The moment Ethan stepped out of the docking lift, a distinct shift in atmosphere settled over him.
The sounds of engines and overlapping chatter from the landing pads faded into the background as the inner doors hissed shut behind him. Before him stretched a transit corridor, quiet, spacious, clean. Its walls gleamed with embedded fiber circuits pulsing in a soft rhythm, like the heartbeat of a machine. Overhead, thin light strips adjusted subtly to the rhythm of his footsteps.
"You've entered central Guild territory," Iris said in his ear, her voice low and even. "The planet is Arex. Named after one of the founders of the modern Mercenary Guild, Arex Val-Toren."
Ethan blinked. "Didn't think I'd land on a namesake world. What's his story?"
"Arex Val-Toren was one of the principal architects of the Unified Neutral Charter. A war-forged tactician and interstellar peace negotiator. Alongside a few others, he helped unify fragmented mercenary laws over a thousand years ago. The result was the Guild as we know it today."
The corridor opened into a main transit square, massive, vertical, and alive with motion. Towers soared upward at impossible angles, intersecting at dizzying heights. Suspended roads hung like silver threads between them, where lev-trams zipped silently across grav-rails, veering into mid-air terminals.
"This city is also called Arex," Iris continued. "A Guild-funded mega-metropolis, constructed layer by layer over eight centuries. Entirely self-governed. Entirely self-sustained. No Federation police, no planetary government. Only the Guild."
Looking around, Ethan believed it.
Unlike Veltraxis or Ashen Prime, where politics, money, and image intertwined, Arex was brutalist by design. Every structure looked like it could take a kinetic strike and keep standing. Walls were armored. Corners sharp.
Yet technology hummed beneath the metal: translucent walkways, holo-signage hovering in the air, and AI-controlled junctions rerouting foot and sky traffic in real time.
Above him, holographic banners stretched across air lanes, pulsing with real-time data:
CONTRACT POSTED | HALTRIS SECTOR | SYSTEM 8-H | 1.2M GC | DEAD OR ALIVE | TARGET: REZARIN SHIV | CLAIMED: NO
CLAN REPUTATION RANKING UPDATE: NIGHTHAVENS SURPASS VEL BINDERI | +12 SYSTEMS INFLUENCE
MISSION BRIEFING CHANNEL ALPHA-7C: LIVE STREAM NOW
Everywhere Ethan looked, the Guild's presence was absolute. No billboards. No politics. No advertisements trying to sell you a product. Only results, reputations, and objectives.
He passed groups of mercs moving toward grav-lifts and briefing halls, most talking quietly, a few laughing. Their gear varied from elite spec suits to patchwork battlefield armor, some etched with clan marks, others scarred from years of contracts.
Yet despite the flow of people, the city was quiet in its own way. Disciplined.
No one loitered. No one got in the way. The air of self-regulation was palpable.
Ethan moved through a side corridor guided by Iris's projected markers. At the end of it stood a sleek auto-rail car. The doors opened without prompt.
As the car shot forward on an elevated rail, the skyline unfolded fully before him.
And there, cutting into the sky like a blade aimed at the stars, was the Grand Hall.
Even from this distance, it was impossible to mistake.
Amidst the steel mountain of towers, orbital shafts, and data spires, the Grand Hall stood alone in posture. Obsidian-black, laced with Guild-blue veins, and impossibly massive. Its foundations spread wide across the city block, descending deep into the crust, visible even from the side as multi-tiered sub-structures interfaced with transit lines.
And it rose, straight and defiant, beyond cloud level.
"I thought the towers here were tall," Ethan murmured aloud. "This one makes them look like scaffolding."
"The Grand Hall spans both surface and subsurface," Iris explained. "Its foundation reaches four subcontinental layers. Its upper floors house command divisions, history archives, council wings, and restricted areas only accessible to SSS-ranks and council operatives."
The car glided to a halt at the platform marked GRAND HALL - SUMMONED ENTRY ONLY.
Ethan stepped out onto a high-clearance terrace. Wind cut across the platform. Directly ahead, the entrance to the Hall awaited.
