Elric stood in front of the crumbling two-story structure he had just purchased for fifteen gold coins—a price that would've been laughably low in Earth's real estate market but was considered reckless in Silverwall. The neighbors had watched the transaction with barely veiled amusement, shaking their heads and muttering under their breath as the coin passed hands.
This was a house that rats called a palace. The paint had long since peeled away, revealing raw wood that rotted under decades of rain. A pair of windows were cracked and boarded, while a portion of the roof sagged dangerously. The front door was hanging on its last hinge.
Harvin, the drunken ex-guildmaster Elric had dragged from his liquor-soaked grave the previous night, stood beside him, scratching his stubbled chin and squinting up at the warped structure.
"You know," Harvin began, "there's a certain charm to your stupidity."
Elric replied without looking at him. "You see a broken house. I see leverage."
"I see a building that's going to kill us in our sleep."
"Not if we fix it."
"You mean if someone else fixes it."
"Exactly."
Elric turned, his gaze sweeping the narrow street. This section of the trade quarter, known as Dustveil Lane, was infamous for failed ventures and abandoned homes. It was where people came to fail, and sometimes die quietly. But its location was near-perfect: a stone's throw from the merchant square, walking distance to the Adventurer's Guildhall, and tucked just enough out of sight to be unthreatening.
That made it valuable.
At least, it would be—once the renovations were complete.
"I'll need a team of workers," Elric said.
Harvin barked a laugh. "You think anyone's gonna work on this haunted shack without triple pay and hazard fees?"
"I'll pay double."
Harvin stared.
"And they'll come," Elric added. "Because I'll feed them, house them temporarily, and pay on time. All I need is a recruiter."
Harvin sighed and rubbed his temples. "Gods help me. Fine. I know a woman. Runa. Ex-carpenter. Runs a contracting crew. She'll charge a premium, but she gets results."
"Set it up."
The next day, Elric stood in front of Runa Stoneback.
She was taller than him by a good head, with muscular arms, dark skin, and eyes like molten brass. Her nose was slightly crooked—likely broken and poorly reset—and she spoke in clipped, professional tones.
"You want me to repair that?" she asked, arms crossed as she studied the building with a skeptical frown.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'm building something no one else has. And I pay well."
"Who are you?"
"Elric Dune. Soon-to-be guildmaster of The Golden Fang."
"The what?"
"The Golden Fang."
"…You're serious."
"I'm always serious when money's involved."
Runa sniffed the air, studying him. "You smell like perfume and rich-man nonsense, but your clothes say 'exhausted orphan.' You're a strange one."
"Do we have a deal?"
"What's the timeline?"
"Three weeks."
Runa laughed. "Three months would be a stretch."
"Then we double the crew."
She stared at him for a long moment.
"Fifty gold. Up front."
"Twenty-five now. Twenty-five when it's done. I'll feed your crew lunch and dinner every day. I'll also give a ten-gold bonus if it's finished in three weeks."
Her expression didn't change, but her fingers twitched. "Fine. But if a beam falls on someone's head, it's on your coin."
"Agreed."
Construction began two days later.
By then, Elric had paid the city's registration fee for new guilds—forty-five gold—and submitted the necessary forms through Harvin. The guild would be official in seven working days. Until then, he had to build its reputation.
That began with visibility.
He hired three local kids—orphans that loitered around the alleys and plazas—to spread the word.
"You'll say this exactly," Elric instructed, handing them parchment flyers with the emblem of a fang embedded in a golden circle. "A new guild is rising. One that pays fair, fights fair, and rewards effort over pedigree. The Golden Fang is seeking warriors, mages, scouts, smiths, cooks—anyone who wants to be part of something greater."
The kids nodded, eyes wide.
"And don't let anyone bully you. If someone tries, just say the Fang watches its own."
He also arranged for his three promissory notes to be called in—converting them into materials and supply contracts for food, beds, uniforms, tools, and weapons. Half of the coin went into construction. The other half into establishing the guild's infrastructure.
The first week flew by.
Hammering and sawing echoed from sunrise to dusk. New windows were installed. Support beams replaced. Flooring stripped and redone. A fresh coat of paint turned the ugly shack into something almost inviting.
At night, Elric stayed up reviewing maps and scouting potential missions the guild could take once it was ready. Silverwall was surrounded by unexplored ruins, minor monster infestations, and old battlegrounds full of scavenger opportunities.
They just needed the right team.
