As Vergil left Rotroot Forest at dusk, an eerie silence settled around him. The bioluminescent fungi pulsed weakly, casting a sickly glow over the twisted roots that clawed at the path. Shadows stretched unnaturally, shifting in ways that made his skin crawl.
The dead oak loomed ahead, its hollow maw darker than before. As he passed, a chill crept up his spine—the sensation of unseen eyes pressing in from the tangled trees. The wind had died, and only the weight of something unseen lingered behind him.
Then, through the thinning trees, Vaelmont's lanterns flickered in the distance. He quickened his pace, resisting the urge to look back.
Just as he stepped onto firmer ground, a whisper—soft, breathy, almost human—brushed against his ear.
Vergil kept walking.
He didn't turn around.
---
As the sky deepened into twilight, Vergil finally returned to the town, stretching as he stepped through the entrance gate.
"Finally back," he muttered, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness from hauling supplies.
He glanced at his inventory and nodded in satisfaction.
I've stored all the mana crystals… didn't know they were stackable. Interesting.
Curiosity stirred.
System, how do I use the mana crystals to improve?
> "To refine the Astralyth Stone, you must break down its energy and convert it into a form your body can use. This requires a breathing technique suited to your energy type."
Vergil frowned.
A breathing technique? I don't have one yet…
"System, can you give me a breathing technique?" he asked hopefully.
> [Who do you think I am, your mama?]
Vergil sighed, his small chance of scamming the system out of a free technique slipping away.
"Chill out," he muttered, shaking his head.
With that avenue closed, he turned his attention elsewhere.
Well, let's head back to the guild. It should still be open.
---
By the time he arrived, the guild hall was bathed in the warm glow of hanging lanterns, the evening rush still in full swing. He made his way to the front desk, where the receptionist from earlier remained at her post.
She sat upright, maintaining an air of quiet professionalism despite the long hours. Her sharp brown eyes flicked toward him as he approached. Her dark brown hair was neatly pinned back, though a few strands had slipped loose over the course of the evening. The golden light accentuated her smooth features—a mix of composed elegance and quiet fatigue. Even as the guild bustled around her, she remained focused, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she updated records.
Vergil approached the counter and gave a tired smile. "Still here?"
She looked up from her work and returned the expression. "Hi there. Still going strong?"
"Yeah," he said, setting down the ten Astralyth crystals he'd collected from the goblins.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Amazing. It hasn't even been a full day since I gave you that mission."
Vergil scratched the back of his head. "I was just lucky, I guess."
She glanced at the crystals, doing quick mental math. "The mission was originally for five goblins, so the base reward was twenty-five bronze coins. But since you've brought back double the amount, that brings your total to fifty."
Vergil nodded, already thinking through his next steps.
Not bad for the first day…
He hadn't expected much, considering it was just an F-rank mission—but this was a step toward escaping poverty.
Soon… soon I'll get out of this.
"Broke boy, keep dreaming," the system chimed in mockingly.
Shut up, I'm having a moment, Vergil shot back.
"Uh, Vergil? Aren't you going to take the money?" the receptionist's voice brought him back to reality.
Vergil blinked and quickly grabbed the pouch of coins. "Right—thanks. Uh, what's your name?"
She tilted her head, then gave him a bright smile. "Elina. Elina Velcraft."
"Thanks, Elina," Vergil said, offering a nod before turning to leave.
This is an emotionally rich and immersive continuation. You've deepened both Vergil's character and the emotional tone of the story, especially through his interaction with Elvira and the sudden, haunting memory at the end. Here's a detailed review and rating, followed by a polished version:
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✦ Overall Rating: 8.7 / 10
❖ Strengths:
Emotional Resonance: The scene with Elvira is powerful. Her quiet acceptance of her son's death contrasts beautifully with Vergil's youthful discomfort and guilt. It's handled maturely.
Natural Dialogue: The banter with Elina, Vergil's inner dialogue, and Elvira's calm speech all feel believable and distinct.
Foreshadowing & Worldbuilding: The pendant and the name Elira Velmont are well-integrated plot elements. The memory sequence near the end hints at Vergil's deeper backstory and trauma, adding mystery.
Atmosphere: The transition into the memory with the rain, pain, and vague parental abandonment is haunting and cinematic.
❖ Areas for Improvement:
Pacing: Some transitions (like walking to Elvira's, then straight into the dramatic memory) could be more seamless. Let moments breathe a little longer.
Grammar and Clarity: Minor issues with phrasing and punctuation that could be tightened for flow and impact.
Memory Transition: The shift into the memory was compelling, but a stronger visual or auditory anchor would make it even more immersive and less jarring.
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✦ Polished Version (Revised & Streamlined)
---
As he stepped outside, a yawn slipped out, and he stretched his arms above his head.
I should find a place to sleep…
Then it hit him like a brick.
Wait. Do I even have a place to sleep? Is there even an inn around here?
