Altair didn't wait.
"Yeah… let's go."
Without hesitation, he stepped into the Adventurer Guild, with Arman and Eleos following right behind him.
The moment they crossed the entrance, the atmosphere shifted.
The lively noise of the city faded, replaced by something heavier—voices layered with confidence, laughter tinged with arrogance, and the unmistakable presence of seasoned fighters. The air itself felt dense, as if it carried the weight of countless battles fought and survived.
Arman unconsciously slowed his steps.
This place… was different.
Far more dangerous than any guild they had entered before.
Altair, however, smirked as he looked around.
"Now this feels right."
Eleos remained quiet, her gaze carefully moving from one group to another. Her eyes lingered on the subtle details—worn armor, scars, the way people sat, the way they watched.
"There are… a lot of strong people here," she murmured.
Before they could take another step—
"You three."
The voice wasn't loud.
Yet it cut cleanly through the noise.
Arman turned.
The man stood a few meters away, his presence alone enough to draw attention without demanding it.
He was tall—easily over most people in the hall—and built like a warrior who had never once neglected his training. His frame was solid, muscles clearly defined even beneath the heavy armor and long dark coat he wore. His hair stood slightly upward, rough and untamed, colored a deep crimson that caught the light faintly. Sharp eyes, the same shade of red, observed them with unsettling clarity, framed by equally sharp brows that gave his gaze a naturally intense expression.
He looked to be in his early thirties.
A man in his prime.
A man who had fought—and survived—far more than most.
The Guild Master.
"You're not from this branch."
It wasn't a question.
Arman met his gaze calmly.
"No. We just arrived today."
The Guild Master stepped closer.
Each step was controlled. Grounded. There was no wasted movement, no unnecessary tension.
"I can tell."
His eyes moved across the three of them—slowly, deliberately—reading them in a way that felt far too precise.
"Mage… assassin… cleric."
"A balanced party."
Altair crossed his arms slightly, unimpressed.
"So?"
The Guild Master didn't react to the tone.
Instead, he spoke again, just as calmly as before.
"How about it."
A brief pause.
"Spar with me."
The words landed heavily.
Altair's grin widened instantly.
"Now you're talking."
Eleos frowned slightly, clearly hesitant.
"Is that necessary?"
The Guild Master's gaze shifted toward her.
"If you plan to work in this city—yes."
Without waiting for further response, he turned and began walking.
"Follow me."
The training grounds behind the guild were wide and open, the earth packed tightly from constant use. Weapon racks lined one side, and faint marks of previous battles were visible across the ground.
A few adventurers nearby turned their attention toward them, curiosity quickly spreading.
Word traveled fast in places like this.
The Guild Master stopped at the center and turned to face them.
"Come at me."
Altair stepped forward immediately, rolling his shoulders lightly.
"I'll go first."
Arman didn't stop him.
He knew better.
The Guild Master gave a small nod.
"Whenever you're ready."
Altair vanished.
In an instant, his presence faded—Shadow Cloak enveloping him as he slipped into motion.
A ripple of air—
Then—
A strike.
His blade cut forward toward the Guild Master's neck.
Clang.
The attack was stopped effortlessly.
The Guild Master had already moved.
His arm raised just enough to intercept the strike, his motion clean and minimal.
Altair's eyes narrowed.
Fast.
Too fast.
He twisted immediately, following up with another strike from a different angle—then another, and another. His attacks became a continuous stream, each faster than the last.
But every single one—
Was handled.
Blocked.
Redirected.
Avoided.
The Guild Master barely moved his feet.
Arman's expression hardened slightly as he watched.
"…He's reading him."
Altair clicked his tongue and jumped back, putting distance between them.
"Alright… not bad."
The Guild Master tilted his head slightly.
"You're quick."
A pause.
"But predictable."
Altair's grin sharpened.
"Then let's fix that."
He disappeared again.
Faster.
This time, multiple afterimages flickered into existence, surrounding the Guild Master from different directions.
Left.
Right.
Behind.
Three simultaneous angles.
Altair struck.
The Guild Master moved.
A single step.
A turn.
Then—
Thud.
Altair's motion stopped completely.
A hand rested lightly against his chest.
No force.
Yet he couldn't move forward.
"Too much reliance on speed," the Guild Master said calmly.
Then he pushed.
Altair slid backward across the ground, boots carving shallow lines in the dirt before he came to a stop.
Silence filled the training ground for a moment.
Altair exhaled.
Then laughed.
"…Alright. You win."
He stepped aside.
"Your turn."
Arman moved forward.
Unlike Altair, he didn't rush.
Mana gathered quietly in his hand, subtle but controlled.
A small flame appeared.
Then another.
And another.
Several fire spheres floated around him, hovering steadily.
The Guild Master watched closely.
"Control type."
Arman didn't answer.
He moved his hand.
The fire spheres shot forward in quick succession.
Fast.
Precise.
The Guild Master stepped aside, dodging the first, deflecting the second—
But the third curved mid-air.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"Guided."
At that exact moment—
The ground beneath him shifted.
Stone erupted upward.
Earth Spike.
The Guild Master jumped—
And mid-air—
Mana Push.
