Aaron stood before the wonderfully crafted archways of the Hunters' Guild office, his eyes not leaving the intricate engravings.
Carved into the very center were ancient runes, ones he could successfully decipher, thanks to the intensive months of studying while travelling.
"Thou shalt never yield. Thou shalt never falter. Thou shalt claim vicoriam when even the world turns away from thee."
It was an old phrase, created back in the earliest era of the world, but it remained in use even in modern times, often cited by the Guild on various occasions.
The blond-haired boy's gaze burned into the message, embedding its very essence into his mind.
There was no reaction from anything within him—the usual voices that constantly filled his mind had been silent ever since the lecture with Cauron Thorn the previous day.
Slowly parting his lips, he sighed hard and tightened his grip around the fully incarnated sword at his hip.
As he was about to step inside for the final time until the ceremony the next day, he had to make himself presentable, certainly not walk around with an empty sheath.
Five hundred and seventy-nine Rookie Hunters. Four hundred Officers. Eighteen Lieutenants. Three Colonels. Quite the roster…
With a slight smile forming on his lips, he took a step forward, passing through the entryway and making his way into the great hall.
It was incomparable to Chrone Castle's; however, it didn't fall behind by that much, and was still enough to shock the boy.
Hundreds of men, women, and teenagers rushed around the room in a frenzy, searching for positions, groupings, and instructors.
Preparation for the induction… Thank crab I don't have to do this.
Placing his hand over his heart and then raising it towards the sky, he continued forward, his eyes meeting a pocket of people he could only assume to be high-ranking examinees.
There were three of them huddled in a circle, each of them staring daggers at the blond-haired challenger who surpassed them.
Without much else to do until Cam arrived, Aaron took the invitation head-on, approaching with a guarded expression.
"How's it going?"
While his face betrayed distrust, his tone carried nothing but enthusiasm and joy, the three not quite knowing how to respond.
The one in the back, an older girl with green hair, perhaps three or four years older than him, spoke up, a bulging vein under her eye confirming her anger.
"Who do you think you are to come and gloat over your victory? Steinfestes were already enough, and now the oh so high and mighty 'Perfect Rookie' is here to congratulate us?"
Her hostile words made the blond-haired boy straighten his posture, his hand instinctively reaching for Penelope's handle and wrapping around tightly.
"What?"
Suppressing the annoyance bubbling up inside him at her immediate and instant disrespect, he opened his mouth and spoke once more.
"I have come here to do no such thing. I assure you, whatever Alaric did—"
As he was about to conclude his sentence, he was cut off as the green-haired girl jumped in with even more snide remarks.
"Oh boohoo to you. I don't give a damn. What's your deal, eh? Some Marshal's offspring that were raised in a facility? Alex Lispentine's son? I bet you've never even fought a real battle before. That fight against an Apex? Please! Do you expect anyone to actually believe that? How the hell could a fifteen-year-old boy even survive? Or was it Uncle Lepaie whom you called for help?"
Sneering at him, she finished her drilling, a triumphant expression plastered across her face.
Slowly looking up at him to see his crumbling expression, she was met with a wide smile, baked from ear to ear.
His throat twitched, then a noise that the girl, nor the other two male challengers beside her, could guess erupted from his vocal cords.
"BAHAHA! Seriously? Who gives a rat's ass what you think? I got all the proof right here!"
Grabbing the bottom of his pant leg, he pulled it upward, the usual muster of his metallic leg coming into view.
Both boys beside him took a step back, their faces paling as they realized what was, or more accurately, wasn't there.
The girl, on the other hand, could only gawk, her eyes slowly trailing up from the replacement limb back to his face.
She watched as he opened his mouth once again, his sword still sheathed, and his eyes focused like a serpent.
"Come see my match in three days. I'll get you a VIP seat to see the show go down. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
Waving them goodbye and walking away, he heard the green-haired girl's muffled croaks as she tried to respond.
However, unlike before, there was nothing to say—her will to argue was lost in a heartbeat simply by listening to the words of Aaron Grimstall.
Threading through the crowded room until he had lost sight of the future Colonels, he somehow arrived at an odd doorway.
The words written on it clearly expressed that only those approved could enter, yet the boy interpreted them differently.
Let's be honest. It's probably a storage closet or a bathroom, right?
Thinking about the odds, he nodded to himself, smiled, then pulled open the doorway, revealing a dimly lit room.
