We entered the Association building together. Knight Captain Godwin elected to remain outside; his presence alone would draw far too much attention, and with me accompanying the group, it would only compound the problem.

  Everyone walked with measured steps, though there was no hiding the excitement in their eyes.

  The building itself was broad in structure, yet felt cramped within—every available space had been claimed and repurposed. Voices overlapped, boots scuffed against stone, metal clinked softly, and the air buzzed with energy. Notices were pinned wherever there was wall left, and the smell of sweat, ink, and cheap ale blended into something uniquely free-blade.

  I raised my voice slightly so they could hear me over the din.

  “The left side,” I explained, gesturing, “is where newer people go. That’s for information, registration, applying for skill assessments, or requesting permission to become a ranked free-blade.”

  Unsurprisingly, that section had the longest queues. Some people looked nervous, others hopeful, many impatient.

  “The middle section,” I continued, pointing ahead, “is for commissions. That’s where free-blades take on jobs, browse available tasks, or report their completion. It’s divided by rank—left desks for accepting tasks, right desks for reporting results.”

  Because of that setup, it was also the most crowded. People came and went in constant waves, parchments changing hands faster than I could track.

  “And the right side,” I finished, gesturing last, “is the bar.”

  Everyone squinted in that direction.

  “I can see people getting punched in there,” Lord Takashi said carefully.

  “Yes, that does happen from time to time,” I replied evenly. “Grudges tend to form in this line of work. Since this building is neutral ground and run by the city, they allow fights—fist only and strictly nonlethal.”

  “Once someone is knocked out,” I added, “they’re dragged out the back.”

  “Don’t people, like… die?” Lord Shunsuke asked, glancing uneasily toward the bar.

  “I’ve never heard of anyone dying in a brawl here,” I said after a moment of thought. “So long as no one draws a weapon or casts a spell, it stays manageable. A few days of rest afterward doesn’t hurt either. Lucky if you have a healer on your team.”

  The group exchanged looks—half uneasy, half fascinated—as they continued taking in the organized chaos of the Free-Blade Association.

  “Other than that,” I continued, “the second floor is mainly used as office space, and the third is for lodging.” I paused, then added almost as an afterthought, “They also maintain two forges at the back, right beside the training courtyard. I think they also make some magic weapons there.”

  Almost immediately—mostly the boys’—voices rose in excited overlap, all talking about wanting to see the forge, the testing grounds, and how free-blades trained or were evaluated.

  “Oh, look everyone,” I said, seizing the moment as I noticed movement at the counter. The woman who had spoken with me earlier stormed away, huffing and snarling. “A queue has just opened up. We could ask there instead.” I glanced at them, then added lightly, “Or—if you prefer—we could request an audience with the guild master.”

  That gave them pause.

  “Wait,” Lord Arthur said, brow furrowing. “Lady Celestia, earlier you said that the board position had requirements. Then why is there a need for a guild master at all? Aren’t they a sort of council?”

  “Ah,” I said gently, “I see the misunderstanding.”

  I turned slightly so they could all hear me clearly.

  “The body that governs free-blades for the entire city—the regulatory council—is where the requirement of two hundred members applies. Each city’s free-blade council differs based on needs and circumstances.” I gestured around us. “However, the guild master is appointed directly by the city to oversee this building itself—as neutral ground.”

  Understanding dawned slowly across their faces.

  After a brief discussion, they collectively decided it would be best to remain anonymous for now. First impressions mattered, after all.

  I stayed a short distance back with Lady Reika and Lady Shizuku—not far enough that we couldn’t hear, but far enough to avoid drawing attention.

  “Yes, hello,” the woman behind the counter said warmly. “A pleasant morning to you all. How may I help you?”

  “Yes, hello as well,” Lord Vi replied. His tone was mild, polite—almost disarming. A faint smile touched his lips. “My friends and I have been considering a life as free blades. It’s something we’ve been giving thought to.”

