OP Absorption
Chapter 77: To Valerius

Chapter 77: To Valerius

The house was quiet. The makeshift repair on the door held against the faint predawn breeze. Meg was asleep, her breathing soft and even from down the hall.

Fin stood by the window, watching the first hints of grey lighten sky. Scarlet. Varn. Kings. Abyss Gates. Association. It was a tangled mess, threads leading into darkness he couldn’t yet map.

What was he supposed to do with it all?

His phone buzzed softly on the coffee table. A message notification.

Mara: Guildmaster finalized escort. Main lobby, 0800. Don’t be late. His name is Luke

Luke. The A-rank escort. Another piece on the board. Another variable.

Time to face the music. Or at least, the overture.

But first.

He needed coffee. Strong coffee.

---

The Guild lobby buzzed with the usual morning activity. Mission postings, returning teams, hopeful rookies. Fin walked through it, ignoring the continued whispers, the sideways glances. The ’miracle survivor’ act felt thin already.

He spotted Mara near the reception desk, talking animatedly with someone. A man. Tall, lean, with sharp features and short, dark hair meticulously styled. He wore immaculate black Guild combat gear, subtly customized, radiating quiet confidence. An intricately carved longsword hung at his side, its scabbard inlaid with silver runes.

Mara saw him approach and waved him over.

"Fin, right on time," she said, relief warring with stress in her voice. "This is Luke. Your escort."

Luke turned, his eyes – cool grey, analytical – sweeping over Fin. They lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, taking in the worn gear, the neutral expression. Fin felt the subtle probe of the man’s mana signature, testing, assessing. Professional. Dispassionate.

"Hunter Carver," Luke greeted, his voice smooth, level. He offered a polite, formal nod. No handshake. "I’ve been briefed on the situation. Guildmaster’s orders are clear. I am to accompany you to the Association headquarters and ensure protocols are followed."

His gaze was sharp, missing nothing. He clearly didn’t buy the amnesia story either, but his professionalism kept any personal opinion hidden.

"Okay," Fin replied simply, matching Luke’s neutral tone.

"We leave immediately," Luke stated, turning towards the exit without waiting for confirmation. "The Association dislikes tardiness."

Fin glanced at Mara. She gave him a small, worried nod. ’Be careful,’ her eyes seemed to say.

He turned and followed Luke out into the grey morning, towards the waiting storm. The Association. Rowena. Unknown tests and hidden agendas.

This was going to be interesting.

The sleek black car ate up the miles, leaving the familiar sprawl of the City behind. Grey skies pressed down, matching the heavy silence inside the vehicle. Luke drove with efficient, controlled movements, his knuckles white where he gripped the steering wheel.

He’d started talking almost as soon as the city limits vanished. A steady stream of thinly veiled annoyance.

"Seriously, kid. What makes you so special?" He glanced sideways, his grey eyes sharp. "Rank 6 dungeon collapse. Elite team MIA. And the D-rank rookie walks out with ’amnesia’?" He scoffed, the sound sharp in the quiet car. "Guildmaster bends over backwards, assigns me – an A-rank – as your personal chauffeur to the Association."

Fin stared out the side window, watching the drab landscape blur past. Fields, skeletal trees, distant power lines.

"It doesn’t add up," he pressed on, clearly irritated by the lack of response. "Hunters go missing all the time. Dungeons collapse. Why the fuss over you? Why drag the Guild into Association business?"

His voice tightened. "You pulling some kind of scam? Got dirt on someone important?"

Fin didn’t react. He just watched the scenery.

’He’s not wrong,’ Fin thought. ’From his perspective, none of this makes sense.’ A D-rank nobody causing ripples way above his pay grade. Amnesia. Special treatment. It screamed ’problem’.

He could feel Luke’s anger radiating across the small space. A low thrum of contained power. He could have shut him up easily. A flicker of aura, a subtle wave of pressure. Make the A-rank sweat a little.

’What’s the point?’

Luke was just a guard dog, albeit a high-ranking one. Annoyed, suspicious, but ultimately just following orders. Scaring him wouldn’t achieve anything useful. Might even complicate things later.

