[June 27th, 4023]
Derrick led Hoffman to a run-down bar at a corner of Area Five. The glowing neon signs flickered at random intervals and certain characters hung loosely from the front board. Any harsh wind would be enough to tear them off their hinges.
“Why did you drag me to some dead-end shack? We who worship the Holy Flame Solest do not consume alcohol.”
Derrick replied in a jovial manner, “Relax Saint Matthias, we aren’t here for drinks. There is something of far greater importance beyond this bar.”
“Who exactly are you referring to?”
For a moment, Derrick forgot that he wasn’t in the human world. In an awkward manner, he waved his hand and said, “Ah, nevermind. You wouldn’t understand.”
They entered the door to the right of the bar top. Inside was an array of bottles, wine, barware, decanters, and accessories. At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary storage room. However, Hoffman could feel “another presence” surrounding him.
“It’s here isn’t it.”
“Well aren’t you perceptive. You’re right, the base is right here.”
“This must be an illusion, so we need to activate a specific trigger, correct?”
“Hm… I guess you could say you’re half correct.”
“…?” Hoffman was puzzled by Derrick’s response. “Explain yourself.”
“While it is correct that we need a specific trigger to access the base, to call this phenomena itself an ‘illusion’ would be inaccurate. The base is here, but it is also not here. “Paradox” is a much more accurate term.
“A paradox? It is strange indeed…”
“It’s a bit hard to wrap your head around, so it’ll probably be best to just show you.”
Derrick gathered a vast amount of spiritual power, causing a glowing green crest to emerge from the back of his right hand. He placed his palm on the floor and chanted the following incantation in traditional Trifal.
[Two twenty two dash four dash six]
[We await the arrival of the God of fools and tricks]
[Oh Great Old One, thus venerable and bold]
[We have come to join your exclusive fold]
The room suddenly rumbled violently. Any unsuspecting victim of the chant would think that an earthquake had occurred. However, the harsh rumbling stopped after a few short moments and the room returned to normal.
With the flick of a wrist, Derrick called Hoffman towards him. “Come, we’re here.” He opened the ordinary looking door, revealing an entirely unfamiliar area to Gregory Hoffman. It clearly wasn’t in The Hole, as the sun glimmered through the clear window panes. The room was built like a typical, if old mansion. The wood was old and creaking and dust particles danced freely in the sunlight as they gathered at the old wooden floors. It was hardly high-class.
Before them was a long-table with four members present. There were twelve seats in total.
Sat at the number three spot was Ying, a veteran mercenary from the now-defunct Rosalia Group. “So you actually convinced him to join? If I’m being honest, I didn’t think you’d do it.”
“I see you’re as positive as ever” Derrick replied in a sarcastic tone. “At least Sylvia would congratulate me, right?”
At the number two spot on the round table sat a beautiful woman of the witch-tribe, Slyvia. “Why of course, Derrick. Good job on recruiting a new member so soon.”
Ying replied with annoyance, “Don’t spoil him!”
Derrick, amused by the situation, let out a small laugh and approached the next two members. At the fourth and fifth seats sat Elizabeth Abraham III and her faithful servant, Valora Tusec.
“Yo Elizabeth! I see you’ve recovered from that incident a month back. Are you ready for the next operation?”
Elizabeth lifted her eyepatch, revealing her eye. “Of course I am! Just who do you take me for anyway?”
There was some black discoloration of the sclera with a green veins extending out from the eye and onto the surrounding skin, but the eye itself was fully functional.
Next, he turned to Valora. She welcomed him with an elegant bow. “Greetings, master. I’m glad you’ve returned from your trip safely as always.”
“It 's fine, Valora. You don’t need to call me master, but I appreciate the concern.”
Within Hoffman’s unsettled mind, a similar question played on repeat.
Why? He thought.
Why do they all put their faith in him? They are all exponentially stronger than him, yet they bow their heads before him! It’s preposterous!
Hoffman’s idea of an organization was based solely in the religious fanaticism he was raised in. Within the Alchemic Order, the strong would thrive and the weak were mere sustenance for those stronger than them. Power was absolute before the Holy Flame. However, his current predicament was a paradigm shift, where the weak were respected and the strong bowed before them.
It was nonsense. Utter nonsense.
But…the boy also managed to sway my heart for just a moment as well. Are they the same as me? Are they people the boy latched in with his sickening honesty? Hm…perhaps this boy has the potential to become something more. Something greater.
