Gamble - I

The grand hall of the Galor Adventurer's Guild hummed with energy as a crowd of aspiring adventurers gathered below the glow of mana-powered lights. The vaulted ceilings loomed above, adorned with banners of the Royal Family—a reminder of the guild's elite patronage.

At the front stood the young guildmaster.

Estella Galor III.

As one of the Royal Family, she carried herself with grace and authority, her golden-trimmed robe flowing on her back.

"Welcome, all of you," she began, her golden eyes sweeping the mass of determined faces. "To my family's Adventurer's Guild, where only the finest knights, mages, and strategists prove their worth. This place will test your strength, spirit, and mind—a place of growth to contribute to our dear nation, Eredir."

She let the words settle before continuing.

"Many of you come from noble families, expected to uphold your legacy. Others hail from humble origins, driven by your dreams. But remember this—only one thing will guarantee your success in my guild. That is, your actions."

Whispers spread through the crowd. Some stood taller, some shifted uneasily, while others exchanged competitive and fiery glances.

Among them, a young man in stiff mercenary attire made his way to witness the speech. Except for his crimson eyes, he had a dull appearance: ordinary face, plain black hair, and an aura that of a country boy.

Even his name—"Viktor Bailey"—was nothing special. Like anyone would forget it on a good day.

Well, that was all intended.

Because he, "Viktor," was here to infiltrate the Eredir Nation.

That's right.

"Viktor," no—Clay Avgar Yusef, his real name—was a young talent sent by the Black Circle to spy on this nation.

His identity, "Viktor Bailey," was fabricated, a product of years of careful manipulation of the Black Circle.

His mission: gather intelligence on the secretive workings of the Galor Adventurer's Guild, its high-ranking members, and the rumored "secret weapon" tied to Eredir's Royal Family.

To do that, Clay had to become "Viktor," the son of a humble baron who aspires to be an adventurer.

'An adventurer, huh...'

Clay wasn't fond of the role.

He had joined the Black Circle to save his family from his father's debt and secure their future. He was desperate. But now, thrust into a long-term mission, Clay still couldn't piece everything up.

Because "the Phantom," the elusive director of the Black Circle, personally gave this mission to Clay—out of all eligible and far more skilled operatives than him.

'Tsk. What did that old man see in me, anyway?'

Still, Clay couldn't deny his fear of that man.

He was "the Phantom," whom the organization feared and worshipped like their savior. Clay had heard vile stories about the man. Of course, Clay would never want to be part of those tales.

As the guildmaster continued her speech, Clay felt a movement in his bag. He pressed it down subtly, sighing internally.

Cedric was stirring again—of all the bad times.

'Keep it down, you little menace of an owl—'

Clay knew well the handler's disapproval of bringing his owl Cedric.

The Black Circle held strict rules on their operatives, but Clay had insisted. The owl had been with him for years, and leaving him behind felt like abandoning an arm. The bird was smart and uncannily strong, capable of combat, delivering messages, and, most importantly, his only friend in this unfamiliar place.

Unfortunately, Cedric didn't care for the rules.

Clay felt Cedric pushing at the bag's flap, his talons scraping against the fabric. Clay clenched his jaw and sneakily gripped the opening to prevent the owl's escape. The last thing he needed was a scene in the middle of the guildmaster's speech.

A soft but insistent hoot vibrated against his side.

Clay coughed to cover the noise, earning a few curious glances from nearby adventurers.

Clay even noticed a tanned, gray-haired guy beside him. The guy's curious blue eyes inspected Clay's bag with suspicion. And when Clay met his eyes, the guy somewhat avoided his gaze, looking awkward.

Nervously, Clay lowered the bag and held its opening shut. "Cedric, not now," he whispered.

The owl pecked at his fingers in protest.

"Now, let us begin the Rank Examination," the guildmaster continued. "To earn your place in my guild, you will face trials to measure your abilities—combat prowess, magical aptitude, survival instincts, and adaptability. Your performance will determine your starting rank within the guild: E, D, C, B, or A. Choose your battles wisely, for your rank will shape your future. May our almighty God of Justice, Udicius, guide you."

An eager cheering erupted from the crowd.

'Right. The initiation exam.'

The handler briefed Clay on this. How the guild classified its members, the detailed criteria for each rank, and which individuals he needed to keep an eye on. He even had combat training with the handler only for this exam—which Clay wasn't fond of.

But despite all of his preparation, there was one inescapable truth.

Clay had never been in a guild before.

What could go wrong?