"Heading out on a quest?" the armory clerk asked, as if he'd asked the same question a thousand times before. The lone clerk stood behind a counter, lazily polishing a blade. He looked up as they approached, his gaze sweeping over the two rookies that had just entered.

Velos glanced around. The rookies' armory had only row after row of basic, mass-produced weapons. Nothing here required special training or finesse to use. For slayers who hadn't yet earned their first mark, this was the norm—bring a blade, get the job done, save the flashy and expensive technology for the veterans. Velos knew he wasn’t there yet, but Sterling seemed to already have something in mind.

Sterling leaned casually against the counter, a grin emerging from the corner of his mouth. "Is that old thing still here?"

The clerk raised an eyebrow, then chuckled knowingly. He disappeared behind a door and moments later, returned carrying a massive two-handed battle axe with visible wear and tear. Its head was as large as Velos's torso, scarred by time and use and a blade that would have dulled if it weren’t for consistent maintenance. It was the biggest axe he had ever seen, and Sterling lifted it like it was a mere broomstick.

Velos blinked in surprise. "That thing’s massive. Isn’t it more suited for slayers with a mark or two? You know, the ones with enhanced strength?"

Sterling chuckled, twirling the axe with ease. "Most rookies wouldn't be able to lift this thing, but I’m a sentimental guy." He inspected the blade with a satisfied look. "It’s an old prototype, one of the first giant axes they made for the oldheads before they made fancier ones. There aren’t many left in circulation, and I've been using this thing since day one."

As Sterling admired his choice, the clerk turned to Velos.

"And you? What’re you borrowing?"

"Something light," Velos replied, glancing at the weapons lined up along the walls.

"Melee or ranged?" the clerk asked.

Velos paused. The idea of keeping his distance, picking off targets from afar with a crossbow, crossed his mind. He hadn’t undergone the same conditioning as marked slayers, whose enhanced strength allowed them to slice through a monster’s tough hide with ease. If it came down to melee, his strikes might not even penetrate the larger creatures they were tasked with fighting.

But then he remembered the briefing—this quest wasn’t about killing. The target was meant to be captured. Command should have provided them with the necessary nonlethal equipment, but they hadn’t gone to administration first. Velos clicked his tongue. He should have gone there before heading to the armory.

"Standard-issue crossbow would be good," Velos said, glancing back at the clerk. "But I want to check out the melee section too."

The clerk nodded and led him to another section of the armory, where swords, shields, and various close-combat weapons were neatly displayed. Velos’s eyes landed on a pair of swords, their sleek design catching the low light. He reached out, fingers brushing the hilts.

Twin blades. It had been a while, but the feeling was familiar. Back in his hometown of Menod, he had trained with them. The local baron had enacted a policy that made sword training mandatory after ‘that incident,’ and Velos had taken to it quickly, though lacking in experience. He noticed that wielding a blade in either hand had felt natural back then.

But things had changed. Velos hadn’t kept up with his training, and months of inactivity had left him rusty, his body weaker than it once was. Twin blades required agility, precision, and stamina—things he wasn’t sure he had anymore.

He let go of the blades, turning his attention to a more modest option. A sword and shield, standard issue, emblazoned with the insignia of the division. He picked up the sword, testing its weight. It was well-balanced, sturdy, but not too heavy. The shield that came with it was compact and functional, doubling as a sheath for the sword. In a pinch, he could unsheathe the sword with one hand and free up the other for traps or other tools he might need on the mission.

The weight of the shield felt right in his hand—solid, but not overwhelming. It was a defensive choice, one meant to protect himself and keep a safe distance from danger.

"Playing it safe, huh?" Sterling remarked.

"For now," Velos adjusting the shield on his arm, repeating the motions of quickly sheathing and unsheathing the sword part. "Haven’t fought anything in a while. I’d rather not push my luck."

The clerk went off to another room while Velos adjusted his gear, returning shortly after with a compact crossbow, designed for versatility and ease of use by rookies. Its body was made of reinforced, darkened alloy, with leather wrappings on the grip. As he turned it over, he noticed the empty quiver beside it, a sturdy leather container meant for the standard steel-tipped bolts. A gradual realization formed in his mind as he remembered the mission was meant to capture, not kill. He recognized they'd likely be issued a quiver of specialized bolts—blunt tips or nets—meant for nonlethal takedowns.

Velos felt the need to speak up. “Sterling, I think I've figured out—” He turned, but Sterling was already halfway out the door, the monstrous axe slung casually over his shoulder.

“Just grab something sharp, we can talk on the way!” Sterling shouted back.

Velos sighed, shaking his head. Why was he being so cautious? With a partner like Sterling, maybe he didn’t need to worry so much.