Two massive statues flanked the gateway, legendary mercenaries, their weapons raised, their armor marked by hundreds of battles. High-resolution holo-metal constructs, sculptures that flickered and shimmered in real-time, capturing the exact stance and detail of their real-world counterparts.
"Monuments updated quarterly based on relevance to intergalactic Guild records," Iris noted. "Some rotate. Some are eternal."
Holo-plaques lined the walkway, flickering underfoot. Each one bore a name, a deed, and the date and location where it was completed. Some glowed bright and new. Others were older than the Hall itself.
Ethan slowed as he walked, each step heavier. Not from exhaustion, but from atmosphere. Reverence. Like walking into a temple.
His footsteps echoed as he reached the gate, where two guards in silver-blue armor stood motionless.
Their suits were polished, fitted with exo-frame assist systems and integrated shoulder-mounted sensory nodes. One of them scanned him. A green ping flared.
"Name?" one asked.
"Ethan Walker," he replied, pulling out his summons.
The guard's visor flashed.
"Confirmed. Proceed."
Inside, the contrast was immediate. Gone was the chaos of outside. The shifting crowds. The overlapping orders.
Here, everything was controlled.
The air smelled of filtered oxygen, faint metallic resin, and something older....plasma-treated alloy and stone dust, from the construction material of the inner atrium.
Light columns stretched to the ceiling, each of them embedded with digital memory strips cycling through combat footage, mercenary profiles, and notable contracts.
The floor shimmered under his feet, obsidian black with inlaid names etched so fine you could miss them if you didn't know to look. He knelt briefly, running his hand along the polished stone. Micro-text shimmered:
SSS-RANK MERCENARY: VYRON RALTOS | KIA - SECTOR HYDRA-2C | 338 YAR
SSS-RANK MERCENARY: ELESS TARN | DECEASED | COUNCIL SERVICE – 49 CYCLES
They were walking on legacy. Literally.
And yet, it wasn't a grave. It was a forge.
An elegant, humming structure filled with silent movement and deeper purpose.
Ethan moved toward the ID checkpoint. A scanning terminal awaited.
"Summons?" the Guild secretary asked. She was tall, poised, dressed in shimmering black with blue-trimmed formal accents. Her face was partly Zelsari, four eyes and translucent skin, but her voice was unmistakably human.
He handed the device over.
"Ethan Walker, Guild Mercenary, D-Rank. Summoned for C-Rank Promotion Evaluation."
Her hand hovered above the terminal as it ran a multi-layered scan, retinal, aura, Guild license lineage, and finally a temporal scan to ensure authenticity.
The screen chimed.
"Verified."
She nodded once, offering a tight smile.
"This way."
The halls she guided him through were as breathtaking as they were alien. Some walls shifted colors as they passed, reacting to clearance levels. Others displayed ever-changing murals of ancient battlefields.
Doors opened without prompt, lighting adjusted to match footsteps, and drones moved silently overhead delivering documents, armor, and sealed cases. Everything operated with a rhythm Ethan couldn't decipher, but felt strangely in sync with.
They passed rooms marked:
CLAN NEGOTIATION HALLS – Soundproofed and shielded.
RELIC ARMORY – Guarded by sentinel drones and phase-lock seals.
COUNCIL ACCESS ONLY – Flanked by four guards, unmoving.
He swallowed.
Every corridor reminded him that this place wasn't just a hall of trials, it was a nexus of the most powerful neutral force in the galaxy.
Yet through it all, he didn't feel fear. Didn't feel out of place.
He felt something far more unsettling:
Comfort.
Like he had walked here before.
They reached a private chamber, his temporary holding quarter.
"Wait here," the secretary said, voice still composed. "You will be summoned when preparations are complete. Please do not attempt to leave this wing."
The door closed behind her with a soft hiss.
Ethan looked around.
The room was minimal, just a transparent desk, recharging console, and an interface wall that displayed the Guild's orientation schedule, known C-Rank test formats, and a constantly updated global merc leaderboard.
He sat on the edge of the bench, elbows resting on knees, exhaling a long breath.
The silence was thick, but not heavy.
This test wouldn't just shape his rank. It would shape his place in this galaxy.