Chapter 36: Leaving Ormolio
Morning came quietly over Ormolio, but the city no longer felt the same.
The streets still had merchants, guards, workers, and explorers, yet the usual noise carried a heavy restraint now. Broken carts remained near certain roads, guards moved in larger groups, and several buildings near the northern district had shattered windows from Velgrath’s pressure. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, and people spoke more quietly than before, as if the city itself had not fully recovered from the Outbreak.
Atlas walked beneath his black hood and approached the Ruin Explorer Guild.
The building still stood, but the atmosphere inside had changed completely.
The moment Atlas entered, he saw wounded explorers lying across one side of the hall. Some had bandages wrapped around their arms, legs, or heads. Others simply sat against the walls and stared at nothing, their faces blank after surviving something they could not fully process. Guild staff moved constantly between counters, writing names, checking reports, counting monster materials, confirming casualties, and assigning recovery work.
The Outbreak had not truly ended.
It had only moved into recovery, investigation, and cleanup.
Atlas’s gaze passed across the hall before shifting toward the reception counter.
He had come here for one reason.
He needed to withdraw his Guild record, leave Ormolio, and eventually leave the Human Continent itself. Staying in this damaged city would only increase the chance of someone asking questions about the Outbreak, the Monster Storeroom, the missing blood, his unusually fast advancement, or anything connected to the Codex.
Atlas stepped forward quietly.
Then he stopped.
Near the far side of the hall, seated casually at a long wooden table surrounded by high-ranking Guild staff, was Mark.
The man looked out of place among the chaos because he was too calm. While others moved with panic, fatigue, and urgency, Mark sat with one elbow resting against the table and reviewed documents with a relaxed posture. Everyone around him stood stiffly and waited for his words, because after what had happened yesterday, no one in this branch could treat him as a normal Revenant.
Atlas lowered his gaze slightly beneath the hood and tried to pass unnoticed.
Mark looked up.
Just once.
His eyes landed on Atlas.
Atlas did not move differently.
His breathing did not change.
But inside, every instinct sharpened at once.
Mark’s gaze remained on him for several seconds. It was not openly hostile, and it was not full suspicion either. It was focused, as if he had noticed something faintly abnormal beneath the hood and the quiet posture. Atlas had been suppressing his strength, controlling his steps, and trying to move like an average D-Rank explorer, but perhaps that control itself looked strange to someone like Mark.
Mark narrowed his eyes slightly.
Then he spoke.
"Rookie."
The voice was calm, but the nearby hall quieted almost immediately.
Atlas stopped.
Several Guild staff turned toward him, and a few wounded explorers lifted their heads.
Atlas slowly turned toward Mark and lowered his head politely.
"Yes, sir?"
Mark leaned back slightly in his chair.
"What’s your name?"
Atlas felt the attention of the hall settle on him.
He answered calmly.
"Atlas Crosswood."
Mark studied him in silence for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Then he spoke again.
"You have potential."
The words changed the mood around them.
The receptionist behind the counter looked at Atlas with surprise. Several nearby explorers whispered softly. Even a wounded B-Rank sitting against the wall lifted his head slightly. Praise from Mark was not something ordinary explorers received casually.
Atlas kept his expression hidden beneath the hood.
Inside, his thoughts sharpened.
’Troublesome.’
Mark’s gaze remained fixed on him.
"Your presence is controlled."
The words were simple, but Atlas immediately understood the danger behind them.
Mark continued in the same calm tone.
"Not strong. Not yet. But controlled."
Atlas said nothing.
Mark’s eyes narrowed faintly.
"Most rookies either leak fear or arrogance after surviving something dangerous. You don’t. You bury everything."
The hall remained quiet.
Atlas felt his fingers twitch faintly beneath his sleeve.
This man was dangerous not only because of strength, but because he noticed details most people would ignore.
Mark tapped one finger lightly against the table.
"Why not join the Royal Revenants?"
Atlas almost stiffened.
Almost.
He controlled it.
Mark continued naturally, as if he were offering something valuable.
"You can leave your commoner life behind. Training, relics, resources, status... all of it would be provided. Live under the Royal banner, and you won’t have to crawl through ruins for scraps anymore."
Several people in the hall stared at Atlas openly now.
For a commoner, such an offer was difficult to even imagine. It meant training, backing, status, and a chance to rise above birth. To many people in Ormolio, it would have sounded like salvation.
To Atlas, it sounded like chains.
His gaze lowered slightly beneath the hood.
The Royal banner was the same banner that had sent him into the Eternal Ruin as bait. That same authority had treated his life as cheaper than the safety of their true forces. They had expected him to die in the dark so their real elites could enter later and claim whatever relic the ruin contained.
Atlas’s expression remained calm.
But inside, his hatred became steady.
’Damn bastards.’
His fingers slowly curled beneath his sleeve.
’You think I’ll join because you offer resources?’
He remembered the entrance of the Eternal Ruin, the old Scout, the Royal soldiers, and the feeling of being pushed forward while everyone else waited safely behind him.
’One day, I’ll come back.’
Atlas slowly lifted his head.
’And I’ll destroy that royal banner you’re so proud of.’
Outwardly, he gave a small respectful bow.
"I’m grateful for your words, Sir Mark."
His tone remained steady, humble, and controlled.
"But I don’t think I’m suited for that."
Mark said nothing.
Atlas continued carefully.
"I’m a coward. I still get scared fighting monsters around my own rank. Even D-Rank monsters make me hesitate if I face them directly. Someone like me would only waste the Royal banner’s resources."
The hall became silent again.
Some explorers looked disappointed. Some looked confused. A few seemed angry that he had rejected an opportunity they would have accepted immediately.
