Chapter 37 – The Forge and the Guild
The sound hit them before the doors even opened.
A low thunder of voices — laughter, shouting, the clash of blades, the hum of Light power resonating in the air like an invisible storm.
When Blake pushed the doors wide, the noise swallowed them whole.
The Mercenary Association
The hall was enormous.
Pillars carved from black stone reached toward the vaulted ceiling, engraved with names that shimmered faintly under floating lanterns. Runes of contract and glory.
Everywhere they looked, mercenaries moved — hundreds of them.
Some drank from metal cups, others argued over maps, while a few sat sharpening blades that hummed faintly with spiritual energy.
The air smelled of oil, sweat, and ambition.
Tamara slowed at the top of the steps, her gaze sweeping the floor.
Dozens of groups stood out — not by numbers, but by uniform. One team wore white and crimson cloaks with the sigil of a serpent. Another bore burnished bronze armor marked by lion crests. A group of archers knelt in formation near the far wall, adjusting strings that glowed with threads of Light.
Overhead, banners rippled — each marked with mercenary crests from across the desert kingdoms.
The largest bore three words: "Strength. Coin. Survival."
Blake grinned. "Now this feels like home."
Tamara arched a brow. "You thrive in chaos?"
"Only the profitable kind."
A voice broke through the din. "First-timers? This way!"
A young guide, barely older than Blake, waved them over. His robe bore the gold trim of the Association.
He spoke quickly, pointing at the massive boards lining the eastern wall.
"These are the mission boards. Each tier marked by color — red for high risk, blue for escort, green for supply, black for extermination.
All ranks are regulated by badge level. You'll need to register at the counter before accepting a job."
Tamara's gaze flicked over the nearest board.
Red Notices:
Eliminate the Scorpion Queen.
Last confirmed sighting: Hive Fortress.
Estimated strength: E-Rank, Step 3.
Her jaw tightened faintly at the name.
Blake's eyes caught the line beneath it:
Extermination: Stone Serpents near the Western Basin.
Then another:
Eliminate Sand Pirates along Route Twelve.
Bounty per head
Bonus for recovery of caravan goods.
And finally:
Escort Mission — Eastern Trade Caravans.
Rank: F or higher.
Blake whistled low. "Not bad."
Tamara shot him a side glance. "You make everything sound so optimistic."
He grinned. "That's because I plan on surviving."
They followed the guide to a long counter where clerks processed requests.
A woman with dark hair tied in braids slid two forms toward them.
"Registration. Minimum team of three required for group missions. Spirit beasts don't count. You'll start with F-Rank badges. If you wish to be upgraded, you'll need to display your cultivation."
Blake smirked. "Display?"
She gestured to a glowing crystal pedestal nearby. "Channel your Light."
Tamara stepped up first. Pale energy flowed from her palm — cold, refined, resonant. The crystal flared bright blue, stabilizing after a moment.
"E-Rank, Step One," the clerk said with faint surprise.
Blake followed, his energy raw and pulsing like wildfire. The crystal burned red-gold, its surface vibrating.
"Also Step One," she confirmed. "Impressive for newcomers."
Both received metallic badges marked with the Association's crest — two blades crossing over a rising sun.
"Welcome to the Guild," the clerk said. "Don't die too quickly."
They hadn't made it ten steps before someone called out.
"New blood, huh?"
Blake turned.
Five figures approached — their presence filling the hall like heat from a forge.
The leader was tall, his hair dark gold, his armor engraved with roaring lions. His aura pulsed steady and heavy — E-Rank, Step Five.
A Light Spiritualist, refined and calm, with eyes that measured everything and wasted nothing.
Beside him stood four others:
A Hunter with a bow taller than she was, quiver filled with arrows that hummed softly.
A Shieldbearer, his armor gleaming like hammered bronze, a tower shield slung across his back.
Two Mages — one in black robes marked with pale runes, the other in flowing pink, her fingers glittering with charm rings.
And finally, a Healer in green robes, a circlet of vines resting on his head, the scent of herbs faintly following him.
