The Guild Master's announcement hung in the air, clashing with the glow of the Golden Sigil still hovering above the Fate Monolith.
For several seconds, the Adventurer's Guild hall drowned in a thick, oppressive silence. No cheers. No whispers. Time seemed to stop ticking.
Thud. Crash!
The silence broke as several wooden and glass beer mugs slipped from their owners' grasps, shattering against the floor. The sound of shattered glass acted as a trigger for an explosion.
The hall instantly morphed into a sea of chaos. Shouts of awe mingled with curses of disbelief echoed, violently shaking the ceiling.
In the dimly lit corners of the room, several cunning veteran adventurers began to inch backward slowly. Their eyes glinted with sheer greed, staring intently at the exit. Information regarding the emergence of a Hero-tier Talent in a small city like Wealden was worth thousands of gold coins if sold quickly to local noble factions.
Upon the stone pillar's podium, the Guild Master's face turned completely ashen. His euphoria evaporated, replaced by sheer panic. He turned toward the stairs, intending to shout orders for the guards to secure the Guild Hall before the information could leak.
However, The Gilded Falcons acted faster.
Delivering a brief signal through his eyes, Lorien Caldwell issued a command. The grey-cloaked Assassin darted like a shadow, while the hulking Knight charged forward with his tower shield.
In a single breath, the heavy oak double doors were slammed shut and forcefully barred, blocking anyone attempting to flee.
Schwing!
The sharp screech of metal scraping against a scabbard pierced through the commotion. Lorien drew his longsword halfway. The light reflecting off the silver blade captured the entire room's attention, silencing the mouths of dozens of adventurers in an instant.
"Aeliana Dewlight is now under the absolute protection of House Caldwell of the Capital," Lorien declared.
His voice was heavy, elegant, yet dripped with a very real threat. "These doors will not open until I permit it. If even a single one of you attempts to leak this news to another noble before I report directly to the King... I will personally separate your heads from your necks."
The killing intent of a Platinum-ranked adventurer suppressed the entire room. The veterans who had intended to flee instantly halted their steps, swallowed hard, and lowered their gazes to the floor.
Over by the reception desk, amidst the suffocating tension, Alphonse's body completely froze, though for an entirely different reason.
His mind spun sharply, analyzing the class that had just been announced: [ArchMage].
In Orion Online, that class was not something a novice could simply acquire. It was a Job Awakening, an end-game class promotion that required a Player to reach Level 70 and survive a grueling series of lethal Quests.
Alphonse raised his hand, tapping Arcus's shoulder beside him. "Scan the Elf. Now."
Receiving the concise order, Arcus asked no questions. He activated his [Sagittarius Eye] passive ability. Arcus's blue eyes pierced through the layers of Aeliana's body, dissecting the flow of energy within the Elven mage.
It only took two seconds for Arcus to frown. He leaned in and whispered into Alphonse's ear.
"Guild Master... something is strange. Her energy capacity is incredibly low. Her magical flow is stable, but the density is no greater than that of a low-tier adventurer. If converted to our standards, her power is only equivalent to Level 21."
Alphonse fell silent. His brain scrutinized the report. Equivalent to Level 21, yet possessing the ArchMage class?
A massive contradiction had occurred between the rules of the game system he had mastered and the reality unfolding before his eyes. Alphonse refused to draw a conclusion based solely on Arcus's observation. He needed the missing pieces of the puzzle.
Leaving Arcus and Vrischil to monitor the situation in the hall, Alphonse turned around and calmly walked back to the reception desk. He carefully muffled his intimidating aura, replacing it with the charisma of an educated, curious nobleman.
He stared at the Golden Sigil, whose glow was beginning to fade above the Fate Monolith, then turned to the receptionist with an expression of feigned awe.
"I must admit..." Alphonse said in a calm, polite tone, capturing the attention of the female receptionist who was still panting in amazement. "I have never witnessed a Hero-tier Talent with my own eyes. In my homeland, such things are merely legends told through dusty tomes."
Alphonse looked directly into the receptionist's eyes, offering a faint smile brimming with intellectual charisma.
"Could you explain to me... how exactly does this Guild classify the Talent tiers of the adventurers who register at that Fate Monolith?"
