The morning after the Bazaar trial, the city was restless. Tower survivors gathered in cafes, street corners, and guild halls, trading stories like scars. Some bragged, some cried, others drank until their words made no sense. Anos sat quietly on the roof of a half-destroyed building, Molar beside him with her knees tucked under her chin, and Maggus practicing spear drills in the alley below.
The hum of the city felt different now. Less chaos, more organization. The world was adapting to the Tower.
"Master, what are you watching?" Molar asked, nibbling on a half-burnt croissant.
"News," Anos replied, flicking his fingers. The System projected a faint screen in front of him. On it, a polished anchor in a suit and tie was speaking with forced calm.
"Breaking news: a new organization — the Global Hunter Association — has opened its first exchange centers today. These centers will buy monster cores, equipment, and artifacts found inside the Tower. Hunters can now earn stable income instead of relying on black markets. High-grade cores are especially sought after, with some valued at millions."
The screen shifted to show footage: lines of hunters outside a glass building, guards in uniforms managing the crowd, and smiling executives shaking hands.
Molar's eyes sparkled. "So we can buy more bread?"
Anos smirked. "That's what you thought of first? Bread?"
"Bread is life," she said with complete seriousness.
Maggus wiped sweat from his brow, overhearing. "If we can sell those extra cores from the Bazaar trial, we won't need to eat stale soup anymore."
Anos stood, stretching his shoulders. He still felt the faint ache from using too much telekinesis, but his body was slowly adjusting. "Alright. Let's check it out."
---
THE HUNTER ASSOCIATION EXCHANGE
The new exchange center was brighter and shinier than anything else in the ruined city. Its walls gleamed white, banners carried the Hunter Association logo — a spear piercing a rising sun — and a constant buzz of voices filled the air.
Inside, dozens of hunters bartered and argued at counters. Clerks in suits handled glowing crystals carefully, scanning them into devices that measured their grade.
Anos stepped forward with Molar skipping beside him and Maggus keeping his spear close. He dropped a pouch on the counter.
The clerk opened it, and his jaw nearly hit the floor. Inside were three high-grade cores from the Gearbeasts and the Shard Warden. Their glow was unmistakable — pure energy condensed into crystals that pulsed like small suns.
"This—this can't be right," the clerk stammered. "Where did you… who are you?"
"Just sell it," Anos said simply.
The clerk hurried away, returning with two suited officials. One, a tall man with sharp glasses, leaned forward with a smile too polished to be genuine.
"Young hunter, do you realize what you've brought us? High-grade cores are priceless. Few outside of veteran guilds even see one, let alone three." His voice lowered. "We'd like to discuss an offer. If you join our Association's elite guard, you'll have access to equipment, resources, and money beyond imagination. Hunters of your caliber shouldn't work alone."
Molar tugged Anos' sleeve. "They're shiny people. They look dangerous."
Maggus muttered, "Careful, Anos. They smell like politics."
Anos looked at the man in glasses and then at the glowing cores. He thought about the Tower's trials, about how every victory so far had come from teamwork, grit, and stubborn will. The Association's promise was tempting, but their motives weren't trust. They wanted control.
He pushed the cores forward. "Take them. Pay the market price. Nothing more."
The man in glasses blinked. "You're… rejecting our offer?"
"Yes," Anos said flatly. "I don't join other people's guards. I'll create my own."
Silence fell around the counter. Other hunters turned to listen. A few gasped, a few laughed nervously, but everyone recognized the weight behind the words.
The official narrowed his eyes, but kept smiling. "Ambitious. But remember — ambition without backing is suicide."
Anos leaned closer, his voice calm but cutting. "Survival isn't about backing. It's about strength. And I've already survived more than you think."
The transaction went through. The numbers displayed on the screen made Molar squeal and Maggus gape: enough money to buy food, clothes, and maybe even a small base.
When they walked out, Molar skipped ahead, chanting, "Bread! Bread! Bread!" while Maggus shook his head. "You just rejected the biggest organization in the world. Are you sure?"
Anos shrugged. "I didn't come here to join someone else's shadow. I came here to make my own."
---
45 HOURS REMAINING
That night, they returned to their rented house. For the first time, they ate a full meal — fresh meat, vegetables, real bread instead of scraps. Molar stuffed her cheeks until she looked like a hamster, and Maggus groaned happily after his third bowl.
The System chimed in Anos' mind.
[Tower Alert: Next Trial begins in 45 hours. Difficulty: Increasing. Recommendation: Train and prepare.]
Anos leaned back in his chair, watching his companions. They weren't strong enough yet. Not for what was coming. But neither was he.
He thought back to the Bazaar — the way his telekinesis had strained, the way Maggus had nearly collapsed from exhaustion, the way Molar's barriers flickered. They had survived, yes, but barely.
This time, they would need to be sharper.
"Tomorrow," Anos said aloud, "we train. No shortcuts. No excuses. If we want to keep living, we need to step up."
Maggus straightened. "What's the plan?"
Anos smirked, eyes glinting faint blue under the lamplight. "Step one: stamina. Step two: coordination. Step three: survival. If the Tower wants to break us, we'll make it regret trying."
The night settled around them. Outside, the city pulsed with nervous energy, hunters preparing for the unknown. Inside, a new promise burned quietly: not wealth, not glory, but the foundation of something bigger.
Not just a guard.
A future guild.
Their own.