The guild master’s office was nothing short of a fortress built from memory and legend.

  It was a massive chamber, its ceiling supported by thick wooden beams that stretched like the ribs of some ancient beast, weathered from decades of storms and smoke. The scent of the room was unmistakable—a layered mixture of aged parchment, polished leather, faint iron from weapons long cleaned but never forgotten, and the musk of a man who had lived through more wars than most could imagine.

  On the walls, the history of battle itself had been written through steel and scars. To the left, mounted with care, a massive, jet-black greatsword rested horizontally over a suit of matching armor. The plates of the armor were darkened and cracked in places, telling silent stories of blows endured and wars survived. Across from it, a double-headed axe dominated the opposite wall, its crimson-red blades jagged and cruel, still humming faintly as though eager for fresh blood.

  Between these relics hung trophies and mementos: faded banners of enemy guilds, shattered shields etched with claw marks, and yellowed parchments bearing signatures of adventuring parties long since passed into memory. Some portraits depicted tired but triumphant faces, others radiant groups celebrating victories; in all of them, one towering figure was constant.

  At the heart of the office sat Zarukatsu Stormrend.

  Behind an oak desk cluttered with maps, supply manifests, and official stamps, the guild master loomed even in stillness. He was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered, his presence as heavy as the weapons adorning his walls. His fiery red hair, pulled back into a thick braid, framed a weathered face marked by years of battle. A neatly trimmed beard covered his jaw, though the most commanding feature was the prominent X-shaped scar on his left cheek—jagged, raw, and honest. His armor was simple, functional leather dyed black, but upon his chest gleamed the unmistakable crest of the guild: a dragon pierced by a greatsword, the eternal reminder of their mission.

  The Berserker studied a supply manifest with quiet intensity, his calloused fingers running across the parchment as if memorizing every line. His focus was so absolute that when his office door suddenly slammed open, the loud crack of wood and iron against stone sent a ripple of irritation across his features.

  “Guild Master! Guild Master!”

  Emera burst into the chamber, her usually composed face flushed, strands of green hair sticking wildly out of place. She clutched two sheets of parchment against her chest, her slim fingers trembling with urgency. Her breathless voice filled the cavernous room like a bell’s chime.

  Zarukatsu’s eyes rose slowly, piercing and unreadable.

  “What is it now, Emera?”

  His voice rumbled like distant thunder.

  “What’s so important you nearly break my door?”

  The elf slid to a halt at his desk, leaning heavily on the wood as her chest rose and fell in sharp breaths. Her eyes, usually calm and professional were wide with an almost childlike mix of awe and disbelief.

  “Just… just see for yourself!”

  she stammered, thrusting the papers forward as though they burned her hands.

  The guild master took the sheets carefully, though his hands—scarred and massive—dwarfed the parchment. He began to read.

  His brow furrowed at the first page, his sharp eyes narrowing with professional scrutiny. But then his gaze slid to the second page. For a moment, the world seemed to still.

  Zarukatsu Stormrend, veteran of countless wars, killer of beasts that bards sang about in fearful reverence, froze. His chest rose in a sharp intake of air. He scanned the paper again, then again, as though sheer repetition might undo what was written. His posture shifted as a surge of energy coursed through him, the kind he hadn’t felt in years.

  The chair screeched against the floorboards as he stood, his sheer size making the walls seem smaller.

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  “By the gods,”

  He muttered, his voice low but reverent. Then louder, a booming command that made the very air vibrate:

  “Where are these people?! I need to meet them immediately!”

  Emera straightened, her awe deepening. She had expected surprise, but this thunderous urgency shook even her.

  “They’re still in the appraisal room, Guild Master!”

  She said, her voice a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

  “Quickly, we shouldn’t keep them waiting!”

  ---

  Meanwhile, in the quiet of the appraisal chamber, Yukio was still staring at the door Emera had sprinted through, his mind spinning in circles.

  “So… what just happened?”

  He muttered, scratching his head, his voice halfway between confusion and disbelief.

  Michibiki, standing serenely near the glowing crystal, gave a soft smile. There was a knowing warmth in her eyes, like a teacher whose pupil had just stumbled upon something vast but hadn’t yet realized its weight.

