Building The First Adventurer Guild In Another World

The battlefield outside the clash between Valeria and Riven had never truly gone quiet. But as their fight intensified, a surge of energy rippled through the ruined city, reigniting everything around it like dry grass catching fire all at once.

At the center of this chaos stood Gregor, his long green hair whipping violently in the wind that twisted and gathered around him, raw, sharp, and dangerous.

He tightened his grip on his sword so hard that the veins in his hand bulged, his knuckles turning pale. His eyes burned with a mix of emotions he couldn’t fully sort out: anger, guilt, something deeper that had been building for far too long and finally found its reason to break free.

Around him moved Riven’s elite fighters, quick and disciplined, weapons drawn and movements clean from hours of practice. Yet as they stepped into Gregor’s range, the air itself began to slice.

This wasn’t gentle wind; it was sharp and condensed, a cutting force that formed layers around him. Each layer moved at different speeds, overlapping and clashing to create a deadly field for anyone who dared enter.

One enemy fighter rushed in from the side with his blade aimed at Gregor’s back, fast and silent, but as soon as he crossed into that lethal zone, thin lines of wind sliced across his chest one after another so quickly they were nearly invisible. In an instant, time froze for him before he split apart into pieces that fell heavily onto the broken ground, blood spraying outward in a wide arc.

Gregor didn’t even turn to look.

His eyes remained fixed forward as he breathed heavily; each inhale uneven as thoughts flashed through his mind like broken fragments: The Guild...the attack...the bodies...the blood...Caelista face...the fear in her eyes, the anger mixed with relief, all swirling together into an intense fire burning in his chest.

"It’s all my fault..." he muttered under his breath, a low voice barely audible even to himself but somehow the wind seemed to hear it. It responded to that emotion with a violent burst.

Three more enemies charged at once from different angles; their coordination was clear and their timing precise, but to Gregor, they appeared slow.

His body reacted before thought could catch up.

He stepped forward once, swinging his sword in a wide arc. With it came a massive wind blade, not thin this time but a compressed wave tearing through the ground beneath it while slamming into all three fighters simultaneously.

For just a moment they stood upright with weapons raised; then suddenly they were cut cleanly in half—their top halves sliding off as blood and organs spilled onto the already ruined terrain.

"Too slow..." Gregor said quietly, a strange blend of calmness and fury in his voice, as if speaking more to himself than anyone else.

More enemies surged forward, undeterred by the fate of their fallen comrades. Their loyalty and discipline propelled them into action as they fanned out, attempting to surround him and break through his defenses by attacking from multiple angles at once. One assailant approached from the front, blade low, aiming to sweep Gregor’s legs; another came in from the right, weapon raised for a downward strike; and a third approached silently from behind, fast and deadly, targeting his neck.

Gregor reacted instinctively. He didn’t step back or retreat; instead, he advanced toward them. His body turned slightly as he shifted his weight, wielding his sword with tight, controlled motions that belied the destruction they wrought.

He angled his blade downward to intercept the low sweep, not blocking it outright but guiding it aside with a deft movement. His foot lifted just enough to evade the strike while his elbow snapped back hard into the face of the attacker behind him, landing with a dull crack.

At the same time, Gregor reversed his sword’s direction and cut upward toward the man on his right. The wind around the blade compressed sharply as it moved, transforming an ordinary swing into something far more lethal. The strike landed cleanly, slicing through the man’s torso from hip to shoulder with such force that it lifted him off the ground before he fell apart in two separate pieces.

The attacker behind him staggered back from the elbow strike but didn’t get a chance to recover. Gregor pivoted fully now; his leg shot up in a swift kick that slammed into the man’s chest, sending him crashing backward into rubble with enough force to crack stone. Before he could hit the ground properly, a thin wind blade shot forth from Gregor’s sword, slicing through his throat in one precise motion, ending him instantly.

The battlefield around Gregor began to transform. While others fought in coordinated groups, supporting each other and covering angles, his area morphed into a zone of chaos where stepping too close meant death.

Here, even the air became a weapon that sliced and tore anything that entered its vicinity. The ground beneath him cracked deeply as chunks of stone were thrown aside by the force of his strikes; dust mingled with blood filled the air.

Then one of the enemy commanders stepped forward—his presence heavier than those around him. Clad in thicker armor and exuding a stronger aura, he observed Gregor intently rather than rushing blindly into battle.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied how the wind swirled around Gregor, the rhythm of attacks and hidden patterns within chaos and then spoke calmly amidst destruction: "You’re wasting your strength," he said steadily as he lowered himself slightly into position. "Fighting like that... you won’t last."

Gregor’s gaze shifted slowly towards him. For just an instant, it felt like time paused, the wind around him stilling momentarily before surging again.

"I don’t need to last," Gregor said, his voice low and laced with a fury that had transformed into something darker. "I just need to kill you."

The commander was the first to act. He lunged forward with a controlled speed, his blade slicing through the air in a precise arc aimed straight at Gregor’s throat. Every movement was efficient, honed by training against opponents stronger than himself. But instead of retreating, Gregor stepped closer.

Their blades clashed with a sharp CLANG that resonated through the air, sparks flying from their point of contact. The true force came not just from their swords but from the gust of wind that erupted as Gregor’s weapon met the commander’s. It pushed against the commander’s blade, forcing him to quickly adjust his stance to avoid being overwhelmed right away.

He twisted his wrist, redirecting the pressure while stepping in closer, aiming an elbow toward Gregor’s ribs in a tight counterattack. Yet Gregor absorbed it; his body barely shifted as the surrounding wind thickened, softening the blow.

Without hesitation, Gregor responded. He lowered his sword slightly, allowing the commander’s blade to slide off as he stepped aside. His free hand shot out to grasp the man’s shoulder, pulling him off balance just enough for Gregor’s knee to drive upward into his midsection with brutal force.

The impact landed hard, knocking the breath from the commander’s lungs and bending him forward slightly, but he didn’t fall. Gritting his teeth, he swung his blade upward in a desperate bid to regain control.

Gregor wouldn’t allow it.

His sword descended swiftly, cleanly, a single vertical cut that sliced through the air like a whisper. The wind around it condensed into an almost invisible edge that passed through the commander as if he weren’t even there.

For a fleeting moment, they stood close together before Gregor stepped past him and pulled his sword free.

Behind him, silence fell as the commander’s body split cleanly from shoulder to waist. Blood gushed forth in heavy streams as each half crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.

Gregor didn’t look back. The wind around him began to settle slowly, yet tension remained in his body; his grip on the sword stayed tight and his breathing heavy as he stood amidst those he had cut down.

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