Week 2.5 (4)
Week 2.5 (4)
Ark City, from a military standpoint, is a city designed with pretty solid planning.
It had to be, considering it was born as a massive fortress from the get-go.
Right in the city center, there's this huge cavity that looks like the ground just caved in.
That's the entrance to the infamous frontline's 「Great Labyrinth」.
It's also why Ark City gets called the 'Final Defensive Line'.
The administrative districts inside the city, circled around that cavity, are divided up nice and simple.
Just by direction: east, west, south, north.
In other words, 'Mercenary Guild Eastern Branch' means exactly this:
A massive mercenary outfit under the Grand Roundtable that doesn't answer to any of the twelve guilds and handles every damn mercenary ruckus in the eastern sector.
The reason something like that can even exist? Obviously, the Grand Roundtable—well, technically the city government, those more practical admins with less raw power or clout—totally got the need for it.
The twelve guilds are symbols representing each of the surface's twelve sentient species first and foremost, way before they're mercenary combos.
So yeah, they're way too heavy-assed to jump on real-world city problems that need fixing pronto.
Dispatch pretexts, backroom species power plays, all the messy shit about squeezing or expanding influence in Ark City... and forget it all, the pointless time burned just 'thoroughly discussing with the homeland' before any big call.
No way hot-tempered mercs are gonna love watching them stumble around tangled in that yarn-ball bullshit.
That's why some guild brass huddled with the city gov and cooked up a workaround.
Once they started hitting back with crap like, 'Our guild didn't lift a finger directly—it was just some free merc with our license taking a personal gig, so what's your problem?', opponents clammed up and went, 'Fuck, guess we gotta pull that too.' Natural progression.
Boom, suddenly 'free mercs (yeah right)' sprouting like weeds everywhere, and bam—the need for an outfit to wrangle 'em was born. That was the Mercenary Guild's origin story.
—And right there in that Mercenary Guild's Eastern Branch.
Basiliki Theodora—a merc from Guild Lefko and ritual priestess of the Cyclic Order—was chatting with the Vesta Mercenary from the temp party she'd teamed up with for this job.
Well, 'chatting' is generous; it was more like the Vesta Mercenary monologuing nonstop.
Girl seriously loved running her mouth.
The whole trek back after a basic subjugation gig, and even now killing time waiting for payout, she'd been glued to Basiliki's side yapping nonstop about jack shit.
For Basiliki—a spirit species, Demidius—that was a total fresh shock.
They don't see it themselves, but Demidius basically treat every other race like half-baked pet dogs missing a few marbles.
Sure, priestess Basiliki dialed it back some and was grinding hard to improve, but roots gonna root, y'know?
Since hitting Ark City, Basiliki had never jawed this long with a Non-Spirit.
...Even so, she kept fretting if her words were landing right without mix-ups on the girl blabbing in her face.
"—No way that's real, going nuts just from getting close. Sure, it's only guys that supposedly happens to, so priestess-nim and me? Safe. Word is, the land itself chows down on dudes. Madness crap hits 'em hardest, chicks just... eh, not so bad? Think that's it—"
"So, all just rumors, right?"
"Yeah, rumors, rumors. Hehe. B-but that place is sketchy for real, swear! That shady-ass request? Only pops for the mentally fragile. Folks who snag it act possessed... whaddya call it, where Homos live—Union? They all shuffle off there and zero come back!"
Basiliki, drained by the kid's sparkling peepers and hype energy, felt that rare itch to cut her off after forever.
But nah, priestess code.
Ritual priestess Basiliki Theodora had the saintly patience to hear out even lower-race kiddie whining... least on the outside.
Smitten hard with the enigmatic Demidius priestess still smiling through her spiel, the Vesta Mercenary dove right back in, no breather.
"Everyone knows this much. S-sorta, I didn't... whatever. Point is, weird new rumor buzzing this time?"
Like the girl said, stuff Basiliki already knew cold.
Ruelier—that Union speck of a territory—is cursed turf, and mercs grabbing its postings? Poof, vanished no trace.
Intriguing hook, but meh, that's it.
For starters, that 'only for weak minds' request? Still hanging bold as brass on the Mercenary Guild board corner.
Basiliki skipped calling it out, opting for a serene blue-rose smile while letting the Vesta girl ramble on.
"Territory went dark a bit, but fresh Lord-nim popped up lately. Rumor? He's a dude...!"
Dropping her voice all 'eek scary!' style, Basiliki mulled her reply.
Straight up, so what? Lord there's man, woman, or goddamn chopper—zero fucks from Basiliki.
Undeterred by the priestess's vague vibe, girl yapped on.
"Young too, total freakshow right? Looks like he'll tap out fast. Dudes lose it up close! Lord-nim might buck trend... but past ones? All chicks. Means even Lords catch that evil vibe if packing dick, yeah? Ugh, guy's gotta delusionally think he can hack it to park his ass there? That's pure, total—"
Mid solo rampage, she gulped air like backlog payback.
Meantime, Basiliki 'uh-huh'ing along spots the far building door easing open quiet-like.