For now, I’ll play along. But the moment I see an opening, I will kill him with my own hands.
“Alright, now that everyone is here, I think it’s time for the main ceremony to begin. Slyvia, would you like to assist me?”
“Of course.”
Slyvia traces magic characters in the air, summoning forth a thin sheet of paper. She turned to Gregory Hoffman and explained the meaning behind the ritual. “This is a Guild Contract. It lists the various terms and conditions one must accept before being accepted. You are free to read it over if you’d like.”
Hoffman read through the contract carefully. The contract was only a page long, so it wouldn’t take much time for him to finish reading.
[Condition 1: You must respect The Leader, Derrick Foster, as the central authority of the Guild, unless The Leader specifies otherwise.]
[Condition 2: Infighting is banned within the Guild. Any and all attempts at internal conflict and betrayal will be met with severe consequences.]
Alright…these are all reasonable demands for a man hosting a guild.
He read through the remaining conditions, but found an odd condition sitting at the bottom of the page.
[Special Condition: Under the condition that Reed Rowley is defeated, this contractee has full authority to take the life of the current Leader: Derrick Foster.]
So the brat actually kept his promise…I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.
“Alright, I’ll sign the contract,” Hoffman declared. Rather than using any physical medium like blood or ink, a Guild Contract could only be signed with spirit energy. It was not only to ensure the authenticity of the contract, but a tradition of trust and loyalty. With this act, Hoffman would now form an official allegiance with Derrick Foster, no, with the Guild as a whole.
Upon signing the contract, waves of spirituality poured through the contract, causing it to float in the air as it expelled violent winds. The contract broke apart into tiny fragments of green light as they zipped towards Hoffman’s neck.
“Gah!”
“Sorry, but it’s going to be a bit painful. Just endure it for now,” Derrick reassured.
The energy of the contract created a searing pain akin to fire. It wasn’t enough to kill him or send him into shock, but it was certainly something he would like to never experience again.
After a short moment of pain, the violent winds died down and the glowing energy dimmed. Steam rose from the newly formed crest on Gregory Hoffman’s neck, representing the successful transfer of the contract's conditions.
“That Magic Crest makes it official,” said Derrick. He stretched out his hand and offered the newly initiated member a hand shake.
“Welcome to Venizuma.”
[June 27th, 4023]
Derrick led Hoffman to a run-down bar at a corner of Area Five. The glowing neon signs flickered at random intervals and certain characters hung loosely from the front board. Any harsh wind would be enough to tear them off their hinges.
“Why did you drag me to some dead-end shack? We who worship the Holy Flame Solest do not consume alcohol.”
Derrick replied in a jovial manner, “Relax Saint Matthias, we aren’t here for drinks. There is something of far greater importance beyond this bar.”
“Who exactly are you referring to?”
For a moment, Derrick forgot that he wasn’t in the human world. In an awkward manner, he waved his hand and said, “Ah, nevermind. You wouldn’t understand.”
They entered the door to the right of the bar top. Inside was an array of bottles, wine, barware, decanters, and accessories. At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary storage room. However, Hoffman could feel “another presence” surrounding him.
“It’s here isn’t it.”
“Well aren’t you perceptive. You’re right, the base is right here.”
“This must be an illusion, so we need to activate a specific trigger, correct?”
“Hm… I guess you could say you’re half correct.”
“…?” Hoffman was puzzled by Derrick’s response. “Explain yourself.”
“While it is correct that we need a specific trigger to access the base, to call this phenomena itself an ‘illusion’ would be inaccurate. The base is here, but it is also not here. “Paradox” is a much more accurate term.
“A paradox? It is strange indeed…”
“It’s a bit hard to wrap your head around, so it’ll probably be best to just show you.”
Derrick gathered a vast amount of spiritual power, causing a glowing green crest to emerge from the back of his right hand. He placed his palm on the floor and chanted the following incantation in traditional Trifal.
[Two twenty two dash four dash six]
[We await the arrival of the God of fools and tricks]
[Oh Great Old One, thus venerable and bold]
[We have come to join your exclusive fold]
The room suddenly rumbled violently. Any unsuspecting victim of the chant would think that an earthquake had occurred. However, the harsh rumbling stopped after a few short moments and the room returned to normal.
With the flick of a wrist, Derrick called Hoffman towards him. “Come, we’re here.” He opened the ordinary looking door, revealing an entirely unfamiliar area to Gregory Hoffman. It clearly wasn’t in The Hole, as the sun glimmered through the clear window panes. The room was built like a typical, if old mansion. The wood was old and creaking and dust particles danced freely in the sunlight as they gathered at the old wooden floors. It was hardly high-class.
