"A-A Raid on the Rogthars' Dungeon?!" Blake exclaimed, breaking the silence.
Jun let out a small smirk.
"Exactly," he confirmed, his calm smile unwavering. "This morning, after reading your report on the Rogthars' cave," he said, looking at Blake, "I sent an exploration team to the cave where the Rogthars are presumably lurking to assess the Dungeon's threat level. Based on the findings of that investigation, we'll dispatch an appropriate suppression team."
Jun leaned slightly forward, his hands clasped on the desk, his tone growing more serious, almost solemn.
"I have no doubt the Dungeon will be classified as at least Grade 2, if not higher," the Association President continued, casting a sharp, measured glance at those present. "This means we'll need a high-level Party, and you, with your rank of Rectified Blade, today's performance, and your firsthand experience with those Rogthars, are more than qualified to take part in the operation."
Mirac studied Jun carefully as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. 'Of course, it's clear now! That's why he promoted us directly to Rectified Blade rank… From the start, his intention was to have us join the upcoming Raid on the Rogthars' Dungeon! Naturally, to join the suppression team, a minimum rank will be required—yet to be determined, but it will surely depend on the Dungeon's danger level. However, thanks to the President, we have already attained the rank of Rectified Blade, which he himself most likely deems more than sufficient to qualify us for the mission. Otherwise, had it been different, he would have simply granted us a higher or lower rank than that of Rectified Blade.'
Beyond that, Mirac suspected Jun had chosen his words carefully, deliberately emphasizing "Rectified Blade" to hint at the truth without stating it outright.
When Jun finished explaining, Carmen glanced briefly at Mirac—for barely a second—before turning back to the man in front of her.
"We appreciate the trust you're placing in us, President…" she said in a neutral but firm tone. "However, this isn't a decision we can make on the spot…" Her words were measured, a perfect balance of respect and caution.
Jun narrowed his eyes slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face, but he didn't respond.
"After all," Carmen went on to explain, "before accepting or declining your invitation, it would be better to wait for the results of the exploration team's report. And based on what emerges, we will decide what to do."
Mirac remained silent, giving only a solemn nod, his face hidden behind the mask that concealed every emotion.
Inwardly, though, he approved of every word Carmen said.
Her response didn't surprise him in the least.
In fact, it was exactly what he had expected from her: logical, cautious, and always one step ahead!
"I agree," Mirac added, nodding slightly in support of Carmen's words. "We cannot afford to make a hasty decision. We would prefer to take the time to reflect and confer in private, to be certain of what awaits us in that Dungeon before enlisting for the Raid."
During that long conversation with President Jun, Mirac had deliberately chosen not to reveal any information about the Rogthars they had faced, for several strategic reasons.
First of all, he wanted to clearly emphasize his decision not to get involved—at least for the moment—in the matter of those demonic creatures, keeping a certain distance from the issue.
Secondly, he wanted to jealously guard the details in his possession for the upcoming official convocation, imagining that the participants in the Raid would all be high-level fighters. Consequently, providing them with information on that occasion would further help to strengthen his reputation in the eyes of such prominent figures.
Finally, Mirac wanted to take the necessary time to prepare a thoughtful speech, carefully considering the best way to convey information both delicate and crucial: namely, that the Rogthars had inexplicably only been alive for a few months—a highly unusual detail that was, in all likelihood, closely tied to the mystery of their sudden reappearance after more than a millennium.
Naturally, in sharing that information, Mirac would carefully avoid mentioning his ability, "Instant Knowledge of Age", adopting a discreet and measured approach so as not to risk revealing his Chaotic nature.
Hearing their responses, Jun let out a soft sigh.
"I see…" he murmured calmly, letting the word linger in the air.
He tilted his head slightly, a formal gesture that sealed his full acceptance of their choice.