  He inclined his head slightly.

  “Might we trouble you for a short tour? Simply to observe how things are done here. If it’s convenient, we’d appreciate a brief look around, only if you have the time, of course. If today is inconvenient or we arrived at a poor moment, we completely understand.”

  The woman blinked. Then she smiled.

  “Why yes, in fact—”

  I felt my eyebrow twitch.

  That was not Lord Vi’s usual manner. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Considering the woman had likely argued with the previous patron moments earlier, I could see how his approach had… softened her.

  “That Ae,” Lady Reika muttered under her breath.

  Lady Shizuku shook her head slowly, then she noticed me staring at what both of them had said. “He’s a bit of a two-faced bastard,” she said.

  “Ae can get most of the things he wants just by talking,” Lady Reika added quietly.

  I looked back toward Lord Vi, who was now listening attentively as the clerk spoke, his posture relaxed, his expression open.

  …I see.

  Perhaps I was beginning to understand what the queen had meant when she spoke of him.

  “I’ll just need your names,” the clerk said patiently, quill poised. “Then we can see about starting your tour.”

  “Hugh Jass,” Lord Vi replied without hesitation.

  Lord Arthur, Lord Trayn, and Lord William burst into laughter. The others looked confused—until Lord William leaned in and whispered an explanation. A second later, the confusion melted into snickers.

  “Now that I think about it,” Lord Arthur said, grinning broadly, “that name sounds like a porn star’s.”

  I turned to the two women beside me. Both immediately shook their heads.

  “You don’t want to know,” Lady Shizuku said flatly.

  Undaunted, Lord Vi continued, gesturing toward Lord William and Lord Trayn. “These are Wee Wee and Pee Pee,” he said. Their smiles vanished instantly. “They’re related. We call them the Pee Wee brothers.”

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  Lord Arthur laughed harder.

  “And the one giggling like a girl,” Lord Vi added, motioning toward him, “that one’s Gaylord.”

  Lord Arthur’s face darkened as he opened his mouth to protest, but before a word could escape, Lord Trayn looped an arm around his neck and hauled him down.

  “Quiet, Gaylord,” he said cheerfully.

  “The rest,” Lord Vi finished, waving vaguely at the others as Lord Arthur and Lord Trayn wrestled, “are our servants.”

  The clerk looked at the group, then at her parchment, then back at us. After a brief pause, she simply shrugged and began writing.

  I supposed she had assumed we were nobility—and it would not be the first time such people hid behind false names. In truth, it was remarkably common.

  We stepped aside as the clerk attended to the next group. A few minutes passed. The boys were still laughing and bickering about the names they had been saddled with when a man clad in worn leather armor raised his voice from the center of the hall.

  “Is any among you, Hugh Jass? Gaylord? The Pee Wee brothers?”

  The laughter swelled again, drawing curious glances from nearby free-blades.

  “Hugh Jass?” the man called louder. “Gaylord? The Pee Wee brothers?”

  That only made them laugh harder.

  “I’m a Hugh Jass,” Lord Vi said calmly, raising his hand.

  “And this one’s Gaylord,” Lord Trayn added in between laughter, pointing at Lord Arthur, earning him a shove.

  Only then did understanding finally dawn on me—at least partially. It was a word play on huge ass.

  A small, reluctant smile tugged at my lips as I shook my head. I suppose Lord Vi truly did not break character easily. Fortunately, we had informed Captain Godwin of our intentions beforehand seeing as we would be a while here.

  “I don’t mind,” he had replied easily. “At least they’ll get to see what they want, all in one place. We’ll meet up at the plaza instead.”

  The man in leather armor looked between us, Lord Vi’s enthusiastic hand raised, Lords Arthur and Trayn’s tussle, the other boys snickering, and the parchment he was holding, then sighed in a way that suggested this was not the strangest thing he had dealt with today.

  “…Right,” he said at last. “If you’ll follow me.”

