The Extra's Rise-Chapter 213: Ouroboros (1)

Two members.

That was all it took to establish a guild on temporary status.

Of course, permanency came with a catch—to officially register Ouroboros as a Bronze-rank guild, we had to clear a six-star dungeon. The paperwork had been laughably easy, thanks to Kali’s clout and some well-placed signatures.

And just like that—Ouroboros Guild was born.

The building Kali bought for our headquarters was massive, a sleek, multi-floored fortress with top-tier technology, lined with reinforced walls, mana shielding, and an AI-driven security system.

We stood in front of it, the automated glass doors sliding open as we approached.

"You really want to take this to the peak, don’t you?" Kali asked, eyeing me as we stepped inside.

I nodded.

She smirked. "Then this building will do."

Inside, the place was silent. Deserted.

The only movement came from AI maintenance bots gliding through the halls, their glowing eyes sweeping across the floors as they silently handled cleaning and upkeep.

I let out a low whistle. "Spacious."

"Empty," Kali countered. She clapped her hands together. "Alright, we’ve got two major tasks ahead."

I raised an eyebrow.

"First, recruiting members," she said, counting on her fingers. "Second, completing the six-star dungeon we’ll be assigned, so we actually exist beyond a technicality."

I hummed, tilting my head. "Kali."

She frowned. "What?"

I looked at her seriously.

"You can solo a six-star dungeon, right?"

For a moment, silence.

Then, Kali exhaled sharply, lowering her head.

Her shoulders shook.

"Kali?"

"You crazy—" she cut herself off, inhaled deeply, and let it out very, very slowly.

I watched her process her emotions.

Then, she tilted her head, smiling sweetly—too sweetly.

"Arguing with a crazy fucker like you," she said, voice dripping with calm insanity, "is going to make me crazy."

I smirked. "So you’re saying you can’t solo it?"

She glared.

I shrugged. "Well, doesn’t matter. I won’t be the one clearing it anyway."

Her eye twitched. "Oh?"

"It’ll be you," I said, "and whoever we manage to recruit."

Kali stared at me. Long and hard.

Then, she sighed, rubbing her temples as if trying to physically contain the headache I was giving her.

"Fine," she muttered, deadpan, "it really feels like I just signed my soul away to a goddamn devil."

I grinned. "Well, yes, but in return, you get a massive reward when I reach Radiant-rank."

She shot me a flat look. "I swear to god, Arthur—"

"Anyway," I cut in before she could finish that thought, "who do we need to recruit?"

Kali waved a hand, pulling up a holographic screen that projected a list of names.

"You were the one who gave me the list," she pointed out, then tapped on four names specifically. "But I’m not sure about these guys."

I didn’t even have to look to know which ones she was doubting.

"Those four," I said smoothly, "are the most important."

Kali frowned. "These randos?"

"They may be randos now," I said, tapping the screen where their names were displayed, "but they won’t be for long."

She didn’t look convinced.

"Anyway," I continued, ignoring her skepticism, "I’ll handle recruiting those four. You get the other eight."

She squinted. "That hardly seems fair."

"Life’s not fair," I said with a shrug. "Deal with it."

She glared at me like she was debating whether or not to punch me.

Instead, she exhaled through her nose, rolled her shoulders back, and muttered, "Fine. But if I get stuck with the useless ones, I’m making you do all the paperwork for the next year."

I waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, we’ll see."

I turned back to the holographic screen, scanning the names one last time. My eyes landed on the first recruit.

A slow smile crept onto my lips.

Time to find the brain of our guild.

Our guild needed a brain.

Of course, I was there, and there was Kali, though—let’s be honest—her genius was mostly focused on making my life difficult rather than strategic planning.

But I needed someone else. Someone cold, calculated, and precise.

I knew exactly where to find them.

Avalon. The greatest city in the world. A towering beacon of prosperity, power, and progress.

And like any great city, it had an underbelly—a festering, labyrinthine shadow that mirrored its grandeur with rot and secrecy.

That’s where I needed to go.