  “What happened,”

  she said calmly,

  “is that we both revealed our divine talents. Mine was expected. As an angel, my strength has always been immense. But you—”

  She tilted her head toward him, her smile deepening into something almost teasing,

  “Lord Fukui really did spoil you rotten. You have a unique ability and all six elements. That doesn’t just happen.”

  Yukio snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and almost defiant in the still room.

  “Yeah, right. So tell me this, how do I even use my abilities? Because right now, I don’t feel any different.”

  Michibiki’s playful glint brightened.

  “What would you do without me?”

  “Win big at cards, maybe,”

  He smirked.

  “Summon the system in your mind. Think the words ‘Summon System,’ and your attributes will appear before you.”

  Yukio rolled his eyes.

  “So basically, I’m talking to myself. Fantastic. And here I thought angels came with wisdom instead of cosplay outfits.”

  The jab landed. Her serene expression shattered instantly, cheeks flushing crimson.

  “I am not a cosplayer!”

  She exclaimed, stomping forward to pinch his cheeks with both hands, tugging mercilessly.

  “Take that back! Take it back right now!”

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”

  Yukio laughed, wincing as her surprisingly strong fingers stretched his cheeks. When he finally managed to pull her hands away, his voice softened, and his smile turned genuine.

  “Seriously, though… I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

  Michibiki paused, blinking at him. Then her shoulders slumped, her pout lingering but her irritation fading into quiet relief.

  “You’d better mean that.”

  Before Yukio could respond, the door creaked open.

  The doorway filled with a shadow, and Zarukatsu Stormrend stepped inside. His sheer size dwarfed the chamber, his presence an avalanche of authority and power. Behind him, Emera followed, her expression still brimming with reverence.

  She approached Yukio and Michibiki first, her hands clasped respectfully in front of her.

  “Michibiki, Yukio—this is the Guild Master, Zarukatsu Stormrend.”

  Both Yukio and Michibiki bowed instinctively, their movements in unison. But Zarukatsu only waved a massive hand.

  “No need for all that formal nonsense,”

  He said, his voice low but oddly warm. His sharp gaze settled on them both, lingering on Yukio with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine.

  “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect two individuals with divine talents to register here. That takes either courage or foolishness.”

  Then, with a sudden laugh—deep and booming—the tension cracked.

  “But I like both kinds of people. If you’re here, you’re family. Our guild has your back from now on.”

  “Thank you for your kind words,”

  Michibiki replied with practiced composure.

  “We won’t disappoint.”

  Zarukatsu gave a sharp nod, but Yukio caught something flicker in his eyes—an almost childlike excitement hidden beneath the hardened warrior’s exterior. For a man who had seen it all, perhaps the impossible had finally surprised him again.

  ---

  Later, at the guild’s front desk, Emera returned carrying two porcelain cards. They gleamed faintly, white as moonlight with a subtle iridescent sheen. Inscribed upon them were their names: Michibiki and Yukio Yoshino. Their occupation: Adventurer. Their starting rank: F.

  “You may both have divine talents,”

  Emera explained carefully, handing them their cards,

  “but all adventurers begin at the bottom. Every quest you complete will increase your rank. F-Rank is only the beginning.”

  She gestured toward a large plaque on the wall with seven slots, each filled with a symbol representing a different rank—from F to the legendary S.

  Yukio turned the card over in his hands, a gambler’s smirk tugging at his lips.

  “So, what quests are on the table for us rookies?”

  Emera produced a thick stack of parchment requests. Before Yukio could even scan the first one, Michibiki plucked a paper randomly from the middle of the pile.

  “We’ll take this one,”

  She said, her serene confidence leaving no room for discussion.

  Emera glanced down at the sheet. A simple slime-hunting quest. She stamped it with the guild seal, handing it back with a knowing smile.

  “Slimes may look harmless, but don’t underestimate them. Get proper equipment before heading out. The world beyond this town isn’t forgiving.”

  Michibiki’s smile broadened, serene but determined.

  “We’ll be ready.”

  Yukio slipped the quest paper into his pocket, his gambler’s instinct already itching. Slimes or not, this was his first true hand in this world’s game.

  And he intended to play it all the way.