The aircraft began to drop altitude, their thrusters whipping up gusts that scattered dust and debris.
Marcelo watched with wide-open eyes, still taking in the sheer scale of the fleet and the monsters circling overhead.
The warriors mounted on those creatures shifted in their saddles, guiding their summons with practiced ease while scanning the chaos below.
One airship—larger than any of the others—positioned itself directly above the blasted field.
Its hull blended advanced engineering with imposing architecture: dark metal plates caught the glow of external lights, and heavy mechanisms rumbled as a massive bay door slid open.
Suddenly a staircase uncoiled in theatrical slow motion, descending as though determined to emphasize its own importance.
Marcelo blinked.
"Does… does it have to be this dramatic?"
Kurtis, beside him, crossed his arms.
"Everything they do has to look epic."
A soldier in gleaming armor started down the steps, every movement measured, almost choreographed.
More warriors followed, silhouettes framed by the ship's harsh floodlights.
To Marcelo, the cinematic pageantry felt surreal against the devastation on the ground.
Kurtis watched a moment, eyes sweeping the wreckage with the calm of a man who'd seen this scene far too many times. He dipped his head toward Marcelo, wordlessly implying that all this pomp was just an interlude.
"Well, mason, my part's done. I've got to report in and figure out what the hell comes next."
Realizing he'd never asked Marcelo's name, Kurtis stepped closer.
"What should I call you, mason?"
"Marcelo."
"Hope we meet again somewhere better."
"Same here," Marcelo replied.
Without another word, Kurtis left the wounded and the bleak landscape behind, striding toward the towering airships—each step firm despite the fragile rubble underfoot, the gait of a man tempered by countless battles.
After saying farewell, Marcelo answered the call to board one of the rescue vessels. People filed in from all sides; he joined a stream heading up a ramp.
Inside, tense resolve filled the corridors. Soft lights glowed overhead while status screens scrolled along the walls. Marcelo paused, eyes catching weathered faces etched with loss and uncertainty—each bearing its own story.
In the embarkation bay, uniformed officers briefed passengers on procedures. Marcelo listened closely, tasting a mix of anxiety and relief at finally leaving that nightmare behind.
Amid the murmurs, a young woman stood out—head held high, gaze cool. She approached.
She was stunning. Auburn hair fell in gentle waves across porcelain skin that looked almost translucent under the dim lights. Her eyes, a piercing emerald, gleamed like polished jewels.
Fine-cut features radiated sweetness, an enigmatic smile playing at her lips. Every graceful curve highlighted effortless femininity—an irresistibly captivating presence.
Marcelo felt a jolt but hid it, masking surprise as he struck up conversation.
"So, what's your name?"
"Elina," she answered plainly.
"Do you know anything more about the city?"
Elina's smile widened, pride shining in her eyes.
"I'm a student at the Minotaur Aegis Academy in Auria."
During the chat Marcelo learned the ruined city was called Sunis, a place rich in ruins and prime monster-hunting zones.
He also discovered that slain monsters leave behind crystals that can raise rank, enhance existing abilities, or even unlock new ones.
Elina had come to Sunis after a specific monster whose crystal she coveted, but an incident involving that beast had turned her hunt into tragedy.
As the airship neared a vast metropolis, she continued:
"Auria is more than you can imagine—huge, full of ancient high-rises and broad avenues."
She paused, eyes keen on anyone soaking in details, then went on:
"It hosts one of the largest summoner academies, and the city houses the Summoners' Guild—our meeting point. Through the guild, summoners take missions on their own terms and get paid—and recognized—for them."
Marcelo soaked up every detail; then both fell silent for the rest of the flight.
Upon landing, the vessel gave way to a vibrant city. Standing on Auria's cobbled streets, Marcelo took in ornate facades and modern signs.
The distant buzz of voices, the bustle of pedestrians, and the tempting aroma of street food finally let him relax—something he hadn't done since waking up in that nightmare.
He chatted with Elina a bit longer, getting directions to key spots. After parting ways, he headed for the guild—he needed an income and a path to rank up.
Along the way he marveled at the mix of people and accompanying monsters: tiny rodents and cats, towering birds and wyverns soaring overhead. Market stalls overflowed with goods he'd never seen.
A powerful sensation washed over him—like he'd stepped into another world.
Had he ever known a place like this before?
Shaking off the thought, Marcelo resumed his march toward the guild.
