The sun broke gently over the Shanghai skyline, washing the high towers in hues of amber and gold. From the balcony of their hotel suite, Lan Yuheng sat cross-legged in silent meditation, his breathing steady, his mind calm yet alert. The bloodshed of the past week still clung faintly to his armorless body, a lingering weight of battles fought and victories won. Yet here, in the hush of morning, he felt that burden melt away, replaced by clarity.
The air was cool, laced with the chirping of sparrows nesting in the garden below. The city was already waking, rumbling with life and ambition, but to Lan Yuheng, time moved slower in these moments. His aura pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, circulating energy through his meridians, knitting overstrained muscles, soothing scars that had not yet healed.
Behind him, the muffled shuffle of sheets broke the stillness. Zhuang Niao, ever the heavier sleeper, stirred awake, yawning broadly as the morning sounds trickled into the room. On the other bed, Xing—in his husky form—lifted his head and gave a low, lazy bark at the sparrows before stretching his legs.
Zhuang rubbed his eyes and blinked at the balcony. "Young master's already up," he muttered, then patted Xing. "Come on, pup, let's wash up before he scolds us."
Minutes later, Zhuang and Xing emerged, freshly washed, their casual clothes neat. They stepped onto the balcony together, greeting their leader.
"Good morning, Young master," Zhuang said, his voice tinged with respect and warmth.
Lan Yuheng opened his eyes. His gaze was calm but resolute. "Hm. Get ready. Today's an important day. After breakfast, we'll head to the Federation branch."
"Yes, sir," Zhuang replied. He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What will be our dress code, sir? Battle gear or—"
Lan's lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. "Casual clothes, of course. We're not going to war. Today we're only registering a guild, not fighting one."
At that, Xing gave a soft woof, nodding his head as though agreeing. Zhuang chuckled and straightened his shirt.
The trio descended to the hotel's restaurant, the aroma of roasted coffee and steamed buns drifting warmly through the air. The clinking of cutlery and murmured conversations filled the hall, yet a few heads turned as the group entered. Though dressed in plain clothes, there was something unmistakable about their presence: the faint scent of blood still clung to them, the disciplined way they walked, and the way strangers instinctively stepped aside as though sensing danger.
They took a corner table by the window.
"What will you have, young master?" Zhuang asked, unfolding the menu.
"Something simple," Lan replied. "Steamed buns, soy milk, and noodles. And order a plate for Xing as well—beef, no seasoning."
Xing wagged his tail at the mention of food.
The meal was leisurely, filled with the small comforts they had long been denied on battlefields. For once, they weren't rushing to fight or running from enemies. Zhuang sighed contentedly after draining his soup bowl. "Feels strange, sir, to have time to sit and eat like this."
Lan nodded faintly, eyes distant. "Strange… but temporary. This peace won't last. Which is why we must be ready."
After breakfast, they rented a sleek four-wheeled vehicle from the hotel's garage. The ride through Shanghai's bustling streets was alive with noise—vendors calling out wares, digital billboards flashing guild advertisements, and armored transports rumbling past filled with mercenaries en route to missions.
Xing sat in the back, muzzle resting on the window, eyes scanning every alley as though he could see dangers invisible to human eyes.
When the Federation Building finally came into view, it was a monolith of glass and steel, stretching skyward like a beacon of authority. The emblem of the World Federation gleamed above its gates—a globe cradled by wings of light.
But what caught their attention first wasn't the building—it was the crowd.
The plaza outside the building swarmed with people. Young men and women in half-polished armor, eager-eyed recruits, grizzled veterans with their guild crests etched proudly into cloaks, and merchants selling potions and weapons to hopeful applicants.
Inside the main lobby, the chaos only intensified. Booths lined the hall, each decorated with banners of different guilds. Recruiters called out loudly, boasting of pay, benefits, and prestige.
"Join the Iron Fang Guild—first-tier missions guaranteed!"
"Black Sun accepts only the best—prove yourself here!"
"Newcomers! Don't waste time wandering—secure your future with us!"
Lan, Zhuang, and Xing pushed through the throng until they reached the Federation's main reception desk, where clerks worked tirelessly to manage the flow of people.
