Chapter 616 – A Path Not Chosen
The meeting had drawn on through much of the morning, but no one rushed to leave. The truth had been laid bare, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air like mist after a storm. The leaders of the alliance sat in thoughtful silence, each processing the strange new perspective Haruto's group had brought with them.
Finally, it was Haruto who stood.
His black hair caught the soft light filtering through the forest canopy. His expression was calm—neither defiant nor submissive, but steady.
"I've listened," he began. "And I've learned more here than I ever would've behind Arveila's walls."
The leaders turned their eyes toward him—Rhogar, Velnor, Selvaria—each listening closely.
Haruto's gaze didn't waver.
"But about my decision… I want to be honest with all of you."
The forest hushed around his voice.
"I didn't come here to fight a war. I didn't ask to be summoned, and I never agreed to become someone's weapon. I don't care about crowns or borders, or what race rules what land. I just want to find the way to return home."
Yui and Saki looked toward him, startled not by his words, but by the quiet finality in his voice.
Rhogar inclined his head slightly. "A simple goal. A noble one."
"I'm not joining any army," Haruto continued. "Not Arveila's. Not yours."
He paused, then added:
"But that doesn't mean I'll turn my back on everything."
The fire crackled between them.
"If I see someone who needs help—someone who's being hurt, or used—I'll step in. Not because of alliances or politics. But because I choose to."
Selvaria's eyes gleamed faintly, studying him as if he were a rare fragment of moonlight in a room of shadows.
"You will act," she said slowly, "but only when it's your decision."
Haruto nodded. "That's right."
Velnor let out a low hum, folding his arms across his chest. "Then you will not be our blade. But perhaps… you will be our balance."
Rhogar's ears flicked once, a quiet sign of thought. "So be it. We will not force your allegiance. That is what Arveila did. We are not them."
Saki exhaled beside him, her shoulders easing as if relieved by his words. Reina, Riku, Aoi, and Yui exchanged small nods among themselves, quietly accepting the path Haruto had chosen as their own—for now.
Selvaria finally smiled. It was faint, barely visible, but there. "Interesting. In all my years… I've never met a summoned hero who rejected the war without rejecting the world itself."
"I'm not rejecting it," Haruto said. "Just walking my own road."
Silence fell for a moment longer. The trees above whispered in the wind.
Then Tyrra stepped forward and gave a respectful nod. "Your honesty is heard. And it will be honored."
Haruto nodded once in return.
Selvaria's gaze lingered just a moment longer before she turned away. "Then I suppose we'll simply have to see where your road leads… Haruto of Earth."
And with that, the meeting began to dissolve.
But the leaders understood something now—perhaps more than even Haruto realized. They hadn't summoned a soldier.
They had invited a storm.
As the leaders began to rise and the gathering thinned, Tyrra remained near Haruto's group, her expression unreadable. She glanced toward Rhogar, who gave her a slight nod before stepping away with Velnor and Selvaria. Tyrra turned back to the students.
"You've made your stance clear," she said calmly. "And because of that, I'll offer a suggestion. If you're going to walk your own road, then you'll need a way to move freely through our lands. Somewhere to gather information. To earn coin. To avoid being seen as rootless mercenaries."
Haruto tilted his head. "What are you suggesting?"
Tyrra gave a small smile. "Join the Adventurer's Guild. It's neutral. Not tied to any kingdom or nation. You'll have legal status to travel, take missions, interact with settlements without suspicion. And no one will question your strength if you carry the Guild crest."
Kenta raised an eyebrow. "You have something like that?"
"We do," Tyrra said. "It's large, respected, and answers to no monarch. Beastkin, demons, and even some humans serve in its ranks. You'd be safer wearing that badge than walking as foreign anomalies."
Haruto blinked, then murmured thoughtfully, "Adventurer's Guild… sounds kind of like the Sentinel Guild."
Tyrra's ears flicked slightly. "Sentinel Guild?"
Yui, curious, asked, "That from Earth?"
Haruto nodded. "Yeah. The Sentinel Guild is an organization back home. It was founded by retired special forces from around the world. Not just soldiers—but elite hunters, mages, even exorcists. Their job is to track down and eliminate outlaws. Dangerous entities who broke the world's magical laws."
Saki crossed her arms. "We're talking rogue vampires, corrupted magicians, demons who broke treaties, cursed creatures released into civilian zones. They weren't military. They were the people you called when the military wasn't enough."
Tyrra looked slightly surprised. "And this organization existed openly in your world?"
"Kind of," Riku chimed in. "Half-official, half underground. Recognized by some governments, ignored by others. But no one denied their results."