Girl's yarn so off-radar, Basiliki knew it bucked her 'chill emotional hangs with lower races' directive but sneaked a peek anyway—subconscious callin' it more fun.
In come two Homo: lead's silver-haired gal, trailer's dark-green-mop dude.
Guild joint buzzing decent even early-hour, lively-not-rowdy.
No stares their way. Bet Basiliki's the lone laser-focus.
—Till silver-hair snaps the friendly-guy's arm like twig.
"...What the hell's that."
"—Total nutjob or scary-as-fuck maybe. Plus that territory's got the Lord-nim rolling with unhinged chicks... Eh?"
"Ah... —Nah, nada. Heard weird noise sec. Anyway?"
Basiliki quick-patched her slip-mumble. Kid clocks I zoned? Crash.
Didn't give a shit really, but priestess duty.
Framing it as training, no way she wanted girl bummed.
Smoothing her down gentle, Basiliki side-eyed opposite nonstop.
Twisted-arm dude thrashes screaming agony.
Stone-face torture gal lets go only post-floor-flop.
Whatever, trail dude strides on zero glance at roller. Gal quick-tidy outfit, tails.
Novel as fuck to Basiliki. Not solo—liveliness spikes tension tint.
"...Eh?"
Hence Basiliki half-beat lags spotting girl's freak reaction.
Kid innocent or not, Vesta beastkin. Vesta senses? Ark City legend. Basiliki blanked.
Never hideable target anyway.
Girl pouts head-snap to priestess's gaze-magnet—and boom, blasts off pre-stop.
"Mcbaiiiin—!"
Roar blasts. Petite frame? Nah, mountain beast bellow.
Simul, silver-hair lunges guard-mode front.
Instant tangle, duh.
"—!"
Lightning clashes flurry.
Gal whips dagger sometime, kid max-claws out growlin'.
Snapped-to Basiliki hustles her way.
Guild HQ brawls? Common as dirt, still gotta break.
Pre-her-move, donezo.
Vesta tough? Silver gal obvious boss.
Few trades, girl pinned perfect, still rumble.
"You, McBain, you fucking bitch—!"
"Ha, who dis? Neck-wanters overload, can't track 'em all. ...No beef memory with pint-sized like you tho?"
Growl-curse Vesta gets silver smirk-retort.
Dunno beef, but peel girl off her first.
Sighin', Basiliki gears light power-up—rear statue dude purrs soft.
"Valerie, cut it."
"Ah, Master-nim... sorry, hold up. Kid was deadass just—"
—Slap.
Freeze-ray vibe hits, Basiliki shoulder-twitch.
Wha? 'Valerie' silver still pins Vesta, but head-whip breath-ragged.
Slapped... cheek?
Flustered Basiliki eyes dude natural.
Soft grin holds, black peepers ice-hell cold.
Insta-avert. Shock-smack.
Me, Demidius... eyes-down to lesser?
Pre-mind-mess sort, slapped gal flops pinned girl loose.
But attack-ready growl Vesta? Sprawls floor, stares up silver disbelieve.
"...Ha?"
Tremble-pupils, sharp whimper.
Then, Basiliki's side-vision blue-flash lower gut...?
"Ugh..., M-Master-nim, sorry..."
Unreal-toucher cheek soft, lil' apology.
Rough-curse-pin beast to this? Lamb-face switcheroo unreal.
Slap-red? Both cheeks glow. Left solo tho.
"Hey, kiddo."
Dude drops knee, floor-eye-matches Vesta. Soft-call.
Eyewit prime seat? Zero cozy.
Girl same—hic involuntary. Woman-flip eyes pure denial.
"Dunno beef, but call it square? ...Want apology from her?"
Purr-voice, eyes moon-curve.
Vesta girl, gut not gullible-stupid.
Sprawl-back scoot, head-shake.
Waited-for cue, dude beams, hand-pats head.
"Good girl."
"Hic, hic."
Deathmatch psycho sec ago? Teary-eyed quiver-fest.
Basiliki jaw-drop city.
Vesta + Demidius priestess mismatch? One reason.
Girl knew; priestess clueless.
—Basiliki blank on Valerie McBain's deal.
"—Uh, th-that... Count-nim from United Territory R'lyeh... here?"
Choke-silence shatter: reception desk gal mans up.
Seen-it-all vet, pro grit.
But lips-move regret—bone-deep.
Icy strain flips picosecond.
Stunned stares impale her mass.
...Wait, massive fuckup?
Sweat-bead rolls cheek.
"...Move."
Dude hand-lifts Vesta noggin, blank-rise no-backlook order.
Fidget silver scrams tail.
Desk-ward duo, murmurs creep Basiliki ears.
—Rumor-rundown central.
So dude's the Ruelier Lord-nim girl yapped?
Calm-Demidius brain twists pretzel.
But... tracks... ish.
No chump Homo glare.
Rumor legit? Clicks.
Ruelier mini-terf: mystery madness lurks.
If true... Cyclic Order ritual priestess Basiliki Theodora gotta boots-in, eyes-own verify.
That's her whole life now.