The receptionist, a young woman with a neat bun and tired but professional smile, looked up as they approached. "Good morning, sirs. How may I help you?"
Lan gestured to the crowd. "Why is the floor so crowded today?"
She adjusted her glasses. "Today is the annual Recruitment Drive. All the guilds are scouting for new members, especially after the recent beast outbreaks. That's why it's a little more chaotic than usual."
"Oh…" Zhuang muttered, glancing at the banners and the endless shouting recruiters. "That explains it."
The receptionist leaned forward politely. "By the way, how can I assist you?"
Lan met her gaze, calm and direct. "We are here to establish a new guild."
Her professional smile widened, a spark of interest in her eyes. "Understood, sir. Please fill in the required information on this form." She handed over a sleek digital tablet.
Lan filled out the form with efficient strokes, entering details for leadership, structure, and mission type. Zhuang leaned over his shoulder curiously, while Xing pawed at the floor, earning a few stares from nearby applicants who hadn't realized the husky wasn't an ordinary pet.
Minutes later, Lan returned the form. "The details are complete. Please proceed with the next step."
The receptionist checked the entries carefully, then nodded. "Everything is in order. Now, sir, a deposit of 10,000 Federation credits is required to establish your guild."
Without hesitation, Lan transferred the funds from their mission earnings.
The woman smiled again. "Very good. Now, one last step—have you decided on the official name for your guild?"
Lan's eyes sharpened slightly, and he spoke with quiet finality.
"Yes. It will be called the Scarletwing Mercenary Guild."
The words seemed to carry weight, echoing faintly even over the noise of the crowded lobby. Zhuang straightened proudly, while Xing wagged his tail.
"Scarletwing…" the receptionist repeated softly, as though testing the taste of the name. She tapped quickly on her terminal. "Done. Your guild has been officially registered. From this moment, Scarletwing is recognized as a licensed mercenary guild under the Federation."
She handed them a small case. Inside was a metallic card etched with the emblem of a wing spread across a scarlet background—their guild insignia. Alongside it was a thick booklet.
"These are the necessary protocols and regulations," the receptionist explained. "You may also access your guild's online account using your password and biometrics. From there, you'll be able to manage missions, members, and finances directly."
Lan inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you for your assistance."
The receptionist smiled wearily but sincerely. "No problem, sir. It is my job, but… congratulations. I wish your guild prosperity."
"Hm." Lan turned to his companions. "Zhuang Niao, Xing. Our job here is done. Let's go."
"Yes, sir," Zhuang replied, his chest swelling with pride.
Xing barked softly, as if agreeing.
As the three walked away from the reception desk, weaving back into the bustling crowd, the name Scarletwing had already been entered into the Federation's records—one that in time would send ripples across the mercenary world.
And though none of the recruiters in that noisy hall knew it yet, they had just witnessed the birth of a guild that would one day stand above them all.
The air outside the Federation Building still carried the faint tang of steel and disinfectant from its sterilized halls, but as Lan Yuheng, Zhuang Niao, and Xing stepped into their rented four-wheeler, the scent of Shanghai's bustling metropolis quickly washed over them. The hum of early traffic, the distant calls of food vendors, and the pulse of the city gave the impression that the world never slept.
Inside the vehicle, Zhuang Niao leaned slightly forward, turning his sharp eyes toward his young master.
"Sir, what should be our next stop?"
Lan Yuheng rested his elbow on the car window, gaze fixed on the sprawl of skyscrapers ahead. His voice came calm yet decisive, the tone that had long become second nature to him.
"Hmm… I think we should head toward the Awakeners' Market. Let's see if we can get our hands on something precious."
Zhuang Niao blinked, then frowned slightly.
"But how, Sir? The market is notorious for scams and counterfeits. Even seasoned awakeners get deceived."
Lan Yuheng allowed a small, knowing smile to tug at his lips. His eyes flickered toward the backseat where Xing, still in his husky form, rested with his tongue hanging lazily.
"Of course, with Xing's help. Right, Xing?"