Aoi spoke softly. "They didn't fight wars. They prevented them."
Tyrra studied them for a moment, then gave a slow, approving nod. "Then perhaps your world understands balance more than I expected."
Haruto smiled faintly. "Maybe. But we didn't always get it right either."
"Regardless," Tyrra said, "the Adventurer's Guild will give you something similar. Purpose. Cover. And choices."
Reina tapped her fingers together. "If it gives us mobility without committing to any kingdom, I'm for it."
Saki nodded. "Same."
One by one, the others agreed.
Haruto looked toward Tyrra. "Where's the nearest branch?"
"There's one in Myrandor, a trade city west of here. It's neutral ground and home to the largest Adventurer's Guild in the region."
Selvaria's voice suddenly echoed from behind them, sharp and amused. "You'll like it. It's full of misfits who act on their own whims. Perfect for you."
Haruto didn't look back but responded evenly, "Sounds like home."
Tyrra handed him a sealed envelope. "Give this to the Guildmaster there. It'll serve as introduction and proof that your group is recognized by the alliance."
Haruto accepted it without hesitation.
Outside the meeting hall, the wind moved through the crimson trees. The road ahead was no longer clouded by lies, but it was far from clear.
And now, a new name would soon enter the books of this world:
Haruto's group, registered Adventurers.
Even if they didn't belong to this world…
they were beginning to carve their place in it.
Chapter 617 – The Chains of Gold and Blood
The great doors of the throne room loomed ahead—carved from enchanted blackwood, etched with golden symbols of Arveila's long, violent history. Behind them waited the man Celestina feared most in all the world.
She stood straight, spine rigid, dress immaculate. Not a single strand of her honey-blonde hair was out of place. Her attendants had been dismissed. Her expression was calm, dignified.
But inside?
She was shaking.
Not visibly. Not enough for the armored guards beside the door to see. Not enough for the servants to whisper. But her fingers—tucked in tight gloves—trembled with memory.
A lifetime of it.
A hand raised in silent signal, and the doors groaned open. Beyond them, the throne room stretched like a cathedral: towering pillars, walls of marble and red banners, and in the center, seated on the high throne of Arveila, was King Joffrey.
Her father.
He looked no older than his early thirties—his face still youthful, refined, untouched by time. Golden hair. Sky-blue eyes. A crown that gleamed like the sun.
A beautiful monster.
As Celestina approached, each step rang out like a heartbeat.
She knelt, lowering her head just enough to show obedience—but not submission.
"Your Majesty," she said softly. "I have come to report."
His voice was quiet. Dangerous in its calm.
"Rise."
She did, her back straight again. Her hands clasped in front of her.
"The summoned ones?" Joffrey asked, tone clipped.
Celestina did not falter. "They escaped, Father. With help from beastkin infiltrators. I take full responsibility—"
The air cracked.
Before she finished the sentence, the king moved. A blur of motion.
His hand struck her across the face with the force of a whip. Her head snapped sideways from the impact, blood blooming at the corner of her lip.
She did not fall.
She did not scream.
She simply stood, straightened, and faced him again.
"Full responsibility?" Joffrey repeated. "You were given twenty-two living weapons. Symbols of divine providence. You were supposed to use them to end this war before it began. And you allowed them to slip into the hands of traitors."
"I will retrieve them," she said, voice steady. "I will correct my mistake."
He leaned back on the throne, his fingers drumming against the armrest.
"You always say that," he said coldly. "But you've failed me too often. Perhaps I was wrong to let you play heir for so long."
Celestina's heart pounded, but she did not respond. She knew better.
He stood now, walking slowly down the steps of the throne. His presence was radiant—divine, almost. But it was the kind of divinity that demanded sacrifice.
He stopped before her, looking down at his daughter with narrowed eyes.
"If you fail again…" he said softly, "I will find a new heir."
She said nothing.
"I will take another wife," he continued, his voice now cruelly casual. "One who can give me a child worth something. If I have to start again, I will. You are replaceable, Celestina."
"I understand," she whispered.
"No," he said, leaning in close, his breath warm and hateful against her ear. "You don't. But you will."
Then he turned and walked away without another word.
Celestina remained there for a long moment, alone in the vastness of the hall.
The blood on her lip had dried. Her cheek burned.
And in her heart, something colder than fear began to take shape.
A thread.
A crack.
A wound she refused to name.
She turned on her heel and walked out of the throne room, her footsteps silent and her eyes as empty as glass.
Behind her, the monster sat back upon his golden throne—smiling.
The door to the secluded chamber opened with a soft creak. Thick velvet curtains muffled the light, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and old dust.