Stepping inside, he gently closed the entrance behind him, feeling a heavy presence settle over the chamber.
Inside his head, he could feel barrier after barrier slowly clicking together in steady harmony, the deity remaining silent.
Eh? What is making those charms go…
Closing his eyes, he eventually came up with a possible explanation, an inkling of what was directly behind him flashing through his mind.
Breathing in, he spun around, his eyes meeting nine other pairs at once, a deep horror settling inside his bones.
In a ring of chairs, each glistening with various gemstones, metals, or magics, he saw eight Marshals turn their heads towards him.
Not only that, but at the back of that grouping sat a man whose face was plastered inside every single Hunters' Guild building.
The Guild President, Alex Lispentine.
Staring straight into a visibly pale Cam's face, he moved with precision, inching backwards while attempting to reach for the doorknob.
"I-I don't think this is the bathroom…"
There was a silence beyond all silences that echoed through the room after that, none of the eight Marshals even blinking.
However, after half a minute of stillness, the man at the far side of the room spoke aloud, his tone flat and plain.
"Aaron Grimstall. Apprentice of Camilla Buckley and the first-place challenger of the biennial Hunters' Examination. Come sit."
Right beside the president, a chair appeared out of solid darkness, an awkwardness filling the air as Aaron walked over to sit.
Whether it be a floorboard creaking or the sound of a sigh, in the quiet room, they all sounded louder than explosions, the tension thick enough to be cut with a knife.
Keeping his head down, he bent his knees, receding into the bare wooden chair he had been given.
After another moment, the man beside Aaron, the very head of the entire Hunter' Guild, finally broke the silence, his golden hair drooping only centimeters above his ears.
"We will continue our topic now."
Finished with the announcement, he waited as if anticipating a reaction that he had known would come.
"What about him?"
The question was posed by an elderly looking man in the corner of the circle, his eyes like lightning and his golden robes glistening in the dim candlelight.
His white beard seemed to crackle with thunder, his mere presence sending a shock down Aaron's spine.
Other Marshals nodded alongside him; however, the guildmaster did not as much as flinch, only reclining further back in his throne.
"He stays. This will involve him after he advances, of course."
The president chuckled a little after his own comment, before coming up with a follow-up.
"Well, it will involve the world as well."
An uncomfortable feeling descended upon the gathering, and some of the members even looked away.
On the other hand, others smiled, enthusiasm and glee proudly shown across their faces as they heard the guildmaster speak again.
"As I discussed earlier, the Association continues to deny our right to claim the Sea of Ancients as our own territory. Their chairman is too fixated on the prospect of all-out war with the Seven Head Order, who seek to revive their Sovereign, and he avoids addressing any unrelated affairs."
He paused, turning to look at Cam.
"Even after your efforts in the Sea of Dreams to remedy the disaster in Sea Fallen, they still did not even allow a sliver of authority to be passed to us. Of course, in your travels, you found a boy capable enough to fight an Apex on a random pier."
Furrowing his brow in irritation, it was made clear to Aaron in that moment what had been passed along about his existence.
She hasn't told them why she was looking for me. They don't know…
Remaining silent, he caught the gaze of a black-haired man secluded from the rest of the Marshals.
Instead of being in the circle like the rest, he sat on a lonely throne behind everyone else, fading into the background, his pitch-black armor hiding him in shadows.
Not paying attention to Lispentine nor any of the other Marshals, his gaze locked on the sword holstered in the blond-haired boy's sheath.
It was as if he didn't even see its wielder or the god's steel that formed it, simply the spirit dwelling inside, hidden from the world's watchful eye.
Within his head, Aaron couldn't hear a sound from Penelope; however, as he focused more on the man, he noticed a detail he had previously missed.
I-Is that… No… That would mean…
What flashed through the boy's mind at that very moment was nothing less than pure and utter shock at what he was seeing.
For, as anyone would know, there was only one clear and definitive swordsman who stood at the pinnacle, ruling them all.
This individual was not a Sea King nor even a deity, a mere mortal without any contracts, who held a single-edged sword forged from the cosmic oozes of history itself.
Masaru Kurogane, the Swordsman of the South, whose blade was as famous as himself, a steel crafted from the lost forges of the Sea of Ancients, a weapon with only one equal.
This legendary weapon, the Lost Sword of the Sovereign of Space, Arcturus Centuria, was an item that only Ocean's Bane could claim to be equivalent to.
For, within its lifetime, that weapon had claimed the life of the Primordial itself.