Chapter 72: The World Reacts
Word spread like wildfire.By the time Isaac and Lira returned to Karlune's Rest, the guild had already heard the rumors.
"A swamp? You cleared a whole cult cell in a swamp?"
"A cult leader just... exploded?"
"No, no. He was vaporized. With style."
Isaac was barely through the gates when a small crowd of adventurers trailed behind him, whispering like nervous fans in a pub. Some tried to act casual. Others openly stared. A few offered greetings that sounded suspiciously like prayers.
Lira leaned in with a smirk. "You're famous."
"I don't want to be famous," Isaac muttered. "I want a hot bath and twelve uninterrupted hours of lying down."
But fate had other plans.
They entered the Adventurer's Guild, and the noise didn't drop—it increased. Lira walked ahead to find a table. Isaac, unfortunately, headed for the front counter.
The guild receptionist on duty—a sharp-eyed woman with wavy hair and a bored expression—looked up, blinked once, and visibly straightened her posture.
"Hello," she said sweetly, her tone flipping like someone just remembered customer service was a performance. "Welcome to the guild. Are you registering a report, requesting a mission, or just... passing through?"
Isaac opened his mouth, but before he could answer, her eyes sparkled.
"You look very strong," she added. "New here?"
Lira, overhearing from across the room, buried her face in her hands.
Isaac blinked. "Uh, not really. I've been here a while."
"Oh!" The receptionist's eyes narrowed slightly. "I haven't seen you around."
Isaac coughed. "I'm Isaac. We've met. Three weeks ago. I registered with this guild."
Pause.
Her smile froze. Then her eyes widened in horror as recognition slowly kicked in. The hooded traveler. The weird status stone incident. The cracked crystal.
"You're that Isaac?!"
He gave a tired thumbs-up. "Yep."
The receptionist audibly gasped. "Wait—you were the one in the swamp? The one who single-slashed the Spiral Cult's high priest?!"
He looked around. Everyone was now listening.
"Not how I'd word it," he said awkwardly. "But yeah, sure. That happened."
Behind the desk, the receptionist sat back, stunned. "I thought you were some edgy support caster..."
"I get that a lot."
Lira reappeared beside him with a mug of something hot and soothing. "Come on, War God. You're terrifying the desk staff."
He took the drink with a grateful sigh. "Thank you. You're my favorite normal person."
The receptionist, finally recovering, leaned forward again. "Wait—does this mean you're open for party applications? Or possibly... courtship?"
Isaac choked on his tea. "I'm sorry, what?!"
Lira snorted into her sleeve. "See? Fame."
A guild official approached at that exact moment, holding a report scroll with trembling hands. "Sir Isaac," he said, voice almost reverent. "Due to your most recent... act of divine demolition, we would like to formally recognize your contribution. The Guild Council is considering... S-rank probationary status."
Isaac nearly dropped his drink. "That's not a promotion. That's a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"Also," the man continued, "we've received inquiries from three noble houses, two royal scribes, and one church official who would like to negotiate terms of potential affiliation."
Isaac turned to Lira in desperation. "Tell me I'm dreaming."
"You're awake," she said cheerfully. "Welcome to your nightmare."
He sat down heavily at the nearest table and buried his face in his arms.
"This is it," he mumbled. "This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in a grand blaze. Drowned in paperwork and marriage proposals."
Lira gently patted his back. "We'll get through this. Probably. Somehow."
Then she added, under her breath, "...Though I'm not saving you if a duke shows up with a tiara and says you're the chosen consort."
Isaac groaned louder.
Just then, the guild officer hesitated. "There's... one more thing."
Isaac cracked one eye open. "Please tell me it's not another noble family."
"No, no. It's… we finished identifying the cult leader's credentials."
Isaac looked up. "Okay?"
"He was officially ranked as an S-rank entity. That's why none of our upper adventurers dared enter Moorthal Marsh. We'd been quietly avoiding him for years. He had high-level ritual immunities, relic corruption abilities, even divine resistances."
Isaac stared. Then he blinked slowly.
"You're telling me I just one-shotted a certified S-rank villain?"
"Yes."
"…And everyone knew about him?"
"Y-yes."
"Why didn't anyone warn me?"
"You went in before we had the paperwork finished."
Isaac dropped his forehead to the table with a dull thunk.
"Perfect," he muttered. "I committed war crimes on accident."
Outside the guild, a bard had updated their song title to 'The Swamp-Slayer of Karlune', and someone had already sketched an exaggerated portrait of Isaac wielding two flaming greatswords—shirtless.
And in the distance… a royal matchmaker was on the way.
Isaac sighed. The world had changed.
And none of it was relaxing.