After leaving the blacksmith shop, Zethir found himself standing at the Mercenary Building’s Lobby in the middle of the night. Although the building was open 24/7, at this time, he only saw two mercenaries lounging the night away.

As for the staff, there were only two ladies gossiping behind the counter.

Unfazed, Zethir walked toward the mission board, his gaze scanning all the available tasks.

‘There’s no good ones,’ he thought. The board was full of escort or gathering missions, all of which were not his forte.

He was a swordsman, and killing was all he knew.

‘Better wait for others,’ he shook his head, scanning the lobby and finding an empty seat at the corner. After taking a seat, he bowed his head, closing his eyes.

Then and there, his consciousness blurred, his mind in the middle of asleep and awake.

BANG!

Suddenly, the door slammer opened, prompting him to open his eyes. Tilting his head up, he looked at the wide-open door, and the man standing before it.

‘It’s him,’ Zethir narrowed his eyes, watching Agustin in silence. ‘Does he want revenge that bad? …whatever. When the time comes, I'll kill him too.’

With that in mind, Zethir lowered his head, closing his eyes again.

“Hey, rank 6!” Augustin yelled, pointing at Zethir. However, the latter didn't raise his head.

“I know you're awake! You just looked at me!” he huffed.

Zethir's fingers twitched, and a vein in his forehead bulged. Exhaling to calm himself, he opened his eyes and raised his head, looking at Augustin.

“What do you want?” He spat, his voice deep like a drum.

Augustin gulped, while a girl whistled from the side. Both of them ignored the whistle.

“Since you killed my teammate, you have to take responsibility and accept me,” Augustin, with a proud smile, patted his chest. It was like his “teammate” that was killed by Zethir yesterday wasn't his “best brother.”

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Zethir hummed, lowering his head and pulling the hood of his cloak to cover his whole face. “Sure.”

“Hell yeah!” Augustin cheered, grinning with all his teeth.

Siting next to Zethir, he chirped. “Sooo, mister leader. What's your name? I definitely didn't forget,” he did.

But Zethir didn't reply—he had entered his half-asleep state.

“Hey?” Augustin tilted his head, trying to look under the hood of Zethir's cloak.

However, realizing that if he did, he'd be in an awkward position, he changed his mind. This time, he poked Zethir's arm.

“Hey?”

No response. Brows furrowed, he moved his finger, poking Zethir's thigh.

“Heh,” smirking, he moved his hand, pointing his finger at Zethir's stomach.

“Hey,” Zethir's voice startled Augustin, who tried to take his hand back. But Zethir was gripping his wrist, staring right into Augustin's blue eyes.

“Since you want to follow me so much, then come, let's go.”

Faced with Zethir's ruby-red eyes, Augustin gulped. Opening his mouth…

“So slow,” Zethir scowled, tugging on Augustin's wrist and dragging him out of the Mercenary Union building.

Then, under the bewildered gaze of Augustin, Zethir took him deep into the forest.

{=|=}{=|=}{=|=}

In a tent sitting at a mountain foot…

BANG!

“Where are our reinforcements?!”

Slamming his fist into the metallic desk, a middle-aged man wearing bloodied iron armor roared like thunder. Around him, a dozen young soldiers gathered, wearing bloodied armors just like him.

“Sir, I'm afraid they've run into an ambush,” one of the soldiers said, his voice light like the squeak of a mouse.

“Do you think I don't know that?!” The middle-aged man yelled, turning to face the soldier who spoke up, his face as unsightly as a demon's.

The soldier obediently shrunk his neck, though inwardly, he was cursing. ‘Then why did you ask us?!’

The middle-aged man cleared his throat. “Come on, it's not suitable to stay here. Let's depart and head into the nearest city… But wash up first, or the city might not let us in…”

{=|=}{=|=}{=|=}

“Are you a mage, or are you a warrior?!” Zethir yelled, holding a long, thin, and flexible tree branch. Raising his hand, he used the branch as a whip against Augustin's back!

“ARGH?! Fuck—”

Zethir whipped him again, hitting the same exact spot.

“EEK?! Shit—”

The branch struck thrice, hitting the same spot yet again, turning it scarlet.

“URGH!!! Fffuu—haaa! Hoo! Ha!”

Zethir's lips twitched. “So you're neither. You're a monkey!”

“No!” Augustin yelped, his back arched in pain. “I'm a mage, da—... I swear!”

“You swear?” Zethir narrowed his eyes.

“Yes—No! I mean, I'm certain,” Augustin rubbed his shoulders, while trying to look at his back. If he could see it, he'd cry.

His once unblemished skin, milky like a lady's, was now soiled by a scarlet, whip line.

“Hm,” Zethir moved his gaze to the wooden log in front of Augustin's feet. “If you're a mage, then why can't you lift that tiny thing?” He asked, pointing at the log.

‘...I'm a mage, not a warrior! Why should I lift heavy weights?!’ Augustin threw a tantrum, inside his mind of course.

“I'm out of practice,” he said after half a minute of contemplation.

Zethir shrugged. “Well, now's the time to get in shape,” he swung his “whip,” creating a crisp sound, followed by the sound of wood tearing apart.

Augustin looked at the nearby tree, where a cut appeared on its surface like someone hacked it with an axe.

“Sure, but can I…” he mumbled, making Zethir furrow his brow.

“Are you a monkey-mouse hybrid? Speak loudly!” He crossed his arms, his foot tapping the ground.

“Can I start with something smaller?” Augustin looked at Zethir's lips, not daring to look at the other's eyes.

Zethir chuckled. “I don't know, can you?”

Augustin beamed, nodding like a woodpecker. “Yes! Yes, I can!”

“No, you can't,” Zethir scowled.

“Why can't I?” Augustin frowned, scratching his head.

“Because I'm carrying this,” Zethir pointed at his back with his thumb.

Augustin peeked behind Zethir, before shaking his head with a sigh.

“Fine…” After giving up, he crouched, placing his hands on both sides of the log.

‘Damn it, I'm a mage…! but at least, I don't have to carry iron…’ He smiled, comforting himself at the thought.

As for what Zethir was carrying, it was a thick pillar of iron. It was wider than his body, longer than his torso and head, and three times as thick as his body.