The failed trainees were dismissed first.

Some left with stiff backs and clenched jaws. Others avoided eye contact entirely. A few muttered promises about "next year" under their breath.

Ulmak watched them go without comment.

Then he turned toward those who remained.

"The rest of you," he said, voice lighter now, "let’s head inside. The Guild Master is waiting."

A ripple went through the newly accepted hunters.

Their new boss, the most seasoned hunter in the town was waiting for them.

Together, Ulmak, Sera, Darnel, and Kosak led the group toward the guild hall. The heavy doors were pulled open, and warm lanternlight spilled out to meet them.

Inside the guild the atmosphere was lively as always.

Hunters filled the long tables to the left, hands eith ale in them raised to the sky . Others stood near the quest boards, scanning parchments for tomorrow’s work. Employees moved behind the reception counters, tallying requests and sorting monster parts brought in earlier that day.

But when the doors shut behind the group—

All of the Attention shifted.

Someone near the tables blinked once, then twice.

And then the first cheer erupted.

"Fresh blood!"

A tankard slammed against wood.

"Congratulations!"

"Eyyy! A round of applause for our new hunters!"

Laughter followed.

"Finally! More drinking buddies!"

The noise rose quickly—boots stomping, mugs clanking, whistles cutting through the air. A few hunters even stood on benches, raising their drinks high as if celebrating a festival rather than a certification.

It was bordering on obnoxious.

Teclos felt Gillard tense beside him, unsure whether to grin and cheer with them or hold it in.

Ralph looked mildly pleased despite clearly trying his best to look stoic.

The guild employees handled it differently. They clapped politely from behind the counters, smiling warmly. A few offered nods of approval. Their approval though quieter, was no less genuine.

The outsiders, however—merchants, travelers, and those seeking escorts—watched with mixed expressions. Some joined the applause halfheartedly. Others simply observed in silence, calculating what a few more licensed hunters might mean for their own business.

The celebration swelled, getting even more roudy and loud.

And then—

"QUIET!"

The roar came from above like a thunderclap.

The entire building seemed to tremble. Dust shook loose from ceiling beams. Tankards rattled violently against tabletops.

Silence crashed down just as suddenly as the sound had.

Hunters froze mid-gesture, with one man nearly choking on his drink.

Even the employees straightened instantly.

For a brief second, no one dared to breathe.

Then, from somewhere near the back tables, a mutter slipped out.

"Damn geezer always ruining the fun..."

Another grumbled into his mug.

"That old man should get a life."

A third sighed dramatically.

"Eugh... I just lost my happy drinking mood."

A few snickers followed—but they were subdued now.

Respect—however reluctant—had returned.

At the far end of the hall, near the staircases built into the stone wall, Ulmak smirked faintly.

"Still got lungs like a war horn," he muttered.

Without further delay, he gestured for the trainees to follow.

Together, the four examiners and the newly accepted hunters walked toward the back of the hall—toward the staircase leading up to the administrative level where the Guild Master was waiting.

They ascended the staircase in silence.

The noise of the main hall faded with each step upward, replaced by a calmer, more restrained atmosphere. The air itself seemed different here—less smoke and booze, less sweat, more polised and smelling of ink.

The upper floor was lined wall to wall with a thick brown carpet, silver patterns woven into it in elegant, flowing designs. The same silver thread decorated its outer edges in careful embroidery, catching the lanternlight with a faint shimmer as they walked.

Their boots no longer echoed against stone.

Instead, their steps were muted.

They passed many doors along the corridor. Some stood slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of offices stacked with ledgers and maps. Others were closed—meeting rooms, storage chambers for sensitive documents, spare sleeping quarters for visiting officials or high-ranking hunters.

The deeper they walked, the fewer people they saw.

After what felt like a long corridor of authority, ink and paperwork, they reached another staircase—narrower, leading upward once more.

At the top, the atmosphere shifted again.

This corridor was different.

Decorated.

A deep red carpet stretched from wall to wall, far thicker than the one below, embroidered with golden patterns along its edges—intricate designs resembling intertwining beasts and blades. Lanterns encased in polished brass lined the walls at equal intervals, their flames steady and bright.