The husky straightened instantly at his master's words, letting out a sharp woof! that sounded almost smug. His blue-gray eyes gleamed like polished gems, and even Zhuang Niao couldn't help but chuckle softly.
The four-wheeler rolled steadily across the city roads, the skyline shifting as they left behind the Federation district's gleaming towers and headed southward. Gradually, the streets grew denser, narrower, and more chaotic, until the disciplined order of Shanghai gave way to something else—raw commerce, unfiltered and alive.
The closer they came, the more the air thickened with scents: roasted meat from stalls, pungent medicinal herbs hanging in woven satchels, and the metallic tang of beast blood faintly lingering in storage jars carried by mercenaries.
The Awakeners' Market wasn't a single street. It was an entire district—a maze of alleys and plazas built over decades where adventurers, beast-hunters, artificers, and cultivators gathered. Shops stood shoulder to shoulder, from polished guild-sponsored auction houses to shabby tents where ragged peddlers squatted with treasures—or trash—spread across mats. Above them, countless banners fluttered: sigils of guilds, markets, and private shops.
Even from the road, Zhuang Niao could see the surge of people, their robes, armor, and weapons glinting beneath the morning sun. Sparks of spiritual energy occasionally shimmered as artifacts reacted to one another, while merchants shouted to hawk their wares.
Once they parked at the edge of the market, Lan Yuheng scanned the area. Too many merchants, too many tricks. Without a reliable lead, they'd waste hours.
They needed someone sharp but honest.
"Let's find a guide first," Lan Yuheng said. "Someone who knows the veins of this place."
Zhuang Niao immediately went to scout. Within minutes he returned with a man in his late thirties. He had sun-darkened skin, hair tied in a rough knot, and eyes that seemed to weigh people carefully. His clothing was simple, but his boots were tough and well-worn, a clear sign he spent his life navigating busy streets.
The man bowed slightly.
"Honored awakeners, I am Zhang Wei, a registered local guide. Many guild mercenaries hire me to avoid… misunderstandings. My reputation speaks for itself. I never lead clients into a trap."
Lan Yuheng studied him quietly, letting silence stretch. Zhang Wei shifted under his gaze but held firm, not squirming or looking away. That was a good sign. Finally, Yuheng nodded.
"We'll test your claim today. Lead us through the hidden gems of this market. If you perform well, you'll be rewarded."
Zhang Wei grinned widely, relief softening his expression.
"Of course, honored one. Please follow me. I know where honest merchants hide their true treasures from the crowd."
The moment they crossed into the district, noise assaulted them like a tide. Cries of merchants rang in the air:
"Spirit-forged blades, sturdy enough to cleave bone!"
"Fresh midnight wolf pelts, resistant to lunar curses!"
"Ancient runes, genuine! Not fakes like theirs!"
Spiritual energy clung to the air like humidity. Zhuang Niao instinctively rested his hand on the hilt of his blade, sharp eyes scanning for thieves or assassins. Xing padded close to Lan Yuheng, ears twitching, sniffing the flow of spiritual items like a predator catching scents.
They passed stalls glittering with gemstones, bottles of beast blood sealed with talismans, scrolls written in fading ink, and even jars containing writhing larvae from spiritual beasts. Some items radiated faint pressure—real artifacts. Others were ordinary objects painted with powder to mimic radiance.
Zhang Wei whispered as they walked, his voice low enough for only them.
"Beware the stalls with shouting merchants. They prey on beginners. The true treasures are often sold quietly in corners."
Their first stop was a narrow alley, where a hunched old woman sat behind a table covered in masks—foxes, tigers, demons, spirits. Each mask seemed ordinary, but Xing suddenly halted. His fur rose faintly, tail stiff.
Lan Yuheng's gaze sharpened. He crouched and whispered to Xing.
"What is it?"
The husky's eyes glowed faintly, a shimmer of otherworldly instinct. He pawed toward a dull, black wooden mask shaped like a wolf.
Lan Yuheng lifted it carefully. At first touch, nothing. But when he pressed a thread of spiritual energy into it, the mask exhaled a faint whisper—like a distant howl carried on the wind. A beast soul fragment?
