Several hours later, inside one of Ashenveil’s inns, the door to a private room slowly opened as a group of adventurers began to leave.

None of them looked particularly well. Anger, exhaustion, grief, and frustration mixed together across their faces, leaving them looking far older than they had only a few hours ago.

Yet despite the emotions weighing heavily upon them, nobody said a word as they stepped into the hallway and disappeared one after another.

There was simply nothing left to say.

Everything that needed to be said had already been thrown at the person remaining behind.

The room itself looked as though a fight had broken out. A table had been overturned, one of the chairs had been reduced to splinters, and several pieces of furniture had either been shoved aside or broken entirely.

And sitting amongst the aftermath was Varkesh.

The tiger beastkin leaned against the wall, one eye swollen shut, while dark bruises spread across much of his body.

Dried blood-stained portions of his fur, and every movement sent dull aches through his body.

Yet none of those injuries came from a monster.

Every bruise, every cut, and every swollen patch of fur had come from adventurers.

More specifically, his own fellow adventurers, who he had once called partners.

Varkesh never fought back. He could have stopped them if he wanted to.

Everyone involved knew that.

Most of the people who entered the room weren’t stronger than him, and even the ones who were would’ve struggled to land a hit if he resisted.

Yet he never raised a hand. Because he didn’t feel like he had the right to.

And to be honest, the physical pain was easier to endure than their words.

Even now, long after the room had emptied, their voices continued to replay within his mind.

"Why did it have to be you?"

"How could you leave them behind?"

"Gwen trusted you; she fought for you. And the moment your life was at stake, you left her."

Varkesh slowly lowered his head. The following words were so cruel that the pain no longer registered.

"You would’ve been better off dying with them."

His claws slowly dug into the wooden floor. He thought he was prepared for this. But their words triggered so much anger in him.

He didn’t abandon anyone. Up until the end, he fought until there was nothing left to accomplish.

The worst part was that he couldn’t completely reject what they were saying.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same thing.

The deaths of his partners and adventurers who didn’t deserve to die.

He remembered how helpless he was in the face of true strength. And he also remembered that all of that wouldn’t have happened if they had respected the monster’s territory as it had asked.

And perhaps worst of all, he remembered realizing that none of it should have happened in the first place.

The creature had warned them. It gave them an opportunity to leave, and they ignored it.

No matter how many times he replayed the events inside his head, he always arrived at the same conclusion.

If he could go back, he wouldn’t change what happened at the end.

He would’ve changed everything before it.

He would’ve never entered that forest.

And if that wasn’t possible, then he still would’ve made the same choice when everything fell apart.

Because dying beside them wouldn’t have saved anyone.

It would’ve only prevented him from returning to the one place he still wanted to be.

Gwen.

The thought alone caused his expression to tighten.

The words of his fellow adventurers had hurt. Yet strangely enough, not for the reasons they probably intended.

Because their accusations confirmed something Varkesh had known for a long time.

He never belonged there. The acceptance was only an illusion granted to him all because of Gwen.

And he could only maintain that illusion as long as he was useful. As long as he fit with the role they expected of him.

The moment he failed, that illusion would vanish.

He regretted his helplessness, and that was why he accepted their lash outs.

But that was all he was willing to accept.

Once he was finally left alone with his thoughts, he found an unexpected resolve. A resolve that gave him the peace of mind to do what needed to be done.

Eventually, Varkesh released a long breath and allowed his head to rest against the wall behind him.

His thoughts drifted toward another conversation he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since it happened.

His meeting with Thalric.

—

Originally, he hadn’t intended to reveal nearly as much as he did.

Yet the moment he stepped into Thalric’s office, that resolve began to crumble.

The Guild Master wasn’t intimidating in the traditional sense. Yet somehow, Varkesh felt as though any lie he spoke would be uncovered immediately.

The pressure only became worse because Thalric hadn’t been alone.

The mage Guild Master, Elowen, sat nearby with a stack of parchment resting beside her while her quill moved almost continuously throughout the conversation.

Every adventurer in Ashenveil knew who she was.

And that knowledge did nothing to make the experience easier.

Her gaze lingered on him throughout the entire discussion as though she wasn’t simply recording his testimony, but dissecting it.

Every answer, every hesitation, and every inconsistency was carefully examined before being committed to her parchment.

More than once, Varkesh found himself convinced that any attempt at deception would’ve been exposed immediately.

All of the explanations he originally prepared before arriving at the guild suddenly felt useless. Yet strangely enough, he never found himself struggling to answer a single question.

Because before he ever left the forest, Noah had already solved that problem for him.

At the time, Varkesh hadn’t fully understood why the creature told him to simply speak the truth so long as he avoided mentioning what existed within the territory itself and the ability to turn people into monsters.

Looking back on it now, the answer seemed almost obvious.

The guild had no reason to assume that he could make it into their den by himself, nor would anyone naturally arrive at the conclusion that a monster possessed the ability to transform others into monsters.

Everything else could be answered honestly.

His anger when describing Roy didn’t need to be fabricated. The frustration he felt toward the haughty noble remained genuine even now.

Neither was the grief he felt for the companions who died beside him, nor the helplessness he experienced while watching everything unravel.

Every answer he gave was straight to the truth.

Because of that, there were no lies to maintain, no contradictions to remember, and no moments where he found himself searching for the correct response.

The more Varkesh reflected upon it, the more it almost felt as though Noah had anticipated how this conversation would go.

More importantly, it meant the monster was never remotely concerned about what Varkesh would tell the guild once he returned.

By the time the questioning ended, Varkesh should have felt relieved that it was over. But he remembered that this step was the easy part.

No one knew the perjury and prejudice that would be against him by the church and nobles more than he did.

Every adventurer in Ashenveil knew about the constant struggle between the guild, the church, and the nobles.

No one understood the kind of scrutiny that was about to fall upon him better than he did.

Whenever all three became involved in the same matter, arguments over responsibility, authority, and blame inevitably followed.

And this time, he was standing directly in the middle of it.

So now all he could do was wait.

Varkesh released a long breath before forcing himself to stand. Every movement sent aches throughout his battered body, causing him to grunt softly as he pushed himself upright.

What he wanted more than anything was to sleep.

Instead, he found himself walking toward the overturned table.

The beastkin placed it back on its legs before reaching down and retrieving the bottle of liquor that had somehow survived the earlier outburst. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the glass that had accompanied it. The shattered remains still littered the floor nearby, forcing him to drink straight from the bottle.

Not that he particularly cared.

The liquor burned on the way down, but the sensation was almost comforting compared to everything else occupying his thoughts.

In only a few days, he would betray the world he had spent his entire life living in and willingly walk into the world as a monster.

There was a very real possibility that all of it would be for nothing.

He could die in the battle, losing his chance to be with Gwen anyway. Or, he could survive only to watch her die instead.

And if that happened, every choice he had made since leaving the forest would become meaningless.

The thought lingered long enough for him to take another drink.

Then another.

Before long, Varkesh found himself sitting alone with the bottle resting in his hand while his thoughts wandered aimlessly between everything that had happened and everything that was still to come.

Half the bottle was gone before he even realized it.

The rest of the day seemed destined to continue in much the same way until a knock suddenly sounded from the door.