Orders.
They were the lifeblood of the Pugnator world, private organizations sanctioned by the government and licensed to raid portals. With the growing number of rifts appearing across the nation of Bernap, the government had realized long ago that no single central force could handle the chaos. So they legalized the formation of Orders, groups bound by contracts and ambition, all competing to claim portals, slay Otherworlders, and profit from the spoils.
Conus followed his father down a wide corridor, the scent of polished steel and incense faint in the air. Ahead, engraved in bold silver across enormous double doors, were the words:
Aurefila Order.
The name shined under the lights.
Ishira pushed the doors open, and Conus stepped into a massive hall alive with activity. Men and women dressed in combat outfit lounged in leather chairs, some sharpening weapons, others laughing in groups.
Ishira moved confidently. This was where he belonged. Heads turned as they walked, greetings rang out.
"Ishira!" one man called, another clapped him on the back. He was clearly well known, a man respected here.
At the front counter, a broad-shouldered man leaned lazily against the desk. His dark skin shone under the light, his shaved head smooth, and his nose bent slightly to the left as though it had been broken and healed wrong.
"Horand!" Ishira greeted warmly.
The man looked up and grinned. "Ishira, you old hound! How's Alora? Still keeping you in line?"
"She is as beautiful as ever," Ishira chuckled.
Horand's gaze shifted to Conus, curious. "And this must be your boy." He squinted at the mark beneath Conus's right eye. "I've heard plenty about you. That tattoo suits you."
Conus nodded politely, a little stiff.
"I am here to register him as a raid guest," Ishira said.
Horand blinked in surprise, then shook his head. "Impossible, Ishira. You know the rules. I cannot approve a Normie as a guest. The liability is too high."
Conus suspected this would happen. To Horand, he still looked powerless. Not even Pugnator could sense aura, and this confirmed it. It seemed to be a unique skill he had received as well.
But Ishira only laughed and clapped his son's shoulder. "A Normie? My son? Hardly. He is a Pugnator. Freshly registered."
Conus slid the folded slip across the counter. Horand picked it up, his eyes widening.
"You have got to be kidding me," Horand said, shaking his head. "You never mentioned this."
"I do not mention everything," Ishira replied with a smirk.
Horand barked a laugh. "Unbelievable. Fine then, let us get you in the system." He typed quickly, fingers tapping across a glowing interface. "There we go. Conus Aromane, guest raider, authorized."
"Any F-rank portals available?" Ishira asked.
Horand scanned the list again, brows knitting. "No F-ranks open. But there is an E-rank. Only four Orders got clearance to raid it. So far, only Feridale Order has entered, which was about five minutes ago."
"That is enough," Ishira said, a faint smile curving his lips. "We can work with that."
"Do you want me to check your squad's status?" Horand asked.
"Yes. Who is on ground?"
"All of them," Horand replied after checking. "I can summon them here now."
"Do it," Ishira said.
Conus's pulse quickened. His first raid. His first real step into the Pugnator world.
"Father?" he called as they moved across the hall, but Ishira simply waved him along.
They passed through a reinforced steel door carved with the Aurefila insignia and climbed a spiraling stairwell. The smell of oil and polish hung in the air, boots echoing on the metal steps.
"Where are we going?" Conus asked.
His father glanced back, a small grin forming. "To raid a portal, you need more than courage. You need combat gears. We are renting you a combat outfit and weapons. Unless you plan to go in dressed like a Normie?"
Conus snorted. "Point taken."
Two more flights brought them to a wide corridor lined with heavy oak doors. Ishira opened the second on the left and gestured for him to enter.
The room beyond stretched like a cavern of steel and light. It was massive, lined with stalls and counters. Pugnators moved everywhere, some bartering with vendors, others testing blades or strapping on armor. The scent of metal and leather mixed with incense.
Vendors stood behind reinforced counters, each stall dedicated to a craft: armorers, potion mixers, rune inscribers, jewelers. Weapons glittered on racks. Swords, spears, axes, and stranger tools gleamed under bright lights. Armor hung on mannequins, some made of polished steel, others from scales and bones that shimmered with unnatural colors.
Ishira moved confidently, weaving through the crowd until he stopped at a weapons stall. The vendor was stocky, his arms scarred, his beard thick. Behind him, weapons gleamed like treasures in a hoard.
Conus's gaze caught on a curved blade shimmering faintly blue, then on a massive axe whose head seemed to pulse faintly as if alive.
The vendor noticed and chuckled. "First time seeing real Pugnator steel? Not all of these are forged the normal way. Some are made from the creatures themselves." He reached for a spear with a serrated head. "This one? Spine of a Six-Armed Mantis. Took three squads to bring it down. Deadly sharp, light, and the edge never dulls."
He set it back and patted the axe. "This is the bone of a Spotted Tiger. Poison in its blood, but the bones are strong enough to crack plate armor."
From the far end, he lifted a thin dagger with a translucent blade. "Cockatrice fang. Venom baked into the steel. One cut, and even without hitting the heart, the poison will finish the job."
Conus swallowed, both awed and uneasy.
"And there," the vendor lowered his voice, "are the white crystal weapons." He pointed to a separate display where swords and gauntlets glittered with embedded stones that glowed faintly. "Found deep in the Otherworld. White crystals are power. They fuel machines, amplify abilities, and when forged into weapons…" He tapped a longsword, "…they can cut through aura itself."
Conus leaned closer, feeling the faint hum of energy.
"Expensive, of course," the vendor said with a smirk. "But worth it. A white crystal blade can mean the difference between walking out of a portal or not."
Ishira gave a curt nod. "We need something durable but suitable for a first raid. Show us your E-rank sets."
The vendor grinned and moved to a lower rack.
Conus's gaze wandered until it stopped on a blade that seemed almost to call to him. A sword about a meter and a half long, its hilt plain and blade dull. But something tugged at his attention.
The vendor followed his gaze and chuckled. "That one? A failed attempt. A blacksmith tried to fuse white crystals with a White Serpentis fang. It failed. Balance is off. Aura flow does not register. Most say it is dead steel."
He held it out, shrugging. "Pretty but useless. Not worth your time."
Conus reached for it anyway. The moment his hand closed on the hilt, something shifted. The blade looked unchanged, but deep in its core, he felt it. Aura. Dormant, quiet, waiting.
"I will take it," Conus said.
The vendor blinked. "Did you not hear me? It is a failure."
"Maybe for others," Conus replied, his voice steady. "Not for me."
The vendor hesitated, then looked to Ishira. Ishira's smile was faint but proud. "How much?"
"To rent? Seven hundred," the vendor said.
"Done." Ishira swiped his ID before Conus could second-guess himself.
The vendor grunted, set the sword in a reinforced sheath, and handed it over. "Your funeral, kid. Do not come back crying when it chips."
Conus strapped the sword to his side, the faint pulse of dormant aura beating against his senses. The weapon was not broken. He could tell.
Ishira clapped his son's shoulder. "Now you look the part. Let us finish."
They moved to the gear stalls. Leather pants reinforced with strong threads, sturdy boots, and a fitted vest were chosen. When Conus finally caught his reflection in a mirror, he barely recognized himself. The young boy was gone. In his place stood a proper, combat ready, Pugnator.