“General, that’s a bold mouth… do you know how a Divine Stone is worth its weight in dawn to this continent?” Olivya’s willow-curve brows shot up like startled birds; Medith’s first ask was a finished stone.

Medith’s gaze firmed like iron under frost. “Madam, this matters to me like breath. Money, fame, resources—I can let them fall like leaves. Count this as my plea.”

“Mm?” Olivya’s blossom-bright face paled a shade like a petal in wind; someone like Medith bowing felt like winter touching spring.

“General, it’s not me making it hard; that kind of thing’s the town’s anchor-stone, a treasure like a mountain. It exists, but it isn’t mine to move.

To get it, you’ll pay a price like crossing a storming sea.” Olivya’s words hovered, like a swallow at the eaves.

“Say.”

“First, you must reach a Legend-grade guild, like a peak above cloud. Then, you’ll make a massive contribution to this city, like feeding a hundred mouths.

Lastly, you’ll gain the recognition of ‘those above,’ like a seal pressed in gold.”

Medith slapped her thigh; the crack sounded like summer thunder. “Deal.”

Olivya’s lagoon-blue eyes widened like moonlit lakes, unable to believe the “old fox” took the terms without even a haggle, like a blade straight through.

“I’ll be out of the city soon; the guild-building, I’m leaving in your hands, like a key to a gate.

You said at least three Epic guilds and a Legend—give me the Legend site straight, like a map inked in black.

I don’t have that much time, like sand in a fast hourglass. And I won’t lie to you—if you try to fob me off with a tiny shard…”

“Rest easy, General. I’ve measured this in my heart like weighing grain.” Olivya’s smile flowed like a spring breeze, a hundred charms fluttering like silk.

In truth, a Divine Stone was at best an expensive ornament, a jewel on a crown; good if you have it, fine if you don’t.

A Legend guild’s profit is a river; a broken stone’s value is a pebble on its bank.

Medith returned to the women; she laid out the talk word by word like stones on a path. Without Nora and the others present, core matters needed caution like walking on ice.

“So, you plan to head to the near-northern city’s Sanctuary of Freedom?” Sais asked, eyes on the intel like a falcon on a scroll.

“Mm.” Medith’s tone was cool as night water; her heart was decided like a locked gate. The women knew it and, out of respect, took the news like tea—bitter but warm.

“But the guild’s affairs…” Melia frowned like clouds gathering; the guild had just been born, and top hands leaving felt like pulling pillars from a hall.

“Leave internal matters to Nora and the team, like a loom in steady hands. In-city business, Olivya will handle like a steward with keys. If worst comes, Uncle Serpent shields us like a black canopy.”

She’d spoken with Uncle Serpent yesterday; his Black Serpent Guild was the city’s only Epic guild, a coiled force like a river snake. He’d laughed and cursed, saying the things she gave were unheard-of, swordplay like a comet cutting night.

Medith shrugged like a leaf to the wind. I gave you the goods; if you can’t read them, that’s a fog you must part yourself.

Uncle Serpent didn’t push; her training methods were lively like drumbeats, and they drew the two guilds closer like braided rope.

After a round of pleasantries, they went their separate ways, like boats drifting to different docks.

She knew it well—there’s no free lunch under the sun; what Uncle Serpent did was investment, like seeds in spring. He bet on her potential, and one day, when a great guild rose, both sides would harvest like autumn fields.

“Eh, fine.” The women were unhappy like rain on a festival, but helpless like hands tied. Medith’s thunderbolt style was known—unless you could sway her heart, the course wouldn’t change like a river in its bed.

They doubted anyone could talk Medith down; that silver tongue likely hadn’t been born under this sky.

Jan 22, 08:10 a.m. Medith gathered the whole guild for breakfast in the hall, steam rising like morning fog; feeding a hundred mouths was a headache like a knot. Her funds couldn’t burn forever like lamp oil.

Olivya wouldn’t reimburse daily costs; instead, all guilds paid management and rental fees on schedule, like tides. Thankfully, the Crimson Sunset Guild was exempt, a patch of sun in cloud.

Among the hundred members, half were young ladies—battle-ready and kitchen-capable, like blades and ladles in harmony. Add Olivya’s advance, and it was enough, like a pot just filled to the brim.

“Commander, are you traveling soon?” Martina seemed to catch the wind of it, watching everyone gather like a flock.

“This little fox…” Iling pinched her cheek, a gesture light as a sparrow peck.

