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  The day began calmly. Don had returned the previous night, and before the sun had fully risen, he had already left again. He said he was heading to the guild to take care of a few things and that Merlin and I could go later, no rush.

  Viola, as always, was brimming with energy. She talked about future missions as if we were already in the middle of them. We had to leave her behind for now, but we promised we would soon be completing missions together.

  The capital looked just as it had the day before—bright, busy, and curiously organized.

  The constant murmur of conversations blended with the rhythmic hammering of blacksmiths, the rumble of carriages rolling through the streets, and the insistent calls of vendors swearing their goods were the finest in all of Valoria. The scent of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby bakery, warm and sweet, while across the street two men argued over the price of spices with almost absurd seriousness.

  We walked at an unhurried pace.

  Merlin kept her hands tucked into her sleeves, shoulders relaxed, observing everything with genuine curiosity. The wind gently moved her hair, and every now and then she slowed down just to take a closer look at something.

  “It’s funny,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly.

  “What is?”

  “Even after that thing with the teleport towers… no one seems worried.”

  I followed her gaze. A man was complaining about the price of fruit as if it were the greatest problem in the world. Two children nearly bumped into me while chasing each other with a stick they pretended was a sword. A guard leaned on his spear, yawning, clearly bored.

  “Maybe they just have complete confidence in Valoria’s security,” I replied.

  “Hm…” she hummed thoughtfully, eyes still scanning the street. “I guess so.”

  It was strange to think that a single person could sustain such a widespread sense of safety. Guaranteeing stability for a city this large couldn’t be simple. Valoria’s system truly was impressive.

  For a moment, I wondered if this was what stability actually looked like. Not something grand. Just constant repetition. People living their days without needing to look over their shoulders.

  We passed a group of younger adventurers animatedly discussing a recent hunt. They gestured too much. Laughed too loudly.

  My skill indicated they were Class C.

  Merlin watched them for a few seconds before smiling faintly.

  “Do you think our adventures will be that fun?”

  “If they’re all like Cirgo, I think I’ll die,” I replied.

  She laughed, the sound light—almost too easy.

  “You exaggerate.”

  “No. That was unnecessarily complicated.”

  “But it was fun.”

  I looked at her.

  “Didn’t you say you almost died?”

  “And you said you lost your head.”

  “I did.”

  She gave my arm a small shove, clearly satisfied with the exchange.

  “It’s true, at the beginning I felt a little lonely, since you were so busy. I just wandered around and watched people,” she said, glancing down at the ground.

  “But… I learned a lot. I’m glad that in the end I was able to help. Besides, fighting was fun too. Telos left satisfied, so I think I did a good job.” She finished with a faint smile.

  When I thought about Cirgo, there were good moments. But the rest hadn’t been simple.

  When I remembered Orion and Honda, I felt a weight in my chest. They died with so much hatred in their hearts.

  Merlin had changed a lot over these past months. She looked at the world with genuine curiosity, and beyond that, she carried affection for each person she saw—you could see it in her eyes.

  Even Telos. She spoke of him with respect, which felt alien to me, speaking that way about someone who tried to kill you. But Merlin had become that kind of person.

  ‘Maybe if those two had fought with you instead of me…’

  I cut the thought off. Even if it returned often, thinking about it wouldn’t change anything.

  That was when I noticed Merlin had slowed down.

  She had stopped in front of a shop window.

  I approached and realized it was a jewelry store. Delicate pieces arranged carefully, reflecting sunlight in tiny glimmers.

  “Did you find something you want?” I asked.

  “Oh, no…” she replied quickly, but kept looking. “I just thought this one was cute.”

  She pointed to a double necklace. The flower carved at the center had an intense pink hue, almost luminous. The petals were crafted with fine detail, resembling a Lavender Rose.

  “It is cute,” I admitted.

  She tilted her head slightly, studying it for a few more seconds before stepping back.

  “But we’re heading to the guild, right? Better not spend anything before we officially start working.”

  I nodded.

  Still, before following her, I gave the necklace one last look.

  “If we’re staying here,” Merlin continued as we resumed walking, “maybe it’s better to make it official soon. I’d really like to fly again as soon as possible.”

  There was a genuine sparkle in her eyes when she said that.

  “Ah, right. There’s that,” I replied. “If we’re officially part of the guild, we’ll have more freedom.”

