Adamantine Rank is the highest rank that a Mercenary or Diver can ever attain. It is only the strongest, most reliable, and dedicated men and women. And they are all over level two hundred.

Thus, when Joe beholds the card of a nascent legend, he understands he is truly outclassed. Yet the black card betrays a sinner’s class, one to be killed on sight within the Aesir lands by order of the gods themselves. They are monsters in human skin. Their very existence is heretical.

And the gods’ will is not to be opposed.

Well, it would have been that way if not for the mercenary and diver guilds. Both offer their members protection from the persecution of other groups, no matter their members’ classes.

It’s exactly the sort of excuse Joe needs to stand down. He’s paid to deal with [Assassins], not potential city slaughterers.

With discretion being the better part of valor, Joe decided to square his shoulders, firmly plant his feet in the dirt, and watch from the side as the carriage rolled into the city… right before he scrambled to the nearest church.

“Yes, Father Jared,” he confirms his report, “there’s a [Necromancer] in the city.”

The [Priest] of Tyr frowns at the man, eyes focussed on the man’s shiny pate as he digests the man's words.

“A [Necromancer]? You let a thing like that into the city? What were you thinking?” Jared asks in growing panic.

“He’s an Adamantine rank Mercenary!” Joe protests. “The guild will have my head if I even put a hand on the man. They protect their own, even [Necromancers]!”

The [Priest] hisses and sharply turns away, to avoid staring at Joe’s lustrous dome.

“Blasphemous fools, letting infection spread. ‘Progressive thinkers.’” He mocks them and sighs. “What was the guild thinking?”

“What should I do?” Joe asks.

The [Priest] hears Joe but has no clear answer. It should be a simple affair. The [Paladins] of Tyr would sweep in, bring down the wrath of god, cleanse the city of evil, and receive generous donations from the local government for their service to the greater good.

This is how it should be, but the militant orders are a tad understaffed at the moment. The valiant and pious [Paladins] and [Archpirests] have left to fight the Olympian brutes in the East. Their mission is too great, and too far away, to be interrupted for this single infidel.

Even Thor’s [Skyshaker Paladins], limited in number as they are, are all crusading.

This leaves Jared with one option. A last resort, something he wished he would never have to do again.

He’ll have to talk with… Ethan.

Gods does Jared hate that man. No taking favors or “for the greater good” from him. The resident [Archpriest] of Odin threatens to drain his dwindling supply every time Jared needs a small favor.

But Jared is a man of virtue, and he will persevere even in the face of grievous angst. “Worry no longer, it will be taken care of. Thank you for informing me, ah…” It suddenly strikes Jared that he cannot remember the name of the [City Defender], but the man is already bowing.

“Thank you, [Priest] Jared.”

Jared nods magnanimously, thankful that the guard cannot see his confusion. “Go and continue to serve. If possible, please keep me informed of the [Necromancer]- actually, what was his name? Also, his team’s name?”

By the time Joe has risen from his bow, Jared’s face is one of calm benevolence. “His name is Bone and the team is called Merry Marrows.”

Memorizing the name, Jared walks Joe to the door making idly chatter about family and religion. Only when the [City Defender] leaves the church does Jared grunt in dissatisfaction.

He still can’t recall the man’s name. Was it… Soren? No.

The [Priest] shakes his head and makes his way to the back of the large church. There, he steps down the mouldy wooden ladder into the musty storage cellar and wrinkles his nose in distaste. He takes two steps into the clutter before he stubs his toe on a stone protruding from the bare dirt. Cursing heavily, he shoves the damn boxes away and gets over to a brazier.

He roughly nudges its base and a hidden door unlatches with a click and creaks open. Within the revealed room, a wide bed occupies the center, surrounded by seven children, all collared and chained to the floor.

Jared scowls at the sight and angrily releases a breath. He’ll blow off some steam first before preparing five for the [Archpriest]. Jared’s already given him plenty, so why does that damn man always want more?

_____________________________________________________________

Quasi frowns at the door in front of him. He studiously ignores the busy people moving around him as he stares at the offending piece of wood. He steps forward, raises his leg in preparation, and…

It’s already too late. The door slowly swings open of its own accord, triggered by the automatic sensors.