“Heh… relax. I won’t leave you to storm and hunger; I’m heading out to grow the guild, like planting more fields.” Medith patted Martina’s shoulder, firm as a captain’s hand on a wheel.

Same day, 12:00 noon sharp. Medith took Sais and the women to the doors of the Crimson Rose, a return gift in mind like a ribbon. But their gate was shut, wood cold as a coffin, and a sign read “No Entry,” stark as winter ink.

Around them, many guild members, even Black Serpent folk, wore faces like tangled lines—hard to read, hard to smooth.

“Hey, you—what’s going on?” Medith grabbed a Black Serpent member; the guild door shouldn’t hang a “No Entry” even on an empty day.

“You’re… Chair of the Crimson Sunset?” He blinked like a fish surfacing. “Forgive me, Uncle Serpent often—”

“Enough! What’s this? Did they run, or are they in a meeting?” Medith cut him off, voice like a blade.

“It’s not that. ‘They’ came to ‘collect rent,’ like wolves at the fold.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Speak clear.” Sais blinked, fog in her eyes like morning mist.

Lina arched a brow like a drawn bow; she seemed to catch the pattern like ripples spreading.

“Tch! Whatever—kick the door!” Medith’s anger rose like a wildfire; giving her the cold shoulder had a price like debt.

She strode long like a hunting cat to the Crimson Rose’s gate. The painted rose blazed bright as fresh blood, but she wasn’t in the mood to admire petals.

She lifted her leg for a sweeping kick, a gust coiled in her muscles; the wooden door swung open first, like a trap sprung.

“Hahaha—Chairwoman Lilina, so generous. Our chair will reward heavily this time, like rain on ripe grain.” A frivolous man’s voice drifted out like smoke.

“I… I beg you, spare us…” A woman sobbed, helplessness and resentment threading her tone like dark silk.

“Spare you? No, no… Chairwoman, don’t misunderstand. We’re just honoring our ‘agreement,’ like ink on paper. Back then, black-and-white, a blood oath at the Notary Council—live and die with our Kuso Guild.

Now you’ve found a little light, and you want to kick us off the boat and fly alone?

Crossing the river and tearing down the bridge—without trust, a person can’t stand, like a house without pillars.” His voice cooled like frost; killing intent leaked like a blade’s breath.

He’d brought ten-plus men, black-red short sleeves and matching pants like a flock in uniform. On their chests, a red lion carried a small rabbit, an emblem fierce as fang and soft as fur.

Five beautiful women in red dresses were gripped in their hands like birds in nets; despair and unwillingness shaded their faces like stormed glass, yet helplessness held them like chains.

Among them was Koniya, yesterday’s trouble-stirrer, eyes dim like embers.

“Today, I’m not here to beg—I’m here to claim. Dare resist?

Then you shoulder it yourself, like a yoke.” He hooked Lilina’s chin with a crooked smile, viper-slick. Lilina bit her red lip like a crushed berry; she looked at the hesitant crowd, tears of fury and shame falling like rain, and didn’t dare strike.

“Move.” He flicked his hand; his men strutted off with the Crimson Rose women, footsteps loud as drums.

At that instant, Medith’s gaze cut like a hawk’s; the Lina Sisters caught it like a signal fire.

Two women flashed arrows out like lightning, drew their bows high like crescent moons, and shot toward the endless sky like geese in flight.

Moments later, ding— The arrow hummed like a tuning blade and bit deep into the path ahead like a fang.

The man turned, killing intent flaring like a drawn sword. “Who?”

He saw several Sprite women in white, faces beautiful as carved jade, bodies lithe as willow, their martial bearing clean as a mountain stream. White capes danced in the wind like banners, and a black sun hung in the sky like a celestial hound devouring day.

At their head, a white-haired woman’s eyes were sword-cold. She wore a golden circlet with a pendant, a greatsword embossed at its heart—three-dimensional and noble like a raised relief, gilding her beauty with exotic lure like desert stars.

“Who are you?” He stared at her face and badge, a memory scratching like a twig—familiar, yet just out of reach.

Medith half-smiled, and her right hand drew a greatsword with a whisper like rain on steel. “A nameless girl. Family Waheto, name’s Medith.”

“Medith?! That Medith?!” The man’s shock burst like a drum.

“Hell…” His men loosened hands from Koniya and the others like nets falling slack, their faces stunned and confused like fish in bright light.