"Yes, they like to make a statent here," Aganon said, noting Vlad’s montary fascination with the towering, bone-laced walls. "Shall we go in?"
Vlad and the other Sky Seed Depravitas exchanged excited glances, smiling broadly as they imagined the sorts of treasures contained within this massive edifice.
The day had already been montous for them—they had risen from relative strangers to Soul Hunters recognized by Marshal Maximo himself. Now, seeing this impressive building, they felt the anticipation of receiving new, high-tier equipnt. Approaching the main entrance, they found a pair of heavily armored guards watching them with sharp, alert eyes.
Each guard exuded disciplined lethality, a subtle aura that hinted at Level 18 power or higher. Their intense scrutiny spiked when Vlad’s group ca within range as if ready to repel them at a mont’s notice.
Normally, such an encounter could escalate quickly for unknown faces. Yet any potential confrontation was quickly neutralized when Aganon raised his forearm, revealing the nobility mark of the Graecia Empire’s higher aristocracy. The guards peered closely at it—looking for signs of forgery, illusions, or any trick that might compromise the fortress’s defenses—before nodding curtly and standing aside. With that, they granted safe passage to the entire party.
Upon stepping inside, the group was greeted by a cavernous interior that displayed the fortress’s might and efficiency all at once. Rows of shelves laden with weapons, potions, armor, and arcane implents lined the walls. Lanterns of magical fire illuminated each aisle with a bright but oddly soothing glow.
The din of hamrs and the hiss of cooling tal rose from workbenches scattered throughout the space; blacksmiths, runemasters, and artificers all toiled in synchronized chaos. So hamred raw steel on anvils, their muscles straining under the imnse effort, while others poured glowing liquids into molds, forging creations that shimred with nascent magical energy.
The air slled of molten iron, sulfur, and unfamiliar arcane reagents—an unmistakable sign of the relentless focus on warfare found in the Golden Sky Fortress. Various individuals—human and otherwise—bustled around, each seemingly intent on completing so vital errand. A faint crackle of sorcery coursed through the place, an undercurrent of power that reminded newcors they were standing in one of the fortress’s key logistical hubs.
A few curious glances landed on the group. After all, it wasn’t every day that a small yellow cat, a white werewolf, a fiery dragon, and a human walked together in obvious camaraderie. Yet in the Land of the Three Calamities—a place known for its bizarre and lethal denizens—such a sight barely registered. Most people returned quickly to their tasks, uninterested in staring at yet another oddity.
Even so, the Sky Seed Depravitas surveyed their surroundings with fascination. Vlad and Jormungandr, in particular, were impressed by the synergy between alchemists, blacksmiths, and mages. The forging of advanced weaponry, the infusion of runic patterns into steel, and the creation of enchanted potions all coexisted in one vast workshop. It was a rare display of seamless cooperation, and their inquisitive eyes danced over the details, storing ntal notes that might prove invaluable later.
Despite the building’s colossal size, it was laid out thodically. Within a few minutes, Aganon guided them past rows of organized storage shelves and brought them to a sizable reception desk. Behind it stood a stern-looking man clad in a tunic marked by the insignia of a high-ranking quartermaster.
Even from afar, it was clear the man was handling multiple tasks at once, glancing between glowing crystals that pulsed with informational streams. His posture conveyed efficiency born of routine, and the mont he spotted them, he called out without any hint of small talk.
"I am Oliver," the man said, focusing on them with sharp, dark eyes. "Who are you, and what business brings you here?"
No polite greeting or idle chatter—Oliver clearly valued directness. In a place where any delay could an life or death, it was no surprise that courtesy was in short supply. Aganon cleared his throat, maintaining a collected deanor. He lifted his forearm to show the mark denoting his status.
"I am Aganon Solaris of the Solaris Dukedom," he said, his tone level. "I’ve co to register in the fortress’s military network."
Oliver eyed the mark closely, then directed his attention to one of the glowing crystals on the desk. A faint shimr passed through the crystal as if verifying Aganon’s identity. After a brief pause, he nodded in confirmation.
"You’ve been registered. Your military rank is Colonel. Would you like to receive your standard equipnt or exchange it for military credits?"
Aganon t Oliver’s gaze evenly. "Credits, please." The gear that a Colonel’s rank provided was significantly inferior to what Aganon already possessed, so there was no point cluttering his storage ring with less potent items.
Oliver offered a curt nod, tapping on the crystal again with practiced motions, then turned his focus to the rest of the group. Before the quartermaster could inquire, Aganon stepped forward once more to introduce them.
"These four," he gestured to Vlad, Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir, "are newly appointed Barons—Soul Hunters, specifically—granted rank by Marshal Maximo himself. They need appropriate equipnt and lodging in the middle ring."
Those words stirred a flicker of surprise in Oliver’s eyes. It had been many years since he’d heard of anyone getting the rank of Soul Hunter, and certainly not four at once. Though he trusted Aganon’s standing, Oliver still double-checked the information. The crystals glowed for a mont, lines of energy dancing within them as official records were consulted. Soon enough, the quartermaster appeared satisfied with what he found.
"Your identities and ranks have been verified," he said, nodding toward Vlad and the others. "You are all Barons with the military status of Brigadier General. Would you like to claim your standard gear now or request military credits?"
Jormungandr, his whiskers twitching with curiosity, asked the question that lingered in everyone’s mind. "What tier of equipnt would that be?"
"Soul Hunters at Brigadier General rank receive Sage-tier equipnt," Oliver replied succinctly.
A palpable excitent rippled through the group. Sage-tier gear was precisely what they needed—armor and weapons robust enough to keep up with their formidable abilities. Vlad suppressed the urge to grin too broadly and glanced at his companions. Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir each wore expressions of clear interest. Sensing mutual agreent, Vlad turned back to Oliver.
"We’d like the equipnt, please," he stated
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