Chapter 228: A NEW COMPANION
Logan and Ali have both been waiting in Ali’s private chamber.
Logan was still getting impatient, though only twenty or twenty-five minutes had passed. "It’s been so long since I last saw her face. She must be worried sick right now. I need to return as soon as possible." Many thoughts were churning in his mind.
"If I hadn’t let that Third Eye dog escape, none of this would have happened. This time, I won’t leave a single one alive. And as for you, Lady Mirena... your turn will come."
Just when Logan’s thoughts were getting wilder by the second....
Knock! Knock! Someone asked permission.
"Who is it?" Ali asked.
"Guildmaster, it’s me, Noah. We have arrived." From outside, Noah’s familiar voice rang out.
"Get inside," Ali spoke again.
The door creaked open, and a group of people walked in. Noah and Emily walked in at the front. And the moment they did, their eyes fell on Logan. Logan also turned his head toward them.
Both Noah and Emily were surprised. "Logan, is that you?" Emily was unable to contain her shock.
"Mrs. Starwind, it’s been a long time. How have you been?" Logan asked with a polite smile.
"Well, I’ve been fine," Emily replied softly, though a trace of emotion lingered in her eyes. "But you left everyone worried. Two years without a trace. I even thought you were de..." She stopped herself, unwilling to finish the sentence. Saying it out loud would have sounded too cruel.
"I’m truly sorry," Logan said, lowering his voice. "I had my reasons. Think of my parents.. even they still don’t know the truth."
Ali raised a hand, gesturing for everyone to take their seats.
"So this raid on the Third Eye Sect... is it because of you?" Noah finally asked as he sat down. Until now, Ali had kept the details vague about why. He had only explained that the sect was wicked and destroying countless lives, and that to save someone important, he needed their help.
"They were the ones after your life, weren’t they? They tried to kill you."
Logan gave a small nod.
Noah turned slowly toward Ali. "Really, Guildmaster? You could’ve just said this was about Logan. And you..." his tone hardened a little, "you already knew he was alive. Yet you kept it all to yourself and let us worry. Must’ve been quite entertaining for you."
Ali shrugged, unbothered. "Don’t look at me. The brat made me swear not to tell anyone. But whatever. This isn’t the time to argue. Are you all ready? We need to move out now."
"Yes," everyone nodded in agreement.
"But if anyone needs a weapon or an artifact, you can take one from me," Ali said as he rose from his chair. "I have plenty. Just remember.. you’ll have to return it later."
He stepped toward the back wall, pressing his finger against a specific spot. With a faint rumble and a low vibration, a circular section of the wall slid inward. Dust shook loose as the stone shifted, parting on both sides to reveal a narrow passage just wide enough for a person to walk through.
Without another word, Ali stepped inside. He knew he didn’t need to call anyone twice to follow. This was no ordinary room, it was the guild’s weapon vault. More like a treasure chamber.
The Mage’s Court had a vault too, but theirs was mostly stocked with defensive artifacts, mana boosters, and storage rings. This one, however, was different. It was filled with weapons, each one unique, each one carrying a history of its own. Relics collected across centuries. And as the strongest man in Arcadia, Guildmaster Ali was entrusted as their caretaker.
As expected, the moment the passage opened, everyone except Logan rushed in. Despite being adults, their eyes lit up like eager children. After all, the weapons inside weren’t just tools of war, they were legends in themselves.
Seeing the sudden change in their attitude, Logan was a little startled, but he followed the others inside.
They passed through a narrow hallway and emerged into a vast chamber. At first, the room was pitch black. But the moment Ali’s boots touched the polished floor, glowing runes flared to life across the walls, flooding the vault with bright, white light.
Logan entered last. His steps slowed, and his eyes widened in astonishment. Weapons filled the chamber, lined neatly on racks, mounted on stands, displayed as if in honor. Each one carried a unique aura, every blade and staff crafted with masterful precision. Some radiated faint glimmers of elemental energy, others gave off an oppressive, heavy presence.
"So that’s why they all rushed in like excited children," Logan thought, watching the adults scatter eagerly toward different displays.
Ali’s voice suddenly broke through the awe.
"Logan. For clearing the dungeon break and killing the boss—at just thirteen years old, I will allow you to choose one weapon for yourself. And you won’t have to return it. It will be yours permanently. Consider it payment for saving all those lives."
The words struck everyone like a thunderclap. Shock rippled through the group.
"He sure got lucky," one of the four newcomers muttered.
But the man standing beside him shook his head. "Don’t call it luck, Charles. He killed a wyvern, a dungeon boss, by himself at only twelve years old."
Charles fell silent, though his gaze stayed fixed on Logan. "I’ll judge him when I see him fight with my own eyes."
Meanwhile, Logan’s lips curved in a faint smile. His chest tightened with gratitude. "Thank you, Master," he said respectfully, bowing his head toward Ali.
With that, he began walking slowly through the chamber. His footsteps echoed as he passed racks of weapons, towering war hammers, gleaming spears, double-edged greatswords, coiled chains, massive axes, and slender katanas. Every weapon radiated power, each seeming to whisper of battles fought in forgotten eras.
Finally, Logan stopped. His eyes settled on a sword resting upright on a stand.
It was unlike the others. The blade was long and straight, forged from a deep black steel that seemed to drink in the surrounding light. Its edges, however, gleamed with a silver sheen so sharp they looked capable of cutting through stone. The cross-guard was simple yet bold, black with a subtle crescent design engraved at the center, hinting at hidden craftsmanship. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, balanced by a polished steel pommel that caught the glow of the runes. It wasn’t overly ornate, but there was a quiet authority about it, a sense of weight and purpose.
Logan reached out, his fingers brushing the cool surface of the hilt. A faint shiver ran down his arm... not of fear, but of recognition.
"This one," he whispered to himself.