When the Serial Killer Next Door Gained Harem System

It occupied nearly an entire side of the street, flanked by two smaller buildings—a blacksmith’s workshop to the left and what looked like a small stable to the right. Smoke drifted from the smithy’s chimney, the rhythmic sound of hammer on metal echoing down the street. From the stable came the snorting of horses and the clank of reins being checked.

The Guild itself looked formidable. Two stories tall, built with solid blocks of gray stone, and fronted by wide wooden doors large enough to roll a wagon through. A wooden sign hung overhead, burned with a crest: a crossed sword and quill. Even someone new to this world could understand the meaning—strength and knowledge, war and contracts.

Stone steps led up to the entrance, worn down by the feet of whoever had come here before me. I stopped just short of the doors and took a slow breath. This place was loud in the way a castle might be—not in sound, but in weight. Signing up for anything inside meant committing to this world in a way I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

But I needed a roof tonight. Food tomorrow. Answers eventually.

"Here goes nothing..." I muttered as I opened the door.

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> Ace | LC: 0 | EXP: 40/100

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> HP ▰▰▰▰▰▰▱▱▱▱ 64/100

> MP ▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱▱▱ 22/60

> STA ▰▰▰▰▱▱▱▱▱▱ 31/80

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> [ BAG ] [ MAP ] [ SHOP ] [QUESTS]

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Inside, the air carried the scent of ink, wood polish, warm food, and leather. A lively hum filled the space, though not chaotic—more like a guild hall should be: people talking, chairs scraping, coins hitting tabletops, pages turning, someone laughing across the room. It was an organized flurry of life—work being done, contracts changing hands, adventurers coming and going.

The hall was broad and open, supported by large wooden beams overhead. To the left stood a massive structure that wasn’t quite a wall but functioned like one—an entire board made of dark wood, stretching from floor to the ceiling beams. Sheets of paper were pinned across it, pinned so thickly in some parts that they overlapped. Each sheet had small drawings, stamps, or lettering, most likely the quests the guild offered.

Tables filled the center of the room. Some were occupied by armed adventurers; others by people who looked like students or civilians applying signatures to documents.

And at the back of the room stood the counter.

A young woman manned the desk, probably twenty at most, wearing a crisp vest and fitted shirt. Her hair was tied back neatly, and thin rectangular glasses sat on her face, giving her a sharp, intelligent look. She watched the room with a professional sort of calm, not smiling but not unfriendly either. A ledger lay open on the desk, covered in pages of names and stamped papers.

As soon as the door closed behind me with a soft thud, the woman flicked her eyes up.

"Okay..." I mumbled to myself. "What now?"

I looked at the board, then the counter, then the dozens of people who clearly knew what they were doing. I was the only person here who probably had no idea where he belonged.

The woman behind the counter raised a brow slightly, wordlessly inviting me to approach if I needed assistance. I swallowed, straightened my shoulders, and stepped forward. If I was going to survive here, this was the place to start, definitely.

"Hello," I said, keeping my voice low. The Guildhouse smelled of old parchment, wood polish, and faint ale—busy but not chaotic.

The woman behind the counter—mid-thirties, practical brown hair tied back, wearing a simple green tunic with the guild’s emblem stitched on the sleeve—barely looked up from her ledger.

"Board’s on your left," she said. "Pick a paper and bring it to me."

"Alright. Thanks."

"Mm."

I turned left. A massive corkboard dominated the wall, layered with dozens of pinned parchments—some crisp and new, others yellowed and curling at the edges. Bounty notices, escort requests, monster hunts. Kill a bandit group harassing the eastern road, 50 silver, high risk. Clear out a goblin-infested cave near the mill, 40 silver, group recommended. Retrieve stolen heirloom from a ruined manor, 60 silver, possible traps. The words swam for a second. This was real. Dangerous, bloody real.

My eyes scanned lower, hunting for something that wouldn’t get me killed on day one.

There.

A modest sheet near the bottom: Gatherer Quest–Niakrandra Bloom

Objective: Collect 5 fresh Niakrandra blossoms.

Reward: 30 silver

Deadline: Before dawn tomorrow.

Notes: Blooms only at night near bodies of still water. Handle with care—petals bruise easily.

A small, hand-drawn sketch occupied the corner of the page. The flower was... striking. Slender silver-white petals curved like crescent moons, each one edged in faint, luminescent blue that seemed to shimmer even on paper. A thin, glowing stamen rose from the center like a delicate glass filament, tipped with a single drop of liquid starlight. The stem was dark violet, almost black, twisting elegantly as if reaching toward the moon itself. Something about the drawing made my chest tighten—not fear, exactly, but a strange pull. Like the flower was whispering secrets only visible after dark.

Thirty silver. Enough to pay Dierthen back and maybe cover a night at an inn. And it didn’t involve swords or monsters. Perfect.

I tugged the parchment free and carried it to the counter.

The woman took it without comment, scanned the text, then ducked below the counter. She resurfaced with a thick leather-bound ledger, flipped through worn pages until she found a blank one, and picked up a plain quill.

"Niakrandra grows near bodies of water," she said as she dipped the quill in ink. "Start by checking the ponds and streams outside the western gate. Moonlight’s the key—don’t pick them early."

"Thank you."

"Name and surname, please."

"Ace Walker."

"Ace..." She murmured, then wrote it down in neat, slanted script. "Walker. This quest has a deadline—today. Good luck."

"Thank you."

She lowered the quill and pressed its nib firmly against the bottom of the quest parchment. The moment it touched, the paper flared brilliant gold.

Light spread outward from the point of contact, racing across the surface in thin, branching veins until the entire sheet shimmered like molten metal. The air hummed softly. The gold did not stay still—it shifted, rippled, as though something beneath the parchment had awakened.

Then the light began to move. It streamed back toward the quill.

Slowly at first, then faster—drawn into the nib in thin strands, like liquid sunlight being siphoned upward. The pen pulsed in response, drinking it in. The golden glow climbed the metal tip and flickered along the shaft in delicate runes before sinking into the dark body of the quill.

The parchment crumbled into light.

Not burned. Not torn.

Absorbed.

The golden surface dissolved from the edges inward, peeling away in glowing fragments that flowed straight into the pen until nothing remained in her hand but empty air. She traced my name again in a quick flourish, added her own signature beside it, and the golden signature dimmed to ordinary ink. The pen returned to normal.

"That’s it," she said, sliding the paper back to me. "Accepted."

"Hey," I said before I could second-guess myself. "Could you tell me the prices of some taverns? How much for a room for the night, for example?"

"The cheapest start at twenty silver," she replied, voice flat and serious. "And it only goes up from there. No haggling after dark."

"Twenty... alright. Thank you."

I gave her a small nod, and walked out.