"My Lord Ferrum?" the clerk began, his voice barely a whisper, leaning forward conspiratorially across the counter. "Forgive my bluntness, my lord, but… are you absolutely certain about this contract?" He tapped the parchment nervously. "This isn't… this isn't like chasing cave moths for fragments!"
His voice dropped further, laced with genuine fear. "This is the Whispering Hills, my lord! Wild Sheep! The Cursed Wool… the psychic miasma… people go mad out there! Just touching the stuff, sometimes just getting too close! It requires specialized ranged attacks, precise takedowns to avoid any contact, extreme caution during retrieval! One mistake, one stray strand of wool…" He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence, the implication of irreversible insanity hanging heavy in the air.
He glanced desperately at Lloyd again. "My lord, your known… pardon my presumption… your conventional spirit capabilities… are they truly suited for this specific danger? This isn't about brute force; it's about finesse, range, and avoiding a curse that bypasses physical armor entirely!" The clerk looked genuinely terrified, not just for Lloyd, but likely for the Guild's liability should the Arch Duke's heir end up a smiling lunatic because of a contract they approved.
The unspoken words hung heavy in the air: You, the heir known for having a pathetic spirit and no notable combat skills, want to go hunting elemental fragments in a dark cave system? Are you suicidal?
Lloyd met the clerk's worried gaze with cool indifference. "My capabilities are sufficient for collecting cursed wool, thank you." His tone brooked no argument. "Process the contract."
The clerk swallowed, glancing nervously around at the listening Guild members, many of whom now wore expressions of open astonishment or malicious amusement. This was unexpected. And potentially disastrous for the Guild if the Arch Duke's heir got himself killed chasing glowing moths.
"My lord, with respect," the clerk tried again, leaning forward conspiratorially, "perhaps a different task? We have several excellent courier missions! Or perhaps information gathering within the city? Safer pursuits, more suited-"
"Are you refusing to process the contract?" Lloyd interrupted, his voice dropping slightly, gaining an edge of steel. He wasn't asking; he was commanding.
The clerk visibly flinched. Refuse the Arch Duke's heir directly? Unthinkable. The political fallout alone… "N-no, my lord! Of course not!" he stammered, hastily grabbing a quill and dipping it in ink. "Just… expressing standard Guild advisory protocols for member safety…" He quickly scribbled Lloyd's name onto the contract ledger, stamped it with the Guild seal, and slid the accepted contract copy back towards Lloyd, his hands trembling slightly. "Contract accepted, Lord Ferrum. Standard duration is one week. Please report back upon completion or abandonment."
Lloyd took the parchment without a word, folded it neatly, and tucked it into his tunic. He could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him now. Surprise, disbelief, mockery, and underlying it all, that simmering cauldron of jealous resentment. Many faces held a barely concealed hope – the hope that this foolish endeavor would be his last. Let the 'drab duckling' wander into the caves and get himself eaten by Shadow Wisps or incinerated by Ember Sprites. Good riddance. Then maybe the beautiful, powerful Rosa would be free…
He turned slowly, deliberately letting his gaze sweep across the crowded hall, meeting the hostile stares, the contemptuous smirks, the wishful thinking. He didn't glare back. He didn't scowl.
He smiled.
A slow, easy, almost predatory smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. A smile that held amusement, confidence, and a hint of something dangerous. It acknowledged their jealousy, their ill wishes, and dismissed them utterly.
"Good day, gentlemen," Lloyd said, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly quiet hall. "Do try not to expire from envy while I'm gone. It wrinkles the complexion."
And with that parting shot, leaving a wake of stunned silence, sputtering indignation, and burning resentment behind him, Lloyd Ferrum turned and walked calmly out of the Central Guild Hall, the contract for collecting moth fragments feeling like the first step towards a much larger, much more profitable hunt. Let them wish for his death. He had other plans. And soon, he'd have the power to enforce them.
----
The bustling energy of the Central Guild Hall faded behind Lloyd like the roar of a receding tide. He walked with a steady, unhurried pace through the winding streets of the capital, the accepted Guild contract tucked securely within his tunic. It wasn't the contract for Lumina Moth fragments, however. While scanning the board, amidst the requests for monster parts and lost items, another, slightly more peculiar notice had caught his eye – one offering a substantial reward not in coin, but in high-grade alchemical reagents for the procurement of unblemished Cursed Wool from the notoriously dangerous Whispering Hills region.
[Task: Procure Cursed Wool]
[Source: Whispering Hill Wild Sheep (Ovis Somnium Malevolus)]