  He turned on his heel and began weaving through the crowd without waiting to see if we obeyed. Lord Vi dropped his hand and followed immediately, hands tucked lazily into his pockets. The others fell in behind him, still snickering under their breath.

  We were led past the central counters and toward a side corridor where the stone walls were less cluttered with notices, and we exited the building toward the rear.

  Fortunately, we did not encounter anyone who recognized me along the way—a small mercy, considering how quickly attention could snowball in a place like this.

  The back of the guild was just as I remembered it.

  A wide, walled courtyard opened before us, divided cleanly into four distinct areas. One was a dedicated sparring ground, its packed earth darkened by sweat and old blood stains. Two range areas sat opposite one another—one marked by scorched targets and fractured stone for magic practice, the other lined with straw targets and reinforced backstops for archery. The final section was a broad training yard.

  Beyond them, set against the far wall, were two forges. Each was manned by four people, their movements practiced and efficient, hammers ringing in steady rhythm while heat shimmered in the air.

  All areas were occupied, but by far the most crowded was the training yard.

  Recruits—boys, and the occasional girl—most no older than fourteen, moved through drills under sharp-eyed instructors. There were easily sixty of them present. I knew there were even more younger trainees elsewhere; many did not make it this far. As the training intensified, dropouts became inevitable. This group, I suspected, were those who had survived their first cycle.

  Our guide explained this quietly as we watched.

  When Lord Shunsuke asked what they taught first, the man answered with a small, knowing smile.

  “Survival.”

  That drew glances from the group.

  “How to forage,” the guide continued calmly. “What can be eaten, what can’t be eaten, and how to tell the difference. How to prepare fires, how to properly put off fires. The list is long, of course, these courses are for those who come from nothing.”

  His gaze shifted briefly to the boys.

  “For those with backing,” he said evenly, “and proper training beforehand, they may skip ahead.”

  He gestured toward the sparring pen, where a small crowd had gathered, voices raised in cheers and sharp intakes of breath.

  “—to that.”

  We were led closer.

  “As you can see,” the guide said, motioning toward the ongoing match, “few people here do anything by half measures. Especially once they aim to become ranked free-blades.”

  Two fighters faced one another inside the ring, one had long hair up to his shoulders and a full beard, the other clean shaved head and a small goatee, both armed with swords. One launched an overhead strike from a high guard. The other leaned back instinctively, already preparing a counter—but the blow never came.

  It was a feint.

  The attacker’s true strike came from the left, snapping across the man’s jaw. Spit flew as the fist connected, but the defender recovered fast enough to drive a boot into his opponent’s abdomen, forcing space between them.

  Both men spat to the ground.

  Then, without a word, they began circling once more—eyes sharp, grips tightened, neither willing to yield an inch. This, I thought, is the true face of the Free-Blades.

  I glanced at the boys. Their excitement had not vanished, but it had sharpened—channeled into something quieter, more intent.

  “So this fight,” Lord Arthur asked, eyes still on the sparring ring, “it’s to measure rank?”

  “Yes,” our guide replied. “To measure and evaluate, as well as for the first promotion—from learner to ranked Copper.”

  He jerked a thumb toward one of the onlookers leaning against the rail.

  “The one fighting is a friend of this one.”

  The man straightened and gave a casual wave. He was a few centimeters taller than Lord Trayn, broad-shouldered with a solid, sturdy build, but he had an easy posture of someone recently relieved of pressure.

  “Hey there,” he said, stepping closer and offering his hand and Lord Vi being closest, took it. “Name’s Carl. Newly ranked. Copper Crawler.”

  Lord Vi froze. So did Lord Arthur. And Lord Trayn.

  All three reacted at once—Lord Trayn half choking on a laugh, Lord Arthur sharply turning his head away, and Lord Vi stiffening like he’d been struck by lightning. They scrambled to recover, each one trying and failing to mask their reactions. The man blinked, clearly confused.

