Welcome to the Guild

The Adventurers Guild loomed over the plaza like it owned the place, because it probably did. Tall stone walls, a wide arched entrance, and the kind of carved crest above the door that screamed we’ve been here longer than your grandparents. 

The blade that impaled a gryphon like creature under a star gleamed faintly in the morning light, and Morgana guessed someone had been up there polishing at sunrise.

Inside, the space buzzed with activity. Adventurers of all shapes, sizes, and questionable fashion sense crowded the main hall, clustered around long quest boards, arguing over contracts, or boasting loudly to whoever was unlucky enough to be in earshot.

Morgana’s eyes wandered automatically. That one’s carrying a purse too light for how cocky he’s walking… that one’s dagger is loose in the sheath, an easy grab… 

She forced herself to focus. No point getting thrown out before she even got her damn ID.

The counter at the far end of the main hall was manned by a man in his mid-thirties. Short brown hair, an average face that neither stood out nor faded into the background, and a neat but modest guild vest. 

Not handsome, not ugly, just… perfectly serviceable. He glanced up as the Crimson Spear approached, his eyes lingering on Aiden with a faint flicker of recognition.

“Reporting in,” Aiden said brightly, passing over a signed form. “Escort job complete. Also, we’ve got someone who needs registration.”

The man gave Morgana a once-over, pausing at her eyes. He didn’t comment. “Any prior adventuring experience?”

“Plenty. Just none you’ll find in your records.”

He exhaled slowly, clearly deciding she was going to be one of those. “Fine. Standard process. Pay the two-silver fee, and fill out the registration form. Name, age, race, speciality, and any skills you wish to disclose. We’ll handle the rest once you turn it in, and complete a basic evaluation. We use it to determine your starting rank.”

“What’s the lowest?”

“F.”

“And the highest?”

“S.”

She smiled faintly. “Then I’ll try not to embarrass myself.”

He gave a nod, reaching under the counter, and slid a thin clipboard across to her. There was an ink bottle and a quill on the counter at the ready.

Morgana silently took the quill and slightly bent over the form. The first three lines were easy enough, though she swapped her surname for something new, scrawling Morgana Wildrider in bold strokes while writing human next to the race. The rest, she left vague. 

“Speciality” became Close-quarters melee. For “Skills,” she listed only Moonfang Dash and Lance of Midnight, with a neat little Proficient with scythe underneath. Proficient enough not to cut my own leg off, anyway.

While she worked, Aiden leaned casually on the counter. “By the way,” he said, loud enough to sound like he’d been waiting to tell her, “we’re a D-rank party. Nyra’s actually C-rank, but she slums it with us.”

That earned him a flat look from Nyra, but Morgana glanced up, finally giving them all a proper once-over.

Aiden, with his long crimson hair tied back into a high ponytail, stood just a little taller than her, maybe a few centimeters at most, with bright green eyes that seemed too honest for the job. His armor bore scuffs and dents, but it was clearly well-cared for.

Nyra was… small. Shorter than Morgana by over thirty centimeters, she was half-hidden under a wide-brimmed witch’s hat far too big for her head. Blonde hair spilled down past her shoulders, framing a pale face with piercing emerald eyes that peeked from under the brim.

Lyris, the cat-girl archer, had the sleek build and poise of someone who could vanish into shadows if she felt like it. Black fur-like hair, feline yellow eyes, black tail swaying lazily, and her usual golden ear accessory glinting in the light.

And then there was the tank, Darren, an absolute wall of a man, towering at nearly two meters, with amber eyes and close-cropped brown hair. His heavy armor had clearly seen years of use, but the man inside looked like he could lift a carriage if he felt like it.

Experienced, worn, but far from washed up.

Morgana tapped the quill against the page once before looking up at Aiden with a slow grin. “So you’re D-rank and she’s C-rank… Cute. Guess I’ll try not to outshine you too badly.”

Aiden laughed, Nyra didn’t, and Darren just shook his head.

Once the form was handed in, the receptionist checked it over, his brow lifting slightly at the sparse details. “You’ll need to demonstrate your abilities to finalize registration. Yard’s out back.”

The Crimson Spear followed her outside, settling on the benches with the same look people get when they expect a good show.

The evaluator with broad shoulders, short hair, and the faintest hint of a smile, looked her over. “Weapon?”

“Right here,” Morgana said, raising her right arm.

Black mist bled from the intricate tattoos winding up her skin, coiling upward in a slow, deliberate swirl before condensing in her palm. The mist thickened, sharpened, and with a shimmer of moonlit steel, her scythe was there, gleaming black blade, crimson leather grip, faintly glowing runes.

Lyris let out a low whistle. “That’s… new.”

Nyra didn’t even try to hide her raised brow. “I didn't know she could do that to her weapon. But why did she carried it around while she was with us?”

The tester’s brows went up. “That’s… one way to carry it.”

“It’s lighter this way,” Morgana said, giving the scythe a lazy spin.

The first test was movement, quick changes of direction between markers. Morgana activated Moonfang Dash, her figure blurring forward with a burst of speed.

“Fast,” Darren rumbled from the benches. “Faster than she looks.”

“Pretty sure she just lapped you in ten steps,” Lyris added with a smirk.

Aiden grinned. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Next came weapon drills. Morgana’s scythe cut through the air with heavy, vicious arcs. The power was obvious. The training dummy’s arm tore clean off with one strike. 

However her control was rough, footwork uneven.

Nyra muttered just loud enough for the others to hear. “She’s fighting with her own weapon more than she’s wielding it to fight.”

“She’ll get there,” Aiden said, leaning forward. “You can’t fake that kind of strength.”

When it came to skill demonstration, Morgana planted her feet, letting the darkness gather along the scythe’s edge before launching a Lance of Midnight. The shadow spear tore through the air and punched straight through the dummy’s chest, leaving a smoking hole behind.

Lyris’ ears twitched. “Remind me not to stand in front of that.”

Nyra’s mouth twitched but she kept it shut. This was the skill she used to defeat those horrific night terrors on their first night camping together. She had an incling that Morgana wouldn't have shown this skill of hers if Nyra haven't seen it already.

And Nyra was right to think like that. Morgana was trying to keep all of her skills to herself. She had a pretty good idea about what can happen to the people who openly advertised their skills from all those books and games...

The tester called it there, lowering his clipboard. “Strength’s not your problem. Control is. You’ve got the power to rank higher than D, maybe even C… but you’re letting the weapon drag you around.”

Morgana rested the scythe against her shoulder and gave a crooked smile. “Guess that means I’ve got room to get dangerous.”

“Your weapon handling needs serious work. I’d recommend a tutor, someone who knows polearms and curved blades.”

Morgana smirked. “Does this tutor have nice arms? Maybe a charming smile? I learn faster when I’m motivated.”

That got a laugh from the benches, and even the instructor’s mouth twitched. “I’ll see who’s available.”