Three days later, Avi arrived at Middenheim according to his plan. However, this fortress city was not as chaotic or deserted as he had expected. Middenheim had recovered from the aftermath of a direct battle with the orcs and had returned to the rhythms of daily life.

The streets, paved with smooth slabs of stone, exuded a sense of solidity and simplicity. Walking on this broad stone road provided a reassuring feeling of stability. The shops on either side had rebounded from the desolation caused by the war. Shelves were once again filled with a variety of goods, and the calls of hawkers and shopkeepers filled the air.

Middenlanders were extremely insular; the people here were stubborn, traditional, rough, and proud. Their accents were loud and hearty, and Avi often mistook the bargaining between buyers and sellers on the streets for quarrels or even fights.

"If it weren't for the accent disguise system helping me, I wouldn't know how to stay in this darn place..." Avi felt somewhat anxious in this atmosphere, thinking to himself, "This place is full of troublemakers, but also plenty of good warriors, as it has always been."

Now, it seemed he couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he had landed in Middenland after crossing over. Every man here had the potential to be a fighter. The biggest problem was how to control or tame them, but all of this was easily resolved in the face of the system's power.

Here was safe yet full of dangers, rough yet refined. It was indeed the perfect place for the development and expansion of a civilian militia.

If he went to Sylvania, he would probably be captured by vampires and turned into a puppet. If he went to Reikland, he would likely be immersed in the arrogance and tyranny of the so-called 'fashion' and unable to extricate himself. If he went to Marienburg, he might still be a speculator buying and selling...

In short, Middenland was the most suitable place for him to grow. Here, he had all the necessary resources and the right amount of freedom. There were also suitable enemies and risks to encourage him to constantly challenge himself, take risks, and seek opportunities for advancement amidst danger.

And nestled among them was the gem of the high mountains—Middenheim, a Pandora's box that combined opportunities with challenges, comfort with risks.

As mentioned earlier, the magnificent Middenheim was more like a fortress than a town. Its inhabitants were similar: they were more like a reserve army ready for battle at any moment. Their daily lives were dull and unbearable, but in times of danger, they could spontaneously unite to address the root of the problem.

But this did not mean that Middenheim had lost its function as a city.

The Elector Count of Middenland, Boris Todbringer, vigorously implemented democratic policies in this fortress city, actively listening to suggestions from people of all walks of life... All his enlightened measures had created a city of racial harmony, prosperity, and democracy, which was a remarkable feat admired throughout the Old World.

Because of this, finding suitable bounty missions here was not easy—mercenary opportunities often arose from turmoil and chaos, and how many dirty jobs were there for them to do in peaceful places?

Moreover, the people of Middenland always preferred to resolve conflicts and disputes with their own strength—there was nothing that a duel or a big battle couldn't solve, and if there was, then another one would come.

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Most of the available jobs were posted by those who, for various reasons, could not personally engage in the "glorious and honorable" wars, such as craftsmen like Durinbar or other shopkeepers like merchants.

"Escort, bandit extermination, escort..."

After three hours of wandering, Avi sat alone in an alley, counting on his fingers and muttering to himself, "The tasks aren't difficult, but the rewards have shrunk. With the current level of equipment, completing a mission isn't enough to cover the losses, even with Durinbar's help."

Naturally, the citizen class or peasant class could not provide tasks that would allow the current mercenary group to thrive, so Avi had to look to the provincial military and nobles for opportunities.

The demands of the provincial army were straightforward: since you've proven yourself as a mercenary leader in previous battles, as long as you go and kill the orcs, we are friends. As for the reward—let me clean my ears and ask again, you're under our protection, and you still want to ask us for a reward?

Faced with such a direct and soul-searching question, Avi was speechless. No matter how valiant they were in previous battles, in the eyes of most provincial army generals or captains, those who hadn't participated in direct combat were just mercenaries after all.

Not everyone went to the stronghold Avi and his companions defended. Unless witnessed with their own eyes, the stubborn and proud people of Middenland would never admit that those they looked down upon could achieve anything significant, a sentiment deeply ingrained in the Middenland soldiers.

As for the nobles, the nobility of Middenland was as domineering, proud, and stubborn as their army. Avi found it hard to convince them to believe that he led a mature and skilled mercenary group. In front of these nobles, mercenaries were no match for a real army.

If there was anything that angered the nobles, they would surely use their influence or status to settle the matter first. If they couldn't settle it, these fellows would rather leave things unresolved than ask for help from others.

The grating sound of the winch was drowned out by tinnitus. A day of hard work and inquiries yielded nothing but emptiness and a few taunts. Although Avi wasn't completely discouraged, he felt uneasy in his heart.

As he passed by the military camp once again, a particularly burly middle-aged man stopped him.

"Who are you?"

The man's face was full of scars, and his expression was as resolute and cold as if it had been carved out of marble with a knife. A wide and deep scar ran from his cheekbone all the way to his skull, and the aged scar tissue looked quite terrifying.

"I am Avi, from the 'Bloodhunt Mercenary Group,'" Avi replied, sizing up the giant who stood over two meters tall, "I am looking for tasks worthy of my abilities."

"Bloodhunt." The man squinted as he scanned Avi from head to toe, his gaze finally settling on the sword hilt behind Avi. "Draw your sword and let me see."

Although Avi didn't know who this man was, his calm and almost ruthless tone contained an irresistible force. Avi's attributes on the system weren't enough to confront him, so he could only comply obediently.

With a loud clang, the scarred hand half-drew the sword once again into the sunlight. Thanks to Avi's careful maintenance, although the blade was riddled with scars, the sword still shone brightly enough to cast a shadow, gleaming in the sunlight.

"Hmm, not bad." The man flicked the blade with his thick fingers. "This is Durinbar's work. Otherwise, using it to hack at the muscles and bones of those centaurs and minotaurs, this sword would have broken long ago."

The man's accurate assessment surprised Avi, but before he could ask, the man decisively gave a 'suggestion' that was close to a command.

"This sword proves that you're a qualified warrior. Since you want something to do, continue to fight those bastards lurking in the forest."

The man spoke in a low, cold voice. "As for the reward, when you come back carrying the head of a beast king, tell the guards you're looking for someone named 'Maximilian.'"

With that, he strode back into the camp like a moving mountain, leaving Avi alone in bewilderment.