The sun had not yet crested the rooftops of Silverwall, but the Golden Fang guildhall was already alive. Elric moved through the stone corridors with steady purpose, nodding to passing recruits and staff. He had a full schedule ahead: the trade route contract bidding preparation, overseeing Elda's prototype armor demonstration, and most pressing—the audit for Iron-tier advancement, now just four days away.
Yet there was an unease in his chest, like a faint vibration before an earthquake.
In the central chamber, Lyra was already seated at the large oak table, shuffling documents while chewing on the end of a feather quill.
"Elric," she said without looking up, "we have a problem."
He halted. "What kind?"
She slid a sheet toward him. "Two of our recruits were approached last night outside the Copper Cup. The men were asking about you. About our audit. Pressuring them."
"Silver Talons?" he asked.
"Most likely. Same build. Same method. Friendly at first, then threatening."
He took a long breath and leaned over the table. "Did the recruits say anything compromising?"
"No. They reported it directly after returning."
"Good," he said. "Then it's time we start acting like a real power. We're not hiding."
Lyra folded her arms. "So what's the plan?"
"We go public."
She blinked. "With what?"
"Everything. Our missions. Our success. Our value to the city. Let's host an open demonstration—magic, swordsmanship, and strategy. Invite merchant lords, Adventurer's Registry officials, even minor nobility. Let them see what we've built."
Lyra stared at him for a long moment. "You want to throw a damn festival?"
"A showcase," he corrected, eyes gleaming. "With fire and steel. And we'll hold it right outside the guildhall. Two days before the audit."
Preparations began immediately. Harvin was dispatched to hire vendors and temporary labor. Guild members took on dual roles—swordsmen teaching children basic stances, mages giving lectures on mana stability, scouts organizing mock tracking missions.
Posters were printed and distributed throughout Silverwall. They bore the Golden Fang emblem—bold, clean, unmistakable—with a short inscription:
"Strength. Honor. Unity. Come witness the rise of a new power. The Golden Fang Showcase – Two Days Before Moon's Rest. All Welcome."
Elda took charge of preparing a display of enchanted armor, her smiths working through the night to produce gleaming bronze and steel pieces with minor augmentations—heat resistance, reinforced joints, and grip stabilization. Simple, but impressive.
Three days later, as sunlight spilled over the stone walls of Silverwall's western district, a crowd had already begun to form near the newly-cleared courtyard beside the Golden Fang's main building.
A raised platform had been constructed using guild funds—sturdy, spacious, and draped with golden banners bearing the stylized wolf fangs of the guild's emblem. Dozens of benches formed a semi-circle around the area. Adventurers from other guilds, merchants, and townsfolk trickled in, curious or skeptical.
Lyra stood to the side in a crisp uniform, speaking to a scribe. "Make sure the ledger is ready. We're offering open sign-up bonuses for new recruits—two gold crowns and free entry-level equipment."
Across the yard, Elric appeared. He wore simple black boots, dark slacks, and a fitted leather tunic with a high collar. No ostentatious jewelry. No cloak of office. Just confidence.
He strode to the center of the platform and waited for silence.
It came quickly.
"Silverwall," he said, voice ringing out. "I won't speak in riddles. A year ago, I didn't exist in this city. The Golden Fang was nothing but a whisper. A rumor. A newcomer. Many thought we'd vanish within weeks."
He looked across the audience. Some sat in silence. Some nodded. A few crossed their arms.
"Since then, we've completed two successful high-risk missions. We protected the Silvershade convoys when no other guild dared. We reclaimed Redport's outer roads. And now, we are building not just outposts—but futures."
He gestured, and several teams moved into position behind him. One carried shimmering steel weapons; another hauled crates of armor; and the third formed a demonstration circle.
"Today, we show you who we are."
The showcase began.
Elda stepped forward first, her voice carrying strong and clear. "Observe: armor built for weight distribution. Cuts arrow velocity by forty percent. Reinforced plates over tendon lines. Compatible with mana infusion." She clanged her hammer against a breastplate—sparks flew.
