The streets of Raerno pulsed with life under the morning sun.
Carts laden with goods creaked over the cobblestone paths, while street vendors hawked freshly baked bread, smoked fish, and lucky charms.
The air was thick with scents: burning wood, tanned leather, and the sweet aroma of bundled herbs sold at the crossroads.
Children darted through the alleys, laughing and dodging passersby, while merchants in vibrant clothing haggled animatedly outside their shops.
Blake walked ahead, his pace quick but stiff, as if each step were an act of sheer will.
He wore a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, fastened at the chest with crisscrossed laces. At his waist, a worn leather belt held several pouches and a small dagger slung diagonally. His trousers were also dark, tucked into leather boots.
That morning, however, his usual smile was absent, and his face betrayed a constant tension he tried in vain to mask.
From time to time, he glanced back at Carmen and Mirac, casting fleeting looks but not uttering a single word throughout the entire journey.
Carmen followed with measured steps, her hands relaxed at her sides, her posture composed yet alert.
Her gaze was impassive, her cold eyes scanning the crowd, attentive to every detail, as if searching for someone among the passersby…
Mirac brought up the rear, his black mask drawing curious glances from merchants and pedestrians, whose eyes lingered on him briefly before moving on.
But he seemed unperturbed, ignoring the murmurs that reached his ears.
He walked with his head slightly bowed, his steps resolute yet unhurried, lost in his thoughts.
"We've arrived…" Blake said suddenly, stopping in front of a majestic gray stone building that rose like an imposing Gothic fortress.
The structure rose toward the sky with slender towers, each topped with pointed red roofs and sharp spires that seemed to brush the clouds. The arches were pointed, and the stained-glass windows were adorned with intricate geometric patterns. As for the balconies, they featured finely carved balustrades.
Every architectural element was crafted with such care that it seemed the figures might come to life at any moment.
Above the arched entrance, a massive dark wooden door was topped by a polished bronze plaque bearing the inscription:
"Central Headquarters of the Association of Mercenaries, Hunters, and Adventurers of the Kingdom of Ardorya"
Two guards in light armor, with short swords at their sides, stood sentinel on either side of the door, their vigilant eyes scrutinizing every face and movement of those entering or exiting the building.
"Wow! It's bigger than I expected," Mirac murmured, looking up as the exact dimensions of the building spontaneously took shape in his mind—thanks to his "Instant Knowledge of Dimensions" ability.
"It's no coincidence that this is the central headquarters," Carmen said, her voice calm but tinged with approval. "How many active members are registered here?"
Blake scratched his chin thoughtfully. "W-Well, I'd say at least five thousand, between Mercenaries, Hunters, and Adventurers. Raerno is the heart of it all: anyone looking to make a name for themselves passes through here. After registering, many join Guilds or take on long-term contracts, but the central headquarters handles the Kingdom's most critical operations."
"I see," Carmen said, nodding.
For a moment, no one moved.
Blake stood still, his weight shifting slightly from one foot to the other, as if fighting an urge to turn and leave.
But then, with a deep breath that seemed to cost him immense effort, he muttered: "Alright… l-let's go in, then."
With that, Blake stepped forward and pushed open the heavy double oak door, revealing a bustling interior.
The wooden floor was worn down by years of boots, and the walls were covered with bulletin boards pinned with parchments: missions, monster bounties, escort requests.
At the far end of the hall, a long dark wooden counter was staffed by busy clerks, engrossed in filling out logs or discussing matters with armored adventurers. The air buzzed with activity, smelling of ink, sealing wax, and sweat.
In front of the counter, a disorderly line of aspiring mercenaries and adventurers waited their turn, some tapping their feet impatiently, others exchanging hushed chatter.
But the moment Blake crossed the threshold, the atmosphere grew instantly tense.
Suddenly, Mirac felt as though every eye in the room had turned on them…
Or rather, on Blake!
'What's everyone staring at?' Mirac wondered, casting a quick glance at the people in the hall.
Some adventurers near the door turned towards the trio, and a murmur rippled through the room like a wave.
"Heh, look who's here…" whispered a mercenary with a scar above his eyebrow to a companion who chuckled.
"Wow! I haven't seen him in a week. I was starting to think he'd actually died this time…" added another, a burly man with an axe strapped to his back, his voice loud enough to be overheard.
"Oh, so that's the kid everyone's talking about?" asked a man with a bandaged eye.
"Yep, that's him: Blake Adson. Or as everyone around here calls him, the 'Weakest of the Weak'!"
