What? Why? How?
The questions ricocheted around my skull like panicked birds in a cage. My feet were planted on coarse, dark sand. The air smelled of damp earth, sweat, and a faint, electric tang of expended mana. High above, a sphere of enchanted crystal bathed the area in a harsh, clinical white light. I was standing in the center of a circular, sunken arena, surrounded by tiered stone benches.
What the hell went wrong?
One moment, I was in Chief Gideon's impeccably polished office, reeling from the revelation that I was an unregistered ghost in the city. The next, he had declared my situation an "administrative oversight" that needed immediate rectification. I had followed him, expecting to be led to a room with an ink pad, a quill, and maybe one of those strange crystalline devices for capturing a facial likeness.
Instead, he had led me through a series of descending staircases, each one colder and more austere than the last, until we emerged here. In an underground battle arena hidden beneath the pristine, paper-filled halls of the Administrator Faction.
My confusion must have been written all over my face. I looked up at the spectator benches, my eyes searching for some semblance of sanity. And I found it, sort of. Erina and Miyuri were sitting in the front row, looking down at me. Erina had a worried frown, her usual confidence replaced by a clear anxiety for my well-being. Miyuri, on the other hand, looked… intrigued, her chin resting on her hand as she observed the situation with the cool, analytical curiosity of a scientist watching an experiment unfold.
I turned back to Gideon, who stood at the edge of the arena, his arms crossed over his massive chest. His polished head gleamed under the magical light, making him look like some kind of terrifying, bald-headed battle-priest.
"Chief Gideon," I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space. "What is this? What's the purpose of bringing me here? I thought we were going to make my ID card."
Gideon's expression was as impassive as ever. "We are," he replied, his deep voice carrying easily across the sand. "This is the process. Or rather, the most crucial part of it."
"A fight?" I asked incredulously. "What does a fight have to do with getting an ID? Do I have to beat someone up just to prove I exist?"
"Proof of existence is merely the first step," Gideon explained, his tone that of a patient lecturer explaining a complex but immutable law of physics. "We already have your name and your factional allegiance. What we lack, and what this process determines, is your official City Rank. It is a mandatory data point on every identification card."
My mind blanked. "…Rank?"
"Indeed," he continued, seeming to warm to the topic. "Out of Boundary City is a society built on the salvaged data of powerful individuals. To maintain order and properly allocate resources, every resident is assigned a rank based on their demonstrated combat capability. It determines everything from your access to restricted zones to the level of quests you can accept and even the stipend of currency you receive from the system."
He unclipped a thin, metallic card from his belt and held it up. It was a stark white color, with intricate silver lines forming a complex pattern on its surface. "There are five primary ranks. Bronze, for newly registered residents and those with basic combat skills. Silver, for competent individuals capable of independent operation. Gold, for the elite fighters, those who form the backbone of the city's defense." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And then there is White, for those whose power can influence the city on a strategic level. Faction leaders. Division chiefs." He gestured with his own card. "And finally, there is Black. A rank reserved for the Founders and beings of similar, world-shaping power."
My gaze was locked on the White card in his hand. He was a faction leader. Of course, he was ranked among the most powerful people in the city. But the idea that I had to be measured against this same scale, right here, right now, was insane.
"So this fight… it's a placement test?" I said, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying slowness.
"Precisely," Gideon confirmed with a slight nod. "You will face a standard registration golem. Its combat parameters are calibrated to assess your abilities across multiple metrics: offensive output, defensive maneuvering, mana control, and tactical acumen. Your performance will be recorded by the arena's analytical wards and will determine your starting rank."
I stared at him, my mind still struggling to catch up. I had come here to get a simple piece of identification, a formality I hadn't even known I needed. And now I was being forced into a high-stakes combat trial just to determine what color my new card would be. It was the most ridiculously bureaucratic and unnecessarily complicated system I could have possibly imagined. And it was so perfectly, quintessentially Administrator.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief. "I have to fight a golem just to get a wallet?"
Up on the benches, Erina seemed to have recovered from her earlier guilt. She stood up, cupping her hands around her mouth. "You can do it, Kael! Just remember your training!"
"What training?!" I yelled back in exasperation. "I've been a construction worker for the past week!"
Miyuri chuckled beside her. "Don't worry, Kael-san! The registration golem has a 97.4% non-lethal success rate!"
"Oh, great! That's super reassuring!" I shouted, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
My gaze fell back on Gideon. He was watching me, his grey eyes unblinking. There was no malice in his expression, no sadistic glee. This wasn't a punishment. To him, this was just… the procedure. The correct and proper way of doing things. I realized then that arguing was as pointless as trying to reason with a brick wall. The rules were the rules, and in his domain, the rules were absolute.
A heavy sigh escaped my lips. I couldn't believe this was happening, but I had no choice. I needed that ID card. I needed to be a proper resident of this city, not just a ghost living on the goodwill of the Builder. If this was the price of admission, then I had to pay it.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to loosen the sudden tension that had seized them. I took a deep breath, the cool, earthy scent of the arena filling my lungs. My brief, peaceful life as a builder's assistant was officially over.
"Alright," I said, my voice now steady and resolved. I drew my twin maguns, the familiar weight settling in my hands. "Fine. Let's do this. Bring out your golem."
Gideon gave a single, sharp nod of approval. He turned and pressed a large, glowing rune set into the arena wall. With a low, grinding groan, a section of the wall opposite me slid open, revealing a dark, cavernous tunnel.
A low, mechanical hum began to emanate from the darkness. Two points of red light flickered to life within the tunnel, like the eyes of some predatory beast. A heavy, rhythmic stomping began, growing louder and louder as a massive figure emerged from the shadows and stepped into the light of the arena.
My heart sank. It wasn't just a golem. It was a seven-foot-tall behemoth of black iron and glowing red circuitry, armed with a massive hammer in one hand and a thick tower shield in the other.
This wasn't just a placement test. This was going to be a real fight.
"You've got this, Kael!" Erina's voice cheered from above, a welcome sound in the sudden, tense silence. "Show them what the Builder Faction is made of!"
I gave a weak wave without taking my eyes off the golem. Right now, I wasn't sure if I was made of the same enduring stone as the rest of them, or something far, far more breakable.