At 9:42 a.m. on the 20th, Medith finished painting a crude sign, the wet strokes bleeding like dawn, and set it by the door, aiming for a hundred recruits first.
Under Iling and Melia, the members drilled through rules and codes, orders beating like drumfire; Medith had demanded military standards, iron-cold as a winter wind.
Nora and her lot were born soldiers; they needed no leash, the Southern Kingdom’s regimen set in their bones like old steel.
So the hall held only Nora’s group, Sais, and the Lita Sisters, quiet as a drawn bow.
As commander, Medith placed a table and chair in the center, sitting upright like an examiner, calm as still water before a storm.
The sign had barely swung in the breeze when a few women in flame-red gowns swayed in, their perfume rising like smoke.
“Is this the Crimson Sunset Guild’s recruitment point?” one asked, lips a blaze, stiletto heels striking like flint on stone.
“It is. You here to sign up?” Medith toyed with a small ball, her gaze playing over them like a cat with string.
She recognized them—their faces were embers from that restaurant days ago, when their sneers had been sharp as thorns.
“Of course. We came to see where the ‘great war god’ lives, the one who even charmed Lady Olivya,” the red-haired leader purred, voice sweet as poison. “Looks like the legendary Epic Guild is an eat-shit guild.”
“What did you say, you—” Sais slammed the table, fury snapping like a banner in wind.
“Hey, guests,” Medith pressed her down, voice smooth as silk over steel. “Don’t get worked up.”
Lina and the others paused their work, eyes hard as drawn blades, facing the hostile newcomers.
Medith studied the gaudy rose on their gowns, a bloom bright as a wound. “You’re from another guild? Here to crash our place?”
Her tone cooled, frost spreading; a domineering pressure rolled off her like a coming squall.
“Exactly. I want to see the strength of a lady who slipped past proper procedures,” the woman said, fearless as a hawk on a cliff.
Medith laughed, low and light, her glance a knife. “So that’s it? That’s what Uncle Serpent meant by ‘not so simple’?”
“Looks like if I don’t give you a lesson today, the nearby guilds won’t fall in line,” she added, voice like a hammer wrapped in velvet.
“Yes. That’s the rule. No matter who you are, or how strong, Lady Olivya gave you only a location. Want prestige?” the woman snapped, words sour as unripe fruit. “Ask us first, you Wind Sprites who only know how to flaunt looks!”
Medith’s smile tilted, a crescent blade. She wagged a jade-like finger, lazy as a drifting leaf. “Challenge me? You’re not qualified. Sais, they don’t respect you—handle it.”
“I’ll go.” Before the words were done, Nora shot out like a loosed arrow, dagger drawn, a meteor streaking straight at them.
“Not here. I just built this guild,” Medith said, examining her nails, calm as a pond under moonlight.
Hearing that, Nora shifted, and her dagger became rain; she drove the storm of steel toward the women in a sudden downpour.
“Stand back! I’ll make her admit defeat!” the red-haired leader cried, vaulting high, her body floating like silk, spinning with dancer’s grace.
Nora pressed close, a shadow on her heels, driving her out onto the wide street like a shepherd dog pushing a stag.
The commotion drew guilders and common folk, a tide of faces; to them it was a familiar spectacle, old versus new, a festival of sparks.
Outside, Nora cast off restraint; from her left belt she drew a dagger gleaming cold as moonlight and sent it arrowing at the redhead.
“Koniya! Watch it!” her companion called, worry quivering like a plucked string.
Koniya smirked, body springing; midair, her heel came down and pinned the rain-shot dagger like a nail through paper.
“Hm?” Nora’s eyes flicked to the hovering stiletto; that slender heel wasn’t ordinary, a thorn forged from steel.
She ripped the dagger free, flicked it aside, then struck while Koniya adjusted in air; her speed cracked like lightning, inhumanly clean.
Koniya barely steadied when a cold flash kissed her; she twisted with a gasp and whipped a kick at Nora, fast as a whip.
Nora blocked on instinct and flew back over a meter, skidding like a thrown stone before she steadied.
Koniya drew breath, but the red gown split open, baring snow-pale skin, a red line beading like a rosebud.
“Where’d that swagger go?” Nora said, face grave as stone. “Here’s your lesson. Our Crimson Sunset Guild isn’t for decorative flowers to mess with.”
“You think… you’ve won?” Koniya smiled oddly, and the pale skin at her chest began to glow, flickering like heat lightning.
“Huh?!” Nora had seen plenty; in a heartbeat she read the omen of a Magic Breaker, sharp as a hawk’s dive.
Her eyes hardened; her blade slid fast, scraping her calf like flint to tinder.
“Regido—”
“Regido—”
Two shouts rang, then heaven cracked—thunder fell to earth, and twin white pillars roared up, the air hissing like sand in wind.
Loose debris flew ten meters, and the onlookers ducked, heads down like rice before a storm, fearing stray harm.
They stood almost nose to nose; the two Magic Breaker Circles collided, spewing electric serpents, yet neither field broke—a deadlock of storms.
A gale rose, signs and tiles rattling like teeth; five seconds hammered past, and the world steadied again.
“Oh? Interesting.” Sais’s eyes shone, approval warm as firelight. This Lawbreaking Ability matched what Haidra called a level-two Cyclone.
You can’t have too many Magic Breakers; in a guild’s early days, one like this is a wind at your back.
“Wuooh—” The pillars thinned to dense white mist, then coiled back into their bodies like breath returning to the lung.
