A knight was walking toward the guild's exit, his sword still sheathed. His steps were slow yet resolute.
His ebony armor—gleaming and dark as a moonless night—caught the light and lent him the imposing air of a champion who had never known defeat.
At his side strode a valkyrie with angelic wings, each feather shimmering like pearl.
On her head, a simple diadem held a magnificent sapphire, setting her brow aglow with a singular brilliance.
Jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders like elegant waterfalls, while her fierce, enchanting blue eyes blazed beneath the grandeur of her silver armor.
They advanced unhurriedly, surrounded by looks of admiration and envy. Conversations buzzed in the guild's corners; small groups whispered in reverent excitement:
"Hey, look—it's Beltrand!" someone exclaimed.
"The summoner with more than a thousand completed missions?" another asked.
"Yes, the highest-ranked in the city—just below the three masters," replied a man near the exit.
"I thought he was on a mission to slay an Abyssal Giant," someone added.
"He was! A transcendent monster, and it still took him less than a week to hunt it down," another marveled.
"How impressive!" a voice concluded.
As he left, Beltrand noticed an unusual pair: a youth carrying a sack of cheese rolls, accompanied by a small ball of black fur.
"A rookie?" he thought, ignoring them and moving on.
Marcelo couldn't help admiring the black knight and his summoned beast—an unparalleled image of style. Yet he felt no envy, only respect and admiration; one day, he was sure, Lýdia would grow into a monster just as powerful.
Marcelo headed to the counter, Lýdia beside him with her mouth crammed full of rolls. He greeted the clerk and asked for a mission.
The attendant who had helped him the day before widened her eyes at his card, then recovered with practiced grace.
Carla listed several missions; Marcelo blanched as he read:
• First, kill a Thousand-Faces Beast—transcendent rank—famed for stealing its victims' faces, a monster specialized in hunting humans.
• Second, slay a five-headed dragon, also transcendent rank, that had attacked a nearby city.
• Third, escort an exploration team through the Valley of Despair, teeming with champion-rank monsters.
Indeed, his card granted access to advanced jobs. "They really think I'm a master," Marcelo thought.
Scanning farther down, he chose an herb-gathering mission on a mountain.
It looked simple—until he learned how the guild's system worked: once you accept a task, a timer starts. Difficult missions allow several days; easy ones, a single day. Miss the deadline, pay a failure fee—and you can't retake it.
After checking the details, he accepted and set out for Spring Mountain. An auspicious name, he thought, stepping through the guild doors with enthusiasm and a good feeling about the job.
Moments after he left, Dragomir, the guild master, approached the counter.
"Which mission did he choose?"
"Yes, Master Dragomir—he took the Spring Mountain job," Carla replied.
"He's remarkably perceptive," she added, equal parts admiration and surprise. "He's been in town so briefly and already shows such insight. The place used to be low-risk, but summoners have started vanishing there. No one accepts gathering missions anymore, and some herbs grow only in that region."
"I believe he'll solve the problem for us—as gratitude for our hospitality," Dragomir said.
Carla wondered why the master himself didn't handle it, but she kept the thought to herself. Veterans often claimed that risking danger was how newcomers grew; if the master did everything, what purpose would the guild serve? It made sense—on paper. Still, she couldn't help thinking he might do something more useful than spend afternoons drinking tea with cake.
Dragomir departed, and Carla returned to her work.
Marcelo was thrilled—the mountain wasn't far. He paid for a seat on an airship that linked the cities, bringing him closer to his destination.
The vessel was a marvel of engineering. Its hull, forged of subtly gleaming metal, combined lightness with strength, letting it glide through the skies gracefully. Panoramic windows lined the deck, granting passengers breathtaking views of the landscapes below. Inside, the cabin was cozy, with plush leather seats. Retractable wings of elegant design showed the care poured into every component.
Marcelo disembarked into a courtyard reminiscent of a futuristic airport, wide spaces lit by natural light and holographic panels flashing destinations and details. People bustled everywhere, and ships continually lifted off or touched down as he stepped into the flow of travelers.
At the counter, a young and friendly clerk gave him directions to the forest from which he would set out for Spring Mountain.
With his route defined, his destination was a dense woodland that stretched across the foothills of an imposing mountain, visible at the distant edge of the horizon. As he stepped beneath the green canopy, the sound of his footsteps blended with birdsong and the rustle of leaves, while sun-rays, filtered by the treetops, lit the path ahead.
In his pack he carried basic survival gear and had bought several items back at the air-port— a compass, a regional map, food, and other supplies.
