The city of Norxauk is the main city of Maldent Trading, managing the monopoly of the towns around it while letting the settlements govern themselves. The leaders of the company occupy the city hall along with their City Council, made out of high-level working men, although when Maldent Trading issues a proclamation, which is rare, they will follow it. Most of the time, Maldent Trading manages the monopoly and safeguards the settlements with their hired forces, while the council does the actual governing over the city.

A brilliant blue gem sitting on a wire stand glowed, and it was etched on parchment with magic. The [Merchant Leader] of Maldent Trading read the letter, sent via a [Message] Spell by an informant from Dotterm.

An Elf that looked like in his thirties with ashen hair bore the weight of his age of hundred-and-fifty years wiped his brow and lightly bit his lips. He sat in his office within Norxauk’s City Hall, staring at his personal Letteretch Gem, a magically attuned gem designed to receive [Messages] for him and it etches the [Message] on the parchment. He set aside the letter in one of his neatly-organized cabinets.

“That brat?” He sighed as he read that Numisley resurrected his own company from the ashes of Gildin Trading that had been subjugated in Belias’ blatant takeover of their territory in Renimburg, which gave him a headache since trade in the area was suffering as well as the loss of the Adymine Mine, the newly discovered dungeon, as well as Jascias Gildin, one of their best [Merchants] under them. He knew that it is an attempt to break free from his company, and he weighed whether or not he would let the boy be or not.

The boy was already past his territory, and he was near the domain of one of the Corporations. He tsked, a habit of his when he was stressed. He wrote to his contacts in the region, including the one who informed him, Ali Iwrif, an acquaintance of his, seeking to hire people to keep tabs on that upstart young [Trader].

Someone knocked on his door.

“Open.” The owner of Maldent Trading, Dravemn Maldent straightened his posture.

At first, he looked like a two-foot-tall Human, if you left out the insectile eyes, hair that resembles more like long pointy setae, and the sub-dermal exoskeleton’s edges slightly bulging under his rubbery skin. He is a Tinyfolk, a people local to the continent as much as Satyrs are before the ancient Yhrilian empires came.

“The Daoweyndion Deathseekers had successfully reclaimed Renimburg. Their casualties are…45 dead out of 60.” The Tinyfolk at his door reported.

Dravemn can imagine his fellow older Elves simply charging towards volleys of arrows and [Fireballs] without hesitation and throwing themselves towards the walls of Renimburg, seeking death so that they could end their suffering endemic to their species. This is why every army in the world wants Deathseekers, especially from the Elves’ original home continent of Aemu; those elderly Elves who fear another second of their lives forgetting themselves, devolving into madness each year, and seeking the embrace of death in the battlefield instead of coin.

“That reminds me…I need to kill myself when I will get Elf’s Madness in the future.”

“Sir?” The Tinyfolk mouthed, worried.

“Nothing. Tell them that I might have a mission for the fifteen remaining Deathseekers in Joltstown. Also, please send these letters to my contacts, via Messenger’s Guild, not via [Message].” He ordered.

-

“Fâché, who sent you?” A leader of a gang startingly stood up from lying down on the soft sofa elevated on a platform above the rest of the gambling tables as a Satyr with oil-black skin under his sleek doublet. His gang, once skulkers in the streets, is now one of the competing major factions in Tucken. They faced each other within one of the more prominent areas of the gambling house, where the local high-rollers play.

“Whose all roads of Liberan lead to.” The Satyr spoke of a vague statement that subtly tells him who is he affiliated with, and the [Gamblers] within the gambling house went silent. They knew who controls the major land routes in the center of Libertalia.

Raynios Joda closed the door and activated the anti-eavesdropping enchantments in his office after abruptly leaving the main hall of the gambling house because he didn’t want any spies to hear about this, but it might be too late. He sat with the [Negotiator] representing one of the Corporations of Libertalia.

“What do you want?” The [Gang Leader] asked. Normally he would try to intimidate those who wanted to talk to him and make them pay a fee, but he wouldn’t dare do that right now, because the weight of the Satyr’s presence had displayed what organization is he presenting.

“I come here, on behalf of those who all roads lead to, for a simple deal…” His voice was silky and deep, with the sharpness of a knife that threatens to slash anyone who offends him. His ringed gaze was like what some people call their species: "demon spawn. “.A young man named Numisley Gildin of Gildin Trading will come to you in a few days and will attempt to hire you.”

