The headquarters of the Guard’s Guild was, unsurprisingly, in the military district of Milagre. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a district in and of itself, but it occupied a large section in the corner of the Market District. There were only three factions that were house there. The City Guard, general military, and Issho-Ni. The only other force in Tyrman besides the Black Hand was of course the Maravino, but being the elite force that served directly under the Queen and her councilors, it was located within the Royal District.

Despite there only being three buildings large enough to serve as headquarters, the property still demanded a large open space, devoted to training and parade grounds. Large swaths of grass, gravel pits, and man-made dirt hills ranged here and there. None of the fields obstructed the view of the buildings towards the only gate, and despite the grand scale, everything looked rather simple. The men and women who worked here were simple, after all.

Eric had entered the grounds just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. The light shone over the high wall of the complex, casting a pale golden sheen over the dew-glittering grass and lighting upon the simply grey stones of the buildings with a bland kind of glamour. And despite the early hour, he could already make out over a hundred people moving about the area, doing everything from simple marching to combat practice.

On one smooth grassy slope, a bit smaller than its neighbors, eight men wearing full metal armor and carrying long metal blades were grouped around one figure. He wore no armor, and his weapon was a long spear, perfectly straight and broad. He seemed to be inviting them, one at a time, to attempt to strike him, while buffeting back any attack with devastatingly fast strikes from his own weapon. Even eight against one, it was clear that he was master in the training.

Eric tore his eyes away from the spectacular display of the robed master to study another group. There was much more discipline in this group, he noticed. One man, most likely a drill sergeant, was shouting orders to a group of young warriors who all stood before wooden training posts. They moved in unison, striking, blocking an imaginary blow, then striking again. It was hypnotic as well, in a slightly different way.

Deciding that he would get nothing done if he didn’t get a move on, Eric force his attention onto the building to the right, where he knew the Guard Guild’s headquarters would be located. The building was owned by the Queen’s Military, but the Guild had been allowed one-half of the ground floor for their own operations. The true core of the organization, of course, was in Rabanul, a city that lay a day’s ride away to the northeast. But for recruitment and training purposes, this location served the Guild fine.

Some loose men and women, not engaged in training or duty at the moment turned to watch him curiously, marking him as a newcomer or outsider in an instant. These were alert warriors, Eric thought. It would be nearly impossible to fool them and sneak in for an attack. Though he had to admit, very little could come of an attack, since there wasn’t anything worth raiding for in the complex.

The massive double doors leading into the military’s building were already wide open, with two men holding simple spears posted as guards. The men glanced only briefly at Eric as he passed them, clearly disregarding him as a threat. Their position was clearly a ceremonial one. He nodded to them, friendly enough, then made his way into the building and turned right, heading directly for his destination.

The Guild’s Headquarters had only one entry point, which consisted of another set of double doors, slightly smaller. The rest of the space was blocked off by a long wall, featuring large portraits. Eric came close enough to read the inscription under one, and realized that it was a picture of one of the current leaders of the Black Hand, a lieutenant in Rabanul. Huh, Eric thought to himself. You’d think they’d put up portraits to honor past commanders and officers. Maybe the organization wasn’t that old.

Apart from the double doors, there was a heavy desk set on the outside and slightly to the side, attended by an old man with thick spectacles perched upon his nose. He looked half-asleep, poring over a thick tome placed in front of him. A cup of what Eric assumed to be coffee was in his right hand, dangling precariously close to the book.

“Good morning,” Eric said politely as he approached the man. “I’m a recently hired member of the guild, and I’m here to ask some questions about getting some training?”

Without so much as looking up at Eric, the old man set his teetering coffee cup down and snatched a piece of parchment from one of the many stacks on his desk and thrust it at him. He’d continued to stare at the ledger as he grabbed it without breaking concentration in the slightest. Eric took the parchment, seeing that it was a form to apply for training.

“Err, thanks,” he said, staring wide-eyed at the man, who seemed to take no more notice of him. “Do I just fill this out and report back, or-”

He trailed off, realizing that the man was still looking pointedly at the book, not appearing to hear anything he said. Rolling his eyes skyward, Eric turned on his heel to walk away with the form. Before he’d even made it a few feet, however, he heard a wheezy but crisp voice calling out to him.

“Come here to ask a question, but ye don’t even finish it,” The old man said with a scoff. “Got too much to do today, boy? Or did yer mama not teach ye respect?”

There was a slightly petulant note to the man’s voice that Eric didn’t like. He debated for a moment on whether he should just ignore the man completely, as he’d done to Eric, and walk away. But he was still curious and did still want to know a little more, so he turned back once more and made his way back over.