  In the end, Lord Arthur managed to wrestle control of the situation.

  “What’s your friend’s name?” he asked quickly, one arm subtly holding Lord Vi back. “And—uh—do you have a cat?”

  The man scratched his head.

  “His name’s Hayz Oozman,” he said slowly. “And no… I don’t have a cat.”

  The three looked genuinely stricken.

  “So close,” Lord Trayn muttered.

  “Mango is offended,” Lord Vi murmured.

  The man stared at them for a moment longer, then shrugged. Whatever this was, it clearly wasn’t the strangest conversation he’d had as a free-blade or possibly even as a person.

  We eventually moved on, leaving the sparring ring behind and heading toward the forges.

  The heat hit us first—thick, alive, carrying the sharp scent of sweat, metal and charcoal. Hammers rang in steady rhythm as smiths worked with practiced precision. When Lord Vi asked about the design of the weapons, one of the smiths paused and wiped his brow before answering.

  “Aye, we know of blades with crossguards,” the smith said, referring to the metal that juts outward where blade meets hilt. He eyed the boys as if expecting them to argue but they didn’t.

  “In theory, they protect the hand,” he continued. “In practice? A monster that can melt or shear metal—or a magic blade—can slice straight through it. That guard becomes a liability.”

  He tapped the weapon he was working on.

  “So, our designs favor warding, not blocking. Redirecting force instead of stopping it outright.”

  As the others nodded, I noticed Lord Arthur leaning in, eyes alight, following every word. The other smith caught the look and let out a low chuckle.

  “Interested in rune-smithing, lad?” he asked in a gruff voice. “If you want, I can tell you how it really works.”

  That earned everyone’s full attention. The rune-smith launched into an explanation of his craft—how runes were layered, how to etch inscriptions with precision, how a single flawed line could ruin an entire weapon. The group listened intently, nodding, asking questions now and then.

  As I watched them—wide-eyed, curious, absorbing everything—I couldn’t help but think that this place was already leaving its mark on them.

  At some point, we found ourselves drifting back to the fighting pen. Conversation came easily there. The free-blades were an open sort—rough around the edges, but welcoming enough. Some offered advice freely; a few even volunteered to demonstrate a trick or two, amused by the novelty of well-dressed youths wanting to learn how to fight.

  Before long, sparring was suggested.

  The boys—save for Lord Vi—took to the ring in turn. It was clumsy at first. Their footwork was stiff, their guards inconsistent, and they relied far too much on raw force. Still, for first timers, they did not disgrace themselves. They took hits, learned quickly, and, most importantly, they stood back up.

  Lord Vi watched closely from the side, arms folded.

  “It looks like they’re still using brute strength rather than skill,” he observed, tone neutral but attentive.

  The two free-blades beside him nodded.

  “Yeah,” Carl agreed. “Your friends feel like real amateurs.”

  He tilted his head as lord William narrowly avoided a strike.

  “But,” Hayz added, eyes narrowing with interest, “their strength is no joke.”

  That seemed to amuse Lord Vi, if only slightly.

  Time slipped by more quickly than I expected. Between the sparring, the chatter, and the forge demonstrations, the hours wore on unnoticed until the sound of a distant bell marked the approach of midday.

  Hunger finally won.

  We returned to the front desk to offer our thanks and bid farewell. The clerk smiled politely, no doubt relieved that our… memorable names would no longer be echoing through the hall.

  As we stepped back into the main area and began discussing where to eat, Lord Arthur spoke up, pointing toward the right side of the building.

  “What about the bar?” he suggested. “They’ve got food on the menu. And as long as we don’t see people being punched, it should be alright, right?”

  I followed his gaze.

  The guild bar hummed with noise—laughter, clinking mugs, raised voices—but no brawl, at least not yet.

  I hesitated for a brief moment, then sighed.

  “…In theory,” I said, already resigned.