Reincarnated with SSS-Rank Trait and Unique Ability-Chapter 30: Three Years

A cold wind pushed through the settlement’s narrow streets, curling between rows of brick buildings like a whisper hunting for secrets.

The place was alive with noise. Vendors shouted over one another beneath colourful canopies, their carts stacked with bolts of cloth, dried herbs, glimmering trinkets, and smoked meats. Horses clopped along brick-paved roads, and wagons creaked under the weight of foreign goods. The scent of soot and spice mingled in the air, thick and heavy. Guards in mismatched armour leaned against walls, watching but rarely interfering.

This outpost thrived not because of order, but because chaos was profitable.

And through it all walked a lone figure.

Draped in black, a long coat brushing the tops of his boots, the stranger moved with quiet purpose. Pale blond hair caught the light as it slipped from beneath a black mask that hid most of his face. No insignia marked him. No sound followed him. Yet the crowd seemed to part without thinking.

He turned down a side road and approached a large building with a slate roof and an iron-framed sign swinging in the wind. The Adventurer’s Guild.

Inside, warmth and noise crashed together—boots on floors, mugs slamming tables, laughter, curses, the scrape of blades against whetstones. Men and women clustered around mission boards, bragging about past hunts and debating which contracts were worth the risk.

The masked figure stepped in, and the shift was subtle but instant.

The noise dimmed. Eyes turned, and voices dipped.

He strode toward the board.

Before he could reach it, a man stood, tall and ragged, reeking of sweat and ale, with the uneven gait of someone who’d bled too much in too many wars.

"I’ve heard of you," the man said, stepping into his path. "Seen your kind before. All mask, no face. Let’s see who you really are."

He reached forward, hand twitching near the mask.

There was no warning. No flash of steel. Only the dull, wet sound of flesh hitting brick.

The man’s arm fell to the ground, severed clean at the shoulder.

For a moment, no one moved. The man stared at the stump, swaying in place, then dropped with a crash.

Silence fell like snowfall—thick, smothering and absolute.

The masked figure turned from the body, stepped over the spreading blood, and calmly approached the counter. He picked up a single parchment—a dungeon mission, fresh and unclaimed—then turned and walked out without a word.

The doors creaked shut behind him.

Chaos erupted the moment he left the building. People rushed to the side of their companion as he twitched on the ground, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

"You fool! Are you out of your mind? Did you not hear how he slaughtered last person who tried to take his mask off?" A man wearing a ragged armour screamed at the bleeding man as he used his belt to tie the wound.

Outside, Ares sighed behind his mask. He subtly looked at the sky, reminiscing about how quickly those last three years had passed.

His move to the Eastern Outpost was smooth. The war didn’t quite reach the Wildlands—or rather, avoided them, and so moving from one side of the border to another was not an issue. The Chief had given him two items as they parted ways. A black mask that covered everything but his eyes and fake documentation that gave him an adventure license and a new name—Noir.

He didn’t care much what it’d be, he simply accepted the parting gifts and went toward the location Chief’s contact was meant to meet him. Of course, things never go as planned and the moment he arrived he was on his own.

Luckily, things on this side happened differently. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Anyone could pick up any mission they wanted, getting gold in return for completing them. It was both a perfect opportunity to grow stronger and a way to make a living—Ares didn’t mind either.

Now, he has picked up another mission, his last one.

He made his mind just a day before—it’s been long enough. After completing this task, he will return to the South Outpost and seek the Chief to learn about what happened in the last three years he has been gone.

Soon enough, Ares stepped into the dimly lit inn where he was supposed to meet his newly formed group of companions. He had tried taking on missions solo at first, but it didn’t take long for the limitations to become clear. The lower-tier jobs barely paid enough to get by, while the higher-tier ones were too dangerous for a lone adventurer.

For the past couple of months, he’d started teaming up with random strangers, learning the value of strength in numbers the hard way.

The moment he entered, a voice called out from one of the wooden tables, followed by a wave of a hand.

"Noir!" a red-haired girl called, her voice carrying above the din.

Ares walked toward the source.

Five people sat around the table. The girl who had called out to him was Seris. Her vibrant red hair made her easy to spot. Sitting beside her was her half-sister, Lyra. Though Lyra’s hair was pitch black, their facial features were strikingly similar, as was their age. Both women wore matching suits of blue steel armour that protected them from neck to toe, hinting at coordination and experience.

Seated across from them were three men. The eldest was bald and wore worn-out leather armour. His name was Soren—a seasoned soldier who had chosen to spend his twilight years braving the wildlands rather than dying behind stone walls. Beside him sat Talon and Fenric. Both had unkempt black hair, but Talon’s face was lined with age and experience, while Fenric looked only a few years older than Ares. Talon’s armour gleamed silver and spotless, while Fenric wore a simple leather set that had clearly seen better days.

Ares exchanged a glance with each of them, then silently slid into the only empty chair.

"Well?" Soren asked, his eyes sharp with anticipation.

Without a word, Ares placed a folded piece of parchment on the table and pushed it toward him.

The old man unfolded it, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he read.

"B-Rank Dungeon," he murmured, eyes glinting with the thrill of the hunt.