It was nothing more than a roll call.
Rudolph went through the names one after another, his tone steady and unbothered as each recruit stepped forward for confirmation. There was no pressure behind it, no strict assessment — just a simple acknowledgment of presence. At one point, he even mispronounced Bubbles' name slightly, brushing past it without correction as the boy awkwardly responded.
Then he paused.
One name on the list caught his attention.
His gaze lifted from the parchment and moved across the recruits standing before him, briefly scanning them before dropping back to the list. He called the name out.
"Jurgen Einzelberht."
A short silence followed.
Jurgen remained where he was, unwilling to step forward.
Rudolph's expression did not change, but there was a faint shift in his focus as he called the name again, louder this time, his patience thinning just slightly.
"Jurgen Einzelberht."
Still, there was no immediate response. From his perspective, whoever he suspected it was had already begun to test his tolerance, and that alone was enough to draw his attention more.
After a brief moment, Jurgen finally moved.
He stepped forward reluctantly, joining the line at the front where the others stood, his posture straight, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression carefully blank.
Recognition came the moment Rudolph saw him.
A slow, mocking smile spread across his face as he stepped closer.
"Well, well… what do we—or rather, who do we have here?" he said, amusement slipping into his tone. "You're that brat from the ridge. I didn't expect you to survive the trials."
A low, sardonic laugh followed.
"You know him?" Captain Eric asked calmly.
"Oh, I do," Rudolph replied without hesitation. "A boy with a rather fragile ego. I nearly ended him the first time we crossed paths."
Jurgen's gaze snapped toward him, anger rising instantly, sharp and immediate. The urge to react came just as fast, but it stopped there. He knew better. The gap between them was not something he could ignore, and acting on impulse would cost him more than it would satisfy.
"What's the matter, brat?" Rudolph continued, placing a hand on Jurgen's head and pressing it down just enough to sting. The motion was deliberate, controlled — a clear provocation.
"Got a score to settle?"
He was testing him.
Jurgen understood that much. The anger burned, his jaw tightening as the impulse to strike back pushed against restraint, but the intent behind it all became clear just as quickly. This was not about the past, it was about seeing whether he would lose control.
And he couldn't afford to.
He drew in a slow, controlled breath, forcing the tension down. His shoulders squared, and he brought his foot down firmly against the ground, grounding himself as he suppressed the reaction completely.
"NO, SIR!" he responded, his voice loud, steady, and unwavering as it carried across the courtyard.
Rudolph watched him for a brief moment, then exhaled lightly.
"Hmm… well, you're no fun," he said, a faint disappointment in his tone.
He straightened, the attempt having failed, before glancing back at the parchment in his hand. His attention lingered only briefly before returning to Jurgen.
"That's a start," he muttered, lowering the list as his interest in continuing the roll call faded.
"At least you have some self-control," he added, his tone shifting slightly. It no longer carried the same edge of mockery, but something closer to instruction, as though the moment had served its purpose.
There was a composure to him beneath the volatility, a presence that could shift between provocation and guidance without warning. Jurgen, unfortunately, had been introduced to the former as a first impression.
"I can't imagine your personality lasting long here, especially with me in charge," Rudolph continued, exhaling faintly.
"So I'd assume Lord Nemesio had a hand in placing you here."
A slight shake of his head followed.
"That man… honestly."
Without another word, he tossed the parchment back toward Eric and turned, walking away as though the matter no longer required his attention.
"You're dismissed."
Eric snatched the list hastily mid-air, then turned to them. He quickly dismissed those he confirmed had not collected their uniforms and who now would likely be unable to do so for another six months.
"Follow me."
"…My apologies for Rudolph, he does have quite the volatile temper," Eric said.
He quickly introduced himself.
"My name is Captain Eric Inker. I oversee most of the operations here, so if you require assistance, do not hesitate to approach me."
Bubbles hastened his pace to maintain alignment with Eric's stride.
"So… where are we headed?"
"To my office," Eric replied. "There, I shall formally assign you your first mission."
Jurgen remained quiet as he followed. The remaining two recruits also kept pace behind him, moving steadily.
"You and Ru… the commander, you seem somehow close," Jurgen inclined.
He corrected himself from the habit of calling names without the required respect — a tendency he had developed from childhood. He was rather prideful and would prefer not to call a name at all than to attach respect to it. Still, he said it now, as long as he did not have to say it in front of Rudolph.
"Yes… we are. He is my elder brother. I am Eric Inker Twyford," Eric interjected, fully stating his name this time.
"His name is Rudolph Twyford… Rudolph Saint Twyford."
"The name Blutmörder wasn't given to him at birth. I don't know why he uses it."
Eric added this just before the question he expected from Jurgen could surface.
A subtle surprise flashed across Jurgen's face. He had not expected Rudolph to have a younger brother and still move the way he had at the ridge. What a ruthless bastard.
"So how did he get the name Blut—"
Eric let out a firm exhale as they reached his office, deliberately cutting off the question Bubbles had intended to ask.
"Here we are," Eric said as he entered his office, settling into his chair while they arranged themselves before the table.
He methodically jotted down their names, slowly perusing a comprehensive list of available missions laid out on his desk.
"So… only four of you will be deployed for this mission."
He scrutinized the list carefully, his eyes calmly scanning each detail.
"Ah… the only mission available here is an R5 assignment. It might prove somewhat formidable for you," he remarked.
He flipped the page with a practiced motion.
"Do not underestimate me," Jurgen's voice cut through, firm yet tinged with irritation.
He had not grasped how the mission system worked, but his ego judged from where it stood — an R5 mission was something he believed he should be able to handle, or so he thought.
Eric cast a measured glance at Jurgen, fully aware that the mission might prove difficult for him, yet still choosing to give him the benefit of doubt. He then briefly shifted his attention toward Bubbles and the other two.
He exhaled deeply, the pause carrying a quiet sense of consideration.
"Well… I suppose we can assess what you are truly capable of."
"Your first mission as a team is outside the city," Eric began, his voice deliberate.
Normally, an R6 assignment would be considered beginner friendly for Jurgen's level, requiring only minimal engagement in life-threatening situations, but he had already decided to adjust the approach.
"There is a faction of criminals west of here, terrorizing the settlers of a village called Dunkers. Reports have been arriving with increasing frequency."
He scanned their faces in turn, taking in their reactions and the steadiness of their resolve before continuing.
"They are known as the Blue Thorns, according to these records."
"Stop them if you can, and demonstrate both your capabilities and unwavering resolve during this mission. If it turns out to be too much to handle, abort, there's no shame in retreating."
"You run like hell, you run like a coward if it means you get to live. You must survive, train in silence, then come back when you're ready."
The advice carried a general meaning that extended beyond the mission itself, though it was clear none of it would truly reach Jurgen, who would not act in a way that could be seen as damaging to his pride.
"Dismissed," he said.
He set down his inked quill and leaned back in his chair in a controlled, composed manner.
"And remember… first impressions are always consequential," he added, his tone carrying a quiet but firm authority.