Franklin lowered his wooden sword.
"That's enough."
Osric was still breathing hard, sweat running down his back, wooden blade raised out of habit more than intent. He forced himself to relax and let the weapon drop to his side.
Franklin looked at him for a long moment before speaking.
"The thing that drags you down the most," he said calmly, "is your waste of energy."
Osric stiffened slightly but didn't interrupt.
"In the overall picture, you're calm," Franklin continued. "You don't panic. You don't freeze. But once the fight starts, it's like you expect every attack to be a death sentence. You pour everything into surviving each moment."
Franklin stepped closer, tapping Osric's wooden sword lightly with his own.
"That instinct kept you alive," he said. "But it also clouds your judgment. You stop reading your opponent. You stop controlling the pace. You react instead of deciding."
Osric clenched his jaw.
"It's good to be eager to survive," Franklin went on. "But in your case, it becomes excess. You burn stamina, you overcommit, and you leave yourself open to someone patient."
Franklin straightened.
"What you need most is real training," he said simply. "Something you can rely on. Something you can fall back on when instinct alone isn't enough."
Osric exhaled slowly.
He knew it was true.
The realization stung more than the wooden sword ever could. Every fight he'd survived flashed through his mind—how close he'd come, how often he'd gambled everything on a single moment.
Anger flared.
Not at Franklin.
At himself.
But beneath it, there was something else.
Motivation.
"…Thank you," Osric said after a moment. He bowed his head slightly—not deeply, but sincerely. "Just hearing that from someone like you is already worth a lot."
Franklin nodded, accepting it without comment.
Osric straightened and turned as if to leave.
Then Franklin spoke again.
"What do you think of the Greydell House," he asked, "and the current state of Ashbrook?"
Osric stopped.
He hadn't expected that.
He turned back slowly, studying Franklin's face. There was no provocation there. No test in his tone. Just a question.
Osric answered honestly.
"I think it's disgusting," he said. "The nobles are selfish, greedy, and cruel. They treat commoners like expendable trash."
Franklin's expression didn't change.
He nodded once.
"Yes," he said. "You're right."
Osric blinked.
Franklin continued, "What are your goals in life?"
That caught him even more off guard.
Osric hesitated only briefly.
"My current aim is to keep improving," he said. "To grow stronger. To make more money."
Then his gaze hardened.
"My main goal is to reach the top," Osric said quietly. "A place where I don't answer to anyone. I want power."
Franklin had heard words like that many times before.
Usually, he dismissed them.
This time, he didn't.
"I can tell how serious you are," Franklin said, "despite how impossible those words would sound to most people."
Osric didn't look away.
He didn't justify himself.
He simply met Franklin's eyes.
Franklin studied him for a long second—then smiled.
It was rare. Small. Real.
"Listen carefully, Osric," Franklin said. "I've been building a faction for years now. People who see Ashbrook the way you do."
Osric's pulse quickened.
"Our goal is simple," Franklin continued. "To uproot the corruption in this city. And that means standing against the Greydell House."
Osric's breath slowed, but his focus sharpened.
"We're not ready yet," Franklin said. "I originally planned to act in three to four years. But things are changing. Forces are moving."
His voice lowered.
"We have at most two years."
Osric felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
"I have capable people," Franklin went on. "Trustworthy ones. But even together, we can't face the Greydell House head-on."
He paused.
"But I have a hidden card," Franklin said. "Something that can tip the balance."
Osric didn't ask.
"We need every capable individual we can find," Franklin said. "And I've been watching you."
Osric's eyes narrowed.
"I see potential in you," Franklin said. "And I believe you're trustworthy."
He met Osric's gaze squarely.
"I want you to join our cause."
Silence fell between them.
Osric's thoughts raced.
'I knew something was happening behind the scenes… but this?'
It was bigger than he'd expected.
He believed Franklin.
That much was clear.
But a faction meant structure. Orders. Expectations. Other people.
And Osric had never been good at bending.
His priority was himself.
He finally spoke.
"I believe what you're doing is important," Osric said carefully. "But I'm more focused on my own growth than a grand cause."
Franklin listened without interruption.
"If I join you," Osric continued, "will you personally train me?"
Franklin raised an eyebrow—then smiled faintly.
"And," Osric added, "I won't join a party you assign me. I've already decided to build my own."
Franklin let out a short laugh.
"You really are an honest brat," he said. "Yes. I planned to train you myself if you agreed."
Osric's eyes sharpened.
"And starting your own party is smart," Franklin continued. "Solo hunting has limits. I can help you find capable people—and help you grow, to a point."
He extended his hand.
"So," Franklin said, "what's your answer?"
Osric didn't hesitate.
"Alright," he said. "I'll join your cause."
Franklin's grip was firm when they shook hands.
And for the first time since stepping into the guild, Osric felt it clearly—
This wasn't just another path forward.
It was the beginning of something far bigger than himself.