"Heh, that name suits him perfectly! I remember a couple of years ago, during his physical test for the entrance exam, he barely scored a 2 out of 10!"
"What?! 2 out of 10?!" The man with the eyepatch burst out laughing. "Haha! How's that even possible?! Even a kid could do better! Is he really that pathetic?"
"Absolutely! They say he's never managed to kill a single monster on his own in his entire career. Not even a measly Goblin!"
"Haha, that's ridiculous!"
The adventurers erupted into hearty laughter, their voices echoing through the hall like a chorus of mockery.
Blake stiffened, his shoulders hunching slightly.
His hands clenched into fists for a moment, then relaxed, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed by either Mirac or Carmen, who watched him silently.
Blake lowered his gaze to the floor, pretending not to have heard, but the blush coloring his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment.
"Ignore them…" Blake muttered, more to himself than to the others, before leading Carmen and Mirac toward the line.
And so, the trio joined the line at the counter, while Mirac shot annoyed glances at the adventurers mocking Blake.
"Tsk!" Mirac let out a sharp, irritated sound, then clenched his jaw beneath the mask.
He said nothing, but his rigid shoulders and fixed stare betrayed his displeasure.
'Why are they mocking him like that?' he wondered. 'Just because he's weaker? Is this really how things work here?'
Mirac wanted to speak, maybe retort and silence them all, but he held back.
Not for lack of words—those he had in abundance—but out of respect for Blake's choice: to ignore them.
Still, every whispered comment that reached his ears made him bristle with frustration.
'Now I understand why he wasn't thrilled about escorting us to the Association…' Mirac thought, before turning his gaze forward, taking a deep breath to calm himself.
Carmen, on the other hand, remained impassive, though her eyes continued to study Blake, who seemed to shrink with every step toward the counter.
Every now and then, another whispered remark reached their ears.
Blake heard them all.
But he said nothing.
He merely responded with a tense smile, his hands clenched into fists at his sides—helpless against words that struck him deeper than he cared to admit.
His eyes kept darting toward the exit behind him, as if calculating how much longer he had to wait before he could leave that place.
Yet, despite his discomfort, he stayed by Carmen and Mirac's side.
'I have to make this effort… for my friends!' Blake thought, clenching his fists as he tried to stay calm.
After a few minutes, the line finally shortened, and Blake stepped forward, forcing an air of confidence as he approached the counter.
A middle-aged woman with gray hair tied in a bun and round glasses looked up from a ledger.
The wrinkles on her face spoke of years of experience, but her eyes were sharp, capable of sizing up a person in an instant.
"G-Good morning, Ms. Rose!" Blake exclaimed, leaning on the counter with a smile.
Rose raised an eyebrow, setting down her quill.
"Good morning to you too, Blake." Her tone was gruff, but a corner of her mouth curled into a half-smile. "You're finally back from your week of exploring, huh?"
"Y-Yes, exactly," Blake replied. "I have plenty of interesting places to report this time, including possible Dungeons. But first…" He stepped aside, gesturing dramatically toward Carmen and Mirac. "I've brought two… uhmm, f-friends who'd like to join the Association as Mercenaries."
Mirac—standing beside Carmen—caught Blake's stammer and his attempt to seem casual but said nothing.
He merely observed the scene with detachment and a hint of a smile, as if finding the situation vaguely amusing.
"Friends, huh?" Rose scrutinized Carmen and Mirac with a piercing glance. "I've never seen them around Raerno before…"
Blake laughed, but his smile betrayed a trace of nervousness.
"D-Don't worry, Ms. Rose," he said. "Ananya and Isaac aren't shady types at all. I met them yesterday when a pack of monsters was chasing me, and… well, they saved my life. They're good people, I can vouch for them!"
"Hmm…" Rose shifted her gaze to Carmen, who returned an impassive look, as if accustomed to being judged.
Then she looked at Mirac, lingering on the black mask.
"And that mask?" old Rose asked, her tone sharp but curious.
Mirac spoke calmly but firmly:
"According to the General Regulations for Admission to the Mercenary Orders—Section III, Article 12—approved by Royal Decree No. 11/87-R, there is no obligation to appear with an uncovered face, except in cases explicitly specified by enhanced security protocols or during extraordinary inspections."
Mirac said this without hesitation, in the tone of someone who had truly memorized every line of a dusty tome.
"My Temporary Residence Permit was issued and validated just yesterday at the city's west entrance by the competent authorities present there. Therefore, as long as you do not fall under emergency parameters or have strong doubts, supported by concrete evidence, that I am a fugitive criminal, wearing the mask is not an infraction, and I am neither required to remove it nor justify its use."
