Chapter 24: Viktor's Graduation
The guild hall fell silent when I entered.
Twelve faces turned toward me—members I'd recruited, novices I'd commissioned Viktor to train, friends I'd made in this strange new life. They stared at the basilisk head in my grip, at the blood still staining my clothes, at the slight limp I couldn't quite hide.
Mira reached me first.
"You're alive." Her voice cracked on the words. "Three days. You said three days, and it's been—"
"Two and a half. I'm early."
"You're injured."
"I'm healing." I set the basilisk head on the nearest table, enjoying the collective flinch from everyone nearby. "The contract's complete. Fifty crowns claimed, materials worth another eighty. We're not just solvent—we're prosperous."
The silence broke into chaos. Questions overlapping, people crowding close to examine the trophy, Viktor's voice cutting through with professional assessment of the creature's size and threat level.
I let them celebrate for a moment before raising my hand.
"Mira. The ledger."
She retrieved it from her desk, the familiar weight of financial anxiety visible in how she clutched it. I took the book, scanned the numbers I'd memorized before leaving, and began writing.
"Twenty-seven crowns to clear accumulated debt. Twenty-five crowns for final property payment—the warehouse is ours, completely, no more installments. Fifty crowns to operational reserve. Eighteen crowns for immediate expenses." I closed the ledger. "We're in the black for the first time since founding."
Mira's composure cracked. Not tears—she was too proud for that—but something close. Her hands shook as she took the ledger back.
"You nearly died for this."
"I survived for this. There's a difference."
Viktor's Perspective
The boy had killed a basilisk.
I'd trained soldiers for two decades. Led men in battles that shaped kingdoms. Watched heroes rise and legends form. And this fifteen-year-old had walked into marshland, alone, and killed a creature that would have given veteran monster hunters pause.
"What are you, Finn Colen? What are you becoming?"
The question haunted me through the day's preparations. Today was graduation—my students facing their certification tests, proving whether a month of brutal training had created fighters or corpses.
Four weeks ago, they'd been soft civilians with romantic notions. Now...
Now they moved differently. Helena's footwork showed the defensive patterns I'd drilled. Marcus held his practice sword with the relaxed grip I'd beaten into his muscle memory. Even Jorin, the dockworker, had lost the wild flailing that had characterized his early attempts.
"They might actually survive this."
Finn appeared in the training yard mid-afternoon, limping but mobile. Whatever injury he'd sustained was healing fast—too fast, if I was being honest. The boy had secrets that went beyond mere skill.
"Ready for the tests?" I asked.
"Ready to be impressed." He tested his injured leg, grimacing slightly. "Though I should warn you—I'm not at full capacity. The students might have an advantage."
"You're still fighting?"
"I'm the guild's best combatant. The certification requires survival against the best." A ghost of a smile. "Unless you'd prefer to take my place?"
The offer was genuine. He'd let me test my own students, prove that my training had value.
"No. They need to face you." I watched the novices prepare across the yard. "They've heard the stories. Drowners, wraiths, now a basilisk. If they can face the monster-killer and survive, they'll believe they can face anything."
"Belief is half the battle."
"The other half is training. And I've given them everything I could in four weeks."
Finn's expression softened—just slightly, just for a moment. "I know you have. Whatever happens today, you've proven your value."
Finn's Perspective
The tests began at dusk.
We'd cleared the training yard for the occasion. Torches lined the perimeter, casting dancing shadows across packed dirt. Guild members gathered as witnesses—Mira with her ledger, Tom with his network contacts, Kira watching from shadows she'd found instinctively.
Helena stepped into the circle first.
"Three minutes," I said, drawing a practice sword—blunted edge, still capable of breaking bones if I connected properly. "Survive without serious injury. Defense is acceptable. Offense is encouraged. Begin."
She moved before I finished speaking—exactly as Viktor had taught her. Don't wait for permission, don't let the enemy set the pace. Strike first, strike fast, keep moving.
Her blade whistled toward my neck. I blocked, feeling the impact jar through my healing arm. Good power. Good angle. Viktor had taught her well.
I pressed the counterattack. Not full speed—my leg wouldn't allow that—but fast enough to test her reactions. She parried, gave ground, reset her stance. Classic defensive pattern, executed with the precision of someone who'd practiced it thousands of times.
Two minutes. She was still standing.
I escalated. Faster combinations, less predictable angles. Her defense cracked—once, twice—but she recovered each time, Viktor's voice echoing in her muscle memory.
"Don't block with strength. Redirect. Let their power flow past you."
The three minutes ended with Helena bruised but upright. She'd survived.
"Pass."
Marcus was next. Bigger than Helena, stronger, but less disciplined. He lasted two minutes before a sweep took his legs. He was up again immediately, guard raised, refusing to stay down.
"Pass."
Jorin the dockworker. Brawler's instincts that Viktor had refined rather than replaced. He took hits I hadn't intended to land, absorbed them with working-class toughness, and kept coming. His offense was sloppy but relentless.
