440 Chosen Path

The young Ranger seemed to have a predisposition for finding traps and mimics. He would serve well to keep the other members of Letalis safe from harm. He'd be fine, too, as long as he wasn't killed in a single attack. 

Raphael, a high-tier Bravo class, was skilled at weaving in and out of close combat with his pair of axes. He could keep himself alive. Failing that, his death could provide ample opportunity for the others to reassess the situation and possibly withdraw. 

Besides, Lone wielded his mimic-destroying hammer and had expressed his willingness and excitement to utilize it. 

"With the gods as my witness, I will break every single suspicious looking wooden thing we see," Lone seethed. "I don't even care."

"Letalis! A moment, if you would!" A hooded mage in black and silver robes approached their group, waving genially in greeting. 

⟬ Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ⟭ 

The perfect diplomat, Athena rushed to greet him, "Mister Photios! Hello! What can we help you with?"

"Miss Athena!" Photios bowed politely, "You did some good work, out there! Have you been training with Centurion Zenon?"

"Ehehe~!" Athena giggled. "Yiss. Sir Tycon said I reached Iron-Rank!"

"Oho!" Photios pulled his hood back, scratching at his regulation-length hair and granting the young lady a crooked-tooth grin. "You beat me by almost ten years. You must've put in a lot of training."

The arrogant Pyromancer was being... more humble than usual. As he was speaking to Athena, who was technically a noble, that was reasonable. 

Tycon glanced at the Calculator at his side, "Sorina, what does the ⌈Parse⌋ skill say about his power level?"

Sorina narrowed her eyes to squints before grabbing her Armor Cube and squeezing it dramatically, "It's over 8000..."

"What? 8000?" Tycon grimaced. 

"Eight-thousannnnd..." She nodded, deep in thought. 

Tycon sighed, shaking his head, "What does that mean?"

"Oh," She released her Armor Cube, allowing it to continue its orbit around her head. "He rates in the top 10% of offensive casters... with numbers above Athena, but below Zenon."

Tycon nodded. In the previous encounter, Photios served a similar role as the Letalis mages, focusing his pyromancy spells on groups of targets, as opposed to focusing on the Guardian. It also meant that-- though the spellcaster was a veteran member of the Brazen Guard, his effectiveness was below that of Tanamar and each of the Iron-Rank members of Guild Letalis. 

He was weak... but only in comparison to himself and his powerful collection of allies. 

"Ignus Cantor..." Zenon approached the Pyromancer, offering a hand in greeting. "Great to see you're doing well."

"Hahaha!" Zenon laughed, "Our guild's doors are always open to new talent."

This was true... but Tycon would advise against accepting Photios' application. An older mage would be welcome in any guild, especially one at Iron-Rank... but their guild's member population was designed for stability and growth. 

Nearly all of the members of Guild Letalis were made of younger, (easily-brainwashed) recruits... or men and women that were nurtured from Unranked or Bronze, armed and armored high above their grade. Their loyalty was without question... and they were especially beholden to Sorina Capulet's very, very thorough magical contracts. 

Photios... who left the service of the Church of the Eternal Flame... and was the only mage survivor in his group of spellcasters in the Icingdeath Dungeon... was a less-than-ideal Letalis candidate. 

The Pyromancer chuckled derisively... "I was wondering if you guys needed a mage? The uh... others..."

"What about the others?" Zenon asked. 

Photios hesitated, shaking his head... "No, nevermind. I was just hoping you guys would have me."

Tanamar looked to Athena. Athena looked to Tycon. Tycon crossed his arms, thinking it over. 

The Letalis tent-group had trained together for several weeks and were practiced in combat formations and other esoteric tactics. Adding another combatant could be more problematic than helpful. 

"Well, well, welllllllllllll~! Look what we haaaaavvve heeeeeere..."

A certain raven-haired Cleric approached their group. Slung lazily over his back was his oversized hafted warscythe and flopping around in his lips as he spoke was a smoking white cylinder. The Stormbrands trailed behind him like mewling pups mindlessly following their scraggly, unhygienic mother. 

⟬ Occam, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. ⟭ 

"It's Photios, the Retardant Flame! And it's the LIIIGHTHOUSE!!! Har har harrr!!" Occam cackled... His lips remained tight to hold onto his cylinder, making his speech sound peculiar. 

Tycon grimaced... tilting his head up to stare at the cavernous ceiling and taking a deep breath. He was having a decent sun... and then the Stormbrands arrived to ruin his mood.

"Oh, Tactician!" Occam turned, his eyes widened in surprise. "That's you in the white helmet, right? I dunno why you gotta hang out with these two numb-nut Witches. People like us, masters of THE BLAAAADE are better than that."

Tycon hesitated. 

He was torn.

He generally disliked the fellow... but his annoyance was somewhat alleviated with his blade skills being so deservedly praised... 

"Mister Occam," Tycon nodded. 

"The Stormbrands are headin' that way," The Cleric took his smoking cylinder out of his mouth, pointing down the hallway that Tycon was planning on leading Letalis. "How 'bout you guys?"

"We were reviewing our options," Tycon admitted. "By all means, Occam of the Stormbrands, go right ahead."

As the Stormbrands walked past... a tall gentleman wearing dark, spiked, half-metal, half-leather armor stood in their way. Centurion Zenon Skyreaper stood, arms crossed and wearing a deeply set grimace on his handsome, mustachioed face. 

Tycon noticed bits of dust and debris on the stone floor rising up. Zenon was passively emanating a copious amount of mana in his displeasure. 

"Ehhh?" Occam looked up to meet Zenon's gaze, "You got a problem, Witch?"

The Stormbrands at the Cleric's back fidgeted nervously. Some dropped their hands to the hilts of their weapons. 

Conversely, every single member of Guild Letalis besides Zenon consciously reached for theirs.