Feeling flattered to be addressed by this handsome and authoritative man, coupled with the immense pride that her branch had just made history, the receptionist eagerly leaned forward.
"Of course, Sir!" she answered, her eyes sparkling. "On this continent, the Fate Monolith categorizes a person's Talent into four hierarchies upon their birth or awakening."
The receptionist began to explain:
"First is Untalented. These are ordinary commoners, farmers, or merchants who possess neither magical affinity nor the muscle density required for combat."Second is Low-tier Talent. The vast majority of adventurers, soldiers, and city guards fall into this tier. They form the general foundation of military strength."Third is High-tier Talent. This is incredibly rare. Elite nobles, holy knights, and top-ranking adventurers like Lord Lorien Caldwell reside in this tier. They possess a limit of strength that vastly exceeds normal humans."
The receptionist pointed toward Aeliana, who was currently surrounded by adventurers. "And the fourth... Hero-tier Talent. A living legend. They are existences chosen by destiny itself. An [ArchMage] is one of them."
Alphonse absorbed every single word meticulously.
"Fascinating. So, a Hero-tier Talent is not something acquired after someone reaches the absolute pinnacle of their strength?"
"Of course not, Sir," the receptionist chuckled, as if Alphonse had just asked something incredibly amusing.
"A Talent is an innate blueprint bestowed by the gods at birth. It is a person's potential, not something that can be altered or achieved through rigorous training. Someone with an [ArchMage] Talent may currently be weak due to a lack of experience, but their destiny is already set in stone: they will become one of the most powerful mages on this continent if they continue to train."
Thump.
All the tangled threads in Alphonse's mind finally connected into a single, cohesive pattern. The realization hit him hard.
In this real world of Orion, a class promotion or a Job Awakening was not a reward earned after reaching Level 70.
Titles like [ArchMage], or his own [Akashic], were a "Blueprint of Destiny." They were innate talents that dictated the maximum threshold of a person's growth from the very moment they began their journey.
Alphonse turned and left the reception desk. His footsteps were calm, but his mind was working furiously, dissecting every piece of information he had just acquired. He returned to the corner where Arcus and Vrischil were still standing, watching The Gilded Falcons' crowd.
"I have my answer," Alphonse said in a low tone that only his two comrades could hear.
Arcus and Vrischil immediately diverted their attention from the impromptu celebration in the center of the hall.
"The Leveling and class promotion system we knew in the game does not apply literally to the inhabitants of this world," Alphonse shared his deduction.
He stared intently at his two friends. "Here, a person's maximum potential, magical element, and final class are locked in the moment they are born, manifesting as their 'Talent.' A person does not struggle from the bottom to achieve the [ArchMage] class at the end of their journey."
"Instead," Alphonse continued, "they are born with the blueprint of destiny as an [ArchMage], and they train simply to fulfill that predetermined destiny."
Hearing this explanation regarding the laws of this world, Arcus's blue eyes widened. Rather than feeling threatened, his chuunibyou soul was fiercely ignited.
The blonde prince raised his leather-gloved right hand, striking a dramatic pose as he stared into his own palm as if holding the globe itself.
"What a truly pathetic world," Arcus muttered with a feigned, arrogant tone, his voice trembling with overflowing ego. "What kind of cowardly gods must chain the fates of their inhabitants from the moment they draw their first breath?"
Arcus looked up, staring at the guild's ceiling as if he could see the gods hiding behind the clouds.
"But those rules do not apply to me! My destiny rests solely in my own hands. If this pathetic world attempts to dictate my steps..."
Arcus clenched his fist tightly. "...I will unleash arrows of rebellion to tear through the very threads of fate itself. Bear witness as the destiny of this world bows before my bow!"
Burning with his own ego, Arcus turned sharply toward the Fate Monolith standing sturdily in the center of the hall. The black monolith seemed to call out to him, daring him to prove his supremacy.
"I must see it," Arcus said with a haughty smirk. "I want to see if that lowly rock is even capable of detecting the majesty of the Sagittarius class flowing through my veins."
He was just about to step toward the crowd when a hand clamped down on his shoulder with profoundly unnatural strength.