Celestina stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The click of the latch echoed louder than it should have.
Before her lay a canopied bed of silverwood and satin, untouched by time but heavy with sorrow.
On it rested her mother.
Queen Almeda.
Once the most radiant jewel of the court—wise, serene, and beloved by the people. Now she lay still beneath layers of silk blankets, her breathing shallow, her skin pale as snow. Her eyes had not opened in six years.
The court called it an illness.
The priests called it a divine punishment.
Celestina knew it was a curse.
Her footsteps were soft as she walked to the bedside. The lone maid who kept vigil there began to rise, but Celestina raised a gloved hand.
"Leave us," she said quietly.
The maid hesitated, then bowed and departed without a word, closing the door behind her.
Silence fell.
Celestina stood for a long time, looking down at the woman who had once combed her hair with tender hands, who had read her stories of old queens and brave children. The only person who had ever smiled at her without expecting something in return.
Her throat tightened.
"I failed again today, Mother," she whispered. "I tried to do what he wanted. I tried to be perfect. And I failed."
She sank to her knees beside the bed, her gloved hand clutching the blanket.
"I told myself I was doing it for the kingdom. For peace. For you."
She lowered her head.
"But I think… I think I've been lying to myself. All this time, I thought I could control it. That if I played his game just right, I could keep everyone safe."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I wasn't strong enough. I never have been."
Her voice cracked now.
"He hit me again."
Her shoulders trembled.
"And I let him."
Her words fell into the silence like stones in a well.
"I'm sorry, Mother. I'm so sorry…"
And then the dam broke.
Celestina wept.
Not the quiet tears of a princess. Not the poised sorrow of a noblewoman.
But the raw, helpless sobs of a daughter kneeling at her mother's side, breaking alone in a room where no one could see her.
She cried for the weight she carried.
She cried for the crown she never asked for.
She cried for the girl she used to be.
And most of all—she cried for the mother who could not wake, who had always been her only refuge in a world made of cruelty and gold.
The room held her grief in silence.
No one knocked.
No one intruded.
And for once in her life—Celestina allowed herself to break.
Celestina's tears slowed, but the ache in her chest remained, hollow and sharp like a wound carved long ago that had never healed.
She stayed kneeling by her mother's side, clutching her hand—the same delicate, pale hand that once guided her across palace gardens, that once shielded her when Joffrey's temper grew violent.
Now it was cold. Still.
Her mother hadn't spoken a word in six years.
And Celestina knew why.
She raised her head slightly, golden hair falling across her bruised cheek. Her voice was barely a whisper, but in the stillness of that room, it rang like prophecy.
"I know what's coming."
Her mother, of course, didn't respond. But that didn't stop Celestina from speaking the words.
"If I fail again… he'll get rid of me. Just like he got rid of you."
Her lips trembled, and she blinked away a fresh sting of tears.
"Everyone says you collapsed from illness. But I was there, remember? I saw what happened that night. I remember the argument. I remember the way he screamed. And then… the silence."
She placed her forehead gently against the back of her mother's hand.
"You stood up to him. You told him he couldn't use me. That I was still just a child. You told him to stop… and that was enough for him to end you."
She clenched her fists.
"And now he's doing it again. To me. Slowly. Carefully. Like a spider weaving the same web again and again."
Her voice hardened, a low fury stirring beneath the sorrow.
"If I fail this time, he won't hesitate. He'll discard me. Lock me away in a tower. Or poison me like he did to Grand Chancellor Rouren when he became inconvenient."
She stared at her mother's sleeping face, eyes wide with helpless truth.
"And you… you'll never wake up again. Because you're still a reminder. Still a mistake in his perfect story."
Silence answered her. Stillness.
She reached forward and gently brushed a strand of silver hair from her mother's brow.
"I wish I could run," she whispered. "I wish I could follow those summoned children and leave this nightmare behind."
Her fingers tightened.
"But I can't. Because if I disappear, he'll punish everyone I've ever protected. The maids. The guards who serve me. The orphanage I've been funding in secret. He'll burn them all just to make a point."
She shut her eyes and breathed deeply.
"I'll find another way. I have to."
When she opened her eyes again, they were no longer filled with tears. They were glassy. Cold.
She stood slowly, brushed the wrinkles from her gown, and placed one final kiss on her mother's forehead.
"I will not die a pawn, Mother," she said quietly. "Even if I can't win… I'll make him bleed."
She turned and walked to the door.
Her steps were silent. Her mask was back in place.
The dutiful daughter. The loyal princess. The perfect heir.
But behind her eyes, something dangerous had begun to bloom.