At the very end of the corridor stood a single door.

It was massive and imposing.

Unlike the others, this one bore a golden outer layer that gleamed under the lanternlight. Its surface was engraved with subtle reliefs—mountains, forests, beasts—scenes of struggle and triumph worked into the metal itself.

At its center rested the knocking handle.

A lion’s head forged from pure silver, jaws parted slightly, a thick gold ring held between its teeth.

Even the trainees felt it.

Authority.

Ulmak stepped forward first.

His hand grasped the silver ring, and he knocked three firm times. The sound resonated heavily through the corridor, metal striking metal in deep, deliberate beats.

A pause followed.

Then a deep voice answered from behind the door.

"Enter."

Ulmak pushed the door open smoothly.

He stepped aside at once, holding it open with one hand while extending the other arm toward the youths in invitation.

"Go on," he said quietly.

One by one, they entered.

The door closed behind them with a muted thud.

The office was... simpler than expected.

Not small—but not extravagantly grand either.

A few modest statues stood along the walls—small stone carvings of beasts mid-roar, a hunter drawing a bow, a wolf frozen in motion. They were well-crafted, but not ostentatious. Symbols of the guild’s purpose rather than decorations meant to impress.

To the right stood two dark leather sofas facing one another with a low wooden coffee table between them. A clean, practical sitting area—likely for discussions rather than leisure.

But the room had two unmistakable focal points.

The first was the desk.

A massive wooden worktable stood in the center of the room, dominating the space without needing ornamentation. The wood was dark and polished to a subtle sheen, its surface wide enough to hold maps, ledgers, weapons, and still leave room for more. The craftsmanship was flawless—solid, enduring, built for decades of use.

The second distinction surrounded them entirely.

Every single wall—from floor to ceiling—was lined with bookshelves.

Thick volumes. Rolled parchments. Bound documents. Permits, contracts, reports, beast encyclopedias, territorial maps. The scent of old paper and ink lingered faintly in the air.

This was not a throne room.

It was a command center.

And seated behind the desk was the guild master.

One of the elders they had seen during the coming-of-age ceremony.

But this... was not the same man.

Then, he had worn ceremonial robes like the other elders—blending in, giving off no aura and unremarkable.

Now—

Now he looked entirely different.

He wore a fitted leather vest over a plain linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The leather was dark, worn, but meticulously maintained. The linen beneath it was clean and simple.

His forearms were exposed.

Despite his age, they were still thick with muscle.

And covered in scars.

Long cuts. Jagged marks. Old punctures. Some thin and pale with age, others thicker and uneven. They crisscrossed his skin like a map of battles survived.

His attire was hunter-like—practical—but there was something undeniably regal in the way he wore it.

Not quite noble but more like the undisputed leader of a pack.

Or the head of a gang who had carved his authority through tiral and blood.

His long white hair was tied back neatly, falling behind his shoulders. A medium-length beard framed his jaw, trimmed but not styled. A faint scar ran along one side of his face, partially hidden beneath the beard—barely visible unless one looked closely.

He was calmly writing when they entered.

Methodically and in his own world, he didn’t look up at them yet.

And still—

The room felt heavy.

Oppressive.

His presence alone pressed down on the trainees like an unseen weight. It was suffocating—not because he was flaring his mana, or because he was angry.

Simply because he existed in that space.

The youths exchanged brief, uneasy glances.

They had seen him before.

They stood not even twenty meters away from him during the ceremony.

But back then, he had felt... ordinary.

Now—

Now it was as if a predator sat at that desk.

And they had just stepped into its den.

The guild master set down his pen after a few more seconds of writing and finally looked up at the newly approved trainees. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

The shift was immediate.

His eyes were sharp.

Clearly Measuring the new blood.

He did not rush his inspection. His gaze moved from face to face—lingering a fraction longer on some, unreadable in its judgment.

Then the man spoke.

"I am Guild Master Gunvald. Nice to meet you all, and welcome to our guild."

His voice was deep, controlled, and carried the kind of authority that did not need to rise to command attention.