—

Velos and Sterling pushed through the doors of the administration hub, a sprawling, lively space that catered to rookies awaiting promotion and slayers of the first and second mark. Tables were scattered throughout the room, groups of slayers eating, chatting, and reviewing maps. The central feature was a massive board where quests, requests, and notices were pinned, drawing constant attention. Velos felt the weight of eyes on him almost immediately. Conversations died down to murmurs as they passed, eyes lingering on the duo longer than felt comfortable.

"They're staring," Velos muttered under his breath, keeping his gaze forward.

Sterling, unfazed, glanced at the board. "Let 'em’. Can’t live a day in this place without people looking at you like that,” without delay, he changed the subject. “According to the promotional scroll, we're supposed to meet with a coordinator named Melicent." Sterling scanned the area for anything recognizable resembling a name tag, but none of the clerks had ever worn those.

Velos tried to shake off the sense of judgment from the room, though it clouded him like a thick fog. They approached a desk manned by a young clerk busying herself with stacks of paper. Sterling stepped forward.

“We’re here for a promotional. Is Melicent around?"

The clerk looked up, nodding as she adjusted her glasses. "Miss Melicent, right. Let me call her." She reached for a speaking tube connected to the back of the desk and relayed the message. Within moments, a woman in a blue uniform approached, wearing glasses and a neatly feathered cap.

"Late again with the coffee, are we?" Melicent's voice was clearly directed at the clerk. "Never mind, I'll survive for another hour." The clerk nodded hurriedly and slipped away from the desk, leaving the room entirely as Melicent sat down to take her place.

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Melicent turned her attention to the two slayers, quickly sliding back into her professional tone. "Sterling, I presume. And this must be your partner." She adjusted her glasses, eyeing the two. "I’m Melicent Althaus, your quest coordinator."

Velos straightened up as she spoke, his nerves on edge. She was unvexed, and to them, every breath was coated in formality.

"You’ll be operating largely on your own," she continued, "with minimal field support aside from guards stationed at camp. Since this is a promotional, don’t expect extra help. I recommend you both take detailed notes on this briefing."

Of course, it was only Velos who pulled out a notebook, with Sterling only listening in as intently as he wanted to. Melicent glanced at Sterling. "You’ve managed to find a partner already," she said, then turned to Velos. "And your name?"

"Velos Rendhal."

There was a moment of pause. Melicent’s eyes flickered, and she scanned through a stack of papers, flipping to the letter 'V.' She found his profile, and for a moment all professionalism faded away as she hunched her brow in surprise. Velos noticed the occasional glance from her, though she quickly masked her reaction with a neutral expression.

"Right," she finally said, looking back at the two with more measured composure. "Do you both have your gear ready?"

"Yep," Sterling replied, his axe slung easily over his shoulder.

Melicent’s gaze fell on Velos’ crossbow. "Perfect," She reached under the desk, pulling out a small pouch and placing it on the counter. "Three rounds of specialized tranquilizer bolts. These should be effective for subduing a Darau. Use them sparingly, though." Velos nabbed them, and began comparing the size of the bolts to the fastened barrel of the crossbow.

“Your orders,” Melicent continued as she read through the promotional details, “are to subdue a single Darau using non-lethal means and transport it back to the local forward camp. This means inflicting minimal harm. If the Darau returns to the forward camp dead, the quest is considered a failure.”

“Also, intel suggests the presence of an alpha Darau in the area.” Sterling nodded, a smile having formed on his face. “You’re heavily advised not to engage with the creature, especially if it’s accompanied by the pack. Rookie slayers stand little-to-no chance, even if you’re in line for a promotion.” Velos scribbled on his notebook as Melicent ducked behind her cabinet to retrieve another item.

“One more thing.” She handed them another item: a single crossbow bolt with a strange device attached to its tip. Velos can make out the texture of a net-like filament along its surface. "The division has provided you a way to restrict the Darau’s movement long enough for you to secure it. This is an bolt that will deploy a wide net across a creature’s body upon impact. Use it wisely."

Velos smirked. He had always liked it when his little hunches were proven correct. Sterling took the bolt, gently depositing it onto Velos’ quiver as Velos wrote up the details of the brief. "And the transport?" he asked.

Melicent gestured toward a nearby board, where a schedule for carriages and supply convoys was posted. "The next transport to the Heartland Plains departs in an hour. North route. That’ll get you there before dawn."

"Got it," Sterling said.

Melicent nodded once, then adjusted her cap. "Good luck," she said, offering a curt smile. As they turned to leave, Melicent’s gaze lingered on them for longer than it should, her eyes narrowed as she gazed at the duo.

“Rendhal, huh?” Melicent muttered under her breath. The clerk returned with a steaming cup of coffee, and Melicent accepted it without so much as looking back.