She now understood the rules of the game.
And she was done playing it blindly.
Chapter 618 – The Shadow Behind the Crown
Deep beneath the throne room, far below the golden halls and polished marble floors, lay the King's private sanctum—a place only a handful of living souls had ever seen and left alive.
There were no windows here. No torches. Only floating orbs of pale violet light that hovered above jagged black stone, casting long shadows over walls inscribed with ancient runes.
King Joffrey stood in the center, hands clasped behind his back, his white and gold cloak flowing over obsidian tiles. Before him knelt a robed figure wrapped in tattered black silk, face hidden beneath a hood that shifted like smoke.
The man was known only as Malrath, Arveila's High Shadowmancer. The court called him a myth. The nobles pretended he didn't exist. But Joffrey knew better.
Because he had kept Joffrey on the throne.
And more importantly—he was the one who had made the summoning ritual possible.
"They escaped," Joffrey said softly, not with rage, but with the ice-cold calm that always preceded something far worse. "The strongest batch of summoned ones we've ever pulled from the Veil. Gone."
Malrath remained silent.
Joffrey turned his head slightly. "You advised me not to collar them. To allow them the illusion of freedom."
Malrath finally spoke, his voice raspy and hollow. "Their collars would have only delayed this. The more powerful the soul, the faster the magic erodes. You would have needed to shatter their will completely. And even then... the darkness would have stirred."
"I know what would stir," Joffrey muttered, narrowing his eyes. "I've felt it."
He turned away from the Shadowmancer, walking slowly toward the carved archways that framed the center of the sanctum. They pulsed faintly with residual summoning energy.
"I rule this kingdom," he said, "not because of my crown… but because my strength is close to the gods."
Malrath bowed lower. "That is not in question."
"No man, no king, no demon has ever dared raise a weapon against me directly," Joffrey continued. "Even Celestina, for all her defiance, fears what I can do."
He extended his hand—and the air rippled. A black sphere of mana, dense and cold, flickered into being above his palm, orbiting with restrained violence.
"But these summoned ones…" His voice grew darker. "Their strength already reaches dangerous levels. In time, they may become equal."
Malrath's voice crept like silk across stone. "Then they must not be given that time."
Joffrey dismissed the mana sphere with a flick of his fingers.
"Tomorrow," he said, "Celestina will bring herself to the throne room. No excuses. No delays."
Malrath lifted his head slightly. "And if she resists?"
"She won't," Joffrey said. "Not yet."
He turned, his blue eyes shining like blades under divine light.
"She's still useful. But she's nearing her limit."
Malrath tilted his head. "Shall I prepare a binding for the next heir?"
"Not yet." Joffrey's smile was faint, cruel. "Let her come. Let her kneel. I'll see how much of her mother is still left inside."
He looked up, toward the cold ceiling above.
"And when I'm done with her…" he whispered, "we'll summon a new set. Stronger. Purer. This time, we'll rip the soul directly from the gods themselves if we must."
The lights dimmed as Malrath's shadow folded into the stone and vanished.
Alone now, Joffrey stood in the silence of the sanctum. No warmth. No mercy. No gods watching him.
He didn't need their approval.
Because one day, he would sit among them.
Chapter 619 – The Weight of the Crown
The next morning, the golden banners of Arveila hung still and heavy above the royal corridors. The palace halls were silent—unnaturally so. Guards lined the route from the east wing to the throne room, their armor polished, expressions unreadable, weapons within easy reach.
Celestina walked at the front of the procession. Her dress was white today—a soft, almost bridal shade meant to symbolize purity and obedience. Her cheek still bore the faintest mark of her father's blow, though it had been covered with powder.
Behind her walked the remaining summoned students—those who hadn't fled. Ten of them. Some still trusted her. Others followed because they had nowhere else to go.
Kanzaki Hayato led them, confident as ever, grinning faintly as if this was some royal game. The others glanced around nervously, still uncertain why they'd been summoned so suddenly.
They didn't know the real reason.
But Celestina did.
And she walked with a weight in her chest that felt like lead.
The vast doors to the throne room stood open.
Inside, King Joffrey sat upon his golden throne, wearing full regalia—white robes trimmed in sunlight-gold, a thin circlet upon his brow, and that ever-serene smile that meant only danger.
Beside him stood Malrath, cloaked in shifting black, his face still hidden.
Celestina stopped halfway into the hall and turned, bowing slightly to the students.
"This is the King of Arveila," she said, her voice carefully composed. "Pay your respects."
Some of the students followed her lead. Kanzaki gave a lazy nod.
Joffrey's gaze passed over each of them, and the air tightened.