"Well, a wise decision. And to be honest, I expected a response like this from you," he commented, leaning back in his chair. "Very well, then. In that case, the exploration team should return by this evening with the full report on the haunted cave—at the latest tomorrow, if any unforeseen events occur. Once the Dungeon's danger level is confirmed, you'll be summoned again to inform me of your decision and, if necessary, discuss the operational details of the Raid. In the meantime, take the opportunity to rest and clear your minds."
He concluded with a polite nod, followed by a hand gesture clearly indicating their dismissal.
"That said, you're free to go now. Ms. Rose will escort you downstairs to collect your Association's Identity Documents."
Mirac, Carmen, and Blake nodded respectfully.
"Thank you, President," the masked boy and the red-haired woman said in unison before turning, followed by Blake, and heading toward the exit.
Ms. Rose, who had remained silent near the door, escorted them out with an elegant nod before closing the double doors behind them.
As they walked down the long corridor, Mirac's thoughts returned to Jun's proposal.
'A Raid on the Rogthars' Dungeon!' he exclaimed to himself.
The idea thrilled him, but at the same time, it left a subtle, hard-to-ignore unease.
He knew Carmen was right: the Combat Rogthars they had faced the previous day might only be a shadow of what truly lurked in the depths of the cave.
'Will I be up to the challenge of what awaits us there?' he wondered, with a hint of apprehension.
But beneath that fleeting hesitation, a firm resolve resurfaced in his heart, reminding him of the promise he'd made to himself: to never again let fear overpower him!
Not again!
Blake, on the other hand, showed no particular reaction since realizing he was no longer deeply involved in the discussion.
From that moment, the tall, thin boy had maintained an impassive expression, but inwardly reflected with a touch of resignation.
'Of course, I wasn't invited to the Raid…' he thought with slight detachment. 'But that's probably for the best. This way, I can stay out of trouble, and at the same time, I won't risk putting others in danger with my presence…'
Carmen, lingering slightly behind the two boys, seemed lost in her own thoughts.
That shiver, that feeling of being watched that had struck her earlier, continued to haunt her…
She hadn't said anything, but someone—or something—was keeping an eye on them!
And upon reflection, who knew how long this new presence had been observing them from the shadows…
'Who are you?' she wondered, clenching her fists without anyone noticing. 'And what do you want from us?'
From now on, she'd have to seriously consider this new spy in her plans, in addition to the one she already knew about…
As the trio walked away, led by Ms. Rose, Jun remained alone in his office, his gaze fixed on an invisible horizon, carried far from reality by his thoughts…
* * *
Calmly, the trio descended the wide staircase leading to the ground floor, their footsteps echoing softly in the corridor.
The atmosphere in the Intercontinental Association Against Threats building was solemn, with tall columns standing like silent sentinels and stained-glass windows filtering the daylight.
Mirac, Carmen, and Blake proceeded in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Ms. Rose, with her elegant bearing and determined stride, led them without looking back, the faint rustle of her dark dress accompanying the rhythm of their steps.
When they reached the main hall—a vast rectangular atrium with a towering ceiling adorned with intricate friezes—Ms. Rose briefly separated from the group.
Without a word, with a confident and composed stride, Ms. Rose moved toward a carved wooden door set between two sculpted columns, just beyond the left edge of the long reception desk.
She disappeared through the doorway, and moments later, the trio saw her reemerge on the other side of the polished mahogany counter, where other women were already seated—of varying ages, with serene faces and alert eyes—each discreetly attending to the newcomers.
There was no visible line: people entered and were directed efficiently and politely, as if following a prearranged order.
With a fluid motion, Ms. Rose took her place at the reception desk and flipped the sign hanging on the glass in front of her.
The word "Absent" gave way to "Present," and a faint smile curved her lips as she looked up at the trio.
"Please, step forward," she said in a calm but authoritative voice, gesturing toward two large stacks of documents already prepared on the counter.
Mirac and Carmen exchanged a glance, then approached, while Blake stayed a step behind, observing the scene with his usual enthusiasm.
Ms. Rose slid two bound folders toward them, each marked with their names.