  She gave a small nod.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Viola explained it to me. If we don’t enlist officially, it’s like working without registration. Convenient, but not very smart.”

  I agreed silently. Informal missions were simple—but limited. If we intended to operate freely within the capital, official recognition was inevitable.

  “Let’s settle it today,” I said. “Hopefully Don can help us.”

  Merlin smiled faintly.

  “He will. Even though he’s quiet, he always seems to know exactly what to do. He has this… responsible air.”

  The central district was getting closer, along with the heavier flow of adventurers. Capes, light armor, swords strapped to backs. Some overly confident. Others clearly trying to look confident.

  I glanced at Merlin.

  She looked genuinely excited.

  We headed toward the guild building without hurry.

  The day was only just beginning.

  ━━━━━━━━━?◆?━━━━━━━━━

  As we turned the main corner, the guild building finally came into view.

  Even though I had heard about it, I was still surprised.

  The structure blended traditional and modern in a nearly contradictory way. The outer walls were made of gleaming silver metal, reflecting sunlight almost blindingly. For a moment, I had to narrow my eyes.

  At the same time, the architectural lines evoked a much older era. Carefully crafted stone arches supported the fa?ade, and tall stained-glass windows decorated the sides.

  Merlin stopped beside me.

  “That’s… beautiful.”

  “I feel intimidated…”

  She smiled slightly.

  “You always choose the most negative emotion.”

  “Not my fault…”

  The glass doors slid open automatically as we approached. The contrast with the imposing structure was almost absurd—refined technology embedded in a building that looked like it had stepped out of an ancient chronicle.

  As soon as we entered, we were swallowed by a diverse crowd.

  Elves crossed the hall with light, measured steps, their fitted garments swaying gently. Dwarves, sturdy and loud, argued about contracts with almost comical intensity, their thick beards trembling with each point made. Humans mixed among them all, ranging from worn armor and simple cloaks to more refined attire.

  The polished marble floor reflected the bright ceiling lights, creating an almost clinical sense of cleanliness. Large digital panels blinked above the counters, alternating queue numbers in multiple languages. Soft chimes signaled calls for service.

  “This place really makes Cirgo look like the Stone Age…”

  Merlin slowly turned in place, taking everything in.

  “It’s huge!”

  The waiting areas had cushioned chairs arranged in symmetrical rows. Attendants in impeccable uniforms moved with calculated efficiency between counters, collecting documents, registering data, guiding adventurers.

  She stepped slightly closer to me.

  “Do you think they’ll be strict with us?”

  “Like how?”

  “Tests. Evaluations. Suspicious looks.”

  I watched an attendant coldly analyze a form before stamping it with mechanical precision.

  “Probably.”

  She let out a small sigh, but didn’t seem worried.

  “Don should be around here,” I murmured.

  Merlin nodded.

  “Then let’s register officially.”

  We joined the queue indicated on the digital panel, waiting our turn beneath the bright lights.

  A soft sound echoed from the overhead display.

  Counter 14.

  The number blinked in blue.

  “It’s our turn,” Merlin said, stepping forward.

  We approached the counter. The attendant behind it was a human woman with a serene expression, her hair tied in a flawless bun and her uniform perfectly aligned. There was something almost mechanical about the precision of her movements.

  “Good morning. Initial registration or classification update?”

  “Good morning. Initial registration,” I replied.

  She analyzed us briefly, not with suspicion, but with the neutrality of someone accustomed to evaluating hundreds of people per day.

  “Understood. A metamorph and a spirit. Are you a duo?”

  “Yes, we are,” Merlin answered naturally.

  The attendant retrieved two white cards. In the lower right corner was a small black square, smooth as polished glass.

  “Please channel your mana into your thumb and place it on this area for five seconds.”

  We did as instructed.

  The moment I touched the card, I felt it absorb my mana. On the black square, my fingerprint appeared, glowing in iridescent colors—almost like a contained rainbow.

  Merlin’s appeared in soft shades of pink and blue, pulsing faintly.

  She retrieved the cards and placed her hand over each one. An orange glow passed over the surface. Within seconds, a small projection appeared above them: our photos, names, class, and guild identification.

  Merlin’s eyes widened.

  “Oh! What did you do?”

  The attendant blinked, slightly surprised by the enthusiasm.