The atmosphere changed.
The temperature didn't drop, but it felt like breathing through wet iron. Every student stiffened. One of the girls staggered slightly. Another began to sweat.
A wave of immense pressure filled the room—raw authority, dense mana, the kind of presence that didn't come from magic alone, but from a lifetime of absolute dominance.
Haruto wasn't here.
These were the ones who had remained.
And now, they were trapped.
Joffrey didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"You were summoned to serve this kingdom," he said, each word falling like a stone into a pond. "You were given shelter. Food. Training. And protection."
Kanzaki opened his mouth to speak—
—but couldn't.
His throat locked up. His knees trembled. Even he could feel it now.
Joffrey continued, still seated.
"And yet, some among you have forgotten why you were brought here."
His gaze passed over them again—clinical, cold, uncaring.
"I will not allow the mistake to repeat. Your freedom was a courtesy. One I no longer choose to extend."
He raised his hand slightly.
"Malrath."
The shadowmancer stepped forward. From the folds of his sleeves, he produced a small silver tray. Upon it lay fifteen black-metal slave collars, each etched with runes and glowing with a sickly violet hue.
Kanzaki's eyes widened. "W-wait—what the hell is that?!"
Several students recoiled. One girl backed away entirely, trembling.
Celestina didn't move. Her expression remained neutral.
Because if she showed fear now—
If she faltered—
He would punish her first.
Joffrey's voice dropped into something darker. "You were summoned to be weapons. And weapons do not require wills of their own."
Malrath lifted the first collar.
"Proceed."
The Collar Falls
The cold gleam of the first collar reflected in their eyes like a blade held to their throats.
The students froze in place—no commands were given, but none of them could move. Not because they didn't want to… but because they couldn't.
The pressure from the King was like standing beneath the sky just before it broke apart. Their knees locked. Their mana was suppressed. Their instincts screamed, but their bodies didn't listen.
And then—
Clink.
The first collar was fastened around a boy's neck.
A thin, golden-haired youth who'd once dreamed of being a hero. The moment the metal clicked shut, he screamed—
—not in pain, but in violation.
The runes flared violet.
And in an instant, his scream died.
His body relaxed. His eyes dulled.
He fell silent.
Malrath stepped back, whispered a word in a language older than the kingdom itself, and the collar locked with a sound that echoed in their chests.
The other students began to panic.
One girl tried to run.
She didn't even make it halfway to the door before the pressure increased again.
She fell flat on the marble floor, gasping for air, her legs trembling violently.
"I—I didn't do anything—!" she whimpered, crawling back.
Malrath approached without a word.
Another collar. Another flash of runes.
Her eyes rolled back for a second—then stilled.
"Please!" a boy shouted. "This isn't what we were promised! You said we'd be heroes!"
He turned to Celestina, desperation and betrayal in his voice. "Princess! Tell him to stop! You said we were chosen!"
Celestina didn't meet his eyes.
She couldn't.
Because she was trembling inside.
Because she could already see the future in his fate.
Malrath placed the collar around the boy's neck with all the care of a butcher choosing his next cut.
Click.
Violet light.
Silence.
One by one, the students fell.
Some cried. Some screamed. Some begged.
And some just stood there—numb, shocked, broken before the collar ever touched them.
Kanzaki Hayato tried to resist. His mana flared for a moment, wild and untrained, but it was crushed the next second beneath Joffrey's gaze.
He collapsed to one knee, sweating, teeth clenched.
"You bastards…" he growled. "This isn't a kingdom… it's a cage."
Malrath placed the collar gently around his neck.
"You are not wrong," the shadowmancer whispered.
When it clicked shut, Kanzaki didn't scream.
But his eyes lost their defiance.
His fire was still there—buried—but now caged behind cursed iron and ancient obedience magic.
fifteen collars.
fifteen students.
fifteen quiet, still forms standing in two lines on the throne room floor.
Joffrey stood from his golden seat.
He walked down the steps with calm authority and looked over the scene with satisfaction.
"Order," he said softly, "is beautiful."
He turned to Malrath.
"The others… the ones who escaped. They'll return. They always do. Either through force… or through fear."
He turned to Celestina last.
"Tomorrow," he said coldly, "you will make a public announcement. Tell the people their heroes have sworn themselves fully to the crown. Parade them through the capital if you must. The illusion of choice is no longer necessary."
Celestina bowed her head. "Yes, Father."
But deep inside, something coiled tighter.
And far away, beyond the walls of gold and command—
Haruto's group had just arrived in Myrandor, unaware that the door behind them had slammed shut with a sound that would haunt this world for years to come.
