CHAPTER ONE

Diego watched the chaos in the saloon under the gaze of curtained frustration. He had spent most of his evenings seated in the same spot, and he had been ignored every time.

A strong smell of rum wafted across the air. Diego felt the after taste at the back of his tongue. The mercenaries were loud when they were drunk, and Diego wondered how much of them could hold their own under an attack if it were to happen in that instant. It was part of the reason why he so badly desired to be different from them all. 

If he were to be the mercenary he wanted to be, he would be acting under an entirely different set of rules. 

He sat back and watched as the violence of the men increased. Petty squabbles over drinks and the women they shared. He shook his head, passive in the comfort of his silence. 

A man walked past him and stared at him for an uncomfortable moment before moving off. The message was not lost on Diego. Without giving him a chance, they wrote him off as a failure. It was sad, but the resilience in him stirred as every moment passed. He wouldn't allow rejection to sway him from a goal he's wanted his whole life. At least, it was all he could hope for -- the thought of being a mercenary captain occupied his sleeping nights and his waking mornings. He had passed all the classes with flying colors. He even finished in the top ten of students. 

After school, aspiring captains had two choices -- join a crew, learn the ropes and become a Captain's apprentice or you could attempt to start your own team. No one did the latter. The few that have tried died from inexperience. However, those that did die didn't finish as a top student. Diego did, and that was why he made it a mission to have his own crew. 

It had been his dream for the past 18 years spent on the earth. 

"Hey, Kid. What's the news?" the limping owner of the saloon tapped his shoulder, grinning and revealing a set of missing teeth in the front of his mouth that made him speak with an unnatural lisp.

Diego shook his head soberly and looked away at the group of mercenaries that trooped around the saloon, avoiding any contact with the table which he had leased to recruit a crew.

"No luck yet, but I'm sure things will change. Maybe if there were one sober person in this saloon my chances would be better," he said, maintaining his steady gaze forward.

"You come to a place of alcohol and lewd behavior and expect results?" the old man questioned. "Perhaps a sober mind isn't quite as smart as you think."

The owner took a limp forward, "Maybe these men don't want to go out there with a teenager, only to die before they complete their first job."

Diego frowned, he said, "I'm Eighteen. The legends before me were around the same age when they began their legacy."

"Those were a different breed of men, boy. Better men have tried to live up to such a legacy."

"I'm better than half these drunk captains that spend their credits on booze and women instead of on equipment that can better their efficiency," Diego said. 

The old man grunted. He said, "many like you started this way, with fire in their eyes and desire in their hearts. Your ambition will make you a great captain…  one day. I'll give you that," then he said, "But this is a business, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave should your time at the table expire. If you have more money, you can have it for as much time as you'd pay for."

Diego's heart made a loud and hard thud.

"How much longer do I have?" Diego asked quietly. 

"Two minutes," the man said sharply. 

Diego turned to him and flashed him a sharp stare. 

Of all the time he had bought only two minutes remained?! 

"Come on, Old man!" Diego bawled in frustration.

"I would advise you to keep your voice low and not cause any trouble or being thrown out that door would be the least of your worries."

"There's no way my hour has finished! Are your eyes as bad as your leg?"

The old man slapped Diego in the knee with his cane, and Diego reached the area of the pain, soothing it with a rub. 

"Would you rather I shut my business down for the day because you can't find men who would sign up with you?" The man shot at him.

Diego, realizing that insulting the poor old man would get him nowhere but a bad reputation, said, "they will come, sir. I promise they will come if I have more time."

The old grunted, his eyes studying Diego once again. Diego didn't move his gaze from the old man, he needed the owner to see that he would do anything to make sure his goals were accomplished.

"Okay, kid. I will do this one favor for you," he said. "But you better tell no one! I'm not running a charity. Ten minutes and not more." 

Diego's eyes lit up, and his destiny which seemed to have slipped out of reach slowly found its way back to him. He didn't want to say thanks yet -- at least not until he could determine that his money's worth in men was beginning to flourish. But he had no more money to give and the ten minutes would have to do. He thanked and shook the old man's hand, and watched him limp away, the source of the abnormality being his left leg.

Diego settled back into the seat with ponderous shoulders and watchful eyes. Now, if only the extra ten minutes would be blessed with someone actually showing interest. As he was thinking about it, a tall, black, strong-looking male mercenary made an approach to his table. If Diego could sell his pitch to this guy, he'd be one step closer to his goal. The bearded young man seemed to have everything a mercenary should have. 

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The mercenary stopped. Diego sighed in relief.  

"Hey, I'm Diego," he said and stood up to shake the hands of his prospective crew member. "Thanks for stopping—"

He was answered back with a snort of disgust. Diego felt like he was shot with an arrow he did not see coming and felt his world reel around him suffering defeat for the umpteenth time since he walked into the saloon.

But unlike the other men and women that said their "no" and walked off. This bearded young man hovered over the table and said, "You like to waste time, kid?" 

Now that he was directly in front of Diego, he saw the badge pinned on the left side of the young man's chest. The symbol of a captain. And if that didn't give it away, the crew that followed closely behind their leader, did. 

"No, I'm not wasting my time. I'm a captain in need of a crew." Said Diego. "If you don't mind, I don't have much longer here, and you're in the way of possible candidates." 

