The dense canopy of Eldoria's northeastern countryside barely filtered the afternoon sun as Tikon shoved through another cluster of low-hanging branches. Sweat trickled down his temple despite the cool autumn air.

"Fucking bureaucrats," he muttered, yanking his inspection form from his satchel. The paper crinkled in his calloused grip as he squinted at the dungeon entrance ahead—if you could even call it that anymore.

The thing looked pathetic. Crumbled stone walls gaped open like a toothless mouth, the once-imposing structure reduced to glorified cave after years of low-level hunters picking it clean.

Moss crawled across shattered bricks. Empty torch brackets jutted from the walls at odd angles.

Tikon rolled his shoulders, feeling vertebrae pop. His lower back screamed from three days riding on shit roads to reach this dead-end assignment. "Instead of sending excavation crews, they send me to verify what everyone already knows."

He approached the entrance, boots crunching on loose gravel and scattered demon core fragments—the worthless kind that fetched maybe two copper pieces at guild markets.

This dungeon had been stripped bare months ago.

Nothing but slimes and goblins remained, and even those were probably starving.

His pencil scratched across the verification form. Location: Northeastern Border, Redwood Territory. Status: Depleted. Recommendation: Decommission and—

GRRRHHHAAAAAARRRRR!

The sound hit like a physical wall.

Tikon's pencil snapped between his fingers. His knees locked.

Every muscle in his body seized as the roar rolled across the countryside—a primal bellow that seemed to shake the very air, rattling leaves from trees fifty, sixty miles distant.

The sound carried weight, ancient and terrible, reverberating through his chest cavity and making his teeth ache.

His breath caught in his throat. Couldn't move. Couldn't think.

Survival instinct.

The kind that makes rabbits freeze when hawks circle overhead. The kind that kept his ancestors alive when things with claws and fangs prowled the darkness.

Tikon's hand trembled violently as feeling returned to his limbs. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he thought they might crack. The inspection form fluttered to the ground.

"No... no, that's not..."

But he knew that sound. Every child in Eldoria grew up hearing the stories. Every hunter learned to recognize the calls of dangerous beasts.

And that roar—that earth-shaking, sky-splitting roar—belonged to only one thing.

He snatched up the paper with shaking fingers, barely managing to grip his pencil. The tip scraped across the form as he scrawled in jagged letters:

Dragon sighting confirmed. Northeastern countryside borders. Immediate threat assessment required.

"Dragon," he whispered, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. "There's a fucking dragon out here."

His chest constricted. When was the last confirmed dragon sighting? Fifty years? A hundred? Dragon Slayers were legends now, stories told in taverns about heroes long dead. Nobody alive had the strength to—

Tikon spun on his heel, stumbling over loose rocks.

His hand dove into his coat, fingers closing around the communication pendant—standard issue for field inspectors, though he'd never thought he'd actually need it for something like this.

The crystal pulsed warm against his palm as he channeled mana into it, establishing connection with the Intelligence Guild's network.

Thirty agonizing seconds passed before the link activated with a soft chime.

"Tikon Thorne." The voice on the other end was smooth, almost bored. "How surprising to receive a call from a Dungeon Guild inspector. What could possibly warrant—"

"I've seen a dragon."

Silence.

Tikon licked his lips, his mind already racing. Information like this... the Intelligence Guild paid premium rates for verified sightings of S-rank threats.

Thirty thousand gold coins—no, he could push for forty. This was his chance.

One piece of information could set him up for life. No more dead-end assignments in forgotten corners of the kingdom. No more—

"You're currently stationed near the northeastern borders, correct?" The voice had shifted, losing its casual tone. Professional now. Calculating.

"Yeah, I—"

"And given your documented power level—Grade C combatant, specializing in observation and documentation—you wouldn't have attempted engagement. You witnessed it from a considerable distance. Estimated fifty to seventy miles based on how fast you contacted us rather running away?"

Tikon's stomach dropped. "Wait, I'm the one providing intel here. I want forty—no, thirty thousand gold coins for—"

"Thank you for your report, Inspector Thorne. Your contribution has been noted, and from now on, use your mind rather than greed."

Click.

The connection died.