The leader stopped a few feet away and smiled.
"Lion's Mane Mercenary Group," he said, voice deep and steady. "I'm Rendal. You two look new."
Blake nodded, flashing his badge. "Blake. That's Tamara."
Rendal's gaze lingered on her for a moment — respectful, curious. "Step One? Not bad. Most newcomers barely reach the Infant Core Realm before joining."
Tamara crossed her arms. "We had… a head start."
The mage in pink giggled. "They're cute, Ren. Can we keep them?"
Rendal shot her a look. "We're not adopting strays, Liss."
Blake smirked. "Depends on the pay."
The Hunter laughed outright. "I like him."
Rendal's grin widened. "We're heading out tomorrow — . Always room for another team to tag along. Two groups mean less risk, more coin. Interested?"
Tamara shook her head slightly. "We've just registered. We'll decide by morning."
"Fair enough," Rendal said. He reached into his pouch, tossed them a small token engraved with a lion's head. "If you change your mind, meet us here at dawn."
Then he and his team turned, vanishing into the crowd as effortlessly as they'd appeared.
Blake stared after them. "Step Five, huh? Guy's got presence."
Tamara nodded slowly. "And experience. But presence can hide a lot of things."
He grinned. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That we'll need to catch up fast."
Far across the city, under the shadow of the great stone ceiling, light flickered in John's rented room.
The Ecliptic Cauldron stood in the center — cleaned of rust, its sigils partially restored. Ember sat nearby, tail swaying idly, eyes glowing faint blue.
John knelt beside the relic, tracing a line of powdery formation chalk along its base.
"Flow lines are complete," he murmured.
"Good," Alaric said. "Now feed it Light."
John pressed his palm to the metal.
The sigils stirred — faint, at first, then brighter as golden threads snaked along the rim.
The cauldron trembled. Dust lifted from its surface as warmth filled the room.
"It lives," Alaric said quietly. "Now, balance it. The Forge doesn't burn — it resonates. Feel the rhythm."
John closed his eyes. The heartbeat of the cauldron echoed faintly against his own.
He adjusted his breathing, matching it — slow, even, patient.
The light stabilized.
"Like this?"
"Exactly."
"You're feeding your heart-light through the resonance. When it aligns, impurities burn away naturally. That's the Ecliptic method — precision over flame."
John nodded, sweat sliding down his neck.
He reached into his ring, withdrawing vials of Spirit Daisy essence and Light Aloe Vera.
The moment they touched the cauldron's surface, the light flared — thin strands of liquid gold swirling in the air before melting into the mixture.
"Now focus. You're not making a potion — you're building a soul."
The words guided his hands. Energy pulsed. The cauldron sang.
Then, silence.
The liquid inside settled — clear as crystal, faintly luminous.
John exhaled, smiling despite himself. "It worked."
"One vial of Tier-Two Healing, perfected on the first try."
"Your potential's catching up to your luck, boy."
John corked the vial, the glow reflecting in his eyes.
For a moment, he just watched the light dance inside the glass.
Then his thoughts drifted — unbidden — to Tamara.
He wondered how she was handling the Mercenary Hall, if Blake was keeping her company, or annoying her into madness.
A small, unspoken ache settled in his chest.
"You miss her," Alaric said, almost amused.
"Maybe," John admitted. "We haven't gone this long without talking."
"Attachment makes men strong, not weak," Alaric said. "As long as they remember why they fight."
John chuckled quietly. "I'll keep that in mind."
He poured another measure of Spirit Daisy into the cauldron. The glow flared again, steady and pure.
Outside, the city roared — laughter, steel, the living pulse of ambition.
Inside, the room glowed like a star reborn.
Tamara and Blake crossed the city streets, new badges glinting in the lantern light.
John sat in silence, the cauldron's hum matching his heartbeat.
Three paths. One goal.
Power — earned, forged, or taken.
Tomorrow, the trio would step into the next stage of the desert's game.
And the city of stone was already watching.