The day was long, and after talking with Earleon, Zethir left the tent.

  Although their mission was treacherous, and they'd be dancing with death, no one in the group appeared nervous.

  Originally, he wasn't bothered by the atmosphere and wanted to just sit in a corner and wait for time to pass. But the others had other plans.

  “Hey, man!” Hans came over, his signature grin bright and wide. “Zethir, right? The name's Hans, by the way. So like, what do you do?”

  Zethir frowned. Han's way of talking irked him in a way he couldn't explain—but he pushed it aside for now.

  “I'm a mercenary.”

  Hans laughed loudly, slapping his abdomen while he was at it. “Well, duh! All of us are, man!” Shaking his head, Hans sat on the ground next to Zethir.

  Instantly, Zethir's nose scrunched up. ‘Does this guy think he's a woman?!’

  He couldn't help but want to move away. Hans was by no means dirty—nor was anyone in the group. However, for some reason, he reeked of perfume, and a strong one at that.

  Seeing his discomfort, Hans bashfully sat a bit further away from Zethir. “Hey, excuse the smell ‘ight. My wife… my wife… haa…” He rubbed his face with both hands.

  “She says with things like this, no vixen would dare approach me.”

  “I didn't ask.” Zethir's face darkened. He didn't know whether to be angry at the smell or the dog food shoved to his mouth.

  Hand grinned. “Don't worry, it's fine.”

  ‘What the hell is fine?!’ Zethir shot Hans an ugly look, but the latter didn't notice.

  Leaning back, Hans spoke. “Why did you join Earl?”

  “Earleon?” Zethir scoffed. Before he spoke, he yanked a napkin out of his pocket and covered his nose. Taking a deep breath, he sighed in relief.

  “He saved me, so I owe him a favor or two,” Zethir replied.

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  Hans giggled. “Heh, you too?”

  “...you were saved by Earleon as well?” Zethir glanced at Hans, and then at the rest of the group. In total, including him, Hans, and Earleon, the group had ten people in it.

  “Yes,” Hans nodded beside him. Then, following Zethir's gaze, he watched the others, who were chattering to kill the time.

  “Everyone here was saved by Earleon. I was the first,” Hans said. “He saved me decades ago. Back then, I had just entered the kingdom’s army at the age of fifteen.”

  Zethir peeked at Hans’ face. The man had acorn-brown eyes and black hair, and his face was smoother than a woman's. ‘This guy's an old man?’

  Hans obviously noticed Zethir's stinging gaze. “Oi, I'm only thirty eight!”

  “No one asked,” Zethir looked back at the group. At the same time, Earleon left the tent and the group pulled him into their conversation.

  “Tsk, you're like, annoying. Do you hear that often?” Hans grumbled. But before Zethir could retort, he asked, “How did he save you?”

  Zethir paused. ‘...the hell am I supposed to say, he brought me back to life?’

  In the end, he shook his head, before standing up and walking over to the rest of the group. Hans called out, but was forced to follow him after being ignored.

  “Ah, Hans, Zethir!” Noticing them, someone from the group called out. It was a slender man wearing a thick pair of eyeglasses and a brown cloak.

  Zethir nodded, listening as the man introduced himself as Jessy, an elite arcane mage. “Earleon said that you know a few spellcasters, is that true?”

  Jessy asked, his dark green eyes twinkling at the sentence. Zethir thought for a moment, realizing that apart from Jessy and Earleon, the rest of the group were warriors.

  “If you want me to introduce them, I'm afraid that's not possible,” Zethir shook his head.

  Jessy raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Why not? Don't worry, no matter how grumpy, all spellcasters will get along, one way or the other.”

  Zethir looked at Earleon, who shrugged. Then, he looked back at Jessy. “They're dead.”

  Although he couldn't remember much during the battle at Fortress Arho, he didn't see many arrows around. In other words, the archers all left. Apart from chasing after Marco and Augustin, Zethir had no other guesses as to why they'd leave mid-fight.

  “Oh… that's… too bad, then,” Jessy sighed heavily.

  “Oi, don't dampen the mood, man!” Hans shook his head. “Who wants to go to the bar?!” He grinned, roaring like a barbarian.

  Everyone but Zethir looked at Earleon, who snorted at Hans. “If you're treating everyone, remember that you're not spending my money. Nor my son's!”

  Hans froze on the spot.

  Zethir tutted, inwardly scolding Hans. ‘Fool. Look, you lost your free wallet!’

  The entire group shook their heads. Not knowing what to do, Hans quietly stepped back, whistling as though nothing happened.

  Before long, as the sun was about to set, Zethir found himself sitting alone beneath a tall tree, away from the group.

  ‘I can't train yet,’ he glanced down at his hands. While he could train his body, he couldn't use energy. Without the help of energy, most exercises wouldn't make him sweat.

  Likewise, if he pushes himself too hard, his body might go into shock.

  ‘Should I hone my swordsmanship?’ He wondered, when a shadow suddenly loomed over him. Lifting his head, he found a lean man looking at him with his amber-brown eyes.

  ‘This guy… What was his name again? Henry? Harry?’ Zethir's brows creased needlessly.

  At the same time, the man spoke. “I know you,” he said.

  Zethir was taken aback, and he looked at the man's features. The man had light brown hair to match his eyes, but his skin was somehow fair and milky.

  “...do we know each other?” Zethir asked. He couldn't remember meeting the man before.

  “No,” the man glanced at Zethir's waist, where his sword was tied to. “But I've heard of your infamy. Stone hearted, cruel, vicious… treacherous…”

  Zethir's face turned odd. “What do you want?”

  “I want to spar,” the man lifted his hand to pat the sword tied to his waist. Unlike Zethir's current sword, the man's sword was more like his old one.

  A plain, iron sword.

  “To gather so much infamy in such a short time, you must be skilled,” the man said in a flat tone. For a moment, Zethir didn't know if the man was mocking him or praising him.

  “I won't get anything from this,” Zethir shook his head, but the man did the same.

  “I've heard from Earl, you're injured. Let's make it fair, neither of us will use energy. And the loser has to grant the winner's wish.”

  Zethir frowned. “If you win, what do you want?”

  The man stared at him. “I want you to leave. You're not like us, you're vile,” he spar.

  Zethir grinned.

  “Then, if I win… I want an energy core.”

  The man's face crumpled in an instant.