Misterion begrudgingly followed Jonesy outside, purple eyes squinting in frustration and wishful apathy. Once they were far enough from the Guild’s main building Jonesy released his hold, certain Misterion wasn’t about to make another mad dash. Behind the Guild was a large building fashioned to look like a barn they were beelining towards. 

His curiosity and exhaustion was plain to see as Misterion lowered his mask in Jonesy’s lone company, the disguise no longer needed and proven futile. “Why are we heading for the disassembly warehouse?”  

“Ho ho. I guess you haven’t heard the news yet, but Sir Yosef is not the Guildmaster anymore. He retired not too long ago, but he continues to work as a dissassembler.” Jonesy had a wide grin, side-eying his old acquaintance.   

Misterion felt a shiver run up his spine and gulped, thankful his scarf covered his throat. He maintained his deadpan expression, his tone measured and tired. “Then why am I here?”

“You should give him the message.” Jonesy said it as if it was the most logical thing, a smile in his voice. 

Misterion snapped his teeth together, glaring. “Tch. Why not you? I already told the clerk. She should have given the message to you and then it’s your job to relay it to him. This is redundant.”  

“It would be appropriate for the messenger to deliver directly to the receiver, right?” Jonesy’s smile didn’t falter as they reached the doors of the warehouse, scheming and amused. “Go on, Sir Yosef is inside.”

Misterion did nothing for a moment. He shot the deadliest of glares at Jonesy, willing the man to vanish in a puff of smoke back to whatever he was from. A part of him wished just one look would vaporize the man so he would be free. Instead he grunted, still shooting daggers.

“You SO owe me for making me go into literal hell.” Misterion reached up to push the door open, trying to brace himself. Before his hand touched it swung inwards. Out rushed a burst of stale air, a mix of blood and guts that sent a wave of nausea over the mapmaker. 

Unprepared for the burst of foul air, having been in the middle of a breath, Misterion almost gagged. Jonesy seemed impervious to the putrid stench, apparently well accustomed to the bloodbath that lurked inside.

Standing in the doorway was a towering man over seven feet tall. He was burly, thick muscles visible through his shirt. A mane of white hair, pulled back in a ponytail, fell over his shoulders. Faded scars stretched across his face, a long one running across his nose and the other through his left eyebrow. A well kept beard, as white has his hair, framed his face, its mustache pristine. 

Dark gloves reaching up to his elbows were covered in blood while the front of the dark apron was splattered with blood and remains of something Misterion tried not to think too hard about. The man looked hardly pleased, glaring through goggles. He towered a foot and a half over Misterion, making the tall man look like a child.

“What’s this fuss about?” he demanded, frowning at the noise just outside. He lowered his gaze, his expression turning to surprise as he saw Jonesy. “Lex? What are you doing here?” He removed his goggles, revealing pale gray eyes. “Who were you talking to—” He stopped, staring. “By the gods’ holy name! Is that you, Misterion?” 

“No, you’ve got the wrong person,” Misterion flatly replied, glaring up at the giant of a man while pinching his nose.

“SO IT IS YOU! HAHA!” Yosef boomed, his laughter almost like a lion’s deafening roar. Had Misterion not been preoccupied with saving his sense of smell he would have clapped his hands over his ears in annoyance. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Shorty! I haven’t seen you in ages and yet you’re the same! Please come in, come in, don’t mind the mess.” The man stepped to the side, beckoning his company to venture inside.

Unable to retreat, Misterion entered, holding his breath. The warehouse was giant, big enough to house a rather large monster’s corpse in one piece. The corners of each wall had visible magic circles pulsing, containing what was inside except for what wafted out upon a burst of fresh air. 

He took a faint sniff, finding the earlier smell gone—the magic making the building soundproof and smell-proof. On the far side was a large vault, undeniably full of processed remains to avoid spoilage. Shelves were lined with jars full of blood, jammed packed, new jars set on the tables below where space was dwindling.

Misterion’s eyes flickered to the windows, thinking of an escape, but he was sandwiched between two men who were both taller and stronger than him. The annoying Assistant Guildmaster was behind him, blocking his retreat while the monster known as Yosef was in front, nearly blocking out the light with his massive frame. His eyes trailed, taking stock of the room.

There was a box with various materials of monsters, goblin ears and nails likely from a chimera poking out in a sickening fashion as if they were merely children’s toys in a toy chest. Meat hung on hooks, ready to be placed into the likely freezer-like vault. Various people dressed in a similar fashion as Yosef carted boxes full of materials around, all dressed to repel gore. There appeared to be slime residue on the side, a jumble of colors as it seemed like a massacre scene.

Misterion held back a wince. Thank Ina those two aren’t seeing this.

Yosef arrived at his station where he seemed to be in the middle of chopping meat off a decently sized goblin, likely a goblin king. There was a smaller table on the side with iced tea, apparently a sign the mountain of a man had been just about to begin his break. He sat on a chair that was ridiculously too small for him yet it didn't give out, making Misterion wonder for a second if it was enchanted.

“So, have you finally decided to join, Shorty? Took you long enough! HAHA!” Yosef grinned as he took the iced tea, smiling around the cup. “‘Cause we really need your expertise with the recent dungeon discovered not too long ago. Especially with how the monsters are around Rank A- and we can’t let others explore it willy-nilly.”

Misterion loosen his jaw to speak but the former Guildmaster was on a roll, looking welcoming and sincere. “If it’s gold you need, we can provide it for you. We will always welcome you in our branch and give you one of the best positions that is worthy of your skill and talent. We value your contributions.”

“As I told your Assistant over there while I was being taken by force,” Misterion shot a glare at Jonesy who seemed immune, “I’m not here to join. I am to deliver a message or rather news.”

“News?” Yosef sipped his tea, gray eyes alert but relaxed. Muscles flexed as he drank, their definition like a well worked beast’s. Misterion tried to brace himself, taking a sturdy stance.

“It’s about your great granddaughter Syssmi. She and her junior encountered a war troll in the Forest of Thome. She sustained injuries to her le—” The words died on Misterion’s tongue as he snapped his jaw shut, goosebumps breaking out. Even Jonesy seemed a little unprepared, but with his arms behind his back and his slightly amused expression, one could guess the excitement thrilled him.

Yosef’s body was enveloped with mana, the flow of magic visible as an intimidating aura. Workers froze on the spot, eyes on him, holding tight to whatever goods they were responsible for despite a few looking like they might faint or even pee their pants. Rage blazed in his previously calm gray eyes, like a storm brewing over once calm seas. 

Yosef abruptly stood up, placing his cup down but it shattered before it even reached the table. He took a step forward, making the ground crumble and buckle.

The Lion of Simulan had been awakened.

He took heavy steps towards Misterion, his eyes ablaze. The smaller man stood stock-still like prey before a predator, hoping by some mercy it would he granted escape. 

Yosef stopped in front of Misterion, towering as the room grew suffocating. Through clenched teeth he uttered in precise words, “I need details. NOW.”