  “It’s my extra skill [Imprint]. It allows me to materialize any information from my mind onto a surface. Naturally, I used [Analysis] beforehand.”

  “Impressive…” Merlin murmured.

  “Yes. Extra skills are acquired through individual experiences. Many prove useful in professional settings.”

  I glanced discreetly around. Other attendants were performing the same process. They all seemed to share the same set of skills.

  Standardized efficiency.

  “Here. You are now officially registered. I will explain how the guild operates.”

  She adjusted her posture.

  “The Valoria Guild operates with four main mission tiers: Class C, B, A, and S.”

  Merlin leaned forward slightly.

  “Class C involves moderate-risk tasks: containing isolated creatures, simple escorts, clearing smaller areas. It is the standard entry point.”

  A subtle projection appeared above the counter, showing examples and average rewards.

  “Class B includes more unstable threats. Organized monster groups, partially compromised regions, or contracts requiring strategic coordination.”

  The projection changed.

  “Class A involves regional-level risks. High-level creatures, strategic operations, and protection of relevant figures.”

  “And Class S?” Merlin asked.

  “Threats with potential to directly affect the stability of the capital or adjacent territories. They are rare. And strictly controlled.”

  That made sense.

  “Progression depends on three main factors: success rate, behavioral evaluation, and risk analysis,” she continued. “Individual strength is considered, but not decisive.”

  “So it’s not enough to simply have power equivalent to the mission,” I murmured.

  “Correct. Punctuality, protocol compliance, and emotional stability are recorded. For Class A or S missions, we evaluate the total potential of the group—including combined Mna and the previously mentioned factors.”

  Merlin shot me a brief, almost provocative glance.

  I ignored it.

  “And the rewards?” she asked.

  “Financial rewards increase exponentially per tier. Class C has standardized fixed pay. Class B and A vary according to risk and urgency. Class S may include political benefits and privileges granted directly by the city.”

  Privileges.

  That explained a lot.

  “So which tier do we start at?” I asked.

  She consulted the panel.

  “As newly integrated adventurers in the local system, protocol establishes Class C as the starting point, regardless of external history.”

  A familiar voice spoke behind us.

  “That can be adjusted.”

  We turned simultaneously.

  Don walked toward us calmly, hands in the pockets of his dark coat. He didn’t seem hurried—but he definitely didn’t seem like someone who could be ignored.

  The attendant immediately bowed her head slightly.

  “Sir Don.”

  “These two are part of my team. I’d like them authorized for missions up to Class A.”

  Her posture became even more formal.

  “I understand. Do you intend to sign a formal recommendation assuming partial responsibility for their evaluation?”

  “Yes.”

  Merlin blinked.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the process can be accelerated,” Don replied.

  The attendant retrieved two forms.

  “Even with a recommendation, Class A cannot be authorized immediately. Protocol requires locally validated progression.”

  “How does it work?” I asked.

  “You must complete one mission of each class in ascending order. After each completion, you will undergo a classification test. You begin with Class C. Upon completion, you take the test. If approved, Class B is unlocked. And so on until Class A.”

  Don signed the documents as she explained.

  “With Sir Don’s recommendation, the tests may be scheduled immediately after each mission, without waiting periods.”

  She collected the papers.

  “It is now registered.”

  Merlin let out a satisfied sigh.

  “Thank you.”

  The attendant nodded.

  “Available contracts are displayed on the central panels. Good luck.”

  “Thank you very much,” I replied.

  Don gestured for us to step aside from the counter.

  As we walked toward the main board, Merlin leaned slightly toward him.

  “You’re more influential than you seem.”

  “Viola, Logy, and I have been here for many years,” he answered calmly. “Influence is just accumulated trust.”

  We stopped in front of the large digital panel.

  Dozens of contracts blinked, organized by category.

  Class C.

  It was a beginning.

  “Let’s start while the day is still nice,” Merlin said.

  “Can you handle it on your own?” Don asked.

  “Yes. We’ll do the missions together. I’ll help Victor with his, then he’ll help me with mine.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said.

  He acknowledged with a quiet nod.

  “I have other matters to

  attend to. Oh—the snack bar is on the second floor. Stop by when you can.”

  He selected a Class B contract. The machine beside it printed a document, which he collected and took to another counter.

  We remained there, standing before the panel.

  Officially registered as Class C.

  And truly part of the Guild of Valoria.

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