Once the calm returned, the recruits quickly lined up—three rows of roughly ten people each.

  No one dared act cocky after what they had just witnessed.

  Eryndra climbed back onto the platform, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever.

  She drew a scroll from her dimensional pocket and unrolled it slowly.

  Her gaze swept over the assembly.

  “When I call your name, raise your hand.”

  Her voice cracked like a military command.

  No murmurs. No hesitation.

  “Darik.”

  A hand shot up immediately.

  Eryndra observed him briefly, noting his face and posture.

  “Lidra.”

  “Bruce.”

  Name after name, she recorded each recruit with cold, methodical precision.

  Then, she paused.

  “Ale.”

  A boy raised his hand timidly.

  Her gaze fell on him—and lingered just a bit too long.

  She frowned.

  He wasn’t here at the beginning, she thought, mildly irritated.

  He must have arrived during the commotion with Gorran…

  Late, on the first day? Seriously?

  Her expression hardened.

  I’ll remember you.

  But she said nothing and moved on with the roll call.

  Ale, for his part, seemed entirely unaware of her accusing stare.

  He was simply relieved—relieved he had made it in time.

  To him, it was almost a miracle.

  The night before, he had left Devalin just past midnight.

  Time had been against him.

  He had needed to reach Eldoria before dawn—no matter the cost.

  But before leaving Devalin, he had made a detour.

  A neighboring village, known for housing some of the region’s wealthiest merchants.

  And among them... were the so-called “adopters” of the girls who had disappeared from the slums.

  The memory surfaced in Ale’s mind as the names continued to drone on, unheard.

  Under the cover of darkness, he had used one of the new powers granted to him by Nyxion—a rare and forbidden art.

  A spell capable of slipping into dreams.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  And that’s exactly what he had done.

  In the deep sleep of the merchant and his wife, Ale had entered like a shadow, taking the form of their ancestors—a visage they could neither ignore nor defy, only fear and revere.

  The terror etched into their faces, even within their dreams, had been enough to plant a seed of doubt deep within their minds.

  Thanks to the information he had extracted from their subconscious minds, Ale knew exactly how to manipulate their fear—and their deep respect for tradition.

  Disguised as a revered ancestral spirit, he confronted the merchant and his wife within their dreams.

  “What you have done is a disgrace to your bloodline,” he declared in a heavy voice, resonating like an echo from another world.

  “But you still have a chance to atone.”

  Facing them, Ale produced an imperial steel coin.

  Under their horrified gazes, he tore it cleanly in two—as if it were nothing more than paper—and tossed the pieces at their feet.

  “These girls are not merchandise,” he continued coldly.

  “From this day forward, you will raise them as your own.

  Provide them with a proper education, clothes, and a family.

  If you fail… your bloodline will be cursed for a thousand generations.”

  Then, without another word, he melted into the shadows of their dreams, leaving behind nothing but the two torn halves of the coin.

  When the merchant and his wife awoke with a start, they found the two pieces of the imperial coin lying atop their quilt.

  Their faces turned ashen.

  The woman let out a horrified scream before fainting, while the merchant, drenched in sweat, frantically made offerings at the family shrine.

  In their minds, there was no doubt: the ancestors had spoken to them directly.

  Terrified, they swore to obey the command delivered in their dream to the letter.

  From that day onward, the young girls were treated as true daughters of the household.

  They were given clothes, education—and above all, a life they would have never even dared to dream of.

  -------------------------------------------------

  “Piah!”

  A sharp crack rang out, followed by a brief flame erupting from Eryndra’s fingertips.

  It snapped everyone back to reality.

  All eyes turned instantly toward the platform.

  The flash vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  Standing above them, arms crossed, Eryndra’s gaze was sharp enough to cut steel.

  “Good. Everyone’s here,” she announced loudly.

  “We’ve already wasted enough time. So let’s get straight to the point.”

  Silence fell like a curtain.

  “This training will last three days. During those three days, I’ll teach you the Seven Golden Rules of the Adventurers’ Guild.

  You’ll learn how the Guild operates, what benefits you’re entitled to… and what responsibilities you’ll carry.”

  She paused, eyes scanning every tense face before her.

  “After that, you’ll face a series of trials.

  Those who succeed will be officially recognized as Class-10 adventurers.”

  A murmur of excitement rippled through the ranks.

  “Piah!”

  Another sharp crack echoed through the hall.

  Instantly, thin glowing fissures appeared above each recruit’s head.

  Shimmering lights danced in the air—ethereal, almost dreamlike.

  Then, slowly, scrolls began to descend, floating gently as if carried by an invisible breeze.

  Each scroll landed softly at the feet of the recruits.

  “This is the Codex of the Seven Golden Rules… and the Novice’s Manual,” Eryndra announced in a firm, unwavering tone.

  “These two documents are sacred to every adventurer. You are to read them, understand them… and memorize them. No excuses.”

  The recruits, still stunned by the display of magic, immediately bent down to pick up the scrolls.

  Curious glances were exchanged.

  Some eagerly unrolled the documents, eyes scanning every word.

  Others looked intimidated by the solemnity in their instructor’s voice.