Before them was a long-table with four members present. There were twelve seats in total.
Sat at the number three spot was Ying, a veteran mercenary from the now-defunct Rosalia Group. “So you actually convinced him to join? If I’m being honest, I didn’t think you’d do it.”
“I see you’re as positive as ever” Derrick replied in a sarcastic tone. “At least Sylvia would congratulate me, right?”
At the number two spot on the round table sat a beautiful woman of the witch-tribe, Slyvia. “Why of course, Derrick. Good job on recruiting a new member so soon.”
Ying replied with annoyance, “Don’t spoil him!”
Derrick, amused by the situation, let out a small laugh and approached the next two members. At the fourth and fifth seats sat Elizabeth Abraham III and her faithful servant, Valora Tusec.
“Yo Elizabeth! I see you’ve recovered from that incident a month back. Are you ready for the next operation?”
Elizabeth lifted her eyepatch, revealing her eye. “Of course I am! Just who do you take me for anyway?”
There was some black discoloration of the sclera with a green veins extending out from the eye and onto the surrounding skin, but the eye itself was fully functional.
Next, he turned to Valora. She welcomed him with an elegant bow. “Greetings, master. I’m glad you’ve returned from your trip safely as always.”
“It 's fine, Valora. You don’t need to call me master, but I appreciate the concern.”
Within Hoffman’s unsettled mind, a similar question played on repeat.
Why? He thought.
Why do they all put their faith in him? They are all exponentially stronger than him, yet they bow their heads before him! It’s preposterous!
Hoffman’s idea of an organization was based solely in the religious fanaticism he was raised in. Within the Alchemic Order, the strong would thrive and the weak were mere sustenance for those stronger than them. Power was absolute before the Holy Flame. However, his current predicament was a paradigm shift, where the weak were respected and the strong bowed before them.
It was nonsense. Utter nonsense.
But…the boy also managed to sway my heart for just a moment as well. Are they the same as me? Are they people the boy latched in with his sickening honesty? Hm…perhaps this boy has the potential to become something more. Something greater.
For now, I’ll play along. But the moment I see an opening, I will kill him with my own hands.
“Alright, now that everyone is here, I think it’s time for the main ceremony to begin. Slyvia, would you like to assist me?”
“Of course.”
Slyvia traces magic characters in the air, summoning forth a thin sheet of paper. She turned to Gregory Hoffman and explained the meaning behind the ritual. “This is a Guild Contract. It lists the various terms and conditions one must accept before being accepted. You are free to read it over if you’d like.”
Hoffman read through the contract carefully. The contract was only a page long, so it wouldn’t take much time for him to finish reading.
[Condition 1: You must respect The Leader, Derrick Foster, as the central authority of the Guild, unless The Leader specifies otherwise.]
[Condition 2: Infighting is banned within the Guild. Any and all attempts at internal conflict and betrayal will be met with severe consequences.]
Alright…these are all reasonable demands for a man hosting a guild.
He read through the remaining conditions, but found an odd condition sitting at the bottom of the page.
[Special Condition: Under the condition that Reed Rowley is defeated, this contractee has full authority to take the life of the current Leader: Derrick Foster.]
So the brat actually kept his promise…I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.
“Alright, I’ll sign the contract,” Hoffman declared. Rather than using any physical medium like blood or ink, a Guild Contract could only be signed with spirit energy. It was not only to ensure the authenticity of the contract, but a tradition of trust and loyalty. With this act, Hoffman would now form an official allegiance with Derrick Foster, no, with the Guild as a whole.
Upon signing the contract, waves of spirituality poured through the contract, causing it to float in the air as it expelled violent winds. The contract broke apart into tiny fragments of green light as they zipped towards Hoffman’s neck.
“Gah!”
“Sorry, but it’s going to be a bit painful. Just endure it for now,” Derrick reassured.
The energy of the contract created a searing pain akin to fire. It wasn’t enough to kill him or send him into shock, but it was certainly something he would like to never experience again.
After a short moment of pain, the violent winds died down and the glowing energy dimmed. Steam rose from the newly formed crest on Gregory Hoffman’s neck, representing the successful transfer of the contract's conditions.
“That Magic Crest makes it official,” said Derrick. He stretched out his hand and offered the newly initiated member a hand shake.
“Welcome to Venizuma.”