Diego dropped in his seat. The man didn't move. He stared at Diego with disgust. Irritated now, Diego stood back up, his hands pressing firmly on the table as support. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off—

"You're a disgrace to all new captains," said the young man. "Your actions are a slap in the face to all the mercenaries who are busting their asses to become what you think you can do in one night straight out of school. Everyone has to put in work before they can have their own crew and you think you're special because -- what, you have curly hair?" He leaned in, "The hair on my butt is curled, and that doesn't make me feel any more special. Do you know what does? Hard work, time put in to build relationships, the experience that helps you make the tough decisions when the rest of your crew look to you for answers." 

"I can make the tough decisions," Diego said. 

Diego had no problem with the taunting, and no matter how frequently it came, he resolved to set himself apart from every other mercenary in the Avaruse Isles.

"Which way is north, Diego?" The man said mockingly. He laughed at the "joke" Diego did not find funny, but The Captain infected a small group of people along with his crew who had not heard what he said but joined him anyways when he had turned to face them.

No one had a mind of their own. Diego's fellow mercenary's had been so lost in the mob that everyone's weaknesses had become the same, and it was easy to bring them down if one knew it. Diego knew he wasn't that ordinary.

The mercenary turned around and spoke loudly, "Perhaps we should make a wager on how long this peon survives on his first contract." Laugher erupted in unison. He turned back to Diego, who's eyes remained steady. "No one will sign up with a boy who still clings to his mom's tits." 

Diego stiffened. "Keep my mother out of this." 

The pig gave a devilish grin.

"Oh, does that bother you? One mention of your whore mother and your feelings get hurt?" He said.

Diego pulled out his knife, and his other hand clenched into a ball, his eyes locked on to the exposed jaw of the bombastic mercenary who still seemed unfazed by the sudden threat. 

"Do you even know how to wield a knife? Shoot that pistol you proudly wear at the hip?" 

"I can," a green-eyed, blond-haired girl came up from behind the mercenary and stood as though it had not been her who had spoken a few seconds ago. She was a beauty for sure and didn't look like the rest of the mercenary women here on the isles. 

"If he can't, I can, and I wish to sign up with you guys," she iterated without blinking.

Diego felt his ego do a backflip off of a cliff, plunging down the depth of embarrassment. The girl looked suited to everything except what he wanted in a crew member-- maybe even a fashion model in the bigger cities, but for a crew member -- no. 

The young mercenary burst out in a cackle, slowly until it graduated into a full-blown belly retching laughter. The comedy did seem to write itself, didn't it?

"Let me make this clear since you're obviously confused," he declared to the new girl, putting his hands forward in gesticulation. "I am not in his crew. He doesn't even have a crew..." His eyes wandered over her body from the tip of her head to her feet, "but I do. My name's Marcus, by the way."

Diego's forehead throbbed. The evening had started poorly, and now fate seemed to be making a jest of everything he had planned so hard for.

"You could join a real crew if you wanted- be there for me when I need you," Marcus hinted at some personal pleasure while he nodded in the direction of his crew who were sitting in a close distance.

"Can I join your crew?" She disregarded the disrespect and focused on Diego whom she had asked the question, to begin with. 

"Hey, come on. Not a lot of girl gets the honor of being with a real man. My crew and I are right on track to moving up to legendary status. I could treat you nice, you know," Marcus said and moved to grab her. 

She moved her hands before he could reach, and he missed. He giggled, thinking he had found himself some good sport. He looked back at his crew and smiled. A sharp whistle rang out from among them, and the men cheered Marcus on. The entire saloon slowly took notice, and they joined the frenzy.

In a quick, natural movement, Marcus found his hand finally touching her body, and by the look on his face, he liked what he felt. Diego assumed her body was firm. She looked as if she had been through years of rigorous training. Diego could only imagine the wild thoughts speeding through Marcus' mind. Diego didn't know why, but it made him hate Marcus more. 

Diego stepped forward to finally knock out the low life scum but paused when he saw the young lady's eyes fill with rage. Before anyone could react, her motions were as quick and as agile as any Diego had ever seen.

She held Marcus' head in a quick maneuver, plucking his hands from the sides in a secure grip so that there was no barrier to stop his head from ramming into the table.

The collective awe of "ooh" rented the air as punctuation to what just took place.

She held still. Marcus, as though stunned by the quick movement, could move neither of his limbs in resistance. 

"Let me go!" he hollered when he could recollect himself to say something. 

She watched the crowd— as did Diego. Their shocked filled eyes on her told her all that she needed to know. She released Marcus slowly. Once freed, he picked himself up with a quick shrug. 

The room got tense, quiet. 

Marcus staggered backward from the strange girl all the while composing himself, fixing the outfit that had been ruffled from the contact. 

"I'm the son of an Earl, and won't be drawn into a fight that might end with you losing your life," Marcus said, pointing at Diego. "Not that anyone would miss you." 

He spat in the direction of Diego, and all eyes followed. The embarrassment that Marcus was feeling was a win in itself.  Diego didn't need to do or say anything else as Marcus, and his crew stormed away. 

The saloon owner scrimmaged through the crowd, and when he came to the fore, he was livid.

"I told you, kid. No troubles. What is all the noise?"

Diego looked to the man and back to the strange girl, the result of his endless wait. He still wasn't sure if she was ready to be part of a crew, but she was still worth something. If he walked away from her, his ego would be on the line, and the last thing Diego needed was a bunch of wagging tongues, staining his legacy with an incident as this. 

"Your time is up, kid!" The saloon owner yelled and moved to evacuate Diego and the girl he stood with.

"Diego," he said as he reached his hand to her.

"Talia," she replied and smiled. 

"Welcome to my crew, Talia." he reciprocated the smile, and they walked with each other out of the dark area where he occupied most of the night, upon the saloon owner's insistence, joining the rest of the saloon in the common area where the other mercenaries hung about.