A man in his late thirties or early forties walked straight toward Gauss, wearing a well-cut light cuirass with the Great Serpent Company's crest on his chest.
His steps were steady, his presence restrained—clearly no lightweight.
Gauss and the others had been about to turn away, but seeing him approach, they paused.
He stopped before them and fixed on Gauss at once.
"Hello, Mr. Gauss," the man said evenly, offering his hand. He named him right away, no coyness. "William, Head of Field Operations for the Great Serpent Company. Our captain noticed you just now and asked me to come greet you."
So it was Gide Vives watching them. Gauss put it together at once: the only real link was the family's invitation relayed through Adèle not long ago. Was this payback for his refusal?
The thought flashed by, but his face stayed calm. He clasped William's hand briefly and let go.
"Good to meet you, Chief William. Please give Captain Gide my regards," Gauss said, minding his manners while he waited to see what medicine was in this gourd. A simple hello couldn't be the whole errand.
Sure enough, after a few pleasantries William got to the point.
"The captain values talent, and asked me to see whether you—and your serpentfolk friend—would be interested in joining the Great Serpent's core combat roster."
…Oh?
Gauss had braced himself—and still it was an invitation. But this time in the Company's name, not the Vives family's. A new angle after the last refusal.
"Uh…"
He reflexively wanted to turn it down. He had no desire to be bound.
"Don't worry," William added. "While the Great Serpent has ties to the Vives, we're not their vassals. All Company business is decided independently. The captain genuinely appreciates you two—please give it real thought."
His eyes moved between Gauss and Serandur again. He understood why Gide had sent him: Gauss needed no explanation, and Serandur's serpentfolk blood likely drew interest as well.
Their levels were a bit low, though. Entry to the core roster starts at Level 5—and an ordinary 5 won't pass the trials. Everyone needs a standout skill; most core fighters are at least Level 6. That's the captain's elite policy: better few than many. (Non-core divisions have lower bars—but fewer rights and resources to match.)
After his explanation, he noticed Gauss's brow crease.
"What about my other two teammates?" Gauss asked.
He wasn't eager to join anyway, but William's focus on only him and Serandur—ignoring Shadow and Alia—rubbed him wrong.
"Our core roster has very high standards," William said, sidestepping. "If you two joined, you'd go through a period of observation and internal training, then be assigned to the combat unit best suited to your strengths. Operations are coordinated centrally."
He glanced at Alia and Shadow. "As for your teammates… they likely don't meet the entry bar for our core unit yet. If they want in, I can speak to colleagues in other branches and find two slots."
The air seemed to congeal.
Alia stood there awkwardly, pressing her lips together, fingers clutching her robe hem—face flushing at the humiliation of being evaluated and rejected to her face.
Shadow was expressionless, as if William had been talking about someone else.
Gauss caught it in the corner of his eye. The brief bit of weighing he'd been doing hardened into certainty.
"Sorry—and thank you for the offer," he said, voice firm. He could understand a big company's strict filters. Understanding didn't mean accepting. "We're a complete team. Either we all join, or none of us does."
William's confident look froze. He'd thought he'd made an irresistible offer; most Level-4s who tried to apply to the core were tossed out for making trouble. In Sena, the Great Serpent name is thunderous. Even without the future training and promotion, just joining the core is an honor most elites dream of and never touch.
His calm faded; disappointment cooled his tone, as if he'd just discovered Gauss's "foolishness." "Gauss, I hope you think this through. Everyone has their own road."
His gaze swept Alia and Shadow. "Go talk it over. We'll be in Sena a few days—ask around and you'll find us…"
"Appreciate the goodwill," Gauss cut in, "but I've thought it through."
William looked at him, emotions mixed—offended, regretful, a little exasperated. "Understood. Goodbye." He turned to go, then paused to throw one last line over his shoulder:
"I hope, someday, you won't regret today's choice."
He melted into the crowd.
Silence returned for a beat.
Alia hesitated a long time before murmuring, "We… we could split up."
Her voice gave away the tug-of-war inside.
"I don't think that's good," Gauss said with a smile. He had weighed it for a heartbeat. Sure, leaning on a big tree has shade—if the Company's leash were loose, using the platform for a while might not be bad. But reality says otherwise—there's no free lunch. Even leaving aside splitting the team (already hard to swallow), he was nostalgic and proud by nature. With his "talent," getting stronger was only a matter of time; he didn't want to compromise away the things that mattered.
Joining would mean re-teaming to meet their needs; orders would flow top-down. He wanted to grind goblins and other low-tier monsters to stack his Index numbers—would teammates in that setup agree? Of course not. For most adventurers, killing small fry is a waste with no payoff. And as the new guy, he'd have little voice—no say at all.
He paused, then said with unshakable confidence, "Trust me. It won't be long before we build a bigger adventuring company of our own—and do something greater."
Seeing the resolve in his eyes, Alia was moved. She'd have been heartsick to split up—and William's attitude still left her fuming. "Then when the time comes, we'll just swallow the Great Serpent whole."
"Alright," Gauss said with a smile.
Serandur stayed quiet. The "core roster" hadn't tempted him for a second—he just found them noisy.
Shadow, faintly, understood Gauss and the team better.
Only Captain Fern, who'd watched the whole thing, felt the ground shift under him. The Great Serpent's core! If it were anyone else, he'd think they were mad, and that "bold talk" was face-saving bluster. But Gauss's dead-serious look made his heart race. If it's him… maybe…
The thought sounded absurd even to him. The Great Serpent is one of the giants at the top of Sena's food chain—over five hundred formal members, not counting a much larger ring of affiliates, service staff, and employees in its businesses.