By the end of the sixth day, people were beginning to notice.
On the seventh, someone came knocking.
"You're the one starting a guild?" the stranger asked.
Elric looked up from his desk in the barely furnished front hall.
The stranger was a woman—lean, dressed in boiled leather armor, and with short-cropped blonde hair. A sword was strapped across her back.
"I am," Elric said. "And you are?"
"Vella. I used to run with the Gravetusk Company."
He had heard of them—mid-tier adventurer group, disbanded six months ago after an internal betrayal.
"What brings you here?"
"I heard you're paying. That you're not noble-sponsored, and that you take anyone who proves themselves."
"All true."
"I want in."
"Show me your license."
She handed it over.
Silver-ranked. Solid kill record. Injuries listed on file. No major guild violations.
Elric nodded. "Welcome to the Fang."
"Just like that?"
"You're our first. But you won't be the last."
She grinned. "You have no idea how many people need someone like you."
"Then help me bring them in."
She saluted—two fingers to her brow.
And just like that, the guild had its first warrior.
Two days later, others came.
An older man named Torren—once a battlemage, now limping from a shattered knee—offered to train recruits in exchange for a bed, food, and modest pay.
A young halfling girl named Bree—sharp-eyed and quick-fingered—volunteered as a scout and informant.
Even Lyra returned.
"Didn't think you'd actually pull it off," she said as she strolled into the nearly finished hall, where polished floors gleamed and the walls bore the freshly painted golden fang emblem.
"I'm not done yet," Elric said.
"I heard you got a Silver-ranked merc. You must be making waves."
"The right kind."
Lyra looked around.
"…You need a front-desk handler?"
He smiled.
"You offering?"
"I'm not saying I like you. But I'd rather work with you than die poor somewhere."
"You'll need a uniform."
"Ugh."
They laughed.
And just like that, the guild had its frontwoman.
By the end of the third week, The Golden Fang stood tall.
Two floors. Reinforced walls. Barracks for twenty. Training yard in the back. Armory, kitchen, library-in-progress, and a meeting hall with a long table carved from northern ash.
Harvin filed the final papers with the city registry. The official guild charter was posted at the Adventurer's Guild.
The Golden Fang was now legal.
That same day, the first wave of applicants arrived.
Twenty-seven of them. A mix of hopefuls, misfits, exiles, and wanderers.
Elric stood on the front steps, coat blowing in the wind, Lyra at his side, and addressed the crowd.
"You've all come here because the world failed you," he began. "It judged you by your birth, your magic, your strength, or your past. It told you that you weren't enough. I'm here to tell you it lied."
The wind stirred.
"This guild doesn't care where you came from. Only what you're willing to give. Effort. Loyalty. Heart."
Some in the crowd straightened. Others looked skeptical. A few smiled.
"I can't promise you riches. Not yet. But I can promise you this—no one will be left behind. If you fight for the Fang, the Fang will fight for you."
He raised his hand.
"Let's build a future that no one can take from us."
The crowd erupted into cheers.
And so it began.
Late that night, Elric sat in his office—small, but warm—flipping through files.
Each applicant had to go through an interview, a skill demonstration, and a background check. Harvin and Lyra helped filter them. Vella ran the combat trials. Torren watched the mages. Runa was still around, inspecting the building and collecting her bonus.
They'd accepted thirteen new members on the first day.
Not bad.
He leaned back in his chair, sipping tea.
"Not bad at all."
A soft knock interrupted him.
"Come in."
It was Lyra.
She entered quietly, wearing the dark navy uniform they'd adopted—simple, with the golden fang emblem stitched on the collar. It fit her well.
"We got our first job request," she said.
"Oh?"
"Monster nest. Just outside the city. Goblins. Small horde, but they've taken over an abandoned farm."
"Any other guilds responding?"
"No. Too low-pay. But it's perfect for us."
"Agreed. Who's going?"
"Vella, Bree, two of the new recruits, and me."
"Take Torren for magical support."
"He can't walk far."
"Then take one of the mage kids. That tall one—Lenn. He's eager."
Lyra nodded. "I'll write it up."
Elric smiled.
"And Lyra?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for believing."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get soft on me, boss."
Then she left.
Elric stared at the flame of the candle on his desk. The soft glow flickered across the wood grain. Outside, the city hummed with night life.
The Golden Fang had been born.
It was small. Weak. New.
But so was every empire—once.
And he was just getting started.