A glittering red gem, a ruby the size of his hand-rolled on his wooden table. The [Gang Leader]’s eyes stared at the ruby-like he was trying to grab it with his gaze alone.

“This ruby is worth 500 gold. This shall be your payment for simply refusing the man called Numisley Gildin.”

“That’s not enough-”

“It is enough, Raudaeiz Jaucles. Level 70 [Thief Leader].”

The [Gang Leader] tried to pull out his dagger, but it was stuck in place, harder than pulling out a sword from a stone. The Satyr seemed to stop his hostility with a glare; another Feat of his perhaps. He settled down and adjusted his posture on his cushioned seat. His attempt to wring out more coins from this [Negociator] failed.

“How did you know my real name? Or my Level and Role?” Raudaeiz asked. He was sure that his anti-scrying ring and the ring that protected him from [Appraisal] Feats and Spells can even fool a Watch Captain.

“We are a Corporation after all.” The Satyr boasted. “We know everything that passes through our roads.”

The Satyr left the gambling house within the Mugged Mug Tavern after he concluded his deal splendidly, and he made more deals with the [Mayor] and the important leaders of the city and set a lot of traps when his client’s target arrives.

-

Atasaney’s Prowlers had roamed in another battlefield within the Yokelaine Plains, near to the Alimentaire Salt Flats, after spending much of their money with their reward from their strange and dangerous contract to buy more gear for his [Mercenaries]: fletched javelins, some of them were enchanted for the more important targets that they would encounter, enspelled wands that can be recharged, three Scrolls of Messages, spellbooks for the few [Mages] in his employ, and most of the [Mercenaries] either spend it for themselves or with the hefty amount of money that they have, many of them had quit the company, forming a traveling band so that each of them can go to their families in one piece. He already used one so he could advertise his services to the [General] who commanded the army that Tucken raised and bought, and the [General] had agreed that he can enter her army and discuss further terms.

“I wonder what’s the reason for the contract…”Ridi uttered, remembering the last contract that they had undertaken, and also was his first contract under a new company.

“To survive long in this continent, you don’t answer questions like that, unless you want your room to explode in the middle of the night while you sleep like a baby.” Atasaney handed out a bit of advice.

“I see…”

“But I knew the reason why. And we failed the contract, but we get paid in full regardless. Because that’s them paying me to keep silent about it.”

Ridi raised his eyebrows. He wondered what kind of intrigue they were involved in.

“There’s another reason why we’re here. Because I heard that our target in the past is coming here to sell.” Atasaney explained. “Captain Baraqeuz, news about Gildin Trading?”

A tall and bulky Lizardfolk rode up to him; unlike the child-like, small Lizardfolk Skinks, who comprised most of the Lizardfolk population, he is a Tegu, one of the most common evolutions of Lizardfolk as they get older. One of the original members of the company.

“I heard from a [War Merchant] that he already sold his wares in the Thunderous March’s camp.” The Lizardman answered. “Most likely he’ll lead his caravan here.”

“Unlucky for him. Many [Mercenaries] here already bought weapons and supplies from the [Merchants] who already sold their goods in the Tucken’s camp.” Atasaney replied. “Besides, he is what..? A Level 10 or something [Shopkeeper]?”

Ridi and Baraquez as well as those near them laughed at that joke. Beforehand, their leader told them of the plan if ever their target arrived in the camp. The cavalry of now 20 men and women; career [Mercenaries] who have no families to return to had remained in Atasaney’s command.

The [Riders] had arrived in the camp, surrounded by temporarily conjured [Earth Walls] that are more like five-foot mounds of earth that also serve as makeshift battlements that [Soldiers] can take cover in and step up to let loose arrows and spells on. Strategic locations on the perimeter also had mantlets erected so that these are more fortified to an extent. It was a temporary camp, a step below a more permanent fort, like those used by attackers in extended sieges before the official war between the borders of the two city-states begins.

Atasaney’s company entered one of the openings within the camp’s defenses, guarded by [Soldiers] behind mantlets. They rode among the tents of the combined army consisting of the city’s standing army that was depleted in the last war with Joltstown five years ago, a dozen mercenary groups supplementing the city-state’s army, and the Gahkee Tribe, their nomadic Satyr allies that trade cotton, leather, and their famous war beasts: Steelwool Bison, and many magical animals that they bred and herded, in exchange for their protection from the other armed groups harassing them in the Yokelaines and half of their salt and many other commodities.