He was fully ready to test out the integrity of the guild’s door, all in the name of science of course. It is imperative that an entrance is capable of withstanding the kick of a man over level three hundred. Quasi lowers his leg and steps back, ready to try again just a little bit faster this-

“Just go!” Abernick shoves Quasi through the open door.

The [Hero] gracefully stumbles in the guildhall with an irritated grunt. He glares back at Abernick and the accursed open door, and is about to inflict upon the man the sickest burns this world has ever seen, but he notices the eyes upon him.

Standing up straight and brushing off his coat, Quasi takes in the dozens of different mercenary teams looking at him with not fear or worry, but something akin to worship.

“So…” he begins, completely at ease under the gathered attention, “it’s come to my attention that I’m lacking some very important information.”

He looks at the group, their eyes trained on him like dogs staring at a ball about to be thrown.

“Clearly very important information I’m not privy to.”

Their anticipation seems to be rising.

So he folds his arms and stares back at them. Stillness overtakes the room. A statue, a silent sentinel waiting for the crowd to break first. He is patient, he is calm, and-

“You’re in the way! What in Eir’s name is wrong with you, anyway?” Jessica snaps.

Bone points at the mercenaries like a child rattling on his brother. “They keep giving me weird looks without saying anything! I can't let that slide without returning the gesture.”

“You’re wearing a mask,” she counters and steps through the doorway. The stares shift onto her.

She freezes.

“Huh.”

“Dearest husband,” Fiona enters through the doorway right behind them, her cheshire smile hidden behind her mask, stylized after a black ram, “your guild rank is not kept private in these lands.” She points right above the doorway where a light shines with the unique glimmer of adamantine. “When you passed through the door, your rank flashed above it for all those to see.”

Abernick is the last to enter, wearing a dull gold mask with points jutting out at the forehead, almost like a crown’s ornamentation. A frowning face is depicted. The light above briefly turns off before renewing its brilliant adamantine glow.

You could hear a pin drop. A single adamantine rank individual is rarer than a [King]. Three of the strongest people in the guilds have just waltzed into this establishment.

Those are some mighty asses, most worthy of kissing.

Abernick glances around at the silent groups then turns to Bone. “Deflon left to talk to some of his, uh, friends. He said to meet him at the head smith’s place when we’re done.”

“That's fine,” Bone waves him off. He looks around the room, failing to find the reception desk.

Ah, good. An excuse. He waves at the silent crowd.

“Hey, can someone help me find the reception desk? We need t-” he doesn’t get to finish as volunteers stand, shout, and swarm over in a mad rush to help.

____________________________________________________________

In almost all big cities, the thieves’ guild has its sticky fingers somewhere. This necessitates certain infrastructure in place, like safehouses, administrators, and ways to contact the local guild presence. Even Shul, a city with some of the most stringent [Guards], still holds the subdued presence of the guild.

Deflon knows the codes, the patterns. His eyes, trained in reading and writing small runes, can see the small innocuous marks that point him forward. He follows the signs, trudging through the streets in a gray cloak. Though the path is not straight, it guides him to a dark alley where the gloom seems to shift at his approach.

He shifts back his hood, letting the faint light fall upon his features, and waits for contact.

He does not need to wait long.

A shape steps forward. “Deflon Seron,” it considers. “What does a wanted man want here?”

Deflon reaches slowly towards his right arm, not wanting to spark an aggressive response. He pulls back his sleeve to reveal a tattoo.

The darkness materializes into a garbed man. He bows. “Apologies.”

He turns around, flicks his hand, and the wall disintegrates, revealing a passage. “Follow. There are many ears in this city.”

Deflon follows. As he enters, the stone shifts behind him, once again covering up the passage.

___________________________________________________________

Merry Marrows, a gold-ranked team filled with three adamantine un-named members, is a force that no single city could ever hope to match. And now, a new member is here to join their ranks, a [Death Mage]. As a new member of the guild, she has to file some paperwork, test for her rank, all the things necessary to join the team.

While she is gone, the leader of this merry group is giving a lecture to his most devoted students.

“If you want to succeed and become powerful, you’re going to need to take risks.”