Hearing this, Blake's eyes widened in disbelief. 'H-How does he know all this? Is he some kind of genius?!'
Carmen, meanwhile, said nothing, but her lips curved slightly in a fleeting, almost imperceptible smile.
Rose stared at Mirac for another long moment, her eyes narrowed as she studied him.
The silence between them grew thick, charged with tension.
But then, without warning, old Rose burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! I see you're well-informed, kid," she said finally, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as she caught her breath. "You know, you're not the first to show up here wearing a mask… but no one has ever justified it like that! Usually, others stammer, scramble with the most ridiculous excuses I've ever heard in my life, or just stay quiet without even trying to explain. But you're different! You seem like a sharp one! And it's usually the ones with a bit of brains who survive the longest in this world!"
"Ehm, thank you… I guess," Mirac replied with a slight nod, his voice neutral but with a hint of satisfaction. 'Heh! Seems like it was really worth memorizing all the laws and those boring bureaucratic regulations of the Kingdom!'
Rose composed herself, though her smile lingered.
"Alright then," she continued, her tone more formal now. "You said you want to register with the Association as Mercenaries, correct? Do you have the funds to pay the exam registration fee?"
"No," Carmen replied.
"I see…" Rose murmured. "In that case, the fee will be deducted directly from the rewards of your first missions. Each assignment will contribute to paying off the debt until it's fully settled. But I assume you already knew that. That said, if you have no questions about the exam or anything else, I'll prepare the forms for you to fill out."
Carmen and Mirac merely nodded, remaining silent.
Rose wasted no time and bent down beneath the counter, rummaging through stacks of papers, rolled parchments, and battered ledgers, muttering incomprehensible words to herself.
After a moment, she emerged and handed Mirac and Carmen two quills and two heavy, dusty wooden clipboards, each with several sheets pinned to them.
"Take these and fill them out with your personal information," Rose explained briefly. "When you're done, come back here and submit them, along with your documents."
Mirac took his clipboard and studied it carefully, eyeing the forms with an exasperated expression as he walked away from the long counter with the trio.
'So we'll have to get back in line?! Tsz, damn it!' thought the masked boy.
Without exchanging a word, Mirac, Carmen, and Blake moved away from the counter together, weaving through the crowd of adventurers filling the hall.
The murmurs about Blake had finally died down, fading into the general hum, but the weight of the stares he had drawn still seemed to press on him.
With a hesitant gesture, Blake pointed to a sturdy wooden table in a less chaotic corner, near a stained-glass window that let in the morning light, not far from two staircases: one leading upstairs, the other descending to the basement.
"Uhm… let's sit here," Blake murmured, his voice low and uncertain, lacking the ease he might have shown elsewhere.
Carmen sat down gracefully, placing the clipboard on the table and beginning to flip through the papers with surgical precision.
Mirac, on the other hand, slumped into the chair with a theatrical sigh, the black mask absorbing the light.
He spent the first few minutes reading through the Association's contract, his eyes scanning the lines as if to ensure there were no hidden clauses that could act as double-edged swords.
He then glanced at Carmen, who was methodically reviewing the forms, her fingers moving with precision—perhaps also checking the contract for potential traps.
Mirac then shifted his gaze to Blake, who sat stiffly in his chair, hands clasped on the table.
'Well, the sooner we finish, the sooner he'll be free to leave…'
With that in mind, Mirac grabbed the pen and, with a quick motion, wrote "Isaac" in the first empty box on the form.
But before he could add anything else, a sadistic voice cut through the air:
"Oh! What a surprise! Look who's still sticking around here…"
Blake froze instantly.
Slowly, he turned in his chair, his face tense.
A few steps behind him, likely having just come down the stairs, stood a group of three twenty-year-olds, their faces wearing smug smiles.
Two of them, standing behind the third, grinned arrogantly, their arms crossed.
But it was the young man in front, clearly the leader, who had just spoken!
His black hair, tousled as if shaped by the wind itself, framed a sharp face lit by a disdainful grin.
He wore finely crafted steel armor, each plate etched with intricate patterns that reflected the sunlight.
A longsword hung at his side, its scabbard adorned with silver inlays.
But what caught every eye was the long cloak draping from his shoulders, a deep crimson edged with golden threads.
At its center, embroidered with near-divine precision, was a phoenix with spread wings, enveloped in golden flames, its head crowned by a ring of stars.
At the sight of that emblem, the adventurers at nearby tables fell silent, their eyes wide.
Some exchanged incredulous glances, others leaned toward their companions, whispering in tones of awe and respect.