Gide himself is a powerful bloodline sorcerer, unfathomable, a pinnacle figure in the city. The Company isn't just an adventuring group anymore; it's a key piece of civic defense. And its ties to the city's true masters—the Vives—run deep. With roots tangled everywhere, they walk sideways through Sena; government, guild, and underworld all give them face.
From Fern's small vantage point, he could hardly imagine what scale of force could shake—let alone "swallow"—such a behemoth. If it ever happened, it would be a miracle. His mouth went dry. If it did, he might be among the few who'd seen it from the start. He suddenly wanted to see that day. Watching the calm ambition in Gauss's eyes, his own gaze burned hotter.
"Come on—let's deal with the spoils," Gauss said, tossing thoughts of the Great Serpent aside. One step at a time, one bite at a time. Keep getting stronger, and one day the "wild boasts" will become real.
…
Ninth Avenue, Sena City. In a train of luxury carriages, Gide Vives leaned against the velvet-lined window, serpent eyes empty of expression as the streets slid by.
"He refused? Noted."
He answered the report flatly. That handsome, cold face didn't shift—no anger, displeasure, surprise, or regret. Only the stillness of a deep pool.
Sending someone to invite the man had been a whim. Though he ran his own company, he wasn't blind to Vives family affairs; he knew most things worth noting—not by chasing, but because someone always kept him briefed. Amid the busyness of the top seat, he still skimmed intelligence and reports.
A low-rank adventurer who'd bluntly refused family backing naturally piqued his interest. So, spotting him at the docks, he'd followed the thread and sent a man to recruit him—for his own realm, not the family's. The Company is the kingdom he actually rules. If the family's castoff could be useful to him, that would be amusing. As for Serandur—that was a bloodline curiosity.
So the refusal left him unmoved; it was only a trivial interlude. What mattered to him were his own strength and the Great Serpent's growth. The rest was noise.
"Lord Gide, the Council of Elders asks that you go to the family chamber upon arrival," said a lovely attendant.
"Take me there," he replied, voice even.
The carriages clattered over smooth stone toward the oldest, most guarded quarter. The view shifted from dockside bustle to the sober quiet of the nobles' district: high walls, deep courtyards, heavy guard.
The Vives council chamber sat at the castle's heart. Heavy oak doors bore the elaborate family crest—a ring of white waves around an all-seeing eye, symbol of their grip on the sea and hidden knowledge. As he passed, his gaze paused a beat; a faintly sardonic smile touched his lips before he stepped inside.
The air smelled of old wood, sealed files, and a trace of mage's incense. Around the long table sat several aged figures, men and women both—each holding the levers of some slice of the Vives machine, in other words, the real rulers of Sena. Some managed finance and industry; some intelligence and "special" operations; others the family's stakes in the army, magical research, and the Adventurers' Guild.
All eyes fixed on Gide.
"Gide, your recent moves have drawn too much attention," said the white-bearded elder at the head, Lawrence Vives, meaning the Company's expansion and Gide's increasingly unilateral style. "The Council wants you to rein in your claws."
"I'll do my best."
"And those sea-bloods—don't tell me you can't control them?" Lawrence rapped the table—not a question but a demand. "Sea-bloods" were humans with some seafolk ancestry. Some with benign mutations had gifts beyond ordinary humans, but mixed blood also meant a higher risk of "bloodline sickness" and loss of control. Several large, bloody clashes between sea-bloods and citizens had erupted recently.
"It wasn't my people," Gide said calmly.
Lawrence stared at him in silence. "I don't care whose they were. I care about outcomes," he snorted.
"Understood," Gide inclined his head.
"And cut some of the sea-bloods out of your ranks. As for outsiders with impure blood—you know what to do. I shouldn't have to spell it out."
The elder's hawk-like gaze pinned him; fingers tapped the table, a steady beat of pressure. "Don't forget, Gide—you're the Vives' second heir first, and the Great Serpent's leader second."
A flicker of expression crossed Gide's face. He drew a long breath, then said, "Elder Lawrence, what the family needs is a serpent that bites—not a docile lamb."
"You can control them? Instead of fattening beasts that will turn on you?" another elder, Lady Marjorie—the Intelligence Chief—said coldly. "Even if you didn't order the incidents, your indulgence is to blame. Sena needs stability, not chaos."
Beasts, is it…
Gide's gaze slid over each face. He gave a small laugh. "I understand."
He stood; under the mage-lamps his tall frame cast a long, serpentine shadow. "If that's the Council's decision… I'll see it done."
He didn't look back, turning and striding for the doors with the same steady pace.
After he left, Lawrence and Marjorie traded a look.
"He grows harder to leash."
"At this rate, people in the city will know Gide of the Great Serpent—and forget the Vives."
"By the way, word just came: the moment he landed, he had someone approach that Gauss to recruit him."
Had Gauss been there, he'd have been stunned: hardly any time had passed since the dockside encounter, yet the news had already flown to the Vives' core decision table.
"Did he accept?"
"No—the boy refused."
"Then ignore it. That Person has already taken notice of him. We don't cross That One's will."
"Another impure-blooded freak… whatever. If he won't serve the family, fine—better than raising another viper that won't be tamed." Her voice sounded dismissive, but the brief hitch and tiny tell gave her away; there was sourness she couldn't quite hide. Everyone knew a mark from That One wasn't something she could smear with a few words.
No one answered. Silence settled over the chamber.
"Adjourned."