Chapter 659: Someone Holds Home

Taren crossed the guild courtyard with the road report under his arm while recruits practiced under their instructors.

Shouts of exertion and the sharp clash of wooden practice blunts echoed off the high plaster walls that enclosed the training grounds.

Taren walked along the eastern colonnade, his greatsword strapped across his broad back and a record tucked under his arm.

As he turned the corner toward the contracts desk, an angry commotion broke the steady rhythm of morning training drills.

A dozen armored mercenaries from a rival escort company blocked the entrance to the dispatch office, weapons casually drawn.

At the front of the intruders stood an arrogant captain named Garrow, tapping the hilt of his cutlass against the counter.

Two bruised and bloodied guild teamsters sat against the wall, nursing broken noses while a young clerk cowered behind his desk.

"Tell your master the eastern trade route belongs to the Iron Fang company now," Garrow sneered at the trembling clerk.

"Word on the street says your famous patron is coughing up blood in a clinic bed."

"If you lay a single finger on our record again, you will leave this hall on a stretcher," Taren’s deep voice boomed across the corridor.

Captain Garrow spun around with a mocking smirk, looking Taren up and down with obvious disdain and arrogance.

"Well, if it is not the guildmaster," he mocked, stepping toward him with hands resting on his weapons.

"Are you going to sign over the transit permits peacefully, or do we have to educate you in trade economics?"

"Take this outside to the training yard," Taren answered coldly, pointing toward the open sands.

"If you want guild routes, you will fight for them under guild rules."

The mercenaries smirked, following their captain out into the center of the training yard while thirty recruits gathered along the fence.

"Watch his off-hand carefully," Taren instructed two young trainees standing near the weapon rack.

"A street brawler never relies on the blade he shows you."

Garrow lunged forward without warning, slashing his cutlass in a deceptive horizontal feint aimed at Taren’s shoulder.

Taren stepped inside the arc with easy composure, deflecting the edge with a simple flick of his forearm vambrace.

A hidden spring clicked inside Garrow’s left sleeve, shooting a concealed grappling hook straight toward Taren’s hip.

The steel hook bit into the leather of Taren’s belt, and Garrow yanked the chain violently to pull him off balance.

Instead of fighting the pull, Taren followed the momentum directly forward, closing the distance in an explosive bound.

He clamped his left elbow down on Garrow’s forearm, trapping the chain and snapping the mercenary’s wrist against his own weapon.

Garrow shrieked in agony as the hook tore loose, dropping his cutlass into the churning sand.

Four mercenary cronies rushed forward with raised wooden cudgels, attempting to swarm Taren from both sides at once.

Taren did not even draw his greatsword from his back, spinning on his heel to deliver three concussive palm strikes in rapid succession.

The first mercenary collapsed with cracked ribs, the second flew backward into the weapon rack, and the remaining two froze in sheer terror.

"Wait—he did not even use a weapon!" one of the trainees gasped in disbelief.

"Drop your cudgels right now," Taren commanded, his gaze hard as forged iron.

The two surviving mercenaries dropped their cudgels instantly, raising their trembling hands in complete, unconditional surrender.

"Recruits, disarm them and confiscate their transit permits," Taren ordered, turning to the guild guards.

"Bandage their injured men and place the lot of them in the holding cells until the city magistrates arrive."

One of the bruised guild teamsters limped forward, clutching a rolled parchment map to his chest.

"Thank you, Guildmaster," the driver wheezed, handing over the bloodstained parchment.

"Garrow tried to steal this route survey... look at the eastern junction... that seal does not belong to the Crown."

Taren unrolled the parchment, his brow furrowing as he spotted a strange triangular brand marked near the border forest.

"I will inspect this route myself," Taren said, tucking the survey safely into his tunic.

Meanwhile, in the private solar on the third floor of the guild manor, Hajin sat before his system interface.

With five unassigned points glowing softly before him, he carefully allocated the milestone rewards earned from the Incarnation.

[ Attribute allocation initialized ]

[ Mana: +3 Points assigned ]

[ Stamina: +2 Points assigned ]

[ Note: Maximum capacity increased / current reserves unfilled ]

He felt his spiritual reservoir expand, creating deeper channels for his seven Rings even while his pathways remained tender.

Across the low table, Loccy grinned triumphantly, slamming a carved wooden knight onto the center of the checkered board.

"Checkmate, boss!" she cheered, pumping her small fist in victory.

"You walked your king right into my catapult!"

"I was distracted by my stat allocation," Hajin grumbled good-naturedly, toppling his king with a resigned chuckle.

"Excuses, excuses!" Loccy chuckled, leaning back into her fortress of velvet cushions.

Taren pushed open the door, stepping into the solar with a clean towel draped over his broad shoulder.

"The eastern desk is secure," Taren reported, taking a seat on a stool. "The Iron Fang company will not bother our teamsters again."

"I heard the commotion from the window," Hajin said, pouring a cup of chilled cider and sliding it across the table.

"Did any of your recruits get injured in the scuffle?"

"Not a single scratch," Taren replied, taking a satisfying drink of the sweet cider.

"They watched the whole sequence from the railing... tomorrow morning they will practice hook parries until their arms ache."

"A toast to our guildmaster, who handles street disputes without disturbing my rest."

"That is what a guild is for," Taren smiled, clinking cups with his summoner.

"The drivers are already back on the road with armed escorts."

High above the Sixth, the celestial broadcast interface lit up with a barrage of ecstatic superchats and cheers.

[ Seoul_Tactician: "TAREN IS AN ABSOLUTE CHAD! Disarmed the hook, snapped the wrist, and swept four mercenaries with his bare hands!" ]

[ StarlightScholar: "’A street brawler never relies on the blade he shows you.’ Taren teaching recruits during a live brawl is peak mentorship!" ]

[ IronVanguard: "The guild functions flawlessly even when Hajin is resting! That is how you build a real organization!" ]

[ HearthKeeper: "Hajin allocating his stat points and immediately losing at chess to Loccy is the funniest thing ever!" ]

[ ShadowMage44: "Mana +3, Stamina +2! Stat capacity expanded without fake insta-heals! Clean progression record!" ]

[ TacticalNerd: "That triangular mark on the driver’s map is familiar. Did anyone else see it before?" ]

[ NewViewer_02: "Taren really ran that entire operation without bothering Hajin once! Best guildmaster in fantasy!" ]

[ CringeSlayer91: "Garrow thought he was a tactical genius with his sleeve hook, then got his wrist folded like a cheap lawn chair!" ]

Hajin carefully reset the wooden chess pieces on the board, offering Loccy a determined nod for their next match.

Taren moved a captured route marker from the road map to the edge of the chessboard so Hajin could see the unanswered symbol.

"The escorts know to watch for that mark," he said. "Nobody follows it alone."

Loccy slid a rook into the marker’s path, trapping it between her pieces on the far edge of the board.

"Then our first move is together," she declared, and Hajin laughed before setting the board for another game.

The household was safe, the city routes were protected, and his recovery continued without interruption.