"That's the crest of the Imperial Phoenix Guild!" murmured a weathered mercenary, setting down his tankard carefully, as if afraid to disturb a regal presence.
"You're right!" exclaimed a woman with a scar across her cheek. "Is he a new member, maybe?"
"I've never seen him here at the Association either, but… his face looks kind of familiar…"
Mirac eyed the trio with a raised eyebrow.
'They don't bode well…' he thought, but said nothing.
Blake, upon seeing the young man, swallowed nervously.
"J-Joren…" he murmured, his voice low, almost choked. He tried to maintain a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed his discomfort. "W-What are you doing here?"
Joren stepped forward, positioning himself in front of the trio's table with his hands on his hips and a grin spreading across his face.
"Well, isn't it obvious? I've finished my academic training, so I came back to the city to sign up with the Association. And you know, we were just talking about you! Wondering if you were still hiding out in the woods, or maybe running away from some Goblin screaming like a little girl. Oh, wait, no! I heard that it already happened a few months ago, didn't it? Whoops, my bad! I'd completely forgotten!"
The two young men behind him burst out laughing, one slapping his thigh.
Carmen, seated beside Blake, observed the scene in silence, her face completely impassive.
Only her dark eyes moved, slowly shifting from Joren to Blake.
Mirac, on the other side of the table, huffed in frustration.
'Tsk! This is too much…!' he thought to himself, his inner voice tight with restrained anger, as he set the pen down on the table with firm intent.
His black mask hid any emotion, but the way he rose from his chair—with an almost predatory slowness—spoke volumes.
"Hey," Mirac finally said, his voice calm but scornful. "Leave him alone."
Blake flinched, his face twisting into a grimace of apprehension.
"Isaac, no, let it go…" he murmured, his voice barely audible, almost pleading. "It's not worth it…"
Mirac, however, ignored him.
Joren's laughter faded slowly, and his gaze settled on Mirac, sizing him up with a raised eyebrow and an annoyed expression.
"Huh! And who exactly are you?" Joren asked, straightening up and crossing his arms.
Mirac didn't move, but his voice grew colder.
"It doesn't matter who I am, and I don't care who you are. You came here with your little posse back there and insulted my friend. So, you're not leaving until you apologize to him."
The hall, until that moment a chaos of voices and noises, seemed to suddenly hush, as some adventurers cast curious glances towards the masked boy's table.
Hearing Mirac's words, however, Joren wasn't intimidated in the slightest.
On the contrary, along with his two companions behind him, he burst into loud, raucous laughter that echoed off the hall's walls.
"Hahaha! A friend of Blake's, huh? So even he can make friends now? Unbelievable!"
The laughter dragged on for a few more seconds, then Joren fixed his gaze on Mirac again, this time with a harder, more disdainful expression.
"But you know, you shouldn't play the hero with me, kid. You might end up bitterly regretting it. And if you knew who I am, you wouldn't even have the guts to talk to me like that."
Joren paused, letting his words hang in the air like a veiled threat. His gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing as he looked Mirac up and down, daring him to respond.
But after a few seconds, it was Joren who broke the silence first:
"Heh! You know what? I'm feeling unusually generous and in a good mood today. So, I'm even willing to turn a blind eye to this little matter and pretend nothing ever happened. However, before I leave, let me give you a piece of advice, my dear friend: choose your company more wisely. Trust me, I say this for your own good. After all, that one over there," he said, nodding towards Blake, "will only drag you down to his same mediocre level. That's why you should always steer clear of people like him: because in life, when you surround yourself with garbage… you end up smelling like it too. Don't you agree with me?"
The two behind him laughed again, but the tension in the hall was palpable.
The adventurers at nearby tables had stopped talking, watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and caution.
Blake, for his part, said nothing. Not to defend himself or otherwise.
He remained silent, seated in his chair, his gaze fixed downward, his hands clenched into fists as he endured the insults, accompanied by the trio's mocking laughter.
Mirac, however, had no intention of letting any of it slide.
"I won't say it a second time," Mirac said, his voice low but sharp. "Apologize and leave. Now."
Joren narrowed his eyes, his grin twisting into a defiant sneer.
"Tsk! You know what, kid? You've really pissed me off!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with mockery as the scornful grin twisted into a snarl of anger. "I gave you a chance, but you didn't want to take it. Usually, I don't go after the younger ones, especially not the disabled, but here someone needs to teach you to know your place!"
With that said, Joren's right hand snapped toward the sword's hilt, his fingers closing firmly around the decorated grip.
And so, the brawl began…