Ranking

As the last goblin fell, Steven stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving, a manic grin plastered across his face. The Wild Cats rushed toward him, their faces etched with worry. “Hey, man, you okay?” Crissy asked, her voice tight. “Yeah, why?” Steven replied, puzzled, wiping sweat from his brow. Rick’s eyes bulged, pointing. “Um, dood, you’re literally on fire!” Steven glanced down—golden flames licked his entire body, a radiant holy blaze from head to toe. “Holy shit, you’re right!” he laughed, wild and unrestrained. “Guess that’s why I feel so damn light!” He closed his eyes, focusing inward, dialing back the mana surging through him. The flames flickered out, and with them went the buoyant rush, grounding him back to normal. Alfred gaped. “Dood, what was that?” Steven shrugged, half-guessing. “Radiant Armament, I think. Usually just hands and feet, but… whole body this time, somehow.”

Brad clapped his shoulder, grinning wide. “That was fuckin’ sweet. You’ll rank up in no time.” They scavenged the battlefield—goblin ears from those with intact heads, crude necklaces from the rest—stuffing them into Crissy’s satchel-sized magic bag, a cavernous upgrade from Steven’s measly 5-slot pouch. The trek back to town ate the day, the sun dipping low as they trudged through the guild doors.

Franz leaned against the front desk, chatting with Sophy, her curves a fleeting distraction Steven brushed aside. “Done already? How’d it go?” Franz asked, turning to them. Brad jumped in, voice brimming with pride. “Steve’s a madman—dropped 18 goblins solo. Serious skill, Franz—you trained him good.” The Wild Cats nodded in unison, a silent chorus of awe. Rick blurted, “Body wrapped in golden flames—fuckin’ sweet! Wish I had that instead of just fire.” Franz’s brow furrowed. “Flames? What’re ye yammerin’ about?” Steven scratched his head. “Mid-fight, Radiant Armament went full-body. Weird as hell—wanna test it again.” Franz’s eyes sparked. “Training pit after ye cash in,” he said, striding off.

The group handed over their IDs, the machine whirring as it logged their feat—1 silver bounty, split five ways, 20 copper each. Sophy’s hips swayed as she fetched the payout, her ass jiggling in a mesmerizing dance Steven noted but didn’t dwell on. She slid a tray forward—five stacks of 20 copper. “There ya go, guys,” she chirped. Brad gripped Steven’s shoulder. “Open spot in the Cats if ye ever wanna join.” Steven nodded. “I’ll think it over,” he said, waving as he headed downstairs.

In the training pit, Franz waited with two figures: Torin Vaxblade, guild master—a grizzled human in his 50s, silver hair cropped tight, rugged face framed by a dark tunic, a longsword sheathed at his hip, exuding weathered might. Beside him stood Zarssk Scaleclaw, rank testing officer—a towering lizardman, emerald scales shimmering under a leather vest, claws clicking against a clipboard, his slit-pupil eyes inscrutable. Torin scowled. “Better not be wastin’ my time, Franz.” Franz smirked. “Steve, show ‘em the flame trick.”

Steven stepped onto the sand, replaying the battle’s rush—mana surged, and in a flash, golden flames erupted, cloaking him head to toe in holy fire. Franz moved forward, but Torin barred him with an arm. “Oh no ye don’t—I’m havin’ some fun too.” He strode out, grinning. “Hit me with yer best, kid.” Steven lunged, fists blazing—speed doubled, each punch rippling with inch-long shockwaves. Franz’s jaw dropped; Steven was a blur, twice as fast as before. Torin blocked with one arm, a Neo-like swagger—until the onslaught intensified, forcing both hands up. “Stop!” Torin boomed, laughing a roar that echoed off the walls. “Kid’s got skill! Franz, ye trained him?” Franz nodded. “Sure did.”

Zarssk’s tongue flicked. “Made the guild master use two hands—I’d call that D-rank. Ye agree, Torin?” Torin eyed Steven, still ablaze. “What d’ye think, son? D-rank?” Steven’s eyes flared. “Hell yeah! Fuckin’ awesome!” Torin charged, fist cocked—Steven crossed his arms in an X, blocking. The blow launched him 10 feet, boots skidding, but he held firm. Torin grinned. “Yup, D-rank. Only they can take that punch.” Zarssk hissed, “Aye, but weaker, and ye might’ve killed him.” Torin laughed. “After that? If he couldn’t handle it, he ain’t adventurer material.” He sauntered into the shadows.

Zarssk beckoned. “Front desk, sir—ID update.” Franz clapped Steven’s back. “Great job, kid. Jealous I didn’t spar ye myself. Keep it up,” he said, flashing a thumbs-up as they climbed. At the desk, Zarssk took Steven’s ID, slotting it in, tapping twice. The machine hummed, then stilled. “D-rank,” he said, handing it back. Sophy gawked. “D-rank?! He skipped E?!” Heads swiveled from the lobby. Zarssk’s tail flicked. “Exceptional combat prowess—fought the guild master, **** two-hand defense. Took a blow unscathed. Many C-ranks can’t handle Torin’s light jabs.” Whispers buzzed: “Franz trained him?” “Gotta get Franz for me too!” “Washed ashore—wildling blood, mark my words.” The murmur grew as Steven pocketed his card, D-rank gleaming in silver.