The morning sunlight bathed the cobblestone streets of Wealden City. Economic activity was beginning to pulse; vegetable merchants unloaded cargo from their wooden carts, while the aroma of freshly baked bread overpowered the lingering morning dew.
Amidst the hustle and bustle, three figures walked steadily, parting the crowd.
As agreed, Alphonse and Arcus left their hoods down, displaying their faces clearly. Behind them, Vrischil walked in silence, pulling her hood tightly to conceal half her face and her pointed Elven ears.
Without needing to issue a single threat, the locals, pedestrians, and street vendors automatically parted to the sides of the street, making way for the trio to pass.
Although they only wore standard cloaks, Alphonse's upright posture radiated an aura of absolute authority, while Arcus's light yet confident steps screamed high-class arrogance. In the eyes of Wealden's citizens, they appeared to be nobles operating undercover to inspect the lower districts.
It didn't take them long to locate the largest building in the center of the district. A three-story structure made of solid stone, bearing the carving of a crossed sword and shield above its main doors. The Adventurer's Guild.
Arcus stepped forward and pushed the heavy oak double doors open.
Instantly, a wave of noise slammed into their ears like a physical explosion. The guild's main hall was remarkably spacious, illuminated by light crystals suspended from the ceiling.
The sharp stench of cheap ale, sour sweat, scorched leather, and the metallic tang of dried blood from armors blended into the stuffy air. The clattering of massive wooden mugs, coarse hoarse laughter, and heated debates over the division of hunting spoils filled every inch of the room.
However, the moment Alphonse, Arcus, and Vrischil stepped across the threshold, a ripple of silence spread outward.
The noise near the entrance gradually died down. Several veteran adventurers who were polishing their swords halted their movements. Their survival instincts, honed on perilous battlefields, detected an anomaly.
Arcus's near-silent footsteps, coupled with Alphonse's ice-cold golden stare from behind his monocle, radiated the aura of restrained apex predators.
The veterans stared in silence for several seconds before ultimately deciding there was no benefit in provoking these mysterious newcomers. They promptly resumed their crude chatter.
As they walked toward the reception desk at the far end of the hall, Alphonse's analytical eyes scanned the environment. This was the first time he was seeing the non-human denizens of the Orion world in such large numbers.
In a corner near the hearth, he spotted a group of short, stout men with braided beards adorned with metal rings. They laughed boisterously while slamming their beer mugs onto the table. Dwarves.
In front of the massive wooden mission board, a tall man was arguing fiercely with a staff member regarding the payout for monster pelts. The man possessed furry ears poking out from his hair and a grey wolf tail swishing irritably behind his leather belt. A Beastman.
Observing this scene, Alphonse drew a conclusion in his mind. This world indeed houses the exact same diversity of races as the game. I likely didn't see them on the streets earlier simply because this city is located within human territory.
Vrischil, walking behind Alphonse, noted the exact same thing.
Beneath her hood, the tension in the Elf's shoulders relaxed slightly. The fact that non-human races could move freely in this establishment meant an Elf would not be immediately deemed a dangerous anomaly to be hunted or hidden.
The three of them finally arrived at the long, polished wooden reception desk.
A young woman wearing the guild staff uniform looked up. The woman, who usually serviced rough, dirt-smelling adventurers, suddenly became incredibly nervous upon seeing her three new guests.
Arcus, whose ego had been fully restored to its factory settings now that Alphonse was healed, took the initiative. He stepped forward, placed the back of his hand against his left chest, and stared at the receptionist with a dramatic pose.
"O, guardian of the gates of destiny," Arcus declared in a heavy, theatrical tone, bowing slightly like a prince introducing himself. "Grant us the mark of this fellowship. We are souls bound by the oath of the falling stars, come to carve our legend upon the river of time!"
The female receptionist merely blinked rapidly. Her mouth hung slightly open in utter confusion, her cheeks flushing a deep red at the handsome face of the man before her.
From behind Arcus, Alphonse took a step forward. Without changing his expression, he used his elbow to shove Arcus away from the desk.
"We would like to register as adventurers," Alphonse stated in a lethally flat tone. "Please ignore this idiot."
Arcus groaned in annoyance, adjusting his collar since his epic moment had just been brutally cut short.