"These are the official contracts with the Association," she explained, her tone professional yet tinged with courtesy. "I ask that you read them carefully and sign where indicated."
Carmen was the first to take her folder. She opened it decisively and began flipping through the pages swiftly, yet attentively.
Her dark eyes scanned the lines with the precision of someone accustomed to catching every detail.
Mirac, on the other hand, opened his contract more slowly, his mask concealing any emotion as he read.
The first document they had signed earlier covered the terms and conditions regarding the privacy of their personal data, required for participation in the Admission Exam.
This second contract, however, went to the core of the agreement: codes of conduct, obligations in case of official summons, limited rights of revocation, and civil liability for any damages caused during missions.
Among the most important clauses was the absolute obligation of confidentiality: any information received confidentially and not yet made public by the Association had to be treated as classified material. The contract specified three different levels of information sensitivity, each associated with increasingly severe penalties in case of violation.
Level One information—considered low sensitivity, such as logistical updates or non-critical operational data—could lead, if improperly disclosed, to official warnings, demotion, or, in the case of repeated offenses, contract termination.
Level Two information, of a strategic but not yet critical nature—such as progress on ongoing operations, data on creatures still under study, or projects not officially announced—was protected by stricter clauses. Sharing such information with unauthorized individuals would result in immediate dismissal, cancellation of any membership benefits, and placement on a monitoring list.
Level Three information was classified as top priority: strategic secrets, biological or technological data related to creatures or Artifacts, the identities of undercover agents, or details of global threats under containment. Revealing such information outside authorized channels—even mentioning it to unapproved colleagues—was considered an act of treason. In such cases, the responsible party would be immediately designated as wanted worldwide and treated as a threat to intercontinental security.
'Since we were talking about Demons, I suppose the entire conversation about the Rogthars today falls squarely under level-two, or even level-three information…'
Mirac didn't need to ask Ms. Rose or anyone else for confirmation: he immediately understood that everything discussed with the President in his office could not be shared with anyone outside those present in that room.
Without wasting time, the masked boy resumed reading, turning the page calmly.
The document was dense, written in technical but surprisingly clear language, as if the Association had sought to eliminate any possible ambiguity.
'Good. There don't seem to be any fraudulent clauses,' Mirac thought, turning the page with the caution of someone who knows the best traps are hidden in the most innocuous lines.
After carefully reading their contracts, both signed decisively, their pens scratching sharply across the paper.
"Very well," Ms. Rose commented, collecting the documents and pens with a methodical gesture.
She then applied a crisp, precise stamp to each contract, officially sealing the agreement, before neatly storing them in their respective drawers.
"As you already know, and as discussed this morning," she added in a calm but firm tone, "the registration fee will be gradually deducted from the rewards of your first missions until fully paid. The remaining balance will always be visible in the internal accounting records. But rest assured: you will be officially informed as soon as the balance is fully cleared. You need not worry."
With that, Ms. Rose opened a dark leather-lined compartment and pulled out two silver pins.
"These are your Rectified Blade rank badges," she announced, gesturing to the two silver pins shaped like stylized blades, each with a runic engraving at the center.
Next, she opened an adjacent compartment and extracted two matte black metal cards with faint reflective surfaces.
"And these," she continued firmly, "are your Association's Identity Documents."
Each card bore the Association's emblem, along with the new members' personal information: full name, date of birth, registration number, issuance date, and newly acquired rank. The characters, sharp and deep, seemed etched with a tool too precise to be human.
On the left side of the card, framed by a thin silver border, was an engraved blank rectangle, smooth and matte, devoid of any mark or explanation.
Finally, from the same compartment, Ms. Rose pulled out a small metal cylinder with a transparent cap, inside which gleamed a dense, unnaturally dark red substance.
"To complete your official registration," she explained, slowly unscrewing the cap, "you'll need to dip your right thumb in this red substance and leave your imprint on the front of the card, within the rectangle. The mark will serve as a biomagical authentication seal, unique to each member, permanent, and resistant to any form of tampering."