Thanks to the convenience of his guild card, already loaded with credits, Marcelo noticed the guild master's generosity. He didn't expect that privilege to last forever, yet he had no idea it was merely a courtesy—an insignificant cost to keep a Master-rank summoner in the guild. And, to keep him happy, the master was quite willing to keep topping up the card.
While walking, Marcelo took the opportunity to collect monster crystals for Lýdia, searching for low-rank creatures along the way to the mountain.
About thirty meters ahead, he spotted a small rabbit with a horn on its forehead. The creature stared back intently. He exchanged a glance with Lýdia and, as if sharing an unspoken understanding, she settled beneath a nearby tree.
"Good luck!" she called, cheerful. "I'm rooting for you—take down that bunny monster!"
Something didn't feel… right.
"Weren't you the one who was supposed to fight it?" Marcelo asked, confused.
"Me?" Lýdia squeaked, baffled.
After all, she barely reached a tenth of Marcelo's height; she was basically a ball of black fur with stubby legs. In her view, Marcelo looked far more threatening than she did.
"What kind of wicked soul would send cute, innocent critters into battle?" she protested.
A few minutes of silence passed as they just stared at each other. Finally Marcelo decided to act on his own—how much harm could one tiny rabbit cause?
Gripping a branch he had picked up, he charged the rabbit and took a swing, but the animal dodged with ridiculous ease.
Marcelo lunged, waving the branch as though shooing chickens, while the rabbit held the regal stance of a fencing instructor. His first blow missed entirely; the "monster" merely watched, motionless. The rabbit tilted its head, horn glinting, as if to say, "Really, human? Are you blind?"
Before Marcelo could regain his balance, the ball of fur shot forward. With an elegant—almost Olympic—leap, it drove its tiny horn into the young man's shin. Marcelo yelped like a rusty hinge; flailing, he dropped the branch. Off-balance, he spun pathetically and landed rear-first in the mud.
Flat on his back, he tried to kick the rabbit, but met only air. In one nimble hop the rabbit bounded onto his foot, sprang lightly, and butted Marcelo's exposed shoulder—a miniature boxer bred by nature to humiliate amateurs.
Limping, caked in mud up to his ears and minus both branch and dignity, Marcelo attempted an "advanced tactic": running in a zig-zag while yelling. The rabbit merely planted itself, pivoted, and delivered a double kick to his chest. Marcelo flew a good three meters, landing with a thud like a sack of potatoes tumbling from a cart.
Watching, Lýdia could hardly believe Marcelo's performance. Was he really that weak?
Winded yet stubborn, Marcelo rose again and employed his "ace": a plum-sized rock. He hurled it with heroic fervor—straight into a tree, two meters shy of the target. The rabbit, polishing its horn like a jewel, gave him a look of pure disdain, then bounded forward, ricocheted off Marcelo's forehead, and floored him for the third time.
Lying there, face smeared with mud and shame, Marcelo muttered,
"Okay… I need help, Lýdia."
"Let's go, Marcelo—together, we'll fight as one!" Lýdia answered, raising what might generously be called eyebrows, brimming with valor.
Meanwhile the rabbit, triumphant, emitted a high squeal that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Lýdia darted forward; in seconds she closed the gap and delivered a powerful kick that sent the rabbit sailing ten meters into a tree. It crashed and fell limp—dead.
Marcelo thought, "Lýdia is so strong!"
Lýdia mused, "That rabbit was so weak! How did Marcelo get thrashed by it—was he toying with me?"
Marcelo approached the lifeless rabbit and, following a novice-guide pamphlet he'd read at the guild, began extracting the creature's mana crystal.
He placed one hand over where the monster's heart would be and pictured opening a box to remove its contents—exactly as described.
A seal, unlike any he'd seen, appeared; a faint blue glow enveloped his hand. Moments later a crystal formed, smaller than a marble yet gleaming brightly.
Entranced by the sensation, Marcelo stared at it for a moment. Lýdia padded over, eyes fixed on the shining gem. Understanding, Marcelo tossed it; she snatched it instantly.
It wasn't as good as the crystals she got in town, but it would do.
Lýdia gazed at Marcelo again—and he realized she wanted more. He quickly declared,
"If you want them, you'll have to fight!"
With a spark of cunning, Lýdia grasped at once that the young man had pretended to be beaten just to avoid the work of combat. She agreed readily; for her, the effort of battle was nothing.
Marcelo, who had sincerely thrown everything he had into the fight, would die of frustration if he ever discovered what she had concluded.