Vrischil's grip forcefully halted Arcus's steps, abruptly cutting off his epic moment.
"Let go of me, you foolish woman!" Arcus protested, struggling to break free.
Vrischil did not let go. Her polar-cold eyes glared at Arcus from beneath the shadows of her hood.
"Save your ridiculous performance," Vrischil reprimanded with agonizingly sharp logic. "Are you deaf? That black stone is not a free facility. You must pay one gold coin to activate it."
Arcus opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat.
"We currently possess exactly fifty-four silver coins and a few coppers to survive," Vrischil continued mercilessly, stabbing right at the core of Arcus's pride. "We do not have the funds to finance your ego."
Arcus clicked his tongue loudly. His shoulders slumped. The bitter reality that he was currently a 'penniless prince' forced him to surrender and retreat back to Alphonse's side.
Alphonse himself completely ignored the petty squabble between his two friends. The Guild Master's attention had never left the figure of Lorien Caldwell standing in the center of the hall.
Lorien had sheathed his longsword. He was no longer utilizing the threat of armed physical violence to silence the room. Instead, the blonde man now stood before the Guild Master's desk with a dominant posture.
Alphonse narrowed his eyes behind his monocle, meticulously observing every detail of the movement.
He watched Lorien remove a thick signet ring from his finger—a ring engraved with the crest of the noble House Caldwell. With firm pressure, Lorien stamped a blazing red wax seal onto Aeliana Dewlight's registration parchment.
The Guild Master, still dripping in cold sweat, hurriedly grabbed the Adventurer's Guild's official stamp and placed his seal right next to the Caldwell family crest.
The significance of that action was crystal clear to Alphonse. That document was no longer a mere registration form. It was a legally binding contract. Valid, undeniable proof in the eyes of the Paxora Kingdom's law that Aeliana, the young [ArchMage], was now officially under the jurisdiction and protection of House Caldwell.
Lorien picked up the parchment, its ink not yet fully dry. He turned to face the sea of adventurers in the hall, holding the document high so the entire room could clearly see the blood-red seal of his family.
A cynical, arrogant smirk formed on Lorien's lips.
"Listen closely, all you Wealden adventurers!" Lorien's voice echoed loudly, projecting the arrogance of a nobleman standing at the absolute apex of the food chain. "From this second forward, Aeliana Dewlight is an official member of House Caldwell!"
Lorien's gaze swept over the rough faces before him.
"If even a single one of you... or any lowly noble in this city... dares to touch a single hair on her head, you will not merely face The Gilded Falcons. House Caldwell will declare open war upon you and your entire bloodline!"
That ultimatum was a final warning. Lorien wasn't simply threatening their lives; he was threatening the very existence of their families.
As the echo of his voice faded, Lorien gave a casual signal with a snap of his fingers. The grey-cloaked Assassin and the Hulking Knight, who had been blocking the exit, immediately stepped aside.
They grabbed the iron handles of the guild's double doors and pulled them wide open, allowing the midday sunlight and fresh air to rush back into the stuffy hall.
The doors to freedom had been opened. Yet, the reaction of the adventurers was entirely unexpected.
Contrary to the initial panic where many veteran adventurers had instinctively wanted to sprint out and sell the information, now, not a single one dared to shift their feet.
They froze in their respective spots like stone statues. No one dared to take a single step past the threshold of those double doors. Several adventurers swallowed hard, averting their gazes to the floor, completely subdued by sheer terror.
From the corner of the room, Alphonse observed this phenomenon with genuine appreciation.
He recognized the sheer genius of the political maneuver Lorien Caldwell had just executed. Lorien knew he couldn't lock the doors to this hall forever without inciting a rebellion from dozens of armed adventurers. However, he didn't need to.
The execution of psychological terror, coupled with invoking the massive name of a noble family from the Capital, had forged an invisible set of iron bars far stronger than any steel. The fear of vengeance from a central noble house had completely imprisoned the courage and greed of Wealden's citizens.
Lorien had won the battle without needing to shed a single drop of blood.
A brilliant move, Alphonse thought to himself. This world may have lost its game interface, but the machinations of human power have never changed.