—

Velos and Sterling made their way to the transport hub, where rows of carriages lined up under the morning sun, awaiting their scheduled departures. Scaled beasts lie sleeping in sacks of hay, waiting for the beck and call of their schedule. Sterling scanned the lineup with practiced ease until he spotted the transport heading to the northern Heartland plains. He gave Velos a nod, and they both approached the carriage.

Settling onto the wooden bench beside the cart, Sterling stretched out, slumping into a relaxed posture as if the weight of the day hadn’t quite hit him yet. Velos, still somewhat jittery from the briefing, glanced around, keeping out of eyesight of any loiterers and vagrants.

"You still wound up about the quest?" asked Sterling. "It’s no big deal. Worst case, we take out a couple of teeth, tie the beast up, and go home. Easy."

Velos chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the straps on his crossbow. "It's just... my first real—”

Before he could reply, faint whispers began drifting over from a few paces away. A trio of slayers sat at a distance, their eyes darting toward Velos and Sterling while they muttered among themselves.

“Partnered with a deserter, huh?” one of them snickered. “The deserter and the freak. Bet he’ll be ditching Sterling as soon as things get rough. That’s if Sterling doesn't chew him up first."

Another chimed in, "Yeah, no way the rookie’s coming back in one piece. Sterling probably won't even let him."

Velos winced at the remarks, feeling the stares from other slayers nearby. He glanced at Sterling, hoping his partner heard little, but to his surprise, Sterling was already on his feet, walking towards them.

"Hey," Sterling growled. "You wanna run that shit by me again?"

Velos stood quickly and moved after him, grabbing his arm. "Sterling, come on, let it go. We don’t need this right now. We’re departing in an hour."

But before Sterling could respond, one of the men in the trio, a slayer with a broken leg propped up on a crutch, locked eyes with Velos. He stared at Velos with an uncomfortable mixture of disgust and pity.

"If you wanted to live a cushy life," the slayer said, his voice cracking, "this was the worst decision you could’ve made. You think Sterling gives a damn about your safety? He’s just gonna get you nearly killed like he did us."

"Because of you," the slayer glared again at Sterling, "we're down one man. I’m stuck as a damn field assist while you get to go out there and pretend you're a slayer."

Velos’ mind raced, replaying everything he'd heard about Sterling’s reputation. But Sterling had enough.

"If you didn’t want trouble," Sterling growled, stepping closer to the injured slayer, "you should’ve kept your mouth shut."

A slayer to the side spat at Sterling’s feet. That was all it took. In an instant, Sterling lunged, smashing his forehead into the man’s face. The loud clang of his visor resounded as the slayer recoiled, his face bloodied. The slayer crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the dirt.

Chaos erupted as teammates from both sides rushed to restrain them. Velos found himself gripping Sterling’s arm, trying to pull him back while another slayer held the remaining two back from retaliating. There was shouting, curses hurled through gritted teeth, and for a moment, it seemed like another brawl would break out. But eventually, the remaining pair dragged their unconscious comrade away.

"You're insane," one of them hissed at Sterling, glaring as they limped off. "We'll see how long you last, freak."

Velos stood there, heavy with breath and uneasy, while Sterling grit his teeth and wiped the stain of blood from his visor. Without a word, Sterling returned to the carriage, slumping back onto the bench and closing his eyes like nothing had happened. “Just get some rest,” he muttered. “Long ride ahead.”

Velos’ mind was still replaying the scene. He glanced at his partner, then back toward where the trio had vanished. He wasn’t any less sure what kind of trouble he’d signed up for—and he wasn't sure anymore how much he liked it when his little hunches were proven correct.

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Slayer's Notes

Property of Velos Rendhal

Rookie's Armory

The rookie armory of the Slayers Division is… well, not exactly what you’d call impressive. It’s filled with basic, mass-produced gear—nothing fancy or complicated. Every sword, axe, and spear in there seems like it was pulled straight from a mold and stamped out in bulk. Most of it isn’t even particularly sharp when you first get your hands on it. They don’t expect you to keep these weapons for long; they’re made to be used, abused, and discarded.

None of the weapons in the rookie armory contain high-value materials like monster parts. You won’t find a blade with reinforced bone or fangs embedded into it here. Those kinds of items are reserved for higher-ranked slayers, the ones who’ve proven themselves. For us rookies, it’s strictly iron, steel, and maybe some wooden hafts. No complex mechanisms, no frills. They want to see how well we handle ourselves with the basics first.

One fun fact: since the gear is cheap, we’re encouraged to break it during training or missions. It's not uncommon to hear instructors say, "If you're not damaging your weapon, you're not fighting hard enough." Oh, and you can forget about keeping any weapon as a memento—the moment it breaks, it’s tossed, and you’re handed another identical one. I guess it teaches us early on that it’s not always the weapon that matters.