An invisible force struck him, disrupting his balance ever so slightly.
Just enough.
A fire sphere closed in—
Boom.
A small explosion burst against his guard.
Smoke rose.
For a brief moment, everything went still.
Then the Guild Master landed.
Unharmed.
But this time—
He smiled.
"Good."
Arman lowered his hand, breathing slightly heavier.
Before Eleos could step forward, the Guild Master raised his hand.
"That's enough."
His gaze moved across the three of them again.
"Now I understand."
Altair tilted his head.
"Understand what?"
The Guild Master looked past them, toward the city beyond.
"Why you're still alive."
A brief silence settled between them.
Then he continued.
"Ambrose is not like other cities."
His voice remained calm, but there was a weight behind it now.
"This city is prosperous."
"Trade flows. People come and go. Opportunities are everywhere."
A pause.
"But so is everything else."
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"Corruption."
"Crime."
"Power."
Eleos crossed her arms.
"The slums."
The Guild Master shook his head slightly.
"That's just the surface."
His gaze returned to them.
"There are things in this city that don't show themselves in daylight."
"Deals made in shadows."
"People who smile in public… and kill in private."
Altair smirked faintly.
"Sounds fun."
Arman didn't smile.
He understood.
This wasn't a warning about monsters.
This was a warning about people.
The Guild Master turned away.
"You have potential."
"But potential alone won't keep you alive here."
He paused for a brief moment.
"Don't get careless."
Then he walked back toward the guild without another word.
By the time they returned to the main streets, the sun had begun to lower.
The city still bustled with life, but something about it felt different now.
Heavier.
Layered.
Altair stretched as they walked.
"…That guy's insane."
Eleos nodded slightly.
"He held back."
Arman exhaled.
"Yeah."
Which meant—
That wasn't even close to his real strength.
They returned to the inn quietly.
The warmth inside felt familiar, almost comforting after everything.
Altair stretched again.
"I'm done for today."
Eleos nodded.
"We leave early tomorrow."
Arman agreed.
They headed upstairs, each to their own room.
As Arman lay down, his body slowly relaxed into the bed.
But his mind lingered.
The events of the day replayed quietly in his thoughts—the guild, the sparring, the Guild Master's words. Yet, beneath all of that, there was something else pulling at his attention.
The spells.
Slowly, Arman raised one hand, staring at his palm in the dim light of the room.
Mana gathered faintly.
Not enough to cast—just enough to feel.
Ever since he awakened his abilities, something had always bothered him. The spells he used… they felt structured. Defined. Almost… pre-built.
As if someone had already written them.
Arman narrowed his eyes slightly.
"The system… is just giving me access to something that already exists…"
He sat up.
If that was true—
Then spells weren't absolute.
They could be changed.
Modified.
Even… created.
Arman closed his eyes.
In his mind, faint patterns began to form—symbols he had seen before but never fully understood. Fragments of runic structures hidden within the flow of mana itself.
Lines.
Curves.
Connections.
A language.
The deeper he focused, the clearer they became.
Runes.
Not words spoken aloud—but meanings embedded directly into mana.
Fire wasn't just fire.
It was compression… ignition… release.
Earth wasn't just earth.
It was structure… stability… force.
Then—
Electricity.
Arman's breathing slowed.
Fast.
Violent.
Unstable.
But also—
Instant.
His fingers twitched slightly.
Mana began to gather again, this time more intentionally.
He tried to shape it.
Not like before.
Not following a spell he already knew.
But something new.
Something raw.
The mana flickered.
Unstable at first.
Then—
A spark.
A faint crackling sound filled the room.
Arman's eyes opened slightly.
"...It worked."
Thin threads of electricity began to dance across his palm, unstable but alive. They flickered wildly, reacting to even the smallest fluctuation in his control.
Not refined.
Not perfect.
But real.
He focused harder.
Compressing it.
Shaping it.
Not outward—
But inward.
Around his hand.
The electricity wrapped itself around his fist, forming a thin, crackling layer that pulsed with contained energy.
Arman clenched his hand slowly.
The air around it vibrated faintly.
"If this… hits…"
His gaze shifted toward the wooden floor.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then—
He lowered his hand.
Not striking fully.
Just touching the surface—
And releasing a fraction of the mana.
Crack.
A sharp burst of energy spread outward in a small radius, the wooden floor trembling slightly as a faint shockwave rippled across it.
The sound was brief.
Contained.
But powerful.
Arman's eyes widened slightly.
"...Area effect…?"
He looked down at his hand.
Then at the floor.
Unlike his other spells—
This wasn't something from the library.
There was no structure guiding it.
No predefined form.
It was unstable.
Rough.
But—
His.
A slow breath escaped his lips.
"...Thunderclap."
The name came naturally.
He loosened his hand, allowing the remaining electricity to fade.
His control wasn't perfect yet.
The spell consumed more mana than expected.
And using it recklessly would be dangerous.
But still—
A faint smile appeared on his face.
For the first time—
He hadn't just used magic.
He had created it.
Arman lay back down, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.
The faint hum of mana still lingered in his senses as his eyes slowly closed.
Tomorrow, they would leave Ambrose.