As Marcelo walked through the city he stopped passers-by for directions and was pointed to an old building that stood out from the rest. Turning the corner, he found a structure that looked as if it had stepped out of a storybook.
The façade was weathered stone, carved with intricate mystical symbols and inscriptions in an ancient script. Tall columns flanked an ironwork gate whose craftsmanship radiated reverence and tradition. Stained-glass windows set inside wide arches filtered the light, casting a play of color and shadow that captivated anyone who passed.
Marcelo pushed through the guild's great doors—massive hardwood, intricately carved and banded with wrought-iron braces—and followed a broad, well-lit corridor into the heart of the building: a large reception counter set in the center of the hall.
The counter was polished wood, hand-tooled with glowing arcane sigils that shimmered in the light of hanging lamps.
Approaching, Marcelo noticed a restrained bustle: some summoners clustered in hushed conversation while others waited their turn. A calm-faced clerk with keen eyes greeted him with a quick nod.
"Welcome to the Summoners' Guild. How may I help you?" she asked in a firm yet warm voice.
"My name is Marcelo. I'm looking to take on missions."
"Certainly, Marcelo. May I see your guild card?"
Marcelo blinked—he had no idea what a guild card was—so the clerk began explaining the registration process in detail.
"My name is Carla. I'll take you to the assessment room. Please follow me," she said.
"Another rookie. Let's hope he doesn't get greedy and bite off more than he can chew," she muttered to herself, then led him into a room off to the right where he would take his entry tests.
Inside, Marcelo met a burly, bald man whose weather-lined face spoke of age and battle.
After Carla introduced Marcelo, she excused herself and returned to the desk.
"I'm Jamil," the man announced in a firm but friendly tone, "and I'll be administering your guild evaluation."
Without delay he guided Marcelo to a small arena and outlined the procedure.
"These tests gauge your ability to focus mana and shape it into controlled power. First we'll do a concentration drill, then a sequence of practical challenges.
"To start, let's see your rank. Summon as many monsters as you can," Jamil said.
Already dreading the result but refusing to panic, Marcelo summoned his creature: the brick.
"A brick? That's… highly unusual," Jamil murmured, startled.
Marcelo, embarrassed, asked, "So how does the test work?"
"Well… normally it's a sparring match to judge your skills. But—ah—I'm not sure how to handle this," Jamil admitted.
Marcelo, convinced he'd fail even the simplest evaluation, was jolted from his thoughts when Jamil pressed on.
"The assessment has to happen regardless," the examiner said, confirming Marcelo had only that one monster.
Marcelo nodded.
The burly man brightened. "I've got an idea! Judging by you, your rank's Iron if a brick is all you can summon—but we still need to see something. Here's the plan: you grab the brick and throw it at the monster I call out!"
Jamil then summoned a creature that resembled a wolf but radiated savage intimidation. Its coat shone pure white over a powerfully muscled frame, and it stood more than three meters tall, eyes blazing with predatory fire.
"Don't worry," Jamil assured him. "It's an eighth-class Gold-rank beast; your brick can't even scratch it. Throw—don't be afraid."
Marcelo wasn't worried about the wolf; he was worried about breaking his only summon. Still, he picked up the brick—its weight felt perfectly ordinary—and readied himself.
With a decisive motion he hurled it at the white wolf. What happened next defied all expectations.
A barely perceptible glow flared across the brick a heartbeat before it struck the wolf's snout. At the instant of impact, an absurd force blasted the wolf backward, hurtling it across the arena and straight through the rear wall, leaving a gaping hole through which startled pedestrians stared. The great white beast lay unconscious in the street.
Shouts erupted inside the guild:
"We're under attack!"
"Who's the idiot that just hit the guild?"
"Is that lunatic tired of living?"
Marcelo was euphoric—praying he wouldn't be billed for repairs. It was all the instructor's idea, he told himself.
Jamil, meanwhile, couldn't make sense of what he'd seen. Marcelo's throw had been perfectly normal, with no hidden strength, and he'd spotted a strange flash on the brick just before contact.
Which was more outrageous: that his Gold-rank wolf had been KO'd by a brick thrown by an Iron-rank summoner, or that he'd failed to notice something off about that odd chunk of masonry? Am I really that weak—or is Marcelo far stronger than he looks? he wondered.
What Jamil didn't realize was that his logic, though sound, was off the mark. Powerful monsters normally belong to powerful summoners—but not in this case.
In his mind, Jamil could only conclude that Marcelo must be above Specialist rank.