Although Alphonse spoke briefly, the absolute authority in his voice and his intensely intimidating gaze made the receptionist even more flustered.
She felt as though she was servicing elite royalty from the capital who were merely roleplaying for fun, rather than a group of commoners seeking their fortune.
"R-Right away, Sir!" the receptionist replied, desperately trying to mask her nervousness with professionalism. "The registration fee is one silver coin per person. So, the total will be three silver coins."
From beneath her hood, Vrischil stepped forward silently. She placed three gleaming silver coins onto the wooden desk.
With slightly trembling hands, the receptionist collected the coins and slid three sheets of rough-textured parchment forward, along with a quill and a bottle of ink. "P-Please write your names here, Sirs."
Arcus took the quill first. With decisive strokes, he wrote his name with incredibly beautiful and elegant calligraphy.
Alphonse followed, writing his name in neat, block letters.
Vrischil took the final turn, writing her name briefly and efficiently without uttering a single word.
The receptionist received the parchments back. From beneath the desk, she produced three rectangular metal plates, roughly the size of playing cards. The surfaces of the plates were completely blank, save for a single small rune engraved in the center.
"These are Iron plates, the lowest rank for novice adventurers," the receptionist explained, her tone flowing much smoother now. "For this basic class registration, you are not required to undergo an aptitude test at the Fate Monolith, unless you are willing to pay an additional testing fee of one gold coin."
"These plates must be synchronized so they cannot be forged or utilized by anyone else. Please provide a drop of your blood, or channel a small amount of Mana into the center of the rune."
Arcus smirked. Without needing to slice his finger, he placed the tip of his index finger onto the plate and channeled a thread of Mana.
The rune on the plate instantly glowed yellow for a brief second, indicating a successful synchronization. Vrischil did the same in a matter of seconds.
Now it was Alphonse's turn.
The Guild Master stared at the small metal plate before him. Herein lay the problem. The capacity and pressure of the Mana within his body was like a roaring ocean held back by a colossal dam.
If he channeled his Mana normally like Arcus just did, the metal plate would instantly melt and detonate, obliterating the receptionist's desk.
Alphonse closed his eyes for a moment. With absolute concentration, he suppressed his energy flow, shrinking it down, and shrinking it further, until it was merely the size of a speck of dust. Incredibly, profoundly weak.
He pressed his finger against the rune and released that 'dust' of energy.
The metal plate glowed with an extremely dim yellow light, flickering like a candle about to be snuffed out by the wind, before the synchronization process finally completed.
The female receptionist stared at the pathetic glow. Her eyes shifted to look at Alphonse's handsome face and imposing posture. A fleeting look of pity crossed the woman's eyes.
She assumed that this man, who appeared so overwhelmingly dominant, actually possessed a pathetically abysmal magical capacity, rendering him nearly akin to an ordinary human devoid of any talent.
Alphonse noticed the condescending gaze the receptionist tried to hide. However, behind his monocle, he didn't feel offended in the slightest. He merely smiled faintly in his mind.
A dragon does not need to prove its roar to an ant just to gain recognition, Alphonse thought calmly.
He picked up the Iron plate, feeling the cold metal against his palm. He had finally secured his official identification card in the real world of Orion.
The loud creak of the guild's double doors opening wide swallowed all the noise within the room.
The hoarse laughter of the adventurers, the clinking of beer mugs, and the stubborn debates in front of the mission board—everything died in a single breath. Total silence blanketed the hall, before it was eventually replaced by low, hushed whispers laden with awe and deep reverence.
Alphonse, Arcus, and Vrischil turned their heads simultaneously.
From the doorway, six figures stepped inside, parting the sea of adventurers who automatically made way for them. They moved with a synchronization and confidence possessed only by veterans who had danced with death hundreds of times. The Gilded Falcons.
All eyes focused on the leader walking at the front, Lorien Caldwell.
The blonde man wore light silver armor polished to a blinding shine. Hanging at his waist was a longsword housed in an intricately carved scabbard.
However, what drew the most attention was a whitish-silver metal badge pinned proudly to his left chest. A Platinum badge.
Behind Lorien marched his protective formation: a hulking Knight carrying a tower shield as tall as his body, a grey-cloaked Assassin whose footsteps were entirely soundless, a female Priest holding a holy staff that radiated a soothing aura, and...