The Quiet After the Chains
The applause of the throne room was a memory that already echoed like a nightmare.
The nobles had been summoned briefly afterward—watching from the upper balconies as the fifteen collared "heroes" stood in a perfect line beneath the throne. None of them moved. None of them spoke.
Perfect. Controlled. Silent.
Exactly how King Joffrey wanted them.
And now, the show was over.
The doors closed behind Celestina with a soft click as she stepped into the small, private prayer room just off the throne wing—a place rarely used anymore, built generations ago for royal meditation.
It was cold here.
Dim light filtered through tall narrow windows. Dust hung in the air, untouched. No guards stood at the entrance. No servants followed her.
She was alone.
And the weight of it all struck her at once.
She pressed her back against the heavy wooden door, clutching her stomach as her knees threatened to buckle. Her breath caught. Her chest ached. Her throat burned.
Fifteen.
She had led fifteen of her classmates—children summoned against their will—into that chamber.
And watched as every one of them was collared like an animal.
She had done nothing.
She had said nothing.
Because she knew.
She knew what would happen if she objected.
If she tried to interfere…
Her mother's fate would be hers.
Or worse.
Celestina sank to the floor, her hands gripping the folds of her dress so tightly her knuckles turned white. The fabric tore at the seams, but she didn't care.
"Why…?" she whispered.
Her voice was so small. So human.
"Why am I still here…?"
Tears spilled silently down her cheeks.
"I thought… I could protect them."
A choked sob escaped.
"I thought I could do something. I thought if I just obeyed enough, if I just played the role, I could buy time… find a way…"
Her body shook.
"But I was too slow. Too weak."
She buried her face in her hands. The pain didn't come from the slap anymore. It came from the silence. From the stillness of fifteen empty eyes she could still see in her mind.
The sound of Kanzaki's defiance—crushed.
The quiet sobbing of the girl with light purple hair before the collar silenced her.
The boy who kept reaching for his twin sister even as they were dragged apart.
And worst of all…
The knowledge that she had led them there.
It didn't matter that she hadn't given the order. That she hadn't touched the collars herself.
In their eyes—in what little remained of them—she was part of it.
Chapter 620 – Guild of the Free
The forest gave way to cobbled roads and open sky.
Haruto stood at the top of a hill beside his companions, the morning breeze tugging gently at their cloaks and hair. Before them sprawled a city of vibrant colors, layered rooftops, bustling markets, and stone bridges arching over sparkling canals.
Myrandor.
The borderland trade capital of the neutral provinces.
Neither loyal to Arveila nor hostile to beastkin.
And at its heart, gleaming like a defiant crest of freedom, stood the arched tower and sigil of the Adventurer's Guild.
"We finally made it," Saki said, shielding her eyes against the sun. "I was starting to think we'd be hunted down before we even saw civilization again."
"Tch," Riku muttered, scanning the skyline. "Too peaceful. Either we're early… or something's lurking under that calm."
"Riku," Reina said softly, "not everything's a conspiracy."
He glanced sideways at her. "That's exactly what a conspiracy wants you to think."
Kenta snorted. "He's not entirely wrong."
Yui exhaled slowly. "Let's not drop our guard… but maybe for once, we can breathe a little."
Aoi adjusted her pack, then turned to Haruto. "You okay?"
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes were on the Guild tower, its high windows shimmering with mana-imbued glass. He nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I just… didn't expect it to feel so normal."
Because it did.
Myrandor didn't feel like a battlefield, or a trap, or a city living in fear. It felt like somewhere alive—a place where swords and spells were used not for empires, but for food, fame, and freedom.
"I wonder what kind of people are inside," Reina murmured.
"Let's find out," Haruto said. "Time to see if Tyrra's letter gets us through the door."
They descended into the city.
Myrandor's streets were wide and warm, the buildings made of sun-blushed stone and reinforced timber. Market stalls sold everything from smoked lizard meat to enchanted boots. Beastkin and humans walked side by side. Children ran through alleyways. Merchants haggled with wandering bards. The air was alive with noise.
And at the heart of it all stood the Guildhouse.
It was larger than expected—two floors, with tall arched windows, a domed ceiling reinforced with metal and magical glyphs, and a sword-shaped insignia carved above the front entrance: "To Act Without Chains."
Haruto pushed the door open.
Inside, warm light greeted them. Dozens of adventurers gathered around long tables, drinking, laughing, comparing quests. Beastkin, elves, humans, even a dwarf or two. A job board shimmered with floating magical listings in the back. The atmosphere was rowdy—but not lawless. Structured chaos.
