Rothem was a young, but growing, mercenary. Being a mercenary was a dangerous occupation, but his parents were getting old and his sister was sick.

Someone needed to bring home the bread. As the only one fit for the job, he had to do it.

His family needed him.

He wasn’t going to lie and say everything he did was right, he was growing more used to this uncaring world everyone lived in. He couldn’t count the number of times he watched his comrades commit unsavory crimes against men, women, and… even children.

It was a fucked up world they lived in.

Even if he never ventured further from his own country, he was sure.

‘These were dark and evil times.’

However, even if he knew there was a cry for help right above the floor in the inn he was resting in, he always chose to turn a blind eye.

It was better for him to not get involved, he was no hero from some fairy tale. He was just the average man, trying to provide for his family in any way he could.

Being a mercenary was a dirty job, you had to take up whatever safe mission you could get your grubby little hands on. Some missions were easy, some were difficult, and others were downright impossible.

If you aren’t quick enough or strong enough as a mercenary… you’ll either be as broke as the homeless man in front of the bakery or be as dead as the man in a coffin.

‘It all happens before you know it.’

Everyone who has become a mercenary learns that fact clearly, sooner or later.

That’s probably why his comrades are so desensitized to the inhumane things they were doing.

He then remembered the treaty signed by over 157 countries that he read in an old newspaper a long time ago when he was 12 years old.

Newspapers were something that was only made recently and publicly around a century ago.

The treaty, “Protection for Dregs,” was made to create “World Peace” throughout the world.

To Rothem, it was just a set of regulations–no, suggestions on what the 157 countries could do to each other openly in a conflict.

Instead of just ruthlessly attacking each other head on like wild dogs in the alley fighting for the last bit of trash, they fought by nibbling the other’s brain.

However, he has never ever seen this treaty being applied inside a country. Especially the Dagon Kingdom, the country he lived in.

Here in Dagon, nobody could care less about the lives of people, let alone the law.

War Crimes are being constantly committed within the country everyday. He passes by a newspaper on the floor and all it talks about is the amount of increasingly heinous crimes being committed within the country.

He swore that there was never so much crime a century ago!

Yet, all the officials, nobles, and royalty ever cared about was their own power.

He was sick of it. He hated this corrupt country to his bones.

Rothem recalled a newspaper he read today. It was an official announcement from the royal family.

It was something along the lines of “WORLD PEACE IS IMMINENT” as the main title.

However, it was followed by “IF YOU SUPPORT THE WAR AGAINST OF THE SWORD OF ALL…”

Rothem didn’t even need to read the rest. He knew this was a hidden tactic against the public. It was propaganda!

He precisely hated this manipulative tactic employed by those in power to control the weak.

‘Those people in power must know. They know that everyone hates their guts.’

As Rothem was standing still, immersed in his own negative thoughts and emotions; his fellow mercenary, who was passing by behind him likely as part of his patrol, noticed his comrade’s odd state.

“Yo, you good,” the voice sounded unfamiliar to Rothem. However, he didn’t think much of it.

As he snapped out of his thoughts, he replied back, “Huh? Oh, I’m fine.”

He spun around and took a look at his fellow mercenary. They were dressed with leather armor over cloth, flexible cotton pants, and leather boots with sturdy straps.

They were also adorned with a large brimmed hat that covered their face in a deep shadow.

Overall, they looked like a mysterious senior mercenary to Rothem. Someone he didn’t aspire to be, but respected nonetheless as someone of the same hard trade.

“Focus on the job. I might get affected if you slack off. We only get first picks if we do our jobs right,” the mercenary then said seriously, “It's not everyday you get a simple and safe job like watching over goods and slaves, you hear?”

Nodding his head in understanding, Rothem responded, “Ah, understood sir. What you say is right.”

The Smiling Hands Caravan had been rather famous lately, mostly for importing quality slaves and specialty spices from other regions. However, they also sold fantastic equipment and gear catered to those who needed to venture into danger.

Getting hired by them was a stroke of good fortune for Rothem. Perhaps a rare blessing given to him by the world.

Even if there were dubious rumors regarding their involvement with The Swords of All, it wasn’t a downside to Rothem. In fact, if the rumors were true, he would support it wholeheartedly.

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It has been said that the rebel group had been butchering the nobility like pigs and spreading their wealth across the impoverished.

To Rothem, who hated those in power like his mortal enemy, he admired them and wanted to join them even if he didn’t know much about them.

If not for the fact that he had a family to take care of, he might’ve seeked to become one of their members somehow.

“Hey, are you sure you understand,” the senior mercenary asked again in his strangely sporadic voice.

“Oh, I got lost in my thoughts again. How embarrassing…”

Rothem apologized to the senior mercenary.

“Don’t lose focus again. You’ve still got a lot to learn, rookie. Here,” The senior mercenary handed over a lantern.

“It's your turn to patrol the slaves.”

Rothem took the lantern into his left hand, leaving his spear in his right, and asked, “Alright, what about you?”

“I’ve been called by Dawson. He said he needed a hand with something,” the senior mercenary replied.

“I see,” feeling something amiss, but unable to articulate why he just nodded along.

As the mercenary turned around, he caught a peek under the hat.

‘What was up with those eyes?’

Rothem couldn’t help but notice the glint in the mercenary’s eyes for a moment. They seemed to be filled to the brim with something intelligent, always observing and thinking.

“Take care,” the mercenary turned and left the tent’s exit.

“Ah, yes, take care.”

Rothem stood still, thinking to himself about those eyes.

‘Perhaps, those were the eyes of a truly experienced mercenary… I’ve got a lot to learn.’

He turned back before a question popped into his mind suddenly…

‘Why didn’t I see the mercenary insignia on their chest?’

