The forest screamed.

Bushes tore apart as a pack of dire wolves burst through the undergrowth, their massive bodies moving in frantic unison. These were not predators on the hunt.

They were prey.

A sharp crack split the air.

Behind them, a silver blur danced across the forest floor.

Luna surged forward, her rapier gleaming as mana flooded its slender blade. With a graceful flick of her wrist, compressed wind blades screamed through the trees, followed instantly by shards of razor-sharp ice.

The wolves never had time to howl.

One was pinned to a tree by frozen spears. Another was hurled through the air as a slicing gust tore clean through its flank. Panic shattered the pack’s unity, instinct breaking beneath overwhelming force.

“Running won’t save you,” Luna muttered, eyes sharp and unyielding.

Then—

A ripple of heat rolled through the forest.

Elara dropped from above.

Her eyes burned with ethereal light as her Spirit Empress power surged. Flame coiled around her body, forming the unmistakable shape of a Slavic flame serpent spirit—sleek, sinuous, and terrifyingly fast.

The spirit merged with her in a burst of embers.

Elara moved.

Not like a mage.

Not like a warrior.

She flowed forward barehanded, her strikes precise and devastating—a monk’s discipline guided by spiritual fire. A palm strike shattered a wolf’s ribs. A spinning kick sent another crashing into a tree, flames erupting on impact.

For a moment, she wove spells mid-motion—fire bursting from her knuckles, heat-guided steps carrying her faster than the eye could track.

Within seconds, the forest fell silent.

The last dire wolf collapsed.

Luna lowered her rapier, breathing steady. Elara straightened, flame fading as the spirit receded.

“…That was easier than expected,” Elara said.

The forest answered with a deep, rumbling hoooom.

The ground shook.

Luna’s eyes snapped upward. “Elara—move!”

The trees exploded outward as owlbears burst from the canopy.

Not one.

Three.

Massive, feathered nightmares—beaks snapping, claws carving trenches into the soil.

A-rank monsters.

The air turned heavy.

One leapt.

A shadow fell over the girls—

—and was cleaved apart midair.

A single violet arc flashed across the sky.

The owlbear’s head separated from its body before it even understood it was dead. The corpse crashed into the dirt with a thunderous thud.

A figure landed smoothly in front of them, boots sinking slightly into the earth.

Azrael straightened, katana already clean.

“Don’t let your guard down in forests like this,” he said calmly. “Predators hunt in layers.”

The remaining owlbears froze.

Then fled.

Silence returned.

Luna and Elara turned toward him simultaneously.

Then—

They stepped closer.

Luna stood straighter, hands behind her back, eyes sparkling.
“Did you see that? I handled wind and ice perfectly.”

Elara nodded quickly.
“And my spirit synchronization lasted thirty seconds longer than before.”

They leaned in just a little.

Luna tilted her head. “…I deserve head pats.”

Elara hesitated.

Then quietly added, “…Me too.”

Azrael froze.

“…You’re serious.”

Both nodded.

His ears turned red.

With the air of a man facing unavoidable fate, Azrael raised his hand and gently patted Luna’s head.

Then Elara’s.

Both girls instantly melted.

“Worth it,” Luna said smugly.

Azrael sighed.

The monster corpses were sealed into their space–time storage bracelets, the air shimmering briefly as the remains vanished.

The guild hall roared back to life the moment the corpses were released.

Heavy bodies struck reinforced stone. Dire wolves were stacked neatly. The owlbear lay center-stage, its severed head placed with almost insulting precision.

The chatter died.

Rookies stared.

Veterans slowly turned.

The receptionist looked up.

She was around twenty-five, blond hair tied back in a practical ponytail, green eyes sharp with experience rather than fear. She skimmed the completed forms once… then twice… before lowering them and fixing Azrael with a flat stare.

“…You are as ridiculous as always,” she said.
“Even the rookies are the same.”

Azrael sighed. “Good afternoon, Sophia.”

“Dire wolves like training dummies. Three A-rank owlbears, one decapitated midair,” Sophia continued, glancing between Luna and Elara. “You mentoring, or collecting blessings?”

Luna puffed her chest slightly.
“We did most of it.”

Elara nodded earnestly.
“He only interfered at the end.”

Sophia stared.

Then laughed—loud, unrestrained.

“Oh fantastic,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Now the rookies are monsters too.”

She stepped out from behind the counter and circled Luna.

The air shifted.

Cold. Clean. Resolute.

Judgment without hostility.

Sophia stopped.

“…Ah,” she murmured, then turned to the hall.
“Title confirmed: Valkyrie.”

Whispers rippled instantly.

Luna stiffened. “W-wait—why is everyone staring?”

Sophia turned next to Elara.

The atmosphere changed—warmth spreading, mana calming, the faint scent of rain-washed leaves blooming.

Sophia smiled.
“Dryad.”

Elara froze.

“…E-eh?!”

Someone actually bowed.

“P-please don’t!” Elara squeaked. “I’m not a tree spirit! I don’t even like bugs!”

“Truly humble,” a mage whispered reverently.

Elara turned red and hid behind Luna.

Sophia returned behind the counter, stamping the forms.

“C-rank promotions confirmed,” she said casually. “Congratulations.”

Then she leaned forward, grin sharp.

“You know, when people started calling you the Ghost, I thought it was because you were quiet and terrifying.”

She gestured at Luna and Elara.

“But you keep found angels instead of party members.”

The guild cracked with laughter.

“Oh—and Azrael?” she added, sweeping her hand across the room.
“Half the guild is currently crying blood tears of jealousy.”

“HEY—!”
“I’M NOT—!”

A mage aggressively wiped his eyes. A swordsman stared at the floor like his entire life had gone wrong.

Luna hid her face behind her cloak.
“I’m not that intimidating!”

“Yes you are,” several people said at once.

Elara whimpered. “Dryad sounds so official…”

Azrael muttered, “…Please stop.”

Sophia wasn’t done.

“Oh, before you go,” she said brightly, tapping her quill.
“Did you come up with a party name, or should I write ‘The Ghost and His Angels’?”

The hall leaned in.

Luna blinked. “…We need a name?”

“It’s required,” Sophia replied cheerfully. “For records. Rumors. Trauma.”

Luna looked at Elara.

Elara looked at Luna.

Then Elara spoke, softly but without hesitation.

“Ghost’s Requiem.”

Silence.

A mug shattered.

“…That’s unfair,” someone whispered.

Sophia nodded slowly, then stamped the crystal.

Party Registered: GHOST’S REQUIEM

She burst out laughing. “Of course it is.”

She waved them off.
“Go. Before someone challenges you fueled entirely by envy and bad decisions.”

As they walked away—

Luna kept her head down, cheeks burning.
“…I don’t think I’m ready to be called Valkyrie.”

Elara nodded rapidly.
“Me neither. Dryad feels… heavy.”

Azrael sighed deeply.

“I just wanted to submit a quest.”

Behind them, the guild buzzed louder than ever.

The Ghost walks with angels.
They even have a name…
This is unfair…

And Ghost’s Requiem, flustered, embarrassed, and painfully aware of their new reputation—

made a very fast exit.