The gates of Orario were a marvel of this world's engineering. Twenty-meter-high walls of white stone, reinforced with timber beams as thick as a man's torso and topped with battlements where guards in gleaming armor stood watch. For Gror, they were the symbol of safety and the power of the world's greatest city. For Spartan-001, they were a tactical bottleneck.
"Solid walls, but with obvious blind spots on the flanks. The guards are alert, but their patrol patterns are predictable. We could bypass this perimeter in under five minutes without being detected," Cortana analyzed on his private channel.
"Unnecessary," Valerius replied internally. "The objective is infiltration, not invasion. For now."
They approached the main gate. The throng of merchants, farmers, and adventurers flowing in and out instinctively parted as he passed. A hush spread around him like a ripple in a pond. Conversations died, laughter faded. All eyes fell upon the towering figure of grey and cobalt steel. His height of over two meters was already intimidating; the Mjolnir armor, with its alien design and aura of contained power, made him an otherworldly apparition.
The guards at the gate, members of the Ganesha Familia, tensed instantly. They were hardened men, used to seeing all manner of warriors and monsters, but nothing had prepared them for this.
"Halt!" shouted the captain, a burly man with dark skin and a scar across his cheek, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "Identify yourself. What is your name and Familia?"
Gror, who had been walking in the Spartan's shadow, stepped forward tremulously. "H-He's with me, sir. He saved my life from a goblin party in the forest."
The captain's gaze softened slightly at the sight of the dwarf, but his attention immediately snapped back to the armored giant. "That's all well and good, Gror, but rules are rules. I need a name."
Valerius took a step forward, his movement so fluid it seemed he glided. He stopped before the captain, dwarfing him. The glowing blue visor seemed to scan the man, stripping him of his armor and rank.
"Spartan-001," he said in his filtered baritone voice. "I have no Familia."
The statement hung in the air, laden with implications. An adventurer without a Familia was a ronin, an outcast. But this did not look like an outcast. This looked like a conqueror. The captain swallowed hard, visibly intimidated. The Spartan's sheer presence was oppressive.
"No Familia… Then you are required to register at the Guild immediately. Those are the rules for newcomers. Don't cause any trouble." The captain gestured for his men to let them pass, eager to be rid of the terrifying anomaly.
As they walked the bustling main street of Orario, Cortana was in her element.
"I'm intercepting dozens of conversations. Gathering data on market prices, Familia rumors, Dungeon reports… it's a chaotic mess of information, I love it!" her avatar did a little pirouette at the corner of Valerius's HUD. "The Guild seems to be our first logical objective. It's the city's administrative nerve center. The perfect place to obtain maps, register our operational identity, and assess the local competency level."
"Agreed," Valerius nodded.
The city was an assault on the senses. The smell of fresh-baked bread mingled with the stench of the sewer. The sound of blacksmiths' hammers competed with the shouts of merchants and the murmur of a thousand conversations. The Spartan processed it all with absolute calm, his HUD tagging points of interest: forges, inns, magic item shops. To him, the city was not a home. It was an urban battlefield, and he was drawing the map.
They stopped before an imposing marble building with the symbol of a scale engraved above its doors: The Guild.
"Alright, Chief, remember: diplomacy," Cortana advised. "Try not to intimidate the civil servants to tears. We need their cooperation."
"Intimidation is a diplomatic tool," he replied dryly before stepping inside.
The interior of the Guild was a hive of activity. Adventurers of all shapes and sizes queued up to exchange magic stones for Valis, accept quests, or update their statuses. The arrival of Spartan-001 had the same effect as it did at the gate: a sudden hush and wide-eyed stares.
Ignoring the looks, he made his way to an information desk with a sign that read "New Registrations." Behind the desk, a half-elf with brown hair and glasses was sorting through a stack of papers. Misha Flott lifted her gaze, her professional expression faltering for a fraction of a second at the figure looming over her desk.
"Welcome to the Guild," she said, recovering her composure. "How can I help you?"