Atasaney’s eyes turned to the left side of the camp, which was separate from the much larger army camps with their sprawling tents and wagons. The Gahkee Tribe is much smaller, but no less formidable with a circle of a hundred teepees surrounded by erected totems on wagons, and the many bison, dogs, and other beasts seem to patrol the camp.

Aside from the teepees, there are large wagons, even some the size of houses or with two floors pulled by six-legged hulking bison. Many of these wagons were connected to the teepees as a part of a building. [Shamans] were beating drums and chanted wildly, and Atasaney’s [Riders] swore that the grass seemed to dance under their horses’ hooves, and Atasaney and the other Satyrs in the party felt drawn to the ritual, and somehow refreshed. Around the largest wagon, attached to multiple teepees, was guarded by Satyrs with longer horns, glistening muscles, and much taller than any regular Satyr; Fauntyrs, Satyrs that had given the privilege to access some of their demonic heritage to become physically better in every way.

Although the camps were separate, the people still mingled. Two Satyrs were playing magical cards with three Humans and a Lizardfolk; the cards swapped within themselves with each turn with a command word. [Mercenaries] traded simple charms with Satyr [Traders], and the Satyrs shared meals with the rest of the army. This was also one of the reasons why Atasaney chose to side with Tucken over Joltstown aside from his plans and profit, even if he wasn’t a true Satyr that lived in the tribes of the valleys, forests, and deserts.

Atasaney left his company in the stables, and he headed towards the main building, a temporary square headquarters raised with geomancy. He handed his weapons to the [Soldiers] guarding the wooden doors of the headquarters.The Satyr walked into the building and he saw the Human woman with bandages wrapped around her chest, her dark skin bearing the scars of countless battles. Her serrated glaive was made out of some kind of green-yellow metal encrusted with yellow, red, and blue gems embedded on the blade. Her faint blue metal helmet and dimly glowing cuirass hung on her armor stand.

“Atasaney…right?” The [General] looked up from her battle map absently. The Satyr instantly knew from her Aura, or simply the way that she carried herself even if she sat on a simple wooden chair, wrapped in bandages that he would most likely lose if she ever fought him, even if he was on his horse.

“Yes, General Karaiste.” He knows her name even before then because she was a famous adventurer in the region and a leader of her own mercenary company before settling down in Tucken’s army. “My company specializes in mid-range skirmishing in battles other than bounty hunting. We had served in the Paryhst-Onoroix War, fought for the town of Wyald against the Sime’noos Tribe…”

“I know how experienced you are.” Karaiste cut him off. “What I want to know is how much I can pay you? You have twenty men and women only, so I can assume that something has happened to the other half.”

“They quit my company willingly. A few were injured from my last contract.”

“What can I do with twenty [Riders], high-level as you are? How much do you charge?”

“Thirty gold for every mission you assign for us. We can be good skirmishers or officer-hunters.”

“Hmm…” The [General] thought that was surprisingly cheap. “Y’all can stay at my camp for now. I’ll summon you when there’s a battle plan. Make trouble, or I’ll scalp ye’.”

“Thank you.” Atasaney slightly bowed his head.

-

Before Numisley arrived in the camp of the Tucken army, he had sold his wares to the Lightning March's troops, miles away from the city of Joltstown.

Numisley had managed to secure a meeting with the [Mercenary General] of the Thunderous March after waiting for a day after they sold some of their goods. As expected, many [Merchants] had passed by, and some remain in their camp which gave Numisley stiff competition. But it was not wholly unprofitable, as they had sold some of their grain and kegs of beer, as well as spare spears and armor for there's no shortage of the demand for them in armies. What caught the attention of the [General] of the Thunderous March was when Numisley was dispensing small secrets to the other [Mercenaries], which led him to the meeting. The [General] had personally witnessed how people were drawn to him, more so than the [Merchants] in his camp because he had noticed that he had [Lesser Charisma], on top of Numisley’s natural charismatic ability and a certain element of his presence; he deemed him as a different kind of threat.

“...So, I would like to offer my service to you, General Thuntelch. I can give you the information about the enemy’s camp when I come to sell my wares to them, and in exchange, you will give me a hundred gold-”

The tall Dwarf, with his other right half partially petrified because he had lost his hand in a battle long ago, raised his remaining left hand. He researched the [Mercenary General] of the Thunderous March, Sanzelc Thuntelch. He knew that within the book of secrets that he held.

“I can already do that with my [Scouts].” The [General] cut Numisley off.

