Ethan stood in the center of the circle, arms folded, weighing his options.

Hmm… should I summon just enough for the registration? Or…

His lips curled into a dangerous grin.

Fuck it. Let's ball.

He raised one hand.

The temperature in the hall dipped. A hush swept through the mercenaries as golden shadowy mist bled across the floorboards, curling like smoke from a dying fire. The mist thickened, rippling outward, and then—

Thud. Thud. Thud.

One by one, armored figures rose from the fog. Gleaming full plate, polished as if they had marched straight out of a king's armory. Ten of them in total, standing tall and motionless, each visor concealing a face that might have been human—or something else entirely.

The mercenaries gaped.

"A-are they… humans?" one whispered, voice cracking.

"No way… he summoned men?"

Before the shock could settle, a second portal tore open behind Ethan. This one swirled in violent hues of violet and crimson, its edges sparking with crackling mana. From it stepped two towering black wolves, their eyes glinting like molten silver.

Nyxfang and Seloria.

Seloria's ears perked the instant she saw Sylvie. With a sharp yelp, she bounded forward, nearly bowling her over in an oversized pounce. Sylvie laughed and wrapped her arms around the massive wolf's neck, hugging her as if greeting a playful cub instead of a beast taller than a man's chest.

The mercenaries stumbled back, a collective gasp rippling through the crowd.

Some eyes lingered on the soldiers instead.

"Full plate…? Do you know how much that would cost to outfit just one man?!"

"Forget the cost! How in the hell do you summon humans?"

"But… are they human? I don't see any skin. Look—cloth wraps everything."

Confusion mingled with fear.

Before speculation could spin out of control, Ethan stepped forward, voice carrying with absolute calm.

"What you're seeing," he said, "are constructs. Formed by my mana."

A blatant lie—but delivered with such confidence it silenced the hall.

To sell it, he summoned his blade in a flash of steel and, without hesitation, slashed across the chest of one armored soldier. The cut bit deep, steel shrieking against steel, sparks leaping into the air. Blood spattered the floor.

Sorry number 6.

The mercenaries reeled.

But before anyone could cry out, golden light surged over the wound, and in an instant, the gash sealed shut. Flesh knitted. The plate itself repaired. The blood sank back into the seams as though it had never left.

The hall fell silent.

"…It healed?"

"Not just the body… the armor too…"

"I've never seen anything like this."

"That's… that's insane. If they can't be killed—"

Another voice cut through, hushed and fearful.

"Leave the soldiers. Look at those wolves… ferocious beasts, yet… one's cuddling that girl like a house pet."

All eyes flicked toward Sylvie, still holding Seloria's furry neck, the beast's tail wagging like an oversized hound.

Behind the counter, the wiry clerk's jaw had gone slack, his quill slipping from his fingers. His eyes darted between the soldiers and the wolves, face pale, as though the foundation of everything he knew about summoners had just shattered before him.

Ethan turned back toward the counter, his soldiers standing silent as statues behind him, the wolves looming like shadows. His gaze locked on the wiry clerk.

"Is this enough," he asked calmly, "or do you want a demonstration of their strength as well?"

The clerk jolted as if a spear had been pressed to his throat. He scrambled upright, shaking his head so fast his spectacles nearly slid off his nose.

"N-no! No need, sir!" His voice cracked, but he forced it steady. "This is more than sufficient. We'll get you registered immediately. Please—" he shoved a stack of forms across the desk, his hands trembling, "—your names, your mana signatures, and the company's name. The rest will be handled by me personally."

Ethan studied him for a moment, the silence stretching until the man began to sweat. Then he stepped forward, plucked the quill from its inkwell, and began to write. With a faint shimmer, his mana signature burned onto the parchment, leaving an intricate sigil beside his name.

The soldiers dissolved into golden mist at a flick of his wrist. Nyxfang padded back through the portal without a sound, while Seloria whined and pressed her head stubbornly against Sylvie's chest.

Sylvie hugged her tightly, whispering, "I'll see you soon."

Reluctantly, Seloria loped back into the swirling rift before it closed with a whisper, leaving Sylvie pouting faintly at the empty air.

Once Ethan was finished, Sylvie and Lirael followed, etching their mana signatures with practiced ease. Then Ethan dipped the quill again, the black ink flowing smooth and final as he wrote:

Arkhaval Eternal Eclipse.

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the page.

The clerk's throat bobbed. He muttered something under his breath before snatching the documents and scurrying into the backrooms.

Minutes dragged by, tension lingering in the guild hall like heavy fog. The mercenaries kept their distance, whispering nervously, stealing glances at Ethan and his companions but quickly looking away when his gaze swept the room.

At last, the clerk returned, moving carefully, as though he carried holy relics. Upon a polished tray rested three gleaming badges and a golden plate.

He set them on the counter with reverence. "Here they are. Gold-rank for Sir Ethan, Silver for Lady Lirael, and Iron for Lady Sylvie, all inscribed with your names and mana signatures." His hand indicated the last piece, a rectangular gold plaque, its surface etched with ornate script. "And this… the insignia of your company. Its name has been recorded in the guild registry."

The words gleamed in the lamplight:

Arkhaval Eternal Eclipse.

Ethan picked up the plaque, weighing it in his palm. He gave a single nod, expression unreadable. "Good."

Without another word, he turned on his heel. Lirael and Sylvie fell into step beside him. Together they strode out of the mercenary guild, the oppressive silence easing only when the heavy doors shut behind them.

Inside, the hall seemed to release a collective breath. Shoulders slumped, mugs were raised again, and hushed voices filled the space once more.

But none would soon forget the name that had been etched into gold that day.

Arkhaval Eternal Eclipse.

Then the clerk screamed loudly.

"Arghhh...I forgot to ask for the fees. Damn it. Now I have to pay for it."

With the mood finally lightened and the mercenaries laughed completely understanding why he forgot it.

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