"I have the Rank Six Novice Hunter badges prepared for you. Do not lose them. You will be fined if you do."

A faint pause.

"Our basic values here are camaraderie among hunters, honest work—so that means no stealing—and helping the weak."

His gaze hardened slightly.

"At the frontier, it is our job to trim the monsters instead of soldiers or guards, so that people may live peacefully and oblivious to the dangers outside."

He gestured toward the large map spread across his desk.

"Town Mayor Brahm, in these past few years, has grown this place from a small village into a full-blown medium-sized town. That means more work outside for us—securing more land, hunting more meat, and exterminating monster pests."

He suddenly grabbed a knife resting near the map and stabbed it down into the parchment with a solid thunk.

"Make no mistake," he continued evenly, "this is a dangerous profession. Any glory hound who risks the lives of my hunters for fame or pride will be banned from this establishment."

Silence pressed in after that statement.

"Finally, we will assign each of you a mentor hunter for one year. After that, you will form teams of two as regular Rank Five hunters. Depending on the job, it could be more."

He leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Anyway, I have spoken long enough. All novice hunters report to reception to receive your badges and basic gear from storage. All instructors stay here for the briefing."

Ulmak and the other hunters moved instantly.

One sharp stomp of the right foot aligning with the left. Left fist struck firmly against the chest with a loud thud.

"Yes, sir!"

Teclos blinked—then half a second later mirrored the motion as closely as possible. The stomp. The fist to the chest.

"Yes, sir!"

The others followed a beat behind, some slightly out of sync but equally serious.

Gunvald gave a single nod.

Dismissed.

The trainees turned and filed out of the office, hearts pounding with a strange mix of pride, curiosity and excitement.

When the heavy door closed behind them, only Ulmak, Sera, Darnel, and Kosak remained in the guild master’s office.

Gunvald turned back toward the large map embedded with his knife and fell silent.

The lanternlight flickered across the parchment, casting long shadows along the borders of marked territories. His fingers rested lightly against the edge of the table, unmoving.

Behind him, the four instructors stood as still as statues.

After several long seconds, Gunvald exhaled slowly through his nose and turned around.

"So," he said evenly, "how were they?"

Ulmak stepped forward first.

"A solid addition to our guild, Master."

His voice carried none of its usual lazy humor. No smirk. No playful undertone. Only respect.

Gunvald’s gaze sharpened slightly.

"So a good batch, then." He leaned back against the edge of the desk. "Tell me about the top scorers in each team."

Ulmak inclined his head.

"Teclos. His leadership was outstanding. Highly adaptable combat style with his darkness mana. Quick thinking under pressure. High potential for the future."

Gunvald listened without interruption.

Then he spoke calmly.

"Do not praise him too much."

Ulmak’s eyes flickered, unsure and a question on his face that said ’why not?’.

"He is still a novice. And a child. Treat him as such. Give him honest advice, not inflated expectations."

"Yes, Master."

Sera stepped forward next.

"Loric," she began. "Leadership was solid. His raw power output was a decisive factor in their hunt. He maintains composure in direct combat."

Gunvald gave a small nod.

"The same applies. Strength at a young age often breeds arrogance. Make sure it does not."

"It won’t," Sera replied confidently.

Kosak moved next.

"The top scorer from my team was our scout. Excellent sensing range. Because of her, they located every beast within their assigned perimeter. Defensive and support capabilities are stable."

Gunvald’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"A scout with range like that is valuable. Pair her carefully."

Kosak bowed his head slightly. "Understood."

Finally, Darnel stepped forward.

His jaw was tight.

"I’m sorry, Guild Master," he said flatly. "They all failed."

The room remained still.

Gunvald did not look surprised.

"Hm."A single, thoughtful hum escaped him. "I trust you did not fail them without reason."

"No, sir."

Gunvald gave a curt nod.

"Very well. Return to your duties. Dismissed."

The instructors saluted sharply once more—right foot stomp, fist to chest.

"Yes, sir."

One by one, they exited the office, leaving Gunvald alone with the map, the embedded knife.