The road stretched ahead, winding through rolling hills until it opened into the valley of smoke and stone.
There, pressed against the horizon, rose Ironvale — a city of commerce, craftsmanship, and hunters. From afar it seemed alive, breathing out steam from chimneys, its towers and smoke stacks carving jagged lines against the morning sky.
Hunnt paused on the ridge, the strap of his travel pack digging into his shoulder. His gauntlets gleamed faintly where sunlight broke through the clouds. At his side, Pyro padded closer, ears twitching at the distant hammer strikes echoing across the wind.
"Looks… different," Pyro muttered, whiskers twitching. His paw brushed the hilt of his sword and shield, comforted by the familiar weight. His tail lashed once, betraying nerves.
Hunnt's lips quirked into a grin. A thrill stirred in his chest, a pulse he hadn't felt since the day they first felled a monster on their own.
"Different, yes. But it's a city, Pyro. Big, loud… and full of possibilities."
Together, they descended into the noise.
The gates of Ironvale loomed high, built of iron-banded timber thick enough to resist both beast and siege. Guards in battered armor leaned on halberds, barely sparing a glance as the travelers passed.
Beyond, chaos unfolded — ordered chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
Merchants barked prices over the squeal of cart wheels. Fabrics of vibrant color spilled from stalls, fluttering like captured wings. Spices burned the air with unfamiliar sharpness. Tools glinted — saws, chisels, contraptions Hunnt couldn't even name. Inns jostled for space with carved wooden signs, while smithies exhaled sparks and coal smoke from open workshops.
The smell was a war of its own: bread fresh from ovens, sweat of the crowd, leather curing in the sun, coal burning hot and bitter.
Pyro's nose twitched, his tail rigid.
"Feels like walking into the belly of a beast," he said, voice low. "Everything's moving, chewing, spitting us along."
Hunnt gave a small laugh but kept his stance steady, letting his Observation Haki brush lightly at the rhythm around them. The crowd surged like a river — too strong to resist, but predictable if one knew how to read the flow.
Palicos darted between ankles with practiced ease, baskets tied to their backs. One carrying scrolls nearly collided with Pyro before leaping aside, muttering something about "rookies" under its breath.
Hunnt caught the faint amusement in their glances. Outsiders, obvious and raw.
"We stick out," he murmured.
"Like farm foxes in a lion's den," Pyro grumbled.
Hunnt's grin lingered. "Then we learn the lions' rules."
He scanned the tide of bodies until he caught sight of a man with a satchel — no weapon, no armor, just the gait of someone used to navigating crowded streets.
Hunnt stepped forward.
"Excuse me," he called. "Where do hunters gather in this city?"
The man paused, eyes flicking over Hunnt's travel gear and Pyro's shield. After a moment's assessment, he gestured with a sharp flick of his hand. "Straight ahead, through the wide road. You'll know it when you see it."
"Thank you," Hunnt said with a nod.
The man vanished back into the river of people, leaving only the echo of his boots on stone.
Pyro tilted his head. "Efficient."
Hunnt adjusted his pack. "Exactly what we need."
The avenue widened into a grand courtyard paved in gray stone.
At its heart stood a building that demanded attention — massive, square-shouldered, banners draped from its rafters, their fabric embroidered with the sigils of claw and fang. Above the wide double doors was an emblem carved into the arch: a hunter's circle etched with blade, shield, and beast.
The sunlight struck it just right, making the lines gleam.
Hunnt stopped, breath caught in his throat.
"Pyro… this is it. This is what we've been looking for."
Pyro's tail flicked upward in awe. "A hunters' guild. In a city. Incredible."
The doors opened without resistance, and they stepped inside.
The guild hall pulsed with life.
Hunters in mismatched armor leaned over maps, voices sharp with debate. Steel rang as a great sword was hauled across a table for repair. Laughter burst from a corner where a squad compared scars, their voices carrying the bravado of survival.
Every scent here was layered: leather cured from countless hides, oil from weapon joints, even the faint metallic tang of monster blood that no scrubbing could truly erase.
Hunnt's Observation Haki traced the threads of the room. Confidence radiated from these men and women, a current thicker than smoke. Their movements were efficient, weighted with purpose. Even in silence, they carried the presence of those who had looked monsters in the eye and returned alive.
Eyes flicked briefly to Hunnt and Pyro as they entered, then slid away. No curiosity, no judgment — just dismissal.
"They don't even notice us," Pyro whispered, tail twitching. "Like we're ghosts."
Hunnt's smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Not ghosts. Just new. That's good. Watch. Learn."
They slipped into a corner bench.
From there, the hall unfolded as a study in hunter craft. One group bent over parchment, tracing paths with calloused fingers, arguing weak points and terrain. Another leaned casually on the railing above, exchanging tales of wyverns and near-misses.
A lone huntress sat cross-legged on the floor, bow across her lap, wiping it with reverence.
Hunnt's gaze tracked every motion. He watched how they shifted their weight, how they handled steel. Each detail carved itself into memory, sharpening his resolve.
Pyro's ears flicked restlessly, snatching words like "carapace too thick" and "strike under the wing."
They stayed until shadows lengthened, the day bleeding into evening. Hunters departed in pairs and squads, returning with tusks, claws, scales. Others limped in, armor cracked, faces drawn but alive.
The rhythm of the hall shifted from fevered business to quiet aftermath.
By nightfall, only the murmur of paperwork and clink of cups remained.
Hunnt rose. His gauntlets gleamed in the torchlight as he straightened.
"It's time."
Pyro's ears twitched, but he nodded, shield steady at his back.
Together they crossed the hall to the reception counter.
Behind it sat a woman with steel in her eyes, her quills scratching over parchment in tidy lines. She looked up as they approached, her gaze sharp as the tip of a lance.
Hunnt squared his shoulders.
"We'd like to join the guild," he said. His voice carried, calm but certain. "We want to register as hunters."
The quill stilled. Slowly, she set it aside, eyes scanning Hunnt from head to toe, then lingering on Pyro. Her silence stretched, measuring.
At last she spoke, voice clipped. "Name?"
"Hunnt. Of Ravenshire."
Her quill scratched the parchment. "And your companion?"
"Pyro," Hunnt answered firmly. "Sword and Shield user."
Her brow lifted slightly. Palicos rarely declared weapons as hunters. She did not comment, only wrote.
"And your weapon?"
Hunnt raised one gauntleted hand. "My fists."
The receptionist looked up, her sharp eyes scanning them with practiced scrutiny.
Her gaze lingered on Hunnt's gauntlets, then flicked to Pyro's shield. Silence stretched between them, heavy as steel.
For the first time since entering Ironvale, Hunnt felt the weight of judgment settle squarely on his shoulders.
The woman set her quill down. Her lips pressed into a thin line as if deciding whether these strangers were worth the ink of her ledger.
Hunnt met her stare without flinching. Pyro's tail twitched, ears taut with anticipation.
The air around the counter grew taut, the guild hall's hum fading to a distant murmur.
Whatever came next would decide everything.