Dressed in a high-collared black coat, I moved through the dimly lit streets of Avalon’s underworld, my identity concealed behind a featureless black mask. It wasn’t just for theatrics—being a White-rank in a den of criminals was already a declaration of dominance. But recognition? That was a problem I didn’t need.

The bar was as run-down as they came, tucked into a narrow alleyway, its neon sign flickering like it was deciding whether to die or keep suffering.

I stepped inside.

The moment I crossed the threshold, silence fell like a guillotine.

A dozen sets of eyes locked onto me—mercenaries, bounty hunters, and the sort of people whose lives depended on knowing exactly who they shouldn’t mess with.

I ignored them.

Even the most drunken idiot in this place knew better than to pick a fight with someone radiating White-rank mana.

I made my way to the bar counter, where a man was cleaning a glass with all the enthusiasm of a corpse doing taxes.

He barely spared me a glance. "What’ll you have?"

"A Bloody Ghost," I said.

That got his attention.

He paused, finally looking at me properly. His eyes flickered downward for a split second, sensing my mana.

White-rank.

He was the same.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. "And how would you like it?"

"On the rocks. Like a red waterfall."

A sharp glint flickered in his gaze. He tilted his head slightly.

"On the rocks? That’s unusual."

I leaned in just slightly, lowering my voice. "What can I say? I like the sound of dripping blood."

A slow, deliberate silence stretched between us.

Then, the bartender gave a slight nod and stepped back.

I waited.

A steel door at the far end of the bar slid open, its rusted hinges groaning like a dying beast.

I walked through without hesitation.

The passage led downward. Far downward.

With each step, the world changed. The air grew thicker, saturated with the scent of oil, rust, and something acrid that clung to the lungs. The faint, rhythmic hum of machinery pulsed through the walls, a low vibration that never quite stopped.

The true underbelly of Avalon.

As I emerged into the underground district, the scenery shifted entirely.

A sprawling marketplace, lit by flickering neon, stretched before me. Vendors peddled black-market technology and drugs that weren’t exactly legal by imperial standards. People moved in shadows, slipping between dimly lit alleyways where deals were made and betrayals sold for pocket change.

Somewhere in this chaotic mess, my recruit was waiting.

And it was time to find him.

I moved through the market, masking my mana presence as I went.

It was safer that way. Too much power invited too many questions, and questions had a way of leading to unwanted complications.

Tonight, I wasn’t here to make a scene. I was here for a recruitment.

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Somewhere in this chaotic sprawl of mercenaries, thieves, and illegal traders, there was a man I needed to find.

A man everyone else had dismissed as worthless.

The Grey Crows were a mercenary group.

Not a guild—far from it.

Guilds had influence, resources, and the backing of power. They were organizations, structured and well-oiled machines with long-term strategies.

Mercenary groups? They were temporary alliances at best, often skirting the edges of the law, surviving job-to-job, hire-to-hire. Weapons for rent, bound to the highest bidder, but never for long.

They had less power, less money, and significantly less future.

But they had one thing guilds didn’t always have—people who could disappear completely when necessary.

That was the appeal.

And that was why I was here.

I found the Grey Crow sigil hanging over a narrow, metal-plated stall—one of dozens scattered throughout the underground marketplace. A figure in a deep hood sat behind the counter, exuding the kind of calm indifference that came from a lifetime of low expectations.

"How may the Grey Crows be of service to you?" he asked, voice flat.

"I’m looking for a mercenary," I said.

His fingers tapped the counter. "Specific codename?"

"LazyPanda."

The tapping stopped.

I saw the smallest hesitation, a subtle flicker of confusion. It lasted less than a second, but I caught it.

LazyPanda.

A known failure of a mercenary. Someone with no combat achievements, no reputation, no notable skills beyond surviving long enough to keep getting pitiful assignments.

His reaction confirmed what I already knew—no one ever specifically asked for LazyPanda.

Which made my request very interesting.

I slid a stack of cash across the counter. Not a bribe—just a shortcut.

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The hooded man considered it, then took the cash.

"Wait here," he muttered, before disappearing into the depths of the marketplace.

I waited.

Minutes passed. Then—footsteps.

I looked up as a man approached.