A woman behind the front desk looked up as they approached. She had long red hair tied in a messy braid, a scar over her left brow, and a mana detector bracelet on her wrist.
"New blood?" she asked, glancing between them.
"We were sent by the alliance," Haruto replied, presenting the sealed envelope Tyrra had given them.
The woman took it, eyes narrowing. When she saw the beastkin crest stamped in wax, her posture shifted immediately.
"I see." Her voice was now more measured. "Wait here. I'll bring the Guildmaster."
Ten minutes later, they were ushered into a private chamber behind the main hall.
The Guildmaster stood waiting.
She was older—mid-forties perhaps—with silver streaks in her black hair and a longcoat marked with burn and claw scars. Her gaze was sharp and intelligent. She looked them over with one glance and immediately dismissed formalities.
"I'm Narina of the Steel Path," she said, taking a seat behind a reinforced desk. "Guildmaster of Myrandor. I received word that some 'dangerous' kids might come with an endorsement from Velhara."
She looked at them again, this time more carefully.
"You don't look dangerous. But my instincts say otherwise."
Haruto met her eyes. "We're not here to cause trouble. We just want the right to move freely… to find our own way."
Narina grunted. "That's what everyone says. The difference is… you actually mean it."
She unsealed the letter. Her expression didn't change as she read—but her fingers tensed slightly near the end.
"I see," she murmured. "You're them. The ones who ran from the Crown."
Saki stepped forward. "If that's a problem—"
"It's not," Narina cut in. "This Guild doesn't bow to any king. You can register here. No mark, no binding magic, no oaths. Just pay your fee, take your test, and follow the code."
She nodded toward a smaller door on the left. "I'll have your exams ready within the hour. In the meantime—" her eyes settled on Haruto "—get some rest. You'll need it."
Haruto nodded. "Thanks."
As they stepped out of the office and back into the roar of the adventurers' hall, a strange feeling settled over them.
For the first time since they were summoned to this world—
They were somewhere that felt like freedom.
The door to the inner chamber swung open with a creak of old hinges.
"Follow me," said a staff member in light armor, a clipboard tucked beneath her arm and a long dagger sheathed at her side. "The Guildmaster's approved you for testing. You'll each take the standard Adventurer Assessment—combat, survival instinct, teamwork, and ethics."
Haruto's group exchanged glances.
"Ethics?" Riku muttered. "That's a trap."
"Shut up and walk," Saki replied under her breath, nudging him forward.
They were led down a side corridor and into a large circular arena with high walls and open sky above. Bleachers lined one edge—though currently empty, it was clear this space had seen plenty of use. Scorch marks and old blood stains were visible along the stonework.
Waiting inside were three proctors—one beastkin, one human, and one dwarf. All wore matching guild insignia on their shoulders.
The beastkin proctor, a tall wolf-eared man with a scar across his nose, stepped forward.
"Names?"
They gave them one by one.
"Right," he said. "We've read the letter. We've also been warned you might be stronger than you look. That's fine. This test isn't about raw power."
He pointed to the far gate.
"It's about control."
The gate groaned as it rose. A series of training constructs emerged—mannequins carved from enchanted wood and metal, shaped like bandits, beasts, and even goblins. Each glowed faintly with combat runes, programmed to simulate real battle behavior.
"Your task is to clear them as a team. If you destroy them, good. If you don't… show us how you handle threat evaluation. No killing each other. We do grade for that."
"Seriously?" Riku muttered.
"Begin," the proctor said.
The constructs surged forward.
Before anyone could even draw, Haruto moved.
He didn't use magic. He didn't summon darkness.
He just stepped forward and struck.
Boom.
The closest construct exploded into shrapnel from a single punch, the shockwave rippling outward and knocking two others off their feet.
Saki dashed past him in a blur, flipping midair, driving her heel down on a goblin-type's head and crushing it with surgical precision.
Yui called out targets, directing Reina's wind magic into a narrow gust that sliced through two more.
Aoi summoned water from the condensation in the air, freezing a heavy beast-form construct in place so Kenta could shatter it with his fists.
Riku didn't even move from his spot. He raised one hand lazily and fired a small, precise mana shot between the eyes of the last training dummy. The head popped off like a cork.
Silence.
The battle was over in less than thirty seconds.
The proctors stared at them.
The dwarf scratched his beard. "Well… damn."
The beastkin cleared his throat. "Phase two. Survival test. Follow me."
They were led down a flight of stairs into a small forest simulation dome. Magical lighting mimicked late afternoon. The air was humid and thick with illusion-generated smells—trees, soil, distant animals.
