Foundations of fire and iron

Chapter 9: Foundations of Fire and Iron

Morning light glistened across the marble pathways and obsidian walls of the newly restored Celestial Estate—a sprawling stronghold gifted by the guildmaster himself, now reforged into the heart of a rising legend.

The mansion stood proud. Gleaming towers, reinforced barracks, a private training yard etched with runic circles, and a hot-spring bathhouse that hissed steam into the summer air. The golden crest of a twin eclipse—Draven's emblem—was now etched above the gates and embroidered on every cloak that fluttered in the wind.

Before the central courtyard's crystal fountain, over a hundred warriors stood assembled in formation. Some were villagers turned soldiers. Others were recruits drawn by rumors of a rising warlord with divine blood. They now wore uniforms laced in midnight black and sun-gold trim—the signature of a new legacy.

Draven stood atop the staircase of the central hall, cloak billowing in the wind. Kael stood to his left—towering and silent, with his shield slung behind him like a wall of iron. To the right was the former village chief—now Vice Head Malric, cloaked in silver robes and wielding a scepter as symbol of his authority.

Draven raised his hand. Silence.

Then, his voice cut through the courtyard like thunder.

"From this day forward… we rise as one."

"This is no ordinary guild division. This is not a petty mercenary band. This—" he gestured around them, "—is a clan. A creed. A force the heavens will learn to fear."

The crowd straightened.

"You stand within the Celestial Knights of the Eclipse."

His eyes glowed faintly—his aura stirring, pulsing through the air.

"From now on, every morning you wake with the sun. You train before breakfast. You break your bones and reshape your limits. You do not complain. You evolve."

"After lunch, you will be free to register for missions— real ones. Dangerous ones. Each successful mission raises our clan's standing. Each failure stains it."

He raised his right hand. Floating glyphs shimmered midair, rotating slowly, forming the four branches of the clan structure.

[Warrior Division]

Shield Warrior – Frontline tanks with defensive aura mastery.

Guardian Knight – Balanced support-defenders, protectors of the weak.

Berserker – Offense-oriented melee masters, fueled by fury and raw aura.

[Weapons Specialist Division]

Swordsman – Precision and dueling-focused fighters.

Assassin – Silent killers with mastery over aura concealment and ambush.

Ranger – Long-range sharpshooters and scouts.

[Healer Division]

Cleric – Pure healing and defensive sanctification.

Druid – Nature-bonded restorers, wielding spirits and roots.

Oracle – Battle foreseers, aura readers, precognition wielders.

[Mage Division]

Elementalist – Flame, frost, wind, and stone manipulators.

Summoner – Casters who call forth spirits, beasts, or arcane constructs.

Cursemancer – Specialists in hexes, debuffs, and battlefield disruption.

Draven's voice hardened.

"No squad will leave for missions without balance."

"Each mission team must include at least one member from each major group—Warrior, Weapons Specialist, Healer, and Mage."

"A blade is useless without armor. A spell collapses without healing. Unity is not a strategy—it is survival."

He let the words settle. Tension gripped the courtyard, but so did hunger.

Then, his eyes darkened. He looked to a group standing near the outer pillars—four elites with no armor uniform, yet weapons sharp and backs straight.

[Three Days Ago – Guild Combat Arena]

Draven had walked into the Guild's private dueling grounds with nothing but his cloak and two training blades. Waiting on the other side was a team of seasoned A-Rankers—the infamous Team Red Hound. Known for their power and arrogance, they ruled the mid-city like lords.

Their leader, the flame-wielding Elementalist Grent Vallor, had laughed loud and full of contempt.

"This the brat causing all the buzz? You reek of rookie aura."

Behind him, stood:

Dregun – a massive Berserker with bones braided into his beard.

Silka – an Assassin whose smile was sharper than her daggers.

Thaim – a cryptic Oracle with ink-painted eyes.

Grent spat. "Let's knock you down to F-Rank before you dream any higher."

But Draven didn't speak.

What followed wasn't a fight—it was a lesson. Seven seconds of silence. Seven movements.

Silka never reached his shadow. Dregun's arms shattered trying to guard. Thaim's predictions faltered against divine aura. Grent's flame turned to steam in his lungs as he collapsed in defeat.

As Draven walked away, he left them with only one sentence:

"If you want to follow someone who doesn't kneel... be at the estate in three days."

[Back to Present – Celestial Estate Courtyard]

And they had come.

Now, Team Red Hound stood at attention—armorless, stripped of ego. Grent bowed his head. Silka smirked, but it was admiration, not mockery. Dregun nodded with pride. Thaim stood quiet—watching fate bend in real time.

Draven turned to the recruits.

"Each of you will train under those who once stood above you."

He gestured toward the Red Hounds.

Dregun will train the Warriors.

Silka will train the Assassins and Swordsmen.

Grent will mold the Mages.

Thaim will guide the Healers and Oracles.

"You will break. You will bleed. But if you survive…"

His aura exploded outward—an obsidian and crimson bloom that swept over the entire estate.

"…you'll rise as legends."

The entire courtyard echoed with one voice—thunderous and eternal:

"FOR THE ECLIPSE!"