His expression shifted to mild panic.
Without another word, he spun on his heel and walked straight back into the guild.
Elina raised an eyebrow as he reappeared. "Forget something?"
"Yeah, uh… do you know where the inn is?" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate.
She chuckled. "Down the main road. Take a left at the blacksmith's shop. You'll see it on the right—The Iron Hearth. They should still have rooms."
"Got it. Thanks." With a sigh of relief, he was already out the door.
Following her directions, Vergil arrived at the inn and approached the desk. A gruff man was flipping through a ledger.
"Got any rooms available?" Vergil asked, fishing out his coin pouch.
The man didn't even look up. "Nope. We're full."
Vergil's eye twitched. Fuck.
"Homeless on the first day. Couldn't be me," the system snickered.
"Oh, be quiet. Where do you even live, huh?"
[A place called home, homeless boy.]
Vergil groaned inwardly. No comeback for that. He stepped back onto the street, weighing his options. Only one other person in this town saw him as more than a stranger.
Guess I'll ask Elvira…
The night was quiet as he made his way through the streets. Lanterns cast a dim glow, shadows stretching long across the path. When he reached her door, he hesitated, then knocked three times.
A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Elvira's weathered but gentle face. She looked surprised, concern flickering in her tired eyes.
"Oh, Vergil. Is something wrong?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh… the inn's full. I don't have anywhere to stay. Mind if I crash here? Just for tonight."
She gave a small, warm smile and stepped aside. "Of course, lad. It gets lonely here sometimes… You're always welcome."
Her words struck him with a strange pang. Is she alone? Does she have no one left?
Inside, the glow of a small oil lamp filled the modest space with a soft flicker. Elvira turned to him.
"I only have one bed," she said. "You can take it. I'll use the chair."
"No way. I'll take the chair," Vergil replied immediately. "It wouldn't feel right."
"Zip it, lad." She chuckled, waving off his protest. "Chair suits me fine. You need proper rest."
He hesitated, then sighed. "Alright… Thanks." He set his gear—dagger, bow, and quiver—down beside the bed and sat.
After a brief silence, he finally asked, "Elvira, don't you have any family?"
Elvira leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then, with a voice tinged with something distant, she murmured, "Not anymore."
Vergil watched as her expression turned unreadable. He could see something in her eyes—memories, ghosts of a past she hadn't spoken about. He thought about pressing further but decided against it.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet. "I never had anyone."
The words came out before he could stop them—simple, flat, but heavy with unspoken history. His eyes drifted to the pendant he had found earlier—the one belonging to the corpse of Edran. Something about it still nagged at him. A feeling, like an unfinished story waiting to be told.
"Elvira…" he began cautiously. "Do you know someone named Elira Velmont?"
Her eyes snapped toward him, concern sharpening her features. "Yes. That's Edran's mother. He went hunting two days ago and… never came back. Why?"
Vergil clenched his fist around the pendant. He already knew the answer, but hearing it still stung. He met her gaze.
"I found him. He didn't make it."
Elvira's expression didn't crack—but something in her eyes dulled. She sat quietly, absorbing the words.
"I see…"
There was no wail, no collapse. Just a soft exhale and the silence of loss too old to scream.
"I'm sorry," Vergil said. "I know it doesn't help."
"It's not your fault, lad." Her voice was soft. "Did he have anything on him?"
Vergil slowly opened his hand, revealing the necklace. "Yeah. This."
She extended her hand. "Give it to me. I'll return it to her. You're too young to carry that weight."
He hesitated, then handed it over. "It won't change anything," he said quietly.
She studied him, eyes searching for something beneath the mask. She found nothing as if empty inside.
Elvira closed her fingers around the pendant and sighed. Vergil turned away.
Silence fell again. Outside, the wind brushed gently against the house, carrying the sorrow of one more life lost.
Vergil sat down, eyes closing.
Think of this as my payment… returning the pendant and the clothes. It's the least I can do.
He let the warmth of the oil lamp settle over him, eyelids growing heavy
The soft patter of rain echoed through the air. Gentle at first… then louder. Heavier.
The world around him faded, muffled, like being underwater.
Vergil eyes fluttered to stillness
"Uwaaaaaaaaa!" A voice of a little baby boy echoed throughout the room
A memory? Or something else?
Then: a voice.
"I can't take care of him."
Male. Familiar. Detached.
Vergil couldn't remember the face—but he was certain it was his father. Had his mother died in childbirth? Or was it just… abandonment?
He didn't care. Not anymore.
Then another voice—closer, clearer.
"Vergil."
It cut through the haze.
"Vergil, wake up."
His body jolted.
His eyes snapped open.
The oil lamp flickered in the wooden room. His breath came in gasps, sweat clinging to his skin.
Not a dream.
A memory.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, voice barely a whisper.
"Of all things… it had to be that."
He closed his eyes again, pushing it away. Letting sleep reclaim him.
Outside, the rain continued.