"Pass."
The miner, whose name I'd never properly learned. Slow but methodical. He treated the fight like a mining problem—steady pressure, exploit weaknesses, don't overcommit. Not flashy, but effective.
"Pass."
The fifth novice—one of the farmers' sons—stepped into the circle with visible terror.
"This one's different. The fear isn't healthy caution. It's paralysis."
He raised his sword. His hands shook badly enough to see from ten feet away.
"Begin."
I advanced. He retreated—not tactical withdrawal, panic flight. His guard dropped. His feet tangled.
My practice blade touched his chest before fifteen seconds had passed. A killing blow, if this had been real.
"Fail."
The yard went silent. The farmer's son stood frozen, sword hanging at his side, the weight of failure crushing him visibly.
Viktor stepped forward. His face showed nothing—the professional mask of a trainer who'd seen students fail before.
"Again," he said. "Different test. Survival isn't the only measure."
"Viktor—"
"He panics in combat. Fine. Not everyone is built for fighting." Viktor put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Can you cook?"
"What?"
"Cook. Prepare food. Feed people."
"I... yes? My mother taught me—"
"Then you're not a fighter. You're logistics." Viktor looked at me. "Every army needs support. Every guild needs people who keep the fighters fed and equipped. He failed the combat test. He might pass a different one."
"He's right. Not everyone has to be a warrior. The Covenant needs diversity."
"Conditional pass," I said. "Support role. Non-combat. Viktor will define the position."
The farmer's son's expression shifted—from crushing defeat to confused hope. Not what he'd wanted, but not exile either.
The oaths came after.
Viktor knelt in the main hall, the Heart Crystal's invisible pulse strengthening as I spoke the binding words. Golden light erupted between us—visible to everyone, shocking in its intensity.
"I, Viktor Crane, swear loyalty to the Covenant of Blades..."
The oath settled into him. I felt the connection form—another thread in the web that linked me to my people. Stronger than the novice bonds, carrying the weight of Viktor's experience and dedication.
[OATH BINDING: COMPLETE]
[New Member: Viktor Crane]
[Role: Combat Trainer / Veteran Fighter]
[Guild Membership: 7/10]
The four combat-passing novices followed. Helena's oath carried determination. Marcus's carried ambition. Jorin's carried simple loyalty. The miner's carried quiet resolve.
[Guild Membership: 11/10]
[Phase 1 Capacity: EXCEEDED]
[Infrastructure Expansion: AVAILABLE]
Eleven members. More than the base Phase 1 limit, but the headquarters could support expansion. We'd grown beyond what I'd imagined possible six months ago.
"Eleven people depending on me. Eleven lives shaped by the organization I'm building."
The celebration that followed was modest—our finances were stable but not luxurious—but genuine. Bread, cheese, watered wine, the simple pleasures of people who'd earned their rest.
Viktor sat among his former students, sober for the first time in months, listening to their jokes and complaints and aspirations. The haunted look that had defined him in the Drowned Rat was gone, replaced by something closer to peace.
"Thank you," he said when I passed his table.
"For what?"
"For seeing something worth saving." He raised his cup—water, not ale. "I'd forgotten what purpose felt like. You reminded me."
"That's what the Covenant does. Finds potential others overlook."
"Is that what you found in me? Overlooked potential?"
"I found a trainer who could make fighters out of farmers. That's not overlooked—that's essential." I sat across from him. "The guild needs people like you. People who know how to build capability rather than just possess it."
"And what does the guild need from you?"
The question cut deeper than he probably intended. What did the Covenant need from me? Leadership, certainly. Resources, abilities, meta-knowledge that no one else possessed. But also...
"Direction," I said finally. "I know where we need to go. What we need to become. The world is going to get dangerous, Viktor. More dangerous than drowners or basilisks. We need to be ready."
"Ready for what?"
"The Wild Hunt. Dimensional tears. Threats that make basilisks look like vermin."
"Everything that's coming. Wars, monsters, powers beyond what most people can imagine." I stood. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start planning the next phase."
Viktor watched me go, the question still visible in his eyes. He didn't understand yet—none of them did—but he would. Eventually, they all would.
The guild roster glowed in my vision as I climbed to my quarters.
[GUILD STATUS: COVENANT OF BLADES]
[Phase: 1 (Foundation) - 95% Complete]
[Members: 11]
[Treasury: 68 crowns]
[Headquarters: Oxenfurt (Owned)]
[Reputation: Regional (Oxenfurt - 98%)]
[Active Threats: Grevik's Iron Wolves (monitoring)]
[Next Milestone: Phase 2 - Expansion]
Ninety-five percent. Almost there. A few more members, a few more achievements, and the system would unlock the next tier of abilities.
I fell asleep to the distant sounds of celebration, my leg fully healed, my guild stronger than ever.
Tomorrow, we'd start building toward whatever came next.
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