Besides, the guy had questions. Fair questions, even if his tone was grating. Fin just didn’t have any answers he was willing to give.

Luke grumbled under his breath, clearly frustrated by the wall of silence. "Fine. Be like that. Just don’t screw this up when we get there. The Association plays rough."

Fin kept staring out the window.

’Yeah,’ he thought dryly. ’Tell me about it.’

This was definitely going to be a long ride.

The silence in the car stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers against the persistent drizzle. Luke drove with tense precision, his earlier annoyance simmering just below the surface.

"Look," he finally bit out, glancing sideways again. "I don’t get paid enough to babysit some D-rank mystery meat. Just tell me one thing: are you going to cause trouble when we get there?"

Fin continued watching the grey landscape slide by. Trouble? He was trouble. The question was whether Luke would figure that out before it was too late.

"No trouble," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Luke snorted, unconvinced. "Right. Because miracle survivors with convenient amnesia never cause." He gripped the wheel tighter. "Just... don’t make me look bad, okay? My reputation’s on the line escorting you."

’His reputation?’ Fin thought, a flicker of cold amusement touching his internal monologue. ’He thinks this is about him?’ Cute.

They stopped hours later at a roadside dive that smelled faintly of grease and regret. The map showed they were still far from the Velerius city.

’Did Rowena really drive all this way just for me?’ Fin wondered, pushing lukewarm stew around his bowl. ’Seems inefficient.’

Luke ate in silence, his jaw tight. Clearly still annoyed.

Then the door slammed open.

Four men shuffled in. Rough clothes, hard eyes, carrying crude weapons – pipes, rusty knives. They spread out, blocking the only exit. Standard procedure for lowlifes.

One, presumably the leader, grinned, showing missing teeth. "Alright folks, handover time. Credits, food, fancy clothes." His eyes landed on the car keys sitting beside Luke’s plate. "And those."

Fin looked up from his stew. He met the leader’s gaze. Smirked. His eyes felt cold, even to him.

’Bandits?’ The thought was almost amusing. ’Seriously?’

Luke sighed, the sound heavy with irritation. He carefully placed his fork down, his hand drifting casually towards the hilt of his sword. Professional annoyance etched on his face. Another delay. Another problem linked to this D-rank mystery.

"You picked the wrong travelers, friend," Luke said, his voice level, calm. The voice of someone about to efficiently dismantle a problem.

The leader laughed, a harsh bark. "Think that fancy sword scares us? There’s four of us, two of you." He gestured with his pipe. "Now, the keys. Nice and easy."

Another bandit, jumpy and holding a knife, took a step closer to Fin. "Yeah, you heard him! Empty your pockets, pretty boy!"

Luke moved first. Too fast for untrained eyes. He sidestepped the pipe swing, deflected the knife thrust. Two sharp cracks echoed as elbows connected with jaws. Two bandits crumpled instantly. Efficient. Professional. A-rank standard.

The remaining two stumbled back, eyes wide with sudden fear. The leader stared at his fallen comrades, then at Luke, then swung wildly towards Fin, desperation overriding sense. "You little—!"

Fin didn’t even stand up. He watched the pipe arc towards his head.

He lifted his spoon.

Intercepted the pipe mid-swing with the cheap metal utensil.

Clang.

The impact vibrated faintly up his arm. The pipe stopped dead. The bandit leader stared, uncomprehending, at the flimsy spoon holding back his weapon.

Fin flicked his wrist. The spoon, humming with barely contained power, knocked the pipe aside. Before the bandit could react, Fin tapped the spoon lightly against the man’s forehead.

Tink.

The leader’s eyes rolled back. He collapsed onto the grimy floorboards, joining his friends in unconsciousness.

Silence.

He lowered his spoon. Looked back down at his half-eaten stew. Still lukewarm. Shame.

Luke stood frozen, staring. Not at the downed bandits. At Fin. At the spoon. His professional calm had shattered, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief and a healthy dose of suspicion that bordered on alarm.

Fin picked up his fork again. He poked at a piece of questionable meat in the stew.

"Problem solved," he said, his voice flat. "Can we go now?"