"Registration," was the Spartan's sole reply.
Misha nodded, grabbing a form. "Alright. I'll need your name, age, and the Familia you belong to."
"Spartan-001. Age, classified. I have no Familia."
Misha stopped writing. She looked up, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "Sir… Spartan, it is mandatory to belong to a Familia to register as an adventurer and enter the Dungeon. It's for your own safety and to…"
"I am not seeking to join a Familia," he interrupted, his tone not rude, but a simple statement of fact. "I am seeking to register my presence in the city and gain access to the Guild's public information regarding the Dungeon."
Misha found herself in a difficult position. The rules were clear. But the person—or thing—before her did not fit into any known category. His imposing armor and aura of power suggested he was no novice.
"That's… highly irregular. I can't register you as an adventurer without a Falna. However," she added, thinking quickly, "I can register you as a temporary resident. It won't give you access to adventurer services, but it will allow you to operate legally within the city. For everything else, you will require the patronage of a god."
"Acceptable," Valerius said. A resident registration was sufficient for now. Bureaucracy was an obstacle, not a wall.
As Misha processed the paperwork, visibly nervous under the silent gaze of the blue visor, Cortana projected an analysis on Valerius's HUD.
[ SITUATION ANALYSIS ]
[ The Familia system is the only legitimized path to power. Refusal to join classifies us as an external anomaly, which will attract suspicion. ]
[ RECOMMENDATION: Establish an independent base of operations and demonstrate a resource capability that makes our lack of affiliation either irrelevant or too dangerous to question. ]
[ TACTICAL SUGGESTION: Utilize the merchant Gror as an initial contact to secure lodging and acquire street-level intelligence the Guild will not provide. ]
After receiving a simple wooden pendant identifying him as a resident, Valerius turned and left the Guild, leaving Misha Flott with a mystery that would bother her for days and a hall full of adventurers whispering about the metal giant who defied the rules.
Gror was waiting outside, looking like a lost child. The Spartan approached, his presence eclipsing the midday sun.
"I require lodging," he stated, his voice a flat command. "A discreet location with space to work. An abandoned workshop or warehouse. You will find one."
Gror, who had spent the entire walk into the city steeling his courage, finally spoke up, his voice trembling. "A-A place like that isn't free, sir. It'll cost a good amount of Valis. I… I don't have that kind of money."
Valerius's visor seemed to stare right through him. "Your task is to find the location. I will acquire the necessary currency. You will be compensated for your service in the coming days. Now, find me a suitable location."
The implication was clear: the dwarf's continued well-being was contingent on his usefulness. Gror nodded frantically. "Yes, sir! I know just the place. An old warehouse in the industrial district. No one goes there."
"Lead the way," the Spartan commanded.
They spent the rest of the day navigating the guts of Orario. Gror, now a terrified but motivated guide, led them through alleys and markets that didn't appear on official maps. Spartan-001 observed and analyzed, memorizing every turn, every potential ambush point, every escape route.
Finally, they arrived at a decrepit, two-story stone warehouse with boarded-up windows and a heavy iron door.
"This is it," Gror said. "Been empty for years. The owner died without an heir."
Valerius stepped inside. The interior was dark and filled with dust, but it was spacious and structurally sound. The floor was stone, ideal for supporting heavy weight.
"This will serve," he declared. "Inform me of the cost to acquire this property. You will have your payment, and your commission, within three days."
He turned back to the dwarf. "I also require a map of the city's sewer system and access to a reliable information broker."
Gror could only nod, his mind racing. This being didn't just want a place to sleep; he wanted to set up an operation. The sun was setting over Orario, painting the Tower of Babel in shades of gold and crimson. Inside a dark warehouse, a new power had taken root. No one in the city, from the greenest adventurer to the most powerful god, had any idea of the storm that was brewing. Spartan-001 had arrived, and his assessment of this new world had just begun. The establishment phase was underway. The disruption phase would come later.
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A/N:
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