Bone points at the crowd while walking back and forth. “And I don't mean taking risks like fighting a panther naked with your ballsack swaying in the wind!” He shakes his head. Some lessons you have to learn the hard way. “No, when I say risks, I mean putting yourself at the point of danger where your life feels threatened.”

“When you take a contract, many of you look for the highest paying and lowest risk, which is profitable, but don't expect to level quickly. Look for riskier jobs where death is a slight possibility and combat is an absolute given.”

He stops pacing. “Remember, you don't level from a conflict you avoid. You level from hardship, which comes to my next point.”

He starts pacing again, his cane spinning in his hand as he does. “Always have a plan of retreat. No matter how lucky you are, no matter how prepared, there will come a point when everything goes wrong and you need to run the fuck away. You won’t level from running, but you level even slower when you're dead. Still, I want to emphasize that running is a last resort. Most people underestimate their true potential.”

Bone stops spinning his staff and taps the floor, his mana shifting underneath his feet. It expands. “Let's start with an example,” he announces at the same time as a simple [Undead Bone Troll] walks out from his shadow. Its height rises up to a foot from the ceiling with a skull that glows violet.

The crowd stares at the thing, beginning to feel uncertain about asking for advice from a [Necromancer]. Many of them look prepared to get up and leave, but Bone continues uncaring as he taps the undead. “This is an [Undead Bone Troll]. They're big, scary, and most importantly, very durable,” he taps it again, “Now, first question. How would you plan on taking something like this down?”

Bone looks around, his cane flicks out and points at a girl that looks like she’s about to get up and leave, “Red-head [Earth Mage] with the weird glowy staff. How would you go about fighting this thing?”

Freezing, the [Earth Mage] looks around and finds herself being stared at by everyone else. She gulps and looks at the towering undead.

“I would cast [Earth Javelin] at it,” she says.

“Alright. That can work. How would you go about casting it?”

She gulps, slightly confused, “Well, I would cast the spell.”

Bone is already shaking his head, “You have a very powerful spell, but only under certain circumstances. For example,” Bone releases his mana, his shadow spews out a bunch of bone. With a twist of his finger, the bone rises into the air and then melds together, creating a javelin, “This is a [Bone Javelin] created with random bone parts. It’s an ok spell, but,” the Javelin floats a distance in the air, then it accelerates and strikes the chest of the undead.

It shatters, spewing bone everywhere. Only a scratch mark can be seen on the undead's chest.

“Now, if you just cast a normal [Earth Javelin], then the exact same thing would happen.”

He looks at the group, their attention now piqued thanks to the display.

“Now, what many of you need to understand is that spells are very malleable, especially creation spells. For example, an [Earth Javelin] uses ground around you to create the weapon, but as many of you all know but don't realise, ground isn't just dirt.”

“Stone!” The Red-head squeals in realisation, then she quickly covers her mouth from being so loud.

Bone quickly points at her with his cane, “Red-head, you’re absolutely correct. Stone is one of the best minerals to use for an [Earth Javelin]. If you find a stone outcropping, use it to create the spell. You’ll have a far more potent projectile then.”

He flicks his cane quickly, the bone shards in the area start to disintegrate. They turn into dust before rising above Bone. Then it hardens and forms, creating a smooth and slender [Bone Javelin] very different from the one before.

“This is still a [Bone Javelin], but the material is in a far more condensed form. It is significantly stronger and more powerful.” he smiles under his mask, “But it can still become even more effective.”

At a thought, the Javelin starts to twirl, spinning and spinning faster and faster. A small whistling cyclone forms around the Javelin from just the speed.

“If you spin a projectile like so,” the spinning Javelin veers away and points at the undead, “Then you can increase your penetrating power several fold. And if you really want it to stick in…”

The bone projectile deforms, turning from a spear into a corkscrew.

The spinning [Bone Javelin] shoots forward, striking the undead in the chest and digs though with a grinding whine and a plethora of bone chips flying. But the javelin doesn't embed itself in the troll, but drills through the undead’s back and flies onward. The javelin breaks through the door and continues on.

Everyone stares at the circular opening for a good few seconds before turning their sights on Bone.

Bone scratches the side of his neck. “You know, as dangerous as that was, I think I made my point pretty well. Hopefully nobody important got hurt.”

“Well… fuck.”