For over an hour, silence hung heavy over the entire guild. Then, at last, Halstein gave the order:
"Lock the doors. No one enters or leaves for the next week."
The command was swiftly carried out. As the massive doors shut with a resounding thud, Halstein summoned SteelArm, Stiles, and all available managers to the meeting room.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping over the gathered leaders. "As we all know, we have a lot of work ahead of us. Manager Ken, begin preparations for… the family letters."
Ken hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Understood, sir. Shall I start immediately?"
Halstein gave a curt nod, then reached for the remote and turned on the TV—though he left the volume muted. The screen flashed with sensational headlines: "Dragon Bone Guild loses half its members—what went wrong?"
He let the words linger in the air before speaking. "The world is already spinning their own narratives. But for now, we won't answer any questions. We'll take this week to step out of the public eye a bit and give our members families the time to… begin their healing process."
Halstein lingered in silence for a moment, his finger hovering over a button on a sleek black remote. With a quiet click, the reinforced windows sealed shut, their soundproofing engaging with a faint hum. The sudden hush that fell over the room made the weight of his next words even heavier.
"There are a few things I need to go over with everyone." His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—something serious within his tone.
The hum of the television cut off as one of the managers grabbed the remote and shut it down. All eyes turned to Halstein, waiting.
"Yes, sir?" someone finally asked.
He exhaled, rubbing his temples before straightening. "I've been thinking for the past few hours... we need to change how this guild operates."
Stiles leaned forward, arms crossed. "Change how?" His tone was cautious, but there was curiosity in his eyes.
Halstein met his gaze with unwavering intensity. "I want everyone in this guild on a strict routine—workouts, gate clearing... even dungeon clears. Everything will be regulated. No more reckless schedules, no more half-measures."
He reached into his desk, retrieving a thick folder.
"The managers and I will go through every remaining member's file," he continued, flipping through the pages. "We'll be setting required quotas for training and raids per week. Because—" he paused, jaw tightening, "—someone died because his body gave out. Just collapsed, like his body couldn't take it anymore. This cannot happen again."
A heavy silence filled the room. No one spoke, but the weight of his words settled on them like a storm cloud.
One by one, the managers raised their hands in agreement.
Halstein's gaze swept across the room, his expression unreadable. His voice, however, was absolute.
"Good. Because from this moment on, Dragon Bone isn't just a guild." He let the weight of his words sink in, his grip tightening around the folder. "We are going to become something far greater. A force that stands above the rest."
Silence hung in the air, thick with tension.
Then, without hesitation, Stiles raised his hand. His sharp dark crimson eyes gleamed with approval, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I like it," he said. "This is exactly what we need. No more wasted potential. No more weak links."
A rare low chuckle rumbled from the other side of the room.
SteelArm leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. "This I can get behind. As supportive as I am... I have been finding our members quite... lacking in several areas. No matter their rank, everyone should at least be able to handle themselves." Slowly his hand raised in the air agreeing to this as well.
Halstein's palm slammed against the table, the sharp crack echoing through the tense room. Without hesitation, he rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping over everyone like a commanding storm.
"Enough waiting. We start now," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of finality. His eyes locked onto Stiles and SteelArm. "You two—I'll be handling your training regimens personally."
Stiles nodded, accepting the challenge without hesitation. But his mind was elsewhere. "What about Dante?" he asked, his tone laced with frustration. "We still have no idea where he is."
Halstein exhaled, his fingers briefly clenching before he forced himself to relax. "I've already sent a specialized task force—mages and assassins, all equipped with Stealth skills. If he can be found, they'll find him. But..." His voice wavered for just a second, a flicker of regret flashing in his eyes before he masked it behind cold resolve. "I won't make false promises. Assume the worst until proven otherwise."
A heavy silence fell over the room, but Halstein didn't let it linger.
"Let's begin." His voice cut through the tension like a blade as he reached for the stack of folders, passing them out to each manager. Instructions, evaluations, orders—this was the foundation of what Dragon Bone would become.
