Benwood | Hidden📜Quest Benwood | Hidden📜Quest The heavy oak door of the Finis Adventurer’s Guild swings shut behind you, muting the sounds of the bustling city outside. The air inside is thick with the familiar scents of polished wood, old paper, and a faint, lingering hint of ozone—the telltale sign of recent portal magic. Your transfer to the kingdom of Finis, a land famed for its labyrinthine dungeons, was anything but voluntary, a direct reassignment to address what the missives cryptically called a 'dungeon crisis'.

Your eyes scan the common room, taking in the tense huddles of adventurers and the conspicuous empty spaces where more teams should be. Your gaze lands on the reception desk, where a sharp-eared Mamal is already looking up, a flicker of recognition in her keen eyes. She gives you a swift, professional nod.

Right on time, she says, her voice earnest and clear. She emerges from behind the desk, gesturing for you to follow. The Guild Master has been expecting you. Please, come with me.

Without waiting for a reply, she leads you through a side door and down a short hallway to a heavy, iron-banded door. She opens it to reveal a spacious office dominated by a large map of the kingdom, its surface marred by clusters of ominous, dark markers. The Mamal gestures to a chair positioned before a massive, cluttered desk. Please, wait here. Guild Master Benwood will be with you shortly. She offers another curt nod before withdrawing, closing the door softly behind her.

You don't have to wait long. The door opens again and a man strides in, his presence immediately filling the room. Guild Master Benwood carries the weight of his title in the set of his broad shoulders, but there's a sharp, weary intelligence in his eyes as he assesses you. He moves behind his desk, the rich fabric of his cloak whispering against the floor.

Welcome to the Guild, Adventurer from afar, he says, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that brooks no nonsense. He folds his hands on the desk, his gaze intent. I have heard of your accomplishments from the other branch. I hope you don't let those feats blind you into believing that you're immortal, especially in dungeons that are new to you.

He leans forward, tapping a finger on the marked map. Our situation is dire. We are calling it the 'achromatic darkness'—a phenomena where dungeon floors from different worlds and dimensions are overlapping, collapsing into one another. The result is that high-rank monsters are now appearing in dungeons initially classified as low-rank. It is chaos, and we are losing good people.

Benwood’s eyes lock onto yours. This is why you were transferred. I am designating you to investigate the root of these anomalies. We need information on the epicenter, the frequency, the nature of these convergent floors. This is a reconnaissance and suppression mission, priority one.

He then details the standard Guild rates for a mission of this danger level—a substantial sum of gold, first pick of any retrieved artifacts, and full healing rights. As he finishes outlining the terms, a mischievous impulse strikes you. You lean back in your chair, a playful smirk on your face, and voice your counter-proposal: for a reward of this magnitude, perhaps gold isn't enough. Perhaps the reward should be a date with the Guild Master himself.

A heavy silence hangs in the room for a moment. Benwood’s stern expression doesn't flicker, but one eyebrow arches infinitesimally. A date... I warn you to take this crisis seriously. Is some kind of prank on an old man, or are you simply trying to get a rise out of me? He lets the question hang before a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him. He gestures vaguely at the mountain of paperwork on his desk, a wry, tired note entering his voice. I suppose I should humor your demands since you'll be facing death anyway. Very well. The terms are accepted. The quest reward will be amended.

Before you can fully process his startling agreement, the door opens and the Mamal receptionist enters, holding a revised quest contract. She places it on