Damian climbed to the third floor. He had paid a certain fine amounting to ten gold coins as a penalty for failing to prove his identity, which Damian found extremely expensive. He received the approval seal, as the man with the eyepatch — who was called Albert — informed him that half of the fine would be refunded if he proved his identity within one year from the date of payment.
With this approval, he was able to obtain a D-rank mercenary badge directly. However, after paying another five coins, he could undergo the rank evaluation test. Although he found the matter somewhat expensive and slightly fraudulent, it was still better than fifty gold coins. If he accepted taking the D rank, he would be considered an official mercenary in the guild, and if he later wished to advance, he would have to pay the full fee.
The third floor consisted of one vast hall, filled with various combat equipment and some strange devices. There were many racks full of spears, swords, and other weapons, giving the room a combative atmosphere and a peculiar character.
It seems the Mercenary Guild truly possesses an important foundation in this world, Damian thought. It was clear that he knew the status and influence of the Mercenary Guild and the respect its greatest members received from his memories. It had been common knowledge.
He noticed that most people were gathering near two massive pillars on different sides of the hall. After asking the reception staff at the entrance and paying the five gold coins, he was told he needed to head toward one of the pillars and follow the line to pass through the rank determination test. Thus, he went to the line at the far left and stood at the end of the queue.
At the front of both lines beside each pillar stood two well-built men. It was obvious they were responsible for conducting the tests of each group, and each carried a calm, imposing expression.
The attack-power measurement test relied on calculating the impact force produced by the strike, as was clear from its name. Each rank was determined by the color of a badge received after the test: the green badge corresponded to rank D, the blue badge to rank C, red indicated rank B, while purple corresponded to rank A.
It was practical and simple. All one had to do was attack the machine — a massive bag made from a special type of tough elastic leather — which, with its size and flexibility, could withstand more than 500 kilograms of impact force. That was nearly sufficient to measure most of the mentioned ranks except one, which was so rare that most branches did not possess a means to measure their strength within their headquarters. Very few individuals could be counted on the fingers of one hand — the legendary S-rank individuals.
The number of Mercenary Guild facilities qualified to conduct this test could be counted on one hand, not exceeding five or six establishments including the guild's main headquarters, which was located on a mysterious island called Moon Shard.
"The tests will begin shortly. Everyone prepare," said the muscular man responsible for the test at the front of the line, then he gestured to the man at the front to step forward. "Come forward!"
The man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, stepped forward. After greeting the examiner, he introduced himself.
"Rodeos Morales."
The muscular man nodded slightly as he observed the man before him. His appearance was entirely ordinary, yet his eyes carried clear determination and resolve.
The examiner himself was a C-rank mercenary. He spoke while giving a brief explanation to the young man and the participants behind him:
"The damage measurement depends on the distance the bag is pushed back. The device will stop the bag at the furthest point it reaches. Anyone who exceeds three meters is qualified to become a C-rank mercenary, with a minimum power equivalent of 280 kilograms, which corresponds to the strength of a moderately advanced knight. That is all."
Damian heard his words. The impact of a natural punch from an ordinary human in his world ranged between thirty to fifty kilograms, while the punches of some heavyweight professional fighters could reach up to 400 kilograms of impact force, which was roughly considered the strength of a knight or a fighter at the peak of the middle rank.
This was the difference in power level between the two worlds.
At the examiner's signal, Rodeos stepped forward, facing the gray bag that stood nearly two and a half meters tall. Upon hearing the word "Start," he clenched his fist, rotated his hip forcefully, and directed his punch toward the bag with all the strength he could muster.
The bag moved back slowly, passing slightly beyond the first meter before stopping, as the mechanical mechanism prevented it from returning to its starting point. Simultaneously, the examiner announced the result.
"Your strength is mid D-rank at best. Next!"
"Daniel Croutian."
The next person stepped forward in the same manner. He was a tall, muscular young man with red hair trimmed on the sides. After being given the signal to begin, he delivered the strongest punch he could toward the bag.
The bag moved back slowly until it passed slightly beyond two meters, then stopped after reaching its furthest distance. The result was announced once again.
"Peak D-rank. Next, step forward!"
"James Mortera."
"Mid D-rank."
"Sophia Casey."
"Beginning D-rank."
One after another stepped forward, until the turn came to a beautiful young woman with a slender, well-proportioned figure. She stood out among the gathered crowd like a peacock among bald eagles, capturing everyone's attention in the hall.
She spoke in a cold voice, her expression icy.
"Isabelle Bolgard."
At the sound of her name, the place fell silent for several seconds, then a voice arose among the candidates.
"Did you hear that? Did she say Bolgard?" one of the attendees said suspiciously. Soon murmurs rose after him until the young woman became the focus of everyone's discussion in this test group.
"Could she be the daughter of Count Bolgard, the Southern Dragon? I heard the Count always forbids her from going out, yet she manages to sneak out and escape many times. What brought her to this place — and to the mercenary test?" one young woman whispered to the girls beside her with a questioning, astonished look, then glanced at the long-legged girl ahead of her who maintained the same cold expression.
"What brought a Bolgard countess princess here? Could it be she sneaked out again?" said a young man in his early twenties among those near the front of the line.
Upon hearing her name, a surprised expression appeared on the examiner's face. He naturally knew of Count Bolgard, known as the Southern Dragon. His reputation and bravery reached everyone in the Terfal Empire, so of course he would be surprised by the presence of his daughter, who had rarely appeared to the world at all.
"Shall I begin?" Princess Isabelle asked amid the chatter of the people behind her in the line. She was uninterested in what they said. She only wanted to finish the evaluation test and leave after receiving her badge. Nothing more.
The examiner nodded in response. Isabelle Bolgard stepped forward lightly, rotating her hip and pulling her fist back in preparation to strike. With great lightness and strength, she threw her punch with all the power she could gather.
The massive bag flew backward, shaking violently — one meter, two meters, two and a half, three meters. Then the force began to diminish until the bag stopped halfway through the fourth meter.
With astonished expressions from everyone present, the result was announced:
"Beginning C-rank!"