The Mercenary Universal Guild buzzed with activity vessels roared overhead, weapons clanged in distant rooms. Xion Moon walked deeper into the colossal facility, its ceiling stretching like the maw of a giant star cruiser. His footsteps echoed across the marble floor until he reached the registration counter, where a grizzled man with cybernetic implants in one eye was seated.
The man glanced up with practiced disinterest, barely lifting his head.
"Yeah? What do you want, kid?"
Xion returned the gaze with calm poise. "I'm here to register."
The man tapped his desk console. "Name and age."
"Xion Moon. Nineteen."
The man gave a hum of acknowledgment, inputting the data. "Alright. You'll need to take a strength assessment. Go to Training Room 74. It'll evaluate your output and assign you a tier." He paused, then leaned back, cracking his neck. "Listen here, since you're new, let me save you from asking stupid questions later."
Xion waited as the man began to explain.
"There are nine known levels of strength. Level 1 is your average recruit barely strong enough to lift their own ego. Level 2 and 3, those are your grunt mercs. The real action starts at Level 4. Most respectable freelancers fall somewhere between 4 and 5. Now… Level 6?" He let out a whistle. "You're looking at elite squad captains and planetary defenders. Above 6? Let's just say, you're brushing shoulders with ghosts. Level 8 and 9? Those people ain't human anymore. They're monsters. Beings with strength that can break cities, crack atmospheres… and rarely show themselves in our side of the universe."
Xion nodded once, absorbing every word. He didn't speak, but the gleam in his eye didn't miss a single detail.
"Room 74," the man pointed lazily. "Down the corridor, second left."
Xion made his way through the metallic halls until he found it Room 74, a pristine, white chamber with soft lights and a sterile scent. No one else was present. The walls were smooth, and the only object was a reinforced cylindrical machine in the center, glowing faintly.
A voice, smooth and automated, echoed around him.
> "Strength calibration initiating. Please deliver a full-force punch to the designated target in front of you."
Xion stepped forward, flexing his right hand. He rolled his shoulder once, drew in a calm breath, and let his gathered strength surge into his veins. His feet grounded, his back straightened and in one smooth motion, his fist blurred through the air and slammed into the target.
A sharp hum pulsed through the room.
> "Output strength: Level 4. Calibration complete."
Xion lowered his arm slowly, the ache in his knuckles already fading. His strength… even at just ten percent of what he had felt a week ago, was already solid beyond the ordinary.
He left the room with silent pride, returning to the counter. The same man was still there, sipping something from a cracked thermos. When he saw Xion approach, he raised an eyebrow.
"Done already?"
Xion nodded.
"What level?"
"Four."
The man's eyes widened just slightly respect surfacing in his voice for the first time. "Level 4, huh? Not bad at all. Most new kids don't break past 2." he didn't question his honesty everything was recorded anyway, He tapped the console again. "So, what's your choice? Want to go solo or join a squad?"
Xion hesitated. Briefly, the memory of the blonde woman flashed in his mind her confident smile, the shine of her black space armor, and the business card she left him with.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved it. On the front, a name was written in bold neon print:
> Squad Name: Obsidian Vale
Xion handed the card over. "This squad. The captain asked me to join earlier."
The man raised an eyebrow again. "Obsidian Vale, huh? That's Captain Avera's squad."
He tapped into his system and connected to a direct line. After a few brief exchanges, he nodded to Xion.
"She confirmed. Said she was hoping you'd reach out." He slid a sleek, blue card across the table. "You're officially registered. Congratulations. That's your Mercenary ID. Level 4 blue card."
Xion turned the card in his hand. Cool to the touch, its etched circuits pulsed with faint blue light. "What are the other colors?"
The man chuckled, glad to be asked. "Each level has a distinct color. Level 1 is white. Level 2, green. Level 3, yellow. Level 4, as you see—blue. Level 5? That's black. Pure, high-density material. Only a few walk around with those."
Xion's brows lifted. "Black… So that woman from earlier…"
"Yup," the man cut in. "Captain Avera's a Level 5. Strong, experienced, and not someone you want to make angry."
The realization made Xion pause. She had looked relaxed, almost playful. But behind that, she carried real power.
"Thanks," he said simply, pocketing the card.
He turned and walked back through the guild hall. The buzz of engines and steel-toed boots accompanied him, but his thoughts remained quiet. Outside, the air was colder than before, dusk washing the horizon with pale silver light. He hadn't made it far down the road before his comm device buzzed.
He picked it up. It was her.
"Hey, Xion!" Avera's voice came with a cheerful rhythm. "Just saw your registration. Level 4, huh? That's better than I expected. You'll be a solid asset to Obsidian Vale."
"Thanks," he replied.
"I'll be at the vessel platform tomorrow morning. Come by. I'll introduce you to the rest of the team. We've got an open contract soon perfect for your first mission."
"Understood. I'll be there."
"Great!" she said. "And hey don't be late. I'm strict with timing, but I promise you'll like the others."
The line cut off. Xion stood there for a moment before slipping the device away.
The walk back home was short, the streets quiet save for the occasional passing shuttle overhead. Lights flickered in broken patterns, and the familiar scent of rust and cooking oil wafted through open windows. When he reached the old apartment building, he pushed open the rusted gate, climbed two flights of creaking stairs, and opened the door.
The moment he stepped in, warmth flooded over him, not from the heater, but from the voices and laughter within.