“But I’m not finished yet.” Numisley countered. “I know that you have [Army: Lightning Bolt] as a unit-wide Bound Spell from your Role as [Thundermarch General]. As well as other knowledge of your Feats that can be useful to your enemies.”

The Dwarven [General] smashed the wooden table in outrage. His Role and some of his Feats were private information after all. His fist had fallen like thunder and it even scorched both halves of the table.

“How did you know that?” Sanzelc rumbled like thunder.

“I’m simply a seller of information. If I were to go to Tucken’s camp, I will tell you where they store their supplies, so you can burn them in a raid. How about it?” Numisley offered.

“How can I be sure that you won’t betray me? You won't leave this place alive if you do.”

“I have a Feat. [Bloodbound Contract]. Either of us will die if one of us breaks the contract that I will write with this.”

After the table was replaced along with a pot of ink, quill, and papers, Numisley wrote the contract, and the ink reddened into actual blood as it dried on the beige paper, binding both of them in blood. The deal was done, and he was now in the camp of Tucken’s hired forces after a day and a half of travel.

Numisley’s caravan was outside of the camp, along with the other merchant caravans. Of course, they took precautions against [Spies] and the like, so they do not let any outsiders in except for the [Mercenaries] they hire. Beforehand, Numisley sent one of the Severed Swords with a scouting Feat, but she reported that the totems around the camp seem to watch her, so that attempt was delayed.

By chance, Atasaney’s Prowlers encountered Numisley and Cultrost, along with the rest of the caravan. Both sides drew their weapons; swords were drawn, spears and wands were pointed warily to the opposing side, and crossbows pulled taut as soon as they recognized each other. The other [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries] under the command of the [General] were also alerted.

“Lower your weapons!” Numisley stomped Palvt’s staff on the ground. So far, he hadn’t managed to learn how to use the bound spells in it, or cast magic in general, so he had used it in place of his missing walking cane. Aside from the Severed Swords, even the camp’s [Soldiers] faltered.

Atasaney gestured his men and women to lower his weapons and appraised Numisley with his Feat, and he was honestly impressed. Even without seeing his Feats and Roles, he can see how he carried himself like one of the nobility.

“What are you doing here?” Atasaney asked. Numisley recognized him as one of the [Riders] who ambushed them in the Overthere Hills, and he had a sudden idea.

“To make a deal. I want to hire you for the duration of my travel towards the continent. 40 gold per moon.” Numisley announced. His brother jerked his shoulder back.

“They are the people who attacked us back in the hills!” Cultrost whispered. Graten stared at Numisley, tightening his grip on his scabbard as the rest of the Severed Swords protested, grumbling loudly.

“I know.” Numisley swatted Cultrost’s hand and he straightened himself with the staff.

“Then why?” Culttrost asked, raising his voice slightly.

“A snake that you have on a leash is better than a snake in the bush,” Numisley answered, citing a local idiom. “Besides, they are [Mercenaries]. Yesterday’s enemies will become tomorrow’s allies if you have enough money. I can use them.”

“But what about Graten and his men? They killed them.”

“They will deal with it. At least for a moon before we arrive at the safer cities of the Exiled Coasts.”

“You’re making a mistake, brother.” Cultrost walked away towards the caravan. Numisley turned back to Atasaney.

“I understand. We’ll try not to kill them.” Atasaney quipped. “Problem is that I’m already hired by General Karaiste, so do you still want to hire me? Wrench my company from one of the best [Generals] in the region.”

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer as they say. I should make a deal with you, instead of the chance that you might chase me down again or you might spread the word. I’ll give you what you want from the book, and you will protect us.”

“It’s a deal then.”

“If I manage to convince the [General]. If not, then that’s that.”

Atasaney and his company went back to the camp, and the caravan set up camp outside of the military encampment. Numisley mentally adjusted his plans as he read the brown book in one of the wagons. Cultrost talked to Graten and Palden in their downtime.

“Can’t you do something about this? My men will mutiny if they are hired beside us.” Graten voiced his concerns to Cultrost.

“Well, I guess he planned to have them hired instead of the chance that they would attack us sooner,” Cultrost said.

“Still, we do not know who exactly they are. Might be one of those elite [Mercenaries] I suppose.” Palden added.

“And we do not know what motives they have. They might try to steal your two books because they are hired to.” Graten added his other concern.

“Well, the deal hasn’t been in effect yet, technically. My brother wants to pry them from the [General], and I have no idea how he would do that.” Cultrost informed them.

“For a cripple, he sure is…what’s the word? Callous. