The next day.

Zethir and Augustin arrived early at the city gates, with Augustin still half inside his dreams. As for Zethir, he was wiping his sword clean, having just maintained its sharpness.

They've been waiting for an hour already, and soon enough, another group of mercenaries arrived.

They were a group of six, all of which used a sword and a bow.

‘Green mercenaries,’ Zethir secretly peeked at the group, before shifting his focus back to his sword.

Seeing Zethir and Augustin, the leader of the mercenary group—a tall man with blonde hair—approached.

“Are you part of the mission?” He asked, a polite smile on his somewhat handsome face.

Unfortunately, his politeness was wasted on Zethir.

Seeing the latter refusing to speak, the mercenary frowned. “Heh, suit yourself,” he snorted, returning to his group.

Seeing this, Augustin opened his half-closed eyes. “Why did you do that? Don't you know it's rude?”

Zethir scoffed. “He's not worth my time.”

Augustin’s eyes twitched, before a smile appeared on bis face. “So I'm worth your time? Wow!”

“No,” Zethir said, flatly, scrutinizing his sword and making sure that it was spotless.

Augustin deflated to the ground. “So cruel…”

At this time, another group of mercenaries arrived. This time, there were a dozen of them.

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The leader was wearing an iron armor for his torso, and his green eyes glowed ever so slightly in the dim, early morning. Behind him, the other eleven mercenaries likewise wore chest pieces.

Seeing the two teams of mercenaries in the gathering spot, the green-eyed mercenary smiled and approached Zethir, not even looking at the group of six.

“Hello,” he said, “I'm Marco, an elite mercenary. May I get your name?”

Zethir looked at him, his red eyes dimly glowing under the hood of his cloak. Then, he looked back down at his sword, in the process of sheathing it.

“Zethir, swordsman.”

The green-eyed mercenary clapped his hands lightly. “Ah, what a nice name! Mr. Zethir, I am a mage specializing in arcane… and you might be?”

Marco glanced at Augustin, his eyes losing its glow. Augustin smiled bashfully, rubbing the back of his head. “Augustin, sir! I'm a mage too, practicing the arcane!”

“That's wonderful,” Marco nodded, looking back at Zethir. “You have an adorable companion. Well, we'll be on our way, let's hope our employer arrives on time.”

“Hm,” Zethir nodded.

As Marco and his team left, Augustin breathed a sigh of relief. “Hoo~ Man! That was nerve-wracking… so, why was he worth your time?”

Zethir scoffed. “He wasn't.”

“...” Augustin wanted to slap himself. “...then why did you speak with him?”

“It was all pleasantries,” Zethir scoffed.

Augustin blinked rapidly, but just as he was about to open his mouth, the clanking of iron armor could be heard approaching.

All the mercenaries turned their heads, watching as Fernando and his troops walked toward them.

“Is this all of you?” Fernando frowned.

“No, sir. I believe there's another group,” Marco politely said, gathering Fernando's gaze. Then, Fernando's deep-orange eyes started to glow, while Marco simply smiled at him.

“Hm, you're an elite,” Fernando nodded. “Very well, we shall wait for the other team. But first, you!” He pointed at the group of six.

“State your rank!”

“Y-yes, sir!” The six mercenaries shot up, straight like arrows.

“Rank 5, sir,” the leader, the one with blonde hair, spoke up. “The rest are rank 4s, sir!”

“Tsk, meat shields,” Fernando muttered, turning toward Zethir.

“Hm, another elite?” He asked, his eyes emitting a glow. Zethir looked at him, before frowning.

“I see,” Fernando nodded, turning to look at Augustin. “And you?!”

Augustin nearly melted on the spot. “H-his companion, sir!”

“Hm,” Fernando tutted, before sweeping a gaze over all of them.

“Twenty, with only two elites. The last team should have another elite,” Fernando said, crossing his arms. Just as he did, a whistle came from behind.

“Yo, yo~ Am I late?” There, a mercenary clad in full iron armor leisurely walked toward them, a solid, iron spear resting on his shoulder. He had long, golden hair tied to a ponytail, and his eyes were a sapphire blue.

“Sorry ‘bout that. The name's Lance, a spearman. So, shall we get going now?” He said in a sing-song voice.

Fernando’s face darkened, his eyes glowing but Lance just whistled at his actions. “You're alone?” He asked.

Lance flinched, looking behind him. “Strange, I'm pretty sure there's no one behind me.”

Fernando's hands tightened at his biceps, before he uncrossed his arms. “Noble! Since you came here, you are now a mercenary! Drop your arrogance before I—”

“Haaa, royals and their mighty temper,” Lance shook his head. “Worry not, mister O’ your majesty, his highness the… the crown prince, the emperor! King o’ all gods! I will not disobey your orders, my liege, so long as you give me money.”

The area fell silent, making Lance blink his gem-like eyes, looking around. “Hey? What happened?”

“Heh,” Zethir smirked, whispering to Augustin. “I like this guy.”