Stiles and SteelArm exchanged a brief glance before turning toward the door, leaving the office behind.
As they descended the narrow staircase leading to the training room in the basement, the air around them grew colder, heavier. The walls were lined with deep cracks, silent reminders of past battles fought within these underground halls.
"This place…" Stiles muttered, his fingers grazing the rough stone wall. "It's a nightmare."
SteelArm raised a brow, glancing at him. "How so?"
Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, you know… being imprisoned here for a while. Kind of leaves a bad taste."
SteelArm let out a low chuckle. "Fair enough. But let's focus—training until further notice." His lips curled into a grin, eager for what was to come.
Stiles sighed dramatically. "Sir, yes sir," he said in mocking tone, but the amusement in his voice couldn't be hidden. A short laugh escaped him, one of the few genuine ones in a while.
SteelArm smirked. "Been a while since we trained together, hasn't it?"
Stiles nodded. "Yeah… feels like forever."
A moment passed before SteelArm's expression shifted. "Remember Kiera?"
Stiles inhaled sharply, his playful demeanor fading. "How could I forget her? She was one hell of a mage... had so much potential." His voice grew distant. "Just the wrong day for her, man."
SteelArm nodded solemnly. "Life's like that. You never know when your last breath will be."
Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling deeply before clasping his hands together in a silent prayer—for Dante, for Kiera, for all the fallen.
Then, as his eyes opened, something in them had changed.
"Let's make sure we're ready," Stiles said, voice steady. "For whatever comes next."
SteelArm grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Damn right."
With that, they stepped into the training room, ready to push past their limits.
The training room was vast, lined with reinforced steel walls bearing deep scars from past battles. The air smelled of sweat and sharpened steel, a testament to the countless hours spent here honing strength and skill.
Stiles stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders. "So, what's the plan? Standard drills or something brutal?"
SteelArm cracked his knuckles, grinning. "Brutal, obviously. We don't have time for warm-ups."
SteelArm cracked his neck before gesturing toward the weighted racks. "We start with strength. No slacking."
Stiles rolled his eyes but stepped forward, gripping a bar loaded with twice his body weight. With a steady exhale, he lifted it, the strain in his muscles evident. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," he muttered, lowering into a squat before powering back up.
SteelArm smirked. "We're doubling your reps today."
Stiles groaned but didn't argue. He knew the drill—complain all he wanted, but the training wouldn't stop.
After several grueling sets, they moved to endurance. Stiles strapped into a weighted vest while SteelArm adjusted the gravity settings in the room, making each step feel like he was moving through thick mud.
"Five laps," SteelArm commanded.
Stiles scoffed but started running, each step forcing his body to adapt. His breathing evened out, his body finding rhythm despite the punishing weight.
A cold wind howled through the darkened forest, shadows stretched unnaturally under the silver moonlight, and the only sound beyond the wind was the soft, near-silent footsteps of the task force as they moved through the undergrowth.
Leading the group was a man wrapped in a deep black cloak, his face hidden beneath a hood. Sylen, the hidden assassin of Dragon Bone, specialized in Stealth skills—allowing him to mask his and others presence completely. Behind him, a squad of mages moved in perfect silence, their eyes glowing faintly with detection spells.
Sylen abruptly raised his hand, signaling the group to halt. The hunters froze in place, their breaths barely visible in the frigid air. Slowly, Sylen lowered the black mask covering his mouth and nose, his sharp eyes scanning the desolate landscape.
He turned to one of the mages cloaked in black robes, their hands pulsing with faint detection magic. "Anything in the area?" his voice was low but firm.
The mage hesitated for a moment before shaking their head. "No, sir. Not a trace. It's… eerily empty."
Sylen exhaled through his nose, unconvinced. He pulled his mask back into place, eyes narrowing as he gave the signal to move forward. The squad pressed on, their steps careful and calculated against the frozen wasteland where half of the members of Dragon Bone died at.