"No... no, no, NO!" Tikon stared at the pendant, its crystal fading to dull gray. He pressed it again, pumping mana desperately into the stone. Nothing. They'd closed the channel from their end.

His legs gave out.

Tikon collapsed to his knees on the broken dungeon steps, clutching his head with both hands. The pendant slipped from his fingers, bouncing twice before settling in the dirt.

"Shit! SHIT! How could I be such a fucking idiot?!"

----

The Intelligence Guild headquarters sat in the heart of Eldoria's capital, a massive structure of black stone and enchanted glass that reflected nothing but darkness.

Inside the central chamber, five assistants stood in perfect formation before an ornate desk carved from ironwood. The woman seated behind it hadn't moved since the communication crystal on her desk stopped glowing.

Illiana Ashford, Mistress of the Ashford Intelligence Network and distant cousin to Count Ashford himself, stared at the crystal with those sharp, calculating eyes that had built her reputation. Her fingers drummed once against the armrest.

The silence stretched.

Then Assistant Rodrick stepped forward, bowing low. "Mistress, I trust you heard the report?"

Illiana's lips curved into something that might have been a smile on someone with warmth in their veins. "A dragon. Northeastern borders. Approximately sixty miles from the depleted dungeon site." She leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking softly. "Issue a bounty notice. One hundred thousand gold coins for verified dragon location information."

The number hung in the air like a blade.

Rodrick's eyes widened for just a fraction of a second before his professional mask slammed back into place. "At once, Mistress." He bowed again, already turning toward the archives where bounty notices were drafted and distributed.

"Wait."

Assistant Melinda, the youngest of the five, stepped forward. Her hands clasped behind her back, but her voice carried a thread of uncertainty. "Forgive me, Mistress, but... what if the information proves incorrect? That inspector could have been mistaken. A hundred thousand gold is—"

"Substantial?" Illiana interrupted, her gaze sliding to Melinda like a snake tracking movement. "Excessive, perhaps?"

Melinda swallowed but held her ground. "I only mean to say that such a sum might raise questions about verification. If the dragon isn't found—"

"Then they didn't look hard enough." Illiana leaned forward, resting her chin on interlaced fingers. That smile widened, showing teeth. "Tell me, Melinda, do you understand how information markets work?"

"I... yes, Mistress. Supply and demand dictate—"

"Wrong." The word cracked like a whip. "Perception dictates value. We're not selling dragon hunting permits. We're selling certainty. The higher the price, the more authentic the information appears. One hundred thousand gold coins screams 'verified intelligence from multiple sources' rather than 'some inspector heard a loud noise.'"

She stood, her chair scraping against marble floors. The sound echoed through the chamber.

"The Adventurer's Guild will pay without question because they can't afford not to. Dragon sightings happen once in a century. If they ignore this and civilians die?" Illiana walked around her desk, heels clicking with each measured step. "They'll be disbanded. Stripped of authority. Hunted by angry nobles whose territories burned."

She stopped in front of Melinda, looking down at the younger woman. "The merchant houses will pay because dragon materials are worth fortunes. Scales, blood, bones—each piece worth more than most people earn in lifetimes. They'll send their private hunters."

Illiana turned, addressing all five assistants now. "The noble houses will pay because possessing information their rivals don't is power. They'll mobilize their armies, not to kill the dragon, but to control access to it."

Her smile turned predatory. "And we? We collected this information for free from a desperate fool who thought he was negotiating. We invested nothing. We risk nothing. And we'll sell it twenty, thirty, maybe fifty times over before the month ends."

She returned to her desk, settling back into her chair with the grace of a queen claiming a throne. "Finding the dragon is their problem. Our problem is making sure they all believe they need to buy from us to find it first."

Assistant Rodrick cleared his throat. "The Dungeon Guild will realize we extracted information from their inspector without compensation. There could be... complications."

"They'll complain to Count Ashford, who will remind them that their inspector contacted us voluntarily." Illiana waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, Tikon Thorne broke protocol by attempting to sell classified threat assessment data. The Dungeon Guild should thank us for not reporting him."

She picked up a quill, already drafting notes on parchment. "Now... move. I. want. profits."

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