this is the peak of fashion there.” Norman explained his red checkered vest and white woolen sweater underneath.

Though none were the wiser about his claim, Norman wore the outfit like a badge of honor.

“You look like some old farmer. you’re only missing the flat cap and pipe.” Orel said.

“Says you. Why did you dress like that when we were going to the woods?” Norman turned his attention to him.

“I wanted to dress nicely for when we meet the Duke. I got spare clothes with me as well.” Orel patted his dark blue blazer. He had also found a pair of navy blue pants, but they were a bit long, so he had to fold the ends.

“I doubt we will see him,” Norman said.

Andras wore the same outfit as always; dark blue overalls made of fireproof fabric, though Tuja had washed them recently, which might have shrunken them so that the sleeves and legs felt pressed against his skin. Andras had prepared a small woolen beanie for the weather, which only covered his hair, leaving his ears flapping out. Andras had made it himself, as he learned knitting from grandma Ymir. It was nothing too fancy, but Andras knew he should start learning how to create and fix clothes if he would get into fights.

The trio looked around the harbor until they found the correct port. There weren’t too many people in the morning hours or just yet. Orel, Norman, and Andras waited for a medium-sized white vessel and a few Guild personnel; all dressed in white and black suits with red ties.

“You are the Voyagers?” A neatly dressed worker asked underneath his sunglasses.

“Yes,” Orel answered.

“Come on board.”

The ship set sail soon after and much faster than a regular one. It had everything one would need for a medium-long cruise, a kitchen, living room, private suites, and a ballista against intruders. It seemed the Guild would not spare expenses on the job.

“Where are we headed exactly?” Norman felt the need to ask.

“This ship is to transport you to the Gaul Republic, where further transportation will be arranged by the offices operating in Milieu.” The worker explained.

“Figures. Is there any new info for us?” Norman leaned over the edge of the ship.

“There is none. Would you please wait in your accommodations? The route will take time.”

“How much exactly?” Norman wanted the specifics.

“With our current pace, we are set to arrive tomorrow at noon.”

“Yeesh, I knew this wouldn’t be a fast trip, but why is it so complicated?”

“We are not allowed to operate outside our jurisdiction. That is why you will continue with different personnel from Gaul. Your escort should become easier once you arrive there.”

“Fine. Wake me up once we’re there.” Norman headed below the deck.

“Is the pay good for you guys?” Orel talked to the worker following him in the corridors.

“I enjoy the benefits more than the salary, but the job does pay well.”

“Do you meet interesting people?”

“Sometimes, but I enjoy traveling more than that.”

“Have you ever been to Albion?”

“No, but some of my bosses have.”

“When did you-”

“Orel, stop bothering that employee,” Norman yelled.

“I do not mind.” The worker said. “He hasn’t tried uncovering any secrets yet.”

“Where’s Andras?” Orel asked the worker.

“He was feeling ill on open water, so he went to his cabin straight away. We are moving at maximum speed, after all.”

“He just drank too much last night.” Norman sneered before going to his room.

The ship sailed on the cold Depth Sea, which coursed on from the southern and western parts of Pohjola until it connected to the Great Jormun Sea, the largest ocean in the world, that leads to the Zabad region. It was not there where the boat would head, though, but to the country of Gaul in the Milieu continent, where the Guild had planned that a ship would go along the Serpent Stream and finally arrive at Albion, sitting at the center of the Lago Mare, the great inland sea. With its great navy, Albion was able to tightly control the waters of Lago Mare and prove itself as a world power. Albion’s influence was also significantly increased by its developing industry around magic items and colonies to mine various rare metals that the country lacked. The trading circle was formed around the everyday consumer, Albion’s industry, and the colonies, vastly enriching Albion’s economy and technological progression, but not for too long. Albion lost its colonies to Guerreterre, who itself lost them in their civil war and thus gave them independence.

It took two days, a short trip of its own, though there was no time for souvenirs. Finally, the trio arrived at the port of Gaunnes. The incredible white cliffside coasts appeared from the horizon and the mist over them. Much of the beach was full of ancient and historic fortifications of the Invasion era. The port was a modern harbor with large ships and industrial buildings, ware, and auction houses. Most prominently, processed wood could be seen either being shipped or waiting in large piles along with other merchandise. It was one of the grand harbors of Albion, Logstoc. It held little military power aside from watchtowers placed few and far between on the shores, but none could disagree with its importance in trade. Substantial shipping containers poured in and out of cargo ships one after another. The factories filled the air with smog and the smell of chemicals and processed wood, an unpleasant aroma to any nose. Most workers would wear masks for this reason alone, and many travelers opt to use another port instead.

“So this is Gaunnes.” Norman looked over.

“It is the base for most of Albion’s forestry. Many countries import premium wood and all sorts of industrial equipment from here, and Gaunnes circulates it through other Dutchies for manufacturing.” The worker explained.

“How do they have enough forest for that?” Orel pondered.

“I think I know. I’ve heard of fairy wood, premium material from the humongous woods that the locals call the fairy forest.”

“That’s right. The Morcoil Forest is one of the largest in the world. Its quality and size are something else. The nickname comes from a little fairy tale that a few centuries ago fairies blessed the forest as thanks for the knight that saved them,” A roughened worker explained.

“You seem to know a fair bit.” Norman glanced at the large man.

“I’ve worked here before. Did a gig once and won’t do it again.”

“Why?” Orel asked.

“Those stinking Albians can kiss my ass. My work would have been a hella lot easier if they didn’t stop me.”

“What were you doing here?”

“Company secret. Can’t tell if I wanted.” The worker looked at the trees.

“I’ve been thinking.” Norman pondered.

“When don't you think?" Orel asked sarcastically.