Mark simply watched him.
Several seconds passed.
Then Mark sighed faintly and leaned back.
"Such a waste of potential."
Atlas lowered his head again.
"I apologize."
Mark waved one hand lazily.
"Don’t. It’s your life."
His gaze returned to the documents in front of him.
Atlas had been dismissed.
He turned away calmly and walked toward the reception counter. Only after several steps did he allow himself to breathe fully again.
The Codex inside his chest remained completely still.
It did not pulse, react, or show hunger.
It was hiding.
That unsettled Atlas more than Mark’s offer.
Even the Bloodbound Codex did not want Mark’s attention.
The receptionist looked up as Atlas approached. Her usual smile was still there, but it was faint and tired after everything that had happened.
"How can I help you today, sir?"
Atlas placed his Guild Card on the counter.
"I want to withdraw my active record."
The receptionist paused.
"...Withdraw?"
Atlas nodded.
"I’ll be traveling."
She looked at him for a moment before lowering her gaze toward the card.
"You’ve only recently advanced to D-Rank."
"I know."
"And with your current record, if you stay, the Guild may assign you better missions once things stabilize."
"I won’t be staying."
The receptionist seemed to understand part of his reason. After the Outbreak, many explorers would leave Ormolio. Some would leave because of fear, some because of grief, and others because the city would not offer the same opportunities for a long time.
She picked up the Guild Card and placed it onto a small glowing platform beneath the counter. Faint runes lit across its surface.
"Your record will not be erased completely," she explained. "It will be archived as inactive. You won’t have active mission obligations from this branch anymore, but if you re-register at another Guild branch later, they may still access basic rank confirmation."
Atlas’s eyes narrowed faintly.
Not erased.
Archived.
Annoying, but expected.
"Can it be withdrawn from branch visibility?"
The receptionist blinked.
"That requires a transfer request or special privacy sealing. Most D-Ranks don’t need that."
"How much?"
She checked a small ledger.
"...Five gold."
Atlas placed the coins onto the counter immediately.
The receptionist stared briefly before processing the request. Several moments later, the glow around the platform dimmed.
"Your active Guild record has been withdrawn and branch visibility sealed. Other branches can still verify that you were once registered, but ordinary staff won’t see details unless you authorize transfer."
Atlas accepted the inactive card.
Useful.
Not perfect, but useful.
"Thank you."
The receptionist gave him a faint nod.
"Safe travels, Atlas Crosswood."
Atlas did not answer.
He turned away and left the Guild.
Mark did not look at him again, but Atlas felt certain the man had noticed his departure.
Ormolio’s market district was quieter than before.
Many shops remained closed because of the Outbreak, but the ones selling travel supplies had opened early. Fear made people buy practical things. Food, medicine, weapons, bags, maps, and tools all moved quickly because people wanted anything that made them feel more prepared.
Atlas moved from shop to shop without wasting time.
First, he bought a large explorer travel bag made from durable black leather reinforced with metal strips. It was built to carry supplies for long-distance travel without tearing easily from weather or weight.
Then he bought food.
Dried meat, hard bread, preserved fruit, salted strips, and water skins. If rationed properly, it could last around a month.
After that, he bought clothes.
Simple black attire, spare trousers, a travel cloak, and extra inner garments. Nothing looked luxurious or noble. Everything was average enough to blend into roads, inns, and border towns without drawing unnecessary attention.
Then he bought tools.
A compass, a watch, a coin pouch, rope, flint, a small repair kit, a basic folding knife, and medicine wraps. None of them were impressive, but every item had a purpose during travel.
By the time Atlas finished purchasing everything, ten gold had disappeared from his pouch.
Once, that amount would have been almost impossible for him to imagine. In the slums, a few copper or silver coins could decide whether he ate or starved. Now he had spent ten gold simply preparing to leave.
Atlas looked at the remaining money in his pouch.
He still had enough.
Enough to last months if he used it carefully.
But he did not feel joy.
Money was not comfort to him. It was distance. Distance from nobles, distance from the Human Continent, and distance from the people who had thrown him into the Eternal Ruin as bait.
With the large explorer bag strapped across his back and his hood lowered over his face, Atlas made his way toward Ormolio’s outer gate.
The city looked damaged behind him.
Smoke still rose faintly from the northern district. Workers moved through broken streets. Families gathered outside healing halls. Guild bells rang occasionally, announcing new reports, recoveries, and confirmed deaths.
Atlas stopped just before the gate and looked back.
Ormolio was the city of his hunger, the city of his slum, and the city where he had learned that starving children were ignored unless someone needed a body to use. He remembered cold nights beneath broken roofs, days without food, hunting animals to survive another morning, and watching stronger people step over the weak without hesitation.
Then he remembered the Eternal Ruin.
The place where he had been sent to die.
Atlas’s eyes darkened beneath the hood.
This city had given him almost nothing and taken too much.
Leaving it did not feel painful or sad.
It felt final.
Atlas exhaled quietly.
"Well..."
His voice was low beneath the wind.
"Goodbye, my past."
He turned away.
No one stopped him.
No one called his name.
No one knew what had just left the city beneath that black hood.
Atlas Crosswood, or rather, Atlas Mariorett, stepped beyond the gate and onto the road stretching away from Ormolio.
The large bag shifted against his back while the cold wind brushed past his face. Behind him stood the city of his old life. Ahead waited borders, foreign continents, ruins, monsters, blood, and whatever path the Codex would force open.
Atlas did not look back again.
He left Ormolio not as the pawn the Royals had discarded, but as the survivor they had failed to kill.
