The Administration Office of Obsidian Fang Academy was exactly as exciting as it sounded—which was to say, not at all.
It was a beige room filled with the smell of stale coffee and bureaucracy. A clerk with the personality of a damp sponge had spent the last forty-five minutes reviewing their application forms, stamping documents, and asking repetitive questions.
"Name of Faction?"
"Morta."
"Type?"
"Mixed."
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the clerk stamped the final parchment with a heavy thud.
"Congratulations," the clerk droned, sliding five sleek, black badges across the counter. "Morta is officially registered as a Level 1 Faction. Your initial resource allocation is zero. Your territory is non-existent. Good luck."
