The receptionist stared at her nails. The Mercenary Guild’s bar was just as loud and boisterous as ever - and after decades of working there, she knew better than to get involved or even react anymore for the risk of encouraging them. She did, however, look up when the door opened, remembering her duty to greet first-time and returning mercenaries.

The rush of chilled fall air caused even the least observant mercenaries to turn towards the door as a small cloaked figure slipped inside soundlessly. The bar went quiet, surveying this new arrival as they slipped up to the counter. The receptionist forced herself to remain calm; despite years of experience dealing with dangerous people, she still had to suppress the shivers whenever she met someone who could kill her without a blink. She kept her composure in place as the newcomer regarded her coolly. Although their face was hidden by their hood, and she could see only the bottom edge of a domino mask, the receptionist felt as though she were staring into the jaws of a frynx from the Frostlocked Forest. Despite her certainty that this person was no stranger to the blade, she recited the proper lines anyway: “I’ve not seen you here before. Do you mean to post a request, report completion, or register as a new member?”

There was a pause. A tilted head. Then a high, soft voice that could easily have belonged to any adolescent, regardless of gender, spoke clearly and quietly. “I intend to register.”

The receptionist blinked. Someone who appeared so experienced wasn’t yet registered? Perhaps they had been affiliated elsewhere. Yes, that would explain it. “Very well. I have the form. Would you prefer a private interview, or to write your own answers? If not, I will ask a few questions for basic information, and process your application from there.” The stranger remained quiet. “I understand. By what name should we call you?”

As if thinking, they hesitated. “...I have no name,” they said finally. “I’ve no preference for what you call me.”

The receptionist suddenly had a bad premonition. Few mercenaries hid their identity; it suited them more to boast about what they had accomplished… and their deeds were tied to their name. Those who hid their pasts were typically going to be trouble. She shook it off. “Any prior experience in battle, whether for hire or under the auspices of another organization?”

“...Not organized, no.”

“But you have fought.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask, against whom?” The receptionist was starting to struggle.

“Bandits and monster raids, mostly.”

She relaxed. “I understand. With which weapons are you most skilled?”

“Daggers. And a bow.”

She nodded. Now this conversation was going somewhere. “Is there a type of job you would prefer?”

“Subjugation or capture.”

She was glad the petite stranger hadn’t asked what kinds of jobs the Mercenary Guild posted. She blew out a breath and considered how many questions she could convince the stoic newcomer to answer before they decided they were done. Glancing toward their hooded face, she decided not to risk it. “Very well. Would you prefer a simple written test that will place you in the lowest rank of the guild by default, or a sparring match to determine your skills and place you into the appropriate rank without having to climb your way up?”

The figure tilted their head again. “Sparring match?”

With a breath of relief, the receptionist smiled. “Yes. We will choose an examiner within the guild with a high rank who knows most weapons. The match will be held in the guild’s practice arena, and the other members will watch to ensure fairness. In fact, you’re in luck - I believe we have an appropriate examiner in town today.”

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There was another pause. “Understood. Anything else?”

The woman swallowed. She knew they weren’t going to like the answer. “Yes, just one more thing. It is optional but encouraged.” She took a calming breath. “Certain postings specify what the requester is looking for in the mercenary that responds. They might ask for someone under or above a certain height, for example. Therefore, it is highly recommended that you submit certain personal information. The measurements and confirmations are done by the Guild’s Head Nurse, who is sworn to protect the privacy of all members - present and former - and cannot reveal any information not publicly known.” She held her breath.

“I will consider it.”

The receptionist breathed out softly. Even after so long in her role, she still knew well enough to remember that any of the Guild members could kill her easily. Not without consequences, and she wasn’t an easy target herself, but her self-defence classes were geared toward monsters and drunks, not highly-trained men and women with sharp weapons and quick tempers. She was also fully aware that she needed to remain on eggshells with this person until they had been approved. Her predecessor hadn’t simply abdicated his role -- no, in fact, she had been watching the day a drunken brute came back from a completed request and decided that the man’s well-rehearsed answers were insulting his intelligence. That was a memory she would rather forget, but the recollection of her teacher’s demise served as a reminder to her that she must remain careful and at all times be ready to duck under the counter.

All of this passed through her mind as she finished filling out the mysterious newcomer’s forms and writing a note for the examiner in town that day. Just as she was turning to hand it to the page - a young boy not unlike she had been some thirty years prior, training to accept her role someday - a deep voice stopped her. “That won’t be necessary, Laura,” the Guild Master said amicably. “I’ve been needing a decent spar lately. You don’t mind, do you?” He smiled, this last addressed to the stoic hooded figure.

The person in question didn’t answer, simply turned and walked through the interior doors and out into the guild’s practice arena as though they had done it every day of their life. The master chuckled and followed, waving for the other mercenaries to follow and watch.

As they all piled into the stands, the master and the small fighter entered the circle on opposite sides, and the master spoke. “We’ll do three types of tests. In the first, you’ll attack me for two minutes. In the second, you’ll either block, parry, or dodge for two minutes. In the third, we’ll spar as we normally would for ten minutes. Understood?” The only acknowledgement was a single nod. He sighed. “Very well; attack.”

While Laura was still blinking from the sudden - and casual - order, the examinee was already standing behind the master with a blade at his throat. “One,” they said. “Is it your intention to dodge, parry, block, or stand still the entire time?”

The crowd gasped. The master chuckled. “That was a freebie, child of the blades. Let us see if you can touch me again.”

Over the next minute and a half, the petite warrior touched the Guild Master a total of sixty-two times, forty-seven of which would have ended in death had the fighter not stopped the blade after a small scratch. The crowd was silent. Never had the Guild Master been touched so many times in the first test; never had a single examinee torn his clothes so many times. There was no disputing the stranger’s skills.

“Well done,” the master said, his voice relaxed as he studied a rent in his shirt. It was a tone designed to irritate an opponent, by making them feel as though their efforts were being belittled. The cloaked figure didn’t appear to react, so he continued. “Next, it will be my turn to attack. Shall we see if your dodging is as good as your attacks, or will you try to block my blade?” He stood beside the figure almost before his sentence ended -- or rather, beside where the figure had stood only a fraction of a second before. It almost appeared that the two had swapped spots.

The audience watched in awe as, for two entire minutes, the man they held with the utmost respect tried and failed to even grasp the cloak of the examinee. There was no longer any doubt in their minds. This person was dangerous - and could possibly be the greatest ally they’d ever met. Then came the sparring portion; they were just as astounded when the ten-minute match ended and the panting master stood opposite the mysterious personage - composed and stoic as ever, and showing no strain despite the exertion, as if it had been nothing but a walk in the park.

Then, as Laura handed over a golden A-rank Guild card without complaint, the crowd erupted as one into a cacophony of cheers, applause, whistles, and shouting. After all, what wasn’t to celebrate about a reliable new comrade? Just think of all the things they could do now!

In the chaos, only the Guild Master and the receptionist noticed as the stoic newcomer slipped out of the arena...