After explaining every detail, Ms. Rose handed them the cards. "Please, proceed."
Carmen was the first to move.
She took her card with both hands, examining it for a moment.
The surface was cold to the touch, perfectly smooth, with the metal edges faintly reflecting the hall's light.
Without looking away, she approached the open cylinder and slowly dipped her thumb into the thick, red substance.
Its consistency was dense, almost viscous, yet fluid enough to adhere instantly to her fingertip.
It was neither warm nor cold: it had a neutral temperature, like wall paint.
After dipping her finger, Carmen lifted it slowly.
A single drop hung for a moment before falling back into the container.
Then, she pressed her thumb onto the left side of the card, within the engraved rectangle, holding it for a few seconds.
When she lifted her finger, the imprint was there: scarlet, perfectly defined, visible in every ridge and curve.
"Here," said Rose, handing the red-haired woman a handkerchief to clean herself.
Carmen accepted it and nodded slowly in gratitude.
Mirac followed immediately, mimicking her movements with the same precision.
He picked up his card and dipped his thumb into the substance with a slow, controlled motion.
No hesitation, no haste.
He, too, felt that peculiar consistency, as if the substance were somehow evaluating him.
'It almost tickles,' the boy thought as he lifted his finger.
Then, he pressed his right thumb onto the front of his card, applying firm, precise pressure.
When he lifted it, the imprint appeared: equally sharp, different in shape, but identical in function.
Both cards now lay on the table, officially sealed, faintly glimmering in the sunlight.
"Here," said Ms. Rose, handing Mirac another handkerchief to clean himself, with the same courteous gesture she reserved for Carmen.
Mirac accepted it with a nod of thanks, wiping the red substance off his thumb.
Ms. Rose then carefully closed the cylinder, twisting the cap until she heard a slight click, and placed it back in its compartment.
"One moment, please," the woman added in her calm but authoritative tone, raising a hand to stop Mirac and Carmen before they could pick up the cards.
With a swift motion, she took both metallic documents and rose from her chair, heading once again toward the carved wooden door beyond the counter.
She disappeared for a brief moment, leaving the trio waiting.
When she returned, almost a minute later, she placed the cards on the counter with a satisfied smile.
"All done," she announced, handing the documents to Mirac and Carmen. "Congratulations! You are now officially Rectified Blade–rank Mercenaries of the Intercontinental Association Against Threats!"
Mirac took his card and studied it carefully, looking for any visible change.
But, to the naked eye, he noticed no difference: the scarlet imprint was still there, sharp as before, and no other mark seemed to have been added.
'I don't know what Ms. Rose did in that short time,' he thought, 'but it was probably part of the procedure.'
Ms. Rose cleared her throat and added:
"These badges and documents identify you as Association Mercenaries in all seven kingdoms. So, please, make sure to keep them safe. In case of loss, you can request new ones, but it will incur additional costs."
The elderly woman then intertwined her fingers and placed them firmly in front of her on the counter.
"Very well. That said, you may go now," she concluded, as Carmen and Mirac collected their documents and carefully slipped them into their pockets. "And please, stop by tomorrow so I can update you in case the exploration team has already returned."
"Alright," they replied in unison, including Blake, who stepped forward after realizing that the matter concerned him as well.
With a final nod of respect, the trio took their leave, exiting the main hall and heading toward the building's exit.
As they walked away from the imposing Headquarters of the Intercontinental Association Against Threats, the sunlight greeted them with a reassuring warmth.
The city streets buzzed with life: merchants shouting their offers, carts clattering over the cobblestones, and the cheerful chatter of passersby.
As usual, Mirac and Carmen walked side by side in silence.
The conversation with President Jun, the revelations about his past, and the prospect of the Raid on the Rogthar Dungeon had left a deep mark on their minds.
Blake, who had maintained an unusual composure until then, suddenly broke the silence with a wide, slightly awkward smile.
He stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, turning toward Mirac and Carmen with an almost contagious energy, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
"Hey, you know what?" he exclaimed, clapping his hands excitedly. "Today's a special day! You've just become official members of the Association! Rectified Blade rank Mercenaries, to be precise! We can't just go home like nothing happened. How about we celebrate? I'm inviting you to lunch! And don't worry, it's on me!"
Mirac raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
'Didn't you already spend a fortune yesterday covering our expenses?' he thought, referring to the City Entrance Fee and Temporary Residence Permits. 'Are we going to end up washing dishes to pay the bill?'
Carmen, who seemed to share the masked boy's concerns, shook her head slightly with an amused expression crossing her face.
"We really appreciate it, Blake, but trust me, there's no need," she said firmly but with a touch of kindness. "We've already taken enough advantage of your generosity yesterday."
Mirac, watching the scene from behind his mask, couldn't help but mutter to himself:
'So you're not so petty as to take advantage of his kindness again…'
Inevitably, Mirac recalled the previous evening, when Carmen had cleverly tricked and persuaded Blake into covering all the hefty expenses for their entry into Raerno.
For that very reason, an exasperated smile brushed his lips, hidden beneath his mask.
Blake, however, showed no intention of backing down.
He shook his head vigorously, his face lit up with an enthusiasm that seemed impossible to extinguish.
"No, no, no, please, I insist!" he exclaimed, waving his hands as if to dismiss any objections. "I promise, you won't regret it!"
At that point, even Mirac tried to reason with him:
"Blake, how about postponing the lunch to another day? That way, we'll have time to earn some money in the meantime and you won't have to spend any more on us."
"No way!" Blake replied with a determined smile. "An important event should always be celebrated on the same day!"
Then, in a calmer tone, he added: "And anyway, don't worry about the money. While you two were busy with the written test, I reported several unknown Dungeons to the Association that I discovered during my week of exploration. For each report, I get paid based on various factors: distance, potential risk, number and variety of monsters detected during reconnaissance, and so on."
He paused briefly before continuing:
"The payment comes in two phases: the first half is paid to me immediately, at the time of the report. The second half, however, will only be credited after a specialized team has verified the actual presence of the Dungeon and its level of danger. If it turns out that the location is not a real Dungeon, or was reported incorrectly, I would have to return the advance received, with an added penalty. So, as you can see, the Association protects itself quite well!"
Realizing he might have gone into too much detail, Blake coughed slightly, partly out of embarrassment.
"Ahem! Anyway, what I meant to say is that I have enough money to treat you to a proper lunch. And like I said, today's a special day! It deserves to be celebrated in the best way possible, right?"
As he said those last words, he turned slightly toward Carmen and gave her a wink—one that was meant to be quick and discreet but failed miserably in its intent.
Mirac raised an eyebrow again beneath his mask.
'What was that?' he wondered, perplexed.
The wink was so blatant it seemed almost out of place, but he decided not to comment aloud.
Instead, he glanced at Carmen, trying to gauge her reaction.
Carmen, for her part, met Mirac's gaze for a moment, her dark eyes seeming to say: "Looks like we have no choice, huh?"
Faced with Blake's contagious enthusiasm, it was clear that resisting would be futile.
His energy was like a tide: impossible to stop without being swept away.
If even Jun had acted the same way, Mirac and Carmen would have struggled to leave his office without accepting his proposal on the spot.
The two sighed in unison, a nearly synchronized gesture that betrayed their resignation.
Carmen, taking on the role of spokesperson, responded with a tone that mixed sarcasm and inevitable surrender:
"Alright, then. If you insist so much, I guess we have no choice…"
Blake's face lit up as if he'd just won a duel.
"Awesome! It's a deal then!" he exclaimed, raising a fist in victory. "Follow me, this way!"
Without wasting a moment, the tall, thin boy set off with a determined stride, leading Mirac and Carmen through the bustling city streets toward his favorite tavern.
However, they weren't alone…