“Didn’t look like you were listening,” Eric said defiantly. “Too fixated on that book.”

“I was reading da book, boy,” the old man said, scoffing again. “But I can hear too. My ears ain’t broke yet. What ya want?”

After sparing a moment to wonder how this man could possibly have earned his station here at the desk, Eric took a deep breath and asked his first question. Then, in his haste to get the conversation over with, he asked another. “How soon can I do the training if I pay for what’s left? Is only training with the guild recognized? Could I, say, get training from someone else and have it count?”

Now the clerk finally did look up from the book, peering at Eric through his thick spectacles. It was all too clearly the look you gave someone who was being a great annoyance, and it did nothing to improve Eric’s already bad impression of the man.

“Ye ask too many questions, boy,” he said, scoffing for the third time. “Yer a guard, an guards don’t be questioning their betters.”

“It is your job to help people learn how the guild works and direct them to where they need to go, isn’t it?”

Of course, Eric was completely guessing. The position by the large double doors reminded him of a secretary’s location in any other office. Such employees served the very specific role of helping others go about their business, either by answering questions or providing directions to different offices or people. Of course, this man was anything but helpful, apart from thrusting the one sheet at him, so perhaps he was wrong.

“Aye,” the old man admitted. “But da boss didn’t say I gotta spoil boys who ask too many questions.”

Eric let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just over a minute into the conversation, and he could already feel a headache building behind his eyes. Let’s just get this over with, he thought to himself. There were better ways to spend his day off than to sit here arguing with this stubborn old man.

“Sorry,” he replied, forcing his voice into a polite tone. “First question, then. Is this form all that’s required for training?”

“Aye,” the old man said again. “That an the gold, a’course.”

“Right. But if I get training elsewhere, would it count?”

“It’d have to be someone real good,” the old man scoffed, turning his eyes back to the book. “Commander’s real strict on that. We can’t have ye being taught by a crackpot and expect a raise, can we?”

“I suppose not,” Eric agreed. It did make sense, he thought. Some would avoid paying for the guild’s expensive training, but if they were taught, or claimed to have been taught by a less than respectable mentor, it would result in lower-class officers, and that would only harm the guild’s reputation.

“Well, thanks,” Eric said absent-mindedly. “Enjoy your day.”

He heard the man scoff yet again as he walked away. The man did seem to enjoy the noise, he thought. Putting the matter behind him, he quickly made his way out of the stuffy building and across the training grounds. He saw again the robed figure with the group of men, though now the armed men were all slumped on the grass, breathing heavily, clearly defeated. The robed figure looked as though he hadn’t even broken a sweat, however, but leaned back, completely casual.

Before he’d even made up his mind, Eric turned to approach the robed warrior. The man sensed Eric’s approach before he’d even come within twenty feet, turning to favor him with a welcoming smile. The other men were too exhausted to take much notice of him. Eric felt a faint shiver go down his spine at the man’s look. It was friendly, but the confidence and composure immediately asserted themselves over him. This was no common warrior. He was a deadly master.

“Good morning,” the robed figure said before Eric could speak. “Are you here for training as well?”

“Err,” Eric said, wishing he could find a more clever way to start his conversations. “No, sorry. I just saw you sparring earlier, and I wondered…”

“Yes?” The man seemed interested as Eric tailed off. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re Issho-Ni, right?” Eric asked, sure that he was correct. For a start, the man’s robe had Japanese characters on the shoulders and down the back. For another, the weapon he was holding was clearly a naginata, a popular Japanese martial weapon.

“Indeed I am,” The warrior said, dipping into a slight bow. “What is it you wish to know?”

“Do you train anyone who asks? Or do you have some special deal with the military and city guards?”

The figure rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked Eric up and down, taking in his simple leather armor and plain sword in its sheath. “Well, we don’t just teach everyone, of course. That would take up too much time. But we do have classes at the main dojo, or if you prefer a mentor, you can try to impress one and get them to teach you.”

“A mentor?” Eric asked, his mind already running through the possibilities. “Would that require me to be a member of Issho-Ni?”

“That entirely depends on who agrees to teach you. Each master has their own requirements for a student. Some, like myself, feel no need to take one on, preferring to make ourselves available to as many as possible.”

“I understand,” Eric replied, though he wasn’t sure he did. “Who should I speak to about seeking a mentor?”

“Well,” the warrior rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There are many masters within the dojo at all times. But you’d be more likely to get a straight answer from Master Calemviir, truth be told. He’s there every day, overseeing basic training for all apprentices. He’s also in charge of lending Masters out for outside training.”

“Thank you,” Eric said, unable to notice how much more helpful this man was than the cranky clerk inside. “I’ll be sure to seek him out.”