Mission

Without hurry, Morlowe reached the training grounds before anyone else.

It had been four years since he arrived in the capital, and in just a few days, he would officially become a knight of the Empire.

As he did every morning, the young man retrieved a wooden sword from the rack beside him.

Closing his eyes, he prepared himself.

Like flowing water, Morlowe moved fluidly across the dirt. His feet barely touched the ground, firmly planting themselves when he struck and lifting as he dodged.

From the outside, it could only be described as a dance.

Since his arrival, not a single day had passed without him training, dedicating his heart and soul to perfecting his craft.

The defining trait of Imperial Swordsmanship was its lack of structure.

Every cadet learned the fundamental steps, ensuring fast and precise movements. From there, it was up to the individual to adapt them to their unique fighting style.

Among all the students, no two fought the same way.

Abruptly, the young man halted his weapon mid-swing.

"Good," Morlowe thought as he placed the sword back where he'd taken it.

He would be the top of his class and choose his platoon.

It was a promise he had made to himself years ago, and in a few days, he would finally make it a reality.

________

Chop

Chop

Chop

The sound of the axe echoed monotonously through the air.

Wiping his forehead with his forearm, Rayliar brushed away the beads of sweat.

A week had passed since that fatal encounter.

And soon, he'd have to ask Elsa for work again.

"Hopefully, it's something quieter this time..."

Rayliar muttered, felling another tree.

"I'm sorry, dear, but we haven't received any requests."

Elsa shook her head as she scanned a long sheet of paper.

"Nothing at all?"

"Nope. Every job's already been taken. If I may, you should try the Adventurers Guild. They'll have something for sure... though the pay won't be as good as here. But it's better than nothing."

"You know I hate that place."

"Well, you don't really have a choice. The end of the month is near, and... hate to say it, but it's time to collect."

The woman fixed him with a sharp stare, leaving Rayliar swallowing hard.

She can be terrifying sometimes...

Though she was the most cordial person he knew, when it came to money, Elsa had a way of being... persuasive.

"Alright, I guess I'll stop by," Rayliar replied, stepping back.

"What a pain... do I really have to go there?" he muttered under his breath, sighing.

_____________

The International Adventurer Association.

An intergovernmental organization founded after the war under John Fletcher's proposal.

With over a century of history, the IAA had branches worldwide and independently managed the dungeons scattered across the globe. Each nation selected a representative to oversee their territory, working together to maintain peace and prosperity on Earth.

Over the years, more and more adventurers joined under the same banner, forming guilds to better coordinate their efforts and maximize their collective strength.

Why did Rayliar hate the Association?

Simple: they focused too much on jobs ranks.

When he first arrived in Kandahar, Rayliar had tried to join a raid with little success.

None of the myriad adventurers present had accepted him into their party.

Since then, he avoided the place altogether, even though he was formally registered with the IAA.

And now, years later, he was about to cross the threshold of the building he detested.

"What a pain," Rayliar thought, glancing at the lavish sign above the entrance.

An enormous white structure stood before him.

Intricate carvings adorned every inch of the building. Near the entrance, two massive statues depicted men holding up a falcon above the doorway.

Above them, a marble plaque read:

____________

INTERNATIONAL ADVENTURERS ASSOCIATION

____________

With no enthusiasm, Rayliar stepped inside.

"I hate this place... too much opulence."

In the middle of what seemed more like a garden than a hall, a statue stood at the center of a fountain.

It depicted a man wielding a staff, frozen in the moment before casting a spell.

"Long time no see, dear John..." Rayliar thought as he walked past the sculpture.

Beyond it, a long counter awaited him. About ten men and women assisted an orderly line of visitors.

"I've never seen this many people in line before..."

Though adventurers and mercenaries often visited the Association's offices, this was the first time so many had gathered.

"Excuse me, but why is it so crowded today?"

Rayliar asked a burly man nearly two meters tall. The shine of his bald head reflected the sunlight like a crystal ball.

"How do you not know? Tomorrow's the raid day! They're accepting everyone, even the worst of the worst! I'm telling you... it'll be a bloodbath!"

The man stormed off, visibly annoyed.

"Hm... maybe today won't be so bad," Rayliar thought, heading toward the counter.

Seated on a swivel chair, a young woman with violet eyes greeted him with a smile plastered on her rosy lips.

"Welcome to the Adventurers Association. How can I assist you today?"

She asked, reciting her lines for the millionth time.

"I'd like to register for today's raid, thank you."

Rayliar returned her smile.

"S-Sure, here you go. Could I see your badge, please?"

Her ears turned a faint shade of red.

"Ah, right. Here it is."

Fishing around his pouch, Rayliar pulled out a small wooden plaque with his name engraved on it. A bold "F" was marked beside his photo.

"Are you sure? While this raid has no level restrictions, it's still very dangerous for inexperienced adventurers."

"Don't worry. I can handle myself."

Rayliar's voice was calm but firm.

"Alright, then. Please sign here and head to the next room. A briefing with the raid leader will start in a few minutes. Thank you and good luck."

"Thank you," Rayliar replied with a nod before walking off.

"Did you see how handsome he was? And that physique!"

The woman whispered to her colleague beside her.

Despite Rayliar's sharp hearing, her words escaped him.

_____________

Rayliar entered the room.

Before him, a large hall stretched out, with rows of desks arranged in a semi-circle around a stage.

Standing at its center was a man scanning the crowd, as if counting heads.

His long violet hair was tied back in a ponytail that cascaded down his back. A heavy suit of armor encased his muscular frame. Metal plates protected his wrists and shins, while a sword hung at his waist.

"How many do we have now?" the man asked a woman seated to his right.

"With the one who just arrived, we're at 237."

"Thirteen more. Notify the information desk," the man ordered.

Rayliar managed to find a seat, though latecomers were forced to stand.

Cough, cough

The man at the center of the room cleared his throat.

"Greetings, everyone. I'm Astalon Sawyer, captain of Kandahar's guards. As you're all aware, tomorrow we'll be launching an attack on the dungeon that appeared at the city gates. If a dungeon break occurs this close to us... it would spell disaster.

Our mission is to clear it and eliminate as many monsters as possible. Unfortunately, we have no intel on what awaits us inside. The soldiers we sent in didn't return."

Astalon's gaze swept over the crowd.

"If you're afraid of dying... leave this room now."