Chapter 650 – Peculiar Class.

The onlookers parted as three figures forced their way through. They clearly carried some authority here, as once they were recognized, the other adventurers stepped aside without complaint. They wore a mishmash of high-grade plate and reinforced leather, but what truly drew the eye were the heavy, circular iron badges pinned to their chests.

“Those people are…”

Roland’s gaze settled on one of the badges. It depicted a sword and hammer crossed against one another and was made of actual silver. These individuals were known as the Stronghold Watch, a militia formed by certain adventurers that acted as a kind of policing force. Though they were not part of any regular army, here they fulfilled the role of guardsmen and even held the authority to imprison people. Above ground, they had no power, but within the third ring of the dungeon, they were the law.

He focused on the woman called Renata, who appeared to be the leader of the group and had the highest level among them. She was already in her second tier-three class, which meant she was likely a Mithril-grade adventurer. Renata’s class choices were solid, though not particularly exceptional.

Spirit was a lesser form of Aura, and she had been unable to achieve the higher manifestation of that path. Nevertheless, she still possessed two tier three classes, an accomplishment achieved by very few. Her main weapon appeared to be a greatsword strapped to her back, and she wore a half plate suit of armor made of enchanted mithril.

Her frame was on the larger side but still within human limits. Compared to the barbarian woman in Harphon’s spatial storage, she was slightly shorter and lacked some of that muscularity. Her hair was red and tied in a ponytail, and her skin tone was on the tanned side.

The lead adventurer surveyed the scene. Her eyes lingered on the cratered earth and the twisted, unconscious form of the quarter-orc man.

“Move along! The show’s over!”

She shouted, her voice carrying practiced authority. It was clear she was used to scenes like this.

“Unless any of you want to spend the night in the hole, get back to your drinks and your contracts.”

The crowd, sensing the shift in the air, began to disperse with grumbled complaints. The Stronghold Watch was a rough and tumble militia, but they were the only thing resembling law in this lawless place, and they were notoriously short-tempered.

Roland had been surveying the area with the help of his drones and knew that if he tried to fight any of them, they would quickly swarm him. However, while they were powerful as a group, they did not usually go out of their way to arrest people. Most of the time, when a fight broke out, they took in the one who lost and merely reprimanded the other party. Roland had not started the confrontation, but that did not mean he would escape consequences.

“You two, get him to the cloister.”

The woman ordered her companions, gesturing to the broken man.

“The clerics should be able to patch him up, and do not forget to charge him for the bill. Sell his gear if you do not have enough coins.”

Roland did not say anything as he stepped back from the scene of the crime. Millie and Ermes were not talking. Both of them knew the tier-three class holders would ignore their input, and complaining would only make things worse.

“You there. I have not seen you around these parts. Are you new?”

As the two men hauled the mangled hoodlum toward the stone spires of the nearby cloister, the woman turned her attention to Roland’s group. Her hand did not move toward her sword, but her stance was coiled and ready.

“And you. Aren’t you one of Hasim’s men? Didn’t you go missing?”

To Roland’s surprise, the watch leader seemed to recognize Ermes. The name Hasim was also familiar to him. Hasim was the master runesmith who lived here, the leader of the craftsmen in the stronghold, with other master enchantsmiths working under him.

Ermes flinched when the watch leader noticed him, his shoulders tensing as if an old wound had been pressed. Millie clutched his sleeve even tighter, peeking out from behind him with red, wary eyes.

“I… I did go missing.”

Ermes said hoarsely.

“But I managed to come back, so everything is fine.”

Renata raised an eyebrow and finally gave him a more thorough look. The bruising around his neck, the way his breathing still hitched, and the tears in the young girl’s eyes did not go unnoticed.

“Hm. Are you sure you want to go with that? Isn’t there more to this?”

Roland stood in silence, clearly seeing what was happening. The woman was fishing for answers and accusations. While most noncombatant class holders were treated like second-class citizens, they still had their rights. It seemed she wanted to hear a direct accusation of a crime being committed, something that would allow her to punish the perpetrator.

“Y-yes, that’s all. I just got lost for a while, but now I’m back. Everything is fine.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Ermes might tell her the truth, but the words that came out were anything but. It was clear that the blacksmith did not trust the woman or believed that if he spoke, he would be silenced instantly.

Roland had managed to scan the area, but the stronghold was still a mystery. He had no idea who was working with whom. Often, if a person simply did not speak out, they were left alone. This woman could easily be working for whoever had ordered the man to be tossed outside and left for dead.

As far as Roland could tell, the entire situation was some kind of power move by whoever stood behind that orcish man. Everything seemed to revolve around Ermes’ boss, Hasim, potentially ignoring an order for weapons or gear, perhaps to repair them or to craft something new from materials recently obtained in the dungeon.

Finding rare materials in a dungeon was not unusual, but not everyone could turn them into something powerful. Roland was a craftsman himself and could instantly produce weapons, armor, and enchantments suited to his combat style, but most adventurers could not. Even if they found the massive horn of a tier four dragon, they would likely be unable to make use of it.

Creating something from such a material would require either a tier four craftsman or a large team of tier three craftsmen working together for weeks or even months. On top of that, reputable blacksmiths had long waiting lists and would not push existing deadlines aside, even for clients offering more money. It was not surprising that some adventurers would grow furious when rejected, and in this world, people had been killed for far less.

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Renata’s eyes narrowed, her gaze lingering on the dark purple bruises around Ermes’s throat. She wasn’t a fool; she probably knew that he was lying. But in the Stronghold, if the victim refused to point a finger, the Watch rarely bothered to do detective work on their own.

“Suit yourself, Blacksmith, if you change your mind, you know where to find me now for you, stranger…”

She turned her attention back to Roland. Her hand rested casually on the pommel of her greatsword, a subtle reminder that this could turn into a fight at any moment.

“And you. You’ve got a heavy hand for a newcomer. Breaking bones is one thing, but using magic to crater the street? That’s property damage. This isn’t a battlefield, leave some of that for once you’re outside, got it?”

“I understand. I will try to restrain myself from now on.”

“Good.”

Just as he thought, the adventurers here did not care much for peaceful resolutions. He also was not the one who started the fight, which put him in a better position, and for the time being, he was off the hook.

Renata nodded lightly, seemingly satisfied with his compliance, though her eyes lingered on the intricate craftsmanship of Roland’s gauntlets. A woman of her level knew the difference between decorative parade armor and functional, high tier gear. Roland, for his part, kept his posture neutral, his sensors still mapping the mana signatures of the remaining Watch members nearby and adding them to his already large database of this dungeon layer.

“See that you do.”

She added, her tone dropping an octave.

“We do not care much for heroes here, but we care even less for people who make extra work for the mending crews. Stay out of trouble, or you might find yourself in the hole…”