Realizing an oddity with the senior mercenary, Rothem pondered upon a reason. After some quick thinking, he came to a conclusion.

‘They must have left it at home. No way someone like that was not a mercenary.’

He then went off to take over patrol of the slaves.

Just as he was about to round a corner of crates to patrol the cages, he stopped. He looked into the line of cells on both sides, everything hidden under the darkness of the tent.

The only light was a small lantern in his left hand.

‘Something… is wrong.’

He didn’t notice it before when talking with the senior mercenary, but the sounds made by raging and whimpering slaves… he couldn’t hear it.

In fact…

It was dead silent.

It was unnerving.

From some unknown unidentifiable sense, he felt the urge to run.

‘Hah… I must be nervous since I got caught slacking off.’

Even though he tried to assure himself that nothing was wrong, he still held the spear next to him tightly.

He didn’t know why he was tightening the grip on his weapon. Was it… from fear?

“Calm down. It's just some low-class slaves…”

Why would he ever fear slaves? It must be a joke.

Then was he afraid of the dark? Even worse.

If his family, friends, or anyone who knew him found out that he was afraid of the dark; he’d be the punchline to a massive joke.

He took a breath to calm himself as he remembered his family.

“Sweet child, you’re just in time, supper is ready.”

“Young man, is your body okay? Hurt anywhere?”

“Big brother… you’re back.”

He smiled to himself as he remembered the warm welcomes he would receive when he returned home.

‘I’m not afraid of anything!’

Strike…!

Slump…

Rothem didn’t realize what happened. He only felt an immense pain at the back of his head as he fell forward onto the ground. Barely maintaining consciousness, he managed to hear a female voice.

“Sorry, but I need to eliminate as many obstacles as possible for my plan to work.”

He first saw a pair of leather boots. As he looked up, he saw those glinting eyes, eyes he thought came from an experienced mercenary.

In their hand was a bloodied brick.

Rothem made a critical mistake.

He wasn’t observant enough.

He wasn’t cautious enough.

He didn’t consider the circumstances carefully enough.

He wasn’t as open minded to possibilities as he thought.

For that, he will now die.

He then had some flashbacks of his life.

Rothem always knew he wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed, as he was always tricked by others. He was a stupid man, a very stupid family man.

He then remembered something his bedridden sister once said to him.

‘Idiot brother! Do you really only rely on the newspaper to see the world! What happened to your eyes! Even if I am stuck in bed all day, I can still see the beauty that exists constantly in the world.’

His sister then counted on her hands as she listed out her favorite things in the world, ‘The bustling streets, the fancy carriages, and the smell of mom’s cooking…’

After that, he remembered his cute blushing sister mumbling at the end, ‘Looking at the newspapers will only make you feel bad… so don’t look at them anymore.’

With that, his flashbacks started to fade as reality returned.

‘Mother… father… sister…’

With only his family as his final thoughts, Rothem’s life was cut short.

===

‘That should be the last mercenary. At least from within the tent.’

In total, she killed about four mercenaries using a combination of disguise and sneak attacks from behind.

It was fortunate for her that all of them had their guard down and didn’t seem to be familiar with each other.

The Smiling Hands Caravan’s offer was only able to interest the type of mercenaries who wanted to avoid risk and make easy money. So it was no wonder that all the mercenaries they hired were all relatively low skilled, untrained, and inexperienced.

In addition to the tight-spending habits of the Smiling Hands that she was familiar with, it made for rather lax security and protocols; as seen by how each mercenary patrolled alone.

This lax security allowed her to hide and stealthily steal equipment and items from several crates to form her disguise as a fellow mercenary.

Of course, if the patrolling mercenaries found out about her escape or noticed something amiss and went on their guard, she would not have been so successful in silently slaughtering them one by one.

That was why she refrained from using her knife to kill, opting for a heavy brick she found holding up the corner of a damaged crate.

After all, the smell of blood from using a knife would blow her cover.

Adding onto her troubles, she was on a time limit.

Although she hid Dawson’s body in her cage when she realized no one was coming for a while, the power of the odor brought by unwashed slaves is limited.

It was only a matter of time before Dawson’s bloody corpse was found by the mercenaries if she didn’t quickly deal with all the mercenaries.

It wasn’t because she was strong that was successful. It was because she resolved herself and had a simple and clear plan.

Vow stood next to the corpse of some young mercenary, whom she did not know a thing of. Not his story, his reason for living as a mercenary, or his aspirations and sorrows.

She didn’t need to know nor did she want to.

Everyone had a story and it was a given that they would be forgotten when they died. Their death may end up affecting others, but that was inevitable when doing anything.

The consequences of her actions that do not affect her are of no importance to her. She has no reason to care.

It is cruel, yet that was going to be life from now on for Vow.

She was far from a kind and selfless person.

She was no saint or hero.

Vow isn’t deluded enough to think what she does is right or that her enemies were evil.

She wouldn’t hesitate to take extreme actions to get what she wants.

However, it wasn’t like she was some kind of blood crazy monster either. If she can avoid violence to get what she wants, she is more than happy to do so.

‘Extreme actions, extreme reactions.’

It was a saying she sneakily read in a book as a slave. It was best to resort to methods other than violence whenever possible.

“Rest well.”

She gave a small farewell to the corpse as she walked past the body and towards the cells of the cages.

There was still no sound from the cages.

As she walked closer to the center of all the cages, the rising sounds of murmuring ensued and animal growlings.

“I have come to… set you all free,” she said enticingly to every slave in the vicinity. These slaves had all been watching her kill off each mercenary one by one.

Then she stopped her steps.

She took off the leather hat, something she stole randomly along with all her other items from the crates owned by the caravan, to ask all the entrapped souls.

“What is your answer,” she said to all who could hear her as she rose a square silver key for all to see.

The murmurs and growls became silent.