The dawn broke as the young mercenary awoke in his shabby home. His family lacked the funds for a better house, so they had to make do with what they had. Nevertheless, the young man had experienced the best memories of his life in this house.

Here, his father had first told him stories from his years as a mercenary while his mother prepared meals for them. The longing for those times was evident in the tears that welled up in his eyes as he reminisced.

The death of his mother had broken his father, who turned to drinking. Everyone in Skalitz knew him as an alcoholic who delved too deeply into his mug. Despite this, they felt pity for him, understanding his pain. The young man's mother was well-liked by all, always polite and kind, often helping others more than was good for her.

Although his father was often drunk, he remained one of the best swordsmen in all of Skalitz. Despite his drinking habits and resulting irritability, he handled alcohol better than Kunesch, who never settled his debts.

Thanks to yesterday's festival, a dull ache pulsed in his head, as if a horde of wild horses had trampled over it. He rubbed his eyes, trying to push away the faces from yesterday's revelry.

Suddenly, a cutting pain shot through him as a bucket of ice-cold water was poured over him. The world around him transformed into a wet fog as he was ripped from his stupor. His father stood before him, a grim expression erasing any trace of joy.

"Get up, you lazybones!" shouted his father with a harshness that allowed no dissent. "The life of a mercenary shows no mercy to those who linger in sleep."

The young mercenary attempted to rise, only to be overcome by an unexpected dizziness. His father, an experienced fighter with an iron will, ignored any hesitation. A hard kick from his boots forced the young mercenary to his feet, bitterness and disappointment lingering on his tongue.

"A true mercenary never sleeps when destiny awaits," added his father with a devastating glance. The morning sun, streaming through the open windows, revealed the breathtaking beauty of Skalitz, flourishing with life despite its modest size.

The young mercenary felt rising anger within him. His father, once his hero, now seemed to have become an unyielding drillmaster. He jumped up to avoid further provoking his father. His morning tasks included preparing breakfast and feeding the dog.

After his mother's death, this responsibility fell on him, as his father's cooking resembled more of a poison than a meal. One time, he was bedridden for a week after eating his father's prepared meal.

As he descended the ladder to reach the lower part of his house, he was already greeted by his excited dog, wagging its tail.

The dog, a true beast of impressive size, almost reached the young mercenary's hip. Its fur was mostly black, with a distinctive white spot on its head. Its gaze, deceptively gentle, did not reveal the truth about its wild nature. Once, it had disappeared for three days, returning with the traces of a battle, likely with wolves in the forest. The rumors of a wolf pack in the woods faded afterward, as no one had seen or heard the creatures again.

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While the young man prepared food at the hearth, he grabbed a large piece of meat and tossed it to the dog, which eagerly pounced on it.

"I should never have allowed you to take in that pup back then. If I had known how much that thing eats, oh, my poor wallet. To this day, I don't know if it's a dog or the spawn of hell. This dog only listens to you. A pity it's not like Spitzer. I could have used one like him earlier," came the voice of his father.

"It doesn't eat that much. Have you seen the butcher's dog? That one eats a lot, as if it has more space in its belly than our storage room."

"Don't talk so much, cook more. I'm starving already. Do you want your father to die because of you? And when you're done and have eaten, bring me beer and continue training. I'll check your progress the day after tomorrow. A son of mine should not be killed by the first ruffian who comes along."

"I'll do that, Father," said the young man, glancing at the dog and asking, "Do you want to come along? Heel." The dog leaped up, nearly knocking the old man over, who dodged at the last moment. As the young man and the dog were almost out the door, the father said, "One more thing, Conner. Please take care of yourself and don't get into trouble again." Laughingly, Conner replied, "When do I ever get into trouble?"

Conner left his humble home and stepped into the morning freshness of Skalitz. The path led him through the narrow streets of the village, past small half-timbered houses. The morning hustle slowly came to life as the inhabitants of Skalitz went about their daily tasks. Merchants arranged their goods, children played in the streets, and the lively activity conveyed a sense of community.

The path continued through the village center, passing by the bustling market alley where vendors set up their stalls and offered their wares. The vibrant commotion and the calls of the sellers blended into a lively backdrop. The young mercenary enjoyed the familiar faces and the everyday atmosphere that characterized the village.

Finally, the tavern, a central meeting point in Skalitz, appeared before the young mercenary. The scent of freshly prepared food and the muted murmur of the guests wafted outside. The warm, inviting glow of the tavern promised sociability and relaxation. Here, one could exchange news, listen to stories, and take a momentary break from the hardships of daily life.

Conner entered the tavern, where the dim light of the candles and the murmurs of the guests welcomed him. A familiar smile from the innkeeper signaled that he was a welcomed guest.

At least three times a month, he and his friends celebrated, and every day he brought alcohol to his father to forget the pain. In a way, Conner understood his father, but he didn't want to process his pain in the same manner.

The innkeeper recognized him immediately: "The usual?" Conner, with a look that conveyed more than words, replied succinctly, "The usual." After paying two groshen for the bottle, he headed back to continue his training.

On the way back, he encountered Theresa, warmly greeted by Shadow. Beside her, Spitzer initially behaved, but it seemed the two dogs were engaging in a shared game, while Theresa attended to Conner's request.

"Hey, Theresa, could you do me a favor? I promised Heinrich to train with him, but I need to bring my father his alcohol. Could you take care of that?"

"You say for Heinrich," Theresa said. "But only if you tell him I'll come by later for the nails, and I apologize for what happened to his hand."

"Sure, I'll do that. I have to go, or I'll probably keep him waiting. Oh, and I think Heinrich wouldn't mind if you watched next time."

As Conner hurried to the training ground, Theresa called after him, "May God be with you."