"We're going to vanish for fifteen minutes," the beastkin said. "You'll receive a random surprise threat—could be traps, predators, or puzzles. Respond accordingly. Survive. Help each other."
Then he added with a smirk: "Try not to level the entire forest."
The proctors disappeared behind a mana screen, and a countdown began in the air above.
Ten seconds.
Haruto's group didn't speak. They moved automatically, each person forming a small triangle for defense. The moment the countdown hit zero—
Everything changed.
Vines lashed from the trees. Stone golems erupted from the underbrush. Illusionary flame wolves circled the perimeter. The terrain shifted underfoot.
But it didn't matter.
Because this group had already been through hell.
Kenta lifted the collapsing tree like it was paper, holding it long enough for Aoi to evacuate an injured Reina.
Riku disabled the puzzle trap with absurd ease, muttering, "They didn't even encrypt the second-layer array…"
Saki leapt across crumbling cliffs with rope in hand, tying off supports while Yui calmed a panicked wind elemental with gentle aura suppression.
Haruto stood still.
A giant stone construct, easily ten meters tall, rose before him.
He stared up at it.
Then sighed.
"Guess this counts as restraint."
He punched once—not at the core, but at the ground beneath its feet. The resulting shockwave launched it off balance, toppling it like a tower. When it crashed, it didn't break.
But it stayed down.
Fifteen minutes later, when the proctors returned, the group was seated calmly by a campfire, already boiling water for tea.
The beastkin looked around at the shattered traps, pacified elementals, disabled golems, and one construct buried in a tree.
"…Okay," he muttered. "You pass."
Names Etched in Flame and Ink
Back in the main guild hall, the mood had shifted.
The proctors whispered among themselves as they returned. One of them passed a sealed report to the red-haired receptionist, who blinked twice while reading it—then looked up at Haruto's group like they had just grown wings.
"You all passed," she said aloud. "With… some of the highest marks I've seen this year."
She blinked again, then handed over a thick form packet. "Please fill these out for registration. Try not to break the quills."
The group sat down at the long wooden desk set aside for newcomers. The forms were magically etched, and each paper shimmered faintly as they wrote.
Name. Age. Race. Magic Affinity. Weapon Preference.
There was no space for country of origin.
The Guild didn't care where you came from.
Only how you survived.
Haruto paused at the line that read:
Personal Motto or Title (Optional)
He didn't write anything.
Beside him, Riku wrote: "Absolutely Not a Problem."
Saki smirked and wrote: "Aim Clean. Walk Away."
Yui just wrote: "Wind and Reason."
Kenta added a simple: "Strength Without Cruelty."
Aoi hesitated, then added: "I Only Fight to Protect."
Reina didn't write a motto, only signed with neat, careful letters.
Once they were done, the receptionist took the forms and placed them into a glowing mana slate. The data was absorbed instantly.
Then she reached under the counter and produced a small box of guild crests—polished metal badges shaped like a sword set against twin wings.
"These are yours now," she said. "The standard Adventurer Rank is Bronze for new members. But…"
She looked at the proctor, who nodded.
"Due to your performance and alliance endorsement, you're being fast-tracked. Initial rank: Silver. That's almost unheard of for first-timers."
Yui raised her eyebrows. "That means we can accept intermediate-class missions right away, doesn't it?"
"Exactly," the receptionist confirmed. "It also means the Guild takes you seriously. But don't let it go to your head. The step between Silver and Gold is a long one—and many adventurers never reach it."
Riku flipped his badge in his hand and muttered, "It's heavier than it looks…"
"Welcome to the Guild," the receptionist said, her tone now more formal. "From this moment on, you're registered adventurers of Myrandor, with full travel and operational rights in all neutral and allied territories."
Kenta grinned. "Guess we're official."
"Feels strange," Reina whispered. "But also… freeing."
The receptionist handed them a second paper—this one with mission listings, housing recommendations, and local rules.
"You'll be assigned a guild dorm for now," she said. "Two rooms, adjustable with basic enchantments. Meals are available at the guild canteen or in the city. You can take on quests anytime—but if you ever violate guild law, your status can be revoked instantly."
Haruto nodded. "Understood."
As they left the front desk and stepped back into the main floor, other adventurers watched them now—not with disdain, but with curiosity. Respect.
Whispers passed between tables.
"Those are the new kids, right?"
"From the alliance?"
"Silver already?"
"No way."
Haruto's group ignored it. For now.
They had entered as outsiders—strangers from another world, fugitives of a false war.
But they walked out of the registry chamber as something new.
Adventurers.
Not weapons.
Not sacrifices.
Just people with their own names and freedom.