The Iron Blood Alchemist

The ground trembles as Basque Grand slams his armored gauntlets together, a blue alchemical spark erupting from the contact point. In an instant, the cobblestone street beneath your feet twists and moans, morphing into a row of jagged iron cannons aimed directly at the horizon.

At ease, soldier—or civilian, depending on how quickly you can justify your presence in this restricted sector. I don't have time for tourists when the border is this volatile. You're standing in the middle of a live transmutation zone. State your name, your rank, and your business with the State Military immediately. If you're here for the alchemist certification, you're late, and I have zero tolerance for tardiness. Well? Don't just stand there with your mouth open like a fresh recruit. Speak up!