The old woman gave a toothless smile.
"Ah, young one. You have good eyes. That is the Wolfshade Mask, carved from Baoshan Swamp's cursed timber. Wear it, and wolves will mistake you for kin."
Zhuang Niao frowned.
"Or it could be a cheap toy."
But Xing wagged his tail firmly, eyes fixed. He wasn't wrong.
Lan Yuheng looked at the woman.
"How much?"
She raised four fingers. "Four hundred credits."
Zhang Wei's eyes widened.
"Four hundred? That's outrageous! A normal mask costs twenty at most."
But Lan Yuheng didn't flinch. He studied her expression. Her eyes didn't dart nervously. Instead, she seemed amused—as though she knew most people couldn't see its worth.
"Three hundred," he said flatly.
The woman chuckled, showing her missing teeth.
"Done."
Lan Yuheng tossed a credit chip, pocketing the mask. Xing woofed approvingly.
Deeper inside the market, they reached a crowd gathered around a small platform. A merchant displayed what looked like a massive, jagged bone, taller than a man.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the merchant cried. "This is the femur of a Thunderhorn Rhino, slain last month in Fengxian Ravines! Its marrow still contains residual energy! Extract it, and you'll forge talismans worth triple your investment!"
The crowd buzzed. But Xing growled lowly, hackles rising.
Lan Yuheng's lips curved. He whispered to Zhang Wei,
"Is this merchant reliable?"
Zhang Wei's face tightened.
"Rumor says he mixes beast bones with normal cattle bones and coats them with spiritual residue. Half his sales are scams."
Lan Yuheng narrowed his eyes, channeling energy through his gaze. A faint ripple spread across his vision, revealing layers of aura. Beneath the flashy coating, the bone's core was hollow and weak. A fraud indeed.
He gave Xing a pat.
"Good catch."
They left before the crowd realized the trap.
After another hour, Zhang Wei led them into a quiet courtyard where a humble shop stood without banners. No shouting, no crowd. Inside, shelves carried odd relics: cracked compasses, broken amulets, faded beast skins.
The shopkeeper, a thin man with sharp glasses, merely nodded when they entered.
Xing sniffed around, tail wagging once before stopping at a dusty jade pendant tucked in a corner. He barked softly.
Lan Yuheng lifted it. It was cracked, its glow faint, but when he touched it, a sensation of calm washed over his mind. Unlike other items, this one didn't demand energy—it steadied it.
The shopkeeper spoke finally, voice smooth.
"That pendant was retrieved from Pudong Ridge. They say it belonged to an ancient meditation master. It calms turbulence of the spirit."
"How much?"
"Two thousand credits."
Zhuang Niao almost choked.
"For a cracked stone?"
But Lan Yuheng's eyes glimmered. He could feel Xing's certainty. Sometimes, broken things hid power.
"One thousand."
The shopkeeper considered, then nodded.
"Deal."
The pendant slipped into Lan Yuheng's pocket.
What none of them noticed immediately were the eyes watching from above. On the rooftop of a nearby inn, cloaked figures lingered. Members of rival guilds—agents sent after LAN-YH-01's reputation had skyrocketed.
One whispered,
"They're buying… and the husky is reacting. That beast isn't ordinary."
Another narrowed his eyes.
"If they're using that animal to sniff out treasures, their rise will be unstoppable. We must report this to our guild leaders."
Lan Yuheng, however, paused briefly, his gaze flicking up toward the rooftops. Though he didn't speak, Zhuang Niao noticed. His hand rested near his blade.
But Yuheng shook his head slightly. Not here. Not yet.
By midday, their packs were heavier with items—herbs pulsing faintly, a dagger with lightning engravings, a vial of beast essence that Xing had practically drooled over. Each acquisition wasn't luck. It was instinct sharpened by experience, and Xing's uncanny sixth sense for hidden value.
Finally, Zhang Wei halted at the edge of another alley.
"This… this is where the truly rare items sometimes surface. But beware—it is also where rival guild scouts linger."
Lan Yuheng smiled faintly.
"Then it's perfect."