“In my dreams." Norman scoffed. "Many stories say that the presence of evil creatures makes a location haunted, but it has been questioned if it’s the other way around.”

“You mean that an evil place draws in evil things?”

“Exactly.”

“But what makes something evil?” Orel asked.

“Bunch of things, like relics or history of bloodshed. Think how graveyards are a place of the dead.”

“I don’t think there would only be an evil dog if the place were haunted.”

“True, but who says that Barghest is the only thing there?”

“You should always prepare for the worst," The worker said.

“How do you think we’ll manage?” Norman asked the worker.

“Don’t know about you two, but that big guy has a good chance if he keeps out of trouble with the locals.” The worker measured their strength.

“Yeah, that’s why we can’t leave him by himself,” Norman said.

“Hey, that was one time!” Andras stomped his feet.

“That one time you burned down a forest! And now we are in an even bigger forest!”

“I’m not dumb enough to burn all that down!”

“Are you sure? Can you swear on that?” Norman persisted.

“Uh, sure. I won’t need any flames to catch that wolf thing.” Andras was confident.

“Then swear it with a vow.”

“Hmph, fine.” Andras raised his hand. “I, Andras, will not use fire as long as I am in that forest.”

Orel could not bear to watch the start of the farce.

“Good, we have a deal.” Norman shook hands.

“Was that necessary?” Orel asked.

“Just to be sure.”

“Then, could you do something as well?”

“Well?”

“I want you to tell me more about your past, or you in general.”

“Ah, well... It’s a difficult topic.” Norman was not expecting that.

“Telling about yourself?”

“It's not really something you'd want to hear.” Norman was nervous.

“How can you be so sure?”

Norman’s face twisted open and shut, almost like he was trying to answer in ten different ways at the same time.

“Fine, but you asked for it. I’ll show it once the moment is due. Don’t regret it, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll face it.” Orel gave a thumbs up.

“Look’s like we’re here.” The worker took notice.

Everyone looked over to the port. The ship stopped, docked, and was ready to vacate. Security was top-notch on the pier. Guards were protecting both the merchandise and workers, and among them were some personnel that wore special-looking dark uniforms with the familiar emblem of the Magistrate and a special badge. Norman gave some bad looks to them but didn’t want any trouble and continued along. The customs waited for them, with security detail knowing who to expect. Scanners, searching, frisk, everything for possible illegal items. The interrogation was short, as the party had the paperwork ready, yet the officials were iffy for everything out of the ordinary. Thankfully, nothing was brought up or found, and they prepared the trio to continue along, but their escort would not go further. Instead, a classy black car surrounded by sharply-dressed people was waiting for them.

“You must be the hired party. I am Slacume Potomac, a humble servant of Lord Lionel. We are here to escort you to the castle for briefing. Please step in.” The short and lean butler with unique glasses offered a ride.

While still in standard uniform, the butler stood out from the rest with his glasses. They were brown with dark spots like wood grain around the almond lenses. Even with such a small difference, the man stood out from the rest like a sore thumb. The three stepped in, and the car took off on a road that seemed to cut through the endless forest.

Prickly pine, with other trees such as colorful maple, long oak, and bushy aspen, seemed to envelop everything. The only things not covered by trees were the small towns, the straight railroad, and giant electric pylons running through cleared parts of the land. Personal and state vehicles coursed through the driveways, but the traffic was kept clean on the motorway. Orel kept his face stuck to the window looking at the landscape for the whole ride, and not even Norman could help to keep his face turned away from it. Andras was not too eager, as he could only visualize how well it would burn.

“On your right, you can see way stones once used to direct merchants and such to the towns they were heading. They were dug up and hidden in the invasion period to create confusion among the invaders, hoping they would get lost. We later put the stones back in their places to serve as attractions.” Slacume explained.

The old stones depicting dragons were straight out of a fairytale, but one could not criticize historical architecture. Norman could only help but wonder why they had dragons, of all things, to tell the way.

“You seem to know a lot about history,” Norman commented.

“Well, it does come with the job.”

"Do you give tours?"

"No, not really. I can give one if we have the time." Slacume seemed enthusiastic.

From the forest opened a vibrant city constructed around a rather large lake where water poured down to the lower town and disappeared back into the woods. Rows of trees grew next to the walkways, giving shade and a fresh feeling to the otherwise unnatural constructions. Many of the more prominent buildings had carved wooden supports and at the marketplace, along the food stalls were a vast collection of wooden statues both on display and on sale.

“We will arrive shortly at Abhean Castle. If you look to your left, you can see the great lake Evaine that house Claudin built our capital around.”

“Then, what’s the capitol’s name?” asked.

“Ridredukedach, sir," Slacume said without a moment of hesitation.

“Was that commal?” Norman raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s both old Commal and Albian. Albian isn’t spoken nowadays, but the language stays in some old names, especially in this region.”

“I see. What does the name mean?”

“I think it roughly means knight duke’s home.”

They drove through the city and up a hill to the stone structure. It seemed old but had made restorations and expansions to fit in the modern age. Large flags were lowered with the house’s emblem that the lands belonged to, the great family of Claudin, a silver ring with entwining golden strings in the middle. The large entrance to the inner yard was as striking as one could imagine. It had exotic plants, a small artificial lake, a water fountain, and even a huge maple tree in the middle. Only marble statues could enhance the yard at that point. Not even Normal felt in place there, or at least his family did not put nearly as much effort into just their front yard. Even if the castle filled his mind with numerous questions, only one emerged victoriously.

“If this belongs to a duke, what could be considered the royal palace?” Norman uttered with his jaw dropped.

“It’s best you don’t think about it.” Orel patted his back.