Alphonse's eyes narrowed behind his monocle.
Walking in the very back row was a female mage. Her long blonde hair was tied neatly, contrasting with her blue silk robes. She possessed beautiful emerald eyes, a slender face, and a pair of pointed ears that she made absolutely no attempt to hide. An Elf.
"Lorien! Hahaha! You've finally returned from the northern expedition!"
A friendly, booming laugh shattered the silence. Descending from the wooden stairs on the second floor was a muscular, middle-aged man wearing a dark brown trench coat with silver shoulder guards, clutching a book with fingerless leather gloves.
He was the Guild Master.
The man completely ignored the dozens of other adventurers on the ground floor and walked straight toward Lorien with arms spread wide, proving just how high the hierarchy and economic value of a Platinum-ranked adventurer was to this guild branch.
Lorien returned the Guild Master's handshake with a warm, yet calculating smile.
"An exhausting expedition, Guild Master. But we have returned with a worthy bounty. And... I have also brought a new member to be registered."
Lorien stepped aside, making room for the Elven mage behind him to step forward. "Allow me to introduce Aeliana Dewlight. A mage from the Silverleaf Forest."
The Guild Master nodded respectfully to Aeliana, his eyes gleaming at the prospect of a new recruit for the elite party. "It is an honor to receive a mage of Silverleaf in my branch. Come, come! I shall process her registration myself!"
From the corner of the reception desk, Alphonse observed the interaction closely. A wave of relief washed over his mind.
Not only were Elves welcomed in this human city, but they could even stand as equals and command respect if they were under the protection of a powerful faction. This served as a guarantee of safety for Vrischil's position.
Vrischil herself, whose face was still half-concealed by the shadows of her hood, accidentally locked eyes with Aeliana as the blonde Elf walked past the reception desk toward the back area.
Amidst the sea of humans, the two Elves merely exchanged a small, nearly imperceptible nod—a silent form of acknowledgment between members of the same race.
The Guild Master led The Gilded Falcons toward a two-meter-tall black stone pillar located in the center of the main hall. The stone's surface was as smooth as obsidian, adorned with ancient carvings that emitted a magical glow.
"Of course, before registering, we must measure Lady Aeliana's aptitude at the Fate Monolith," the Guild Master said with a blossoming smile.
Lorien chuckled softly. With an elegant, arrogant motion, he reached into his belt pouch and tossed a metal coin onto the nearest table.
Clink!
The chime of that pure gold coin sounded incredibly sharp, heavy, and... expensive. The sound felt like a slap to the face of Alphonse's party finances, which were currently relying solely on silver coins looted from street thugs.
"Take the fee out of that," Lorien said casually.
The Guild Master laughed even harder. He slid the gold coin back toward Lorien with a polite gesture of refusal.
"Keep your money, Lorien. For a prideful group like The Gilded Falcons, my guild branch will cover the testing fee in full."
Lorien smiled in satisfaction, taking his coin back. He then signaled to Aeliana.
The Elven mage stepped forward, placing her right palm directly against the center of the Fate Monolith's surface.
Alphonse, Arcus, and Vrischil watched intently. Earlier, they had bypassed the Fate Monolith test because they lacked a gold coin to pay the fee. However, there was something else that captured Alphonse's attention far more intensely.
An aptitude-measuring device like the Fate Monolith had never existed within the game system of Orion Online.
Realizing that this was an authentic magical artifact native to this world, Alphonse narrowed his eyes from behind his monocle. He stared fixedly, incredibly curious to witness the effects and mechanics of this foreign object.
The Fate Monolith absorbed Mana from Aeliana, vibrated softly, and then erupted a dense, deep blue light into the air. The light twisted and turned above the stone, condensed, and carved a three-dimensional visual into the air—an intricate Golden Sigil depicting crossed magic wands set against a backdrop of bright constellations.
The Guild Master's eyes bulged wide.
His mouth hung open, his breath seemingly catching in his throat as he stared at the Golden Sigil floating in the air.
The entire roster of The Gilded Falcons gasped, while hundreds of adventurers in the hall collectively held their breath.
"B-By the gods..." the Guild Master muttered with a trembling voice. He turned to face the crowd, his face flushed with sheer euphoria. "A Hero-tier talent! Lady Aeliana possesses the talent of an ArchMage!"