The Foundation Beneath the dust

The sun was still rising when Draven crossed the great stone bridge leading to the central spire of the Hunter's Guild Headquarters. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of old moss and morning dew. Towering above him, the guild spire stood like a sword plunged into the heart of the earth—ancient, functional, and proud.

Two elite guards bowed as he entered. Their gesture was not one of duty—but growing reverence.

Word had spread.

Inside the grand hall, Kael walked beside him, still nursing a wrapped shoulder from the battle with the corrupted Hellfang. "You really think he'll approve it?" Kael asked, glancing sideways.

Draven didn't answer. His eyes were ahead, fixed on the arched obsidian doors. The guildmaster had summoned him, not the other way around.

The Guildmaster's Offer

The chamber was vast and dark, its high windows streaking morning light across weapons encased in crystal and walls etched with the guild's ancient creed. Behind a curved desk carved from basilisk bone sat a towering man draped in a dark fur cloak, a single golden chain around his neck. His hair was tied back, white at the edges, and his right arm was a mechanical replacement—runes softly humming on the metal surface.

This was Guildmaster Daegrus Velmor, known to most as "The Iron Pact."

"Draven Sitquill Sullivan," he said without looking up, his voice deep and gravelly. "You caused a stir in the capital. A half-destroyed village, a dead Nightfang, and a trail of recruitment forms signed in blood and ash."

"I didn't do it for approval," Draven said calmly.

Daegrus finally met his eyes. There was a long pause… and then a grin broke the older man's scarred face.

"That's exactly why I'm giving you this."

He snapped his fingers. A rolled-up parchment floated to Draven. The seal bore the emblem of the guild's founding.

"By guild law and my authority, your clan—'The Celestial Knights of the Eclipse'—is now formally recognized."

Kael let out a low whistle behind him.

Daegrus continued. "There's an abandoned estate just outside the southern gate of the city. Old barracks, a ruined mansion, even a public bath that hasn't been heated in a decade. Training grounds are solid, but the rest... it's a graveyard."

Draven didn't flinch. "Then it'll make a good birthplace."

"You also get one personal favor from me," Daegrus added, tapping his desk. "Any kind. Call it a reward—or an investment."

"I want that estate renovated. Fully. No limitations. Every inch rebuilt."

The guildmaster chuckled. "So that's your play? Fine. Done. The craftsmen will begin by dusk."

The Strategy of Reconstruction

Later that day, Draven stood beneath the crumbling arches of his newly claimed estate.

Vines curled around the weather-worn stone walls, and wind whispered through shattered windows. Yet beneath the dust, there was structure—discipline. Stone training circles. Watchtowers. An underground cellar. An orchard overgrown but fertile. It was a skeleton, waiting to rise.

Kael stood beside him, surveying the old mansion. "You really think we can fix this?"

Draven looked up at the cracked insignia etched above the main entrance. "We won't fix it. We'll forge it into something new."

He turned as footsteps approached—Eldon Vaerrin, the bald, sharp-eyed man who had been the village chief.

"Head Vaerrin," Draven said, offering a slight bow. "I wanted to speak with you."

"You already saved us," Eldon replied. "The villagers have nothing more to offer."

Draven shook his head. "Your people need purpose. And this estate has land, fields… neglected farms. I want your villagers to work them. Not as laborers. But as citizens of the Celestial Knights. I'll supply protection and food until the first harvest. After that—we build something permanent."

Eldon studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing. "And the old and young?"

"Already arranged. The guild has relocated them closer to the city's inner ring. Medical care, education. Your people are no longer scattered."

The old man's face softened, and then he knelt. "Then allow me to serve, not as your burden—but as your benefactor in the soil."

Draven stepped forward and placed a hand on Eldon's shoulder. "Then rise, Vice Head of the Celestial Knights."

Assembling the Forces

By the time the estate was fully under renovation, Draven had spent every evening walking the cleared courtyards, observing the villagers he had recruited during their exile. What started as a scattered group was now moving like an army-in-training.

He watched them train under the torchlight, squads sparring in rotating shifts, arrows flying with precision, chants echoing as they practiced incantations.

He soon had a full tally:

60 physical fighters—used to working the earth, now learning to wield blades and tower shields.

60 archers—hunters of the forest, their aim nearly flawless.

60 mages—barely able to summon a flame at first, but showing strong elemental alignment. Weak mana cores, for now… but that would change.

20 assassins—quiet, lithe, and deadly. Survivors of the Nightfang raids, now shadows under Draven's command.

Kael stood beside him, arms folded, watching one group practice with blunted blades. "They don't move like peasants anymore."

"They aren't," Draven said simply.

"And the mages?"

"I'll get them elixirs. There's a tournament mission coming soon. I've already marked the prize."

Kael grinned. "You think of everything."

"No," Draven said. "I just can't afford to leave anything behind."

The Beginning Beneath the Ashes

By the week's end, the estate was unrecognizable.

Where weeds once choked the gates, now stood pillars of darkened steel. The public bathhouse had been restored, fed by underground hot springs enchanted by the guild's arcanists. The mansion gleamed under polished moonstone roofs, and banners fluttered across the training fields—midnight blue, with a silver eclipse stitched in the center.

It was no longer a ruin.

It was the home of the Celestial Knights of the Eclipse.

And in its halls walked a leader whose name the gods themselves had begun to whisper.