Next, a fire mage named Jorn demonstrated a trio of tier-two spells. Flames danced across his hands but never scorched the floor. He spoke of technique, restraint, and efficiency.
Following him, the scouts performed a simulated field mission—tracking a 'target' through the crowd using only environmental clues. They found their mark in under two minutes.
The crowd grew more animated. Elric noted impressed expressions. Even skeptical guild leaders shifted in their seats.
Finally, Elric stepped forward again.
"I invite you," he said, "to visit the Golden Fang hall. Speak to our members. Review our records. This is not just a guild. It is a foundation. And there is space on it for those who dare to stand with us."
He stepped down to a chorus of murmurs, applause, and scribes furiously taking notes.
That evening, the Golden Fang hall was filled beyond capacity. Recruits lined the walls, officials were seated in the war room, and Lyra was conducting interviews faster than she could take notes.
"Fifty signups in one day," Harvin said, stunned. "Five were Iron-ranked solo adventurers."
Elric exhaled slowly. "That's just the start. Now we ride this momentum into the audit."
But trouble loomed.
Late that night, as Elric sat in his private study reviewing property documents, a knock came at the door. Not polite. Not hurried.
He opened it to find Hilda, her expression grim.
"We've got a situation," she said. "Markus and the Redport team were ambushed on the road. They survived. But they were followed."
Elric stood straighter. "Followed by who?"
"They don't know. Mercenaries. Not beasts. Not bandits."
"Silver Talons?"
"Can't prove it. But it fits."
"Where's Markus now?"
"Infirmary. Got stabbed in the leg. Bad, but he'll walk again."
Elric's fists clenched. "They're not just trying to outbid us. They're trying to break us."
Lyra appeared behind him, already dressed in gear. "Then we hit back."
"No," he said. "Not yet. Let them make the mistake. We stay clean until the audit."
She gritted her teeth. "And after?"
His eyes turned cold. "Then we remind them who they're dealing with."
The next morning brought a formal summons from the Adventurer's Registry. The audit would be conducted in two days, as scheduled. Three officials would visit the Golden Fang hall, interview senior members, review finances, inspect armory inventory, and verify mission reports.
The final ranking decision would be made that night.
Elric read the parchment twice, then burned it in the hearth.
"We're ready," he said to Lyra. "Let them come."
Unseen, in a quiet corner of the Silver Talons' headquarters, a different kind of preparation was underway.
A man in a rust-colored cloak handed a scroll to the guildmaster. "Forgery of Golden Fang mission reports. Subtle inconsistencies. Enough to cast doubt."
The guildmaster unrolled it, lips curling.
"And the bribed official?"
"In place. One of the three on the audit team. Bought with coin and favors."
"Good," the guildmaster said, tapping his fingers together. "Let the Fang rot from within."
But fate had its own plans.
Because that very night, as Elric stood once again in the training yard, checking on recruits and construction, an unexpected visitor arrived.
A tall man in dark grey robes, with a sapphire clasp at his neck and the unmistakable bearing of nobility.
"Elric Vale," he said. "I am Lord Deyron Thorne, magistrate of the outer districts. I've come to witness your guild myself."
Elric didn't flinch. "You came uninvited."
"I go where Silverwall's future lies," Thorne said. "And right now, it's here."
He turned to inspect the yard, recruits, and the banners.
"I've heard rumors of sabotage," Thorne said. "Rival guilds. Bribed officials. If any such attempt is made, you will have my testimony at the hearing."
Elric narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
Thorne turned, smiling slightly. "Because I invest where the wind is blowing. And right now, the wind favors you."
He walked off without another word, cloak billowing.
Elric watched him disappear into the evening fog.
For the first time, he realized something: this wasn't just about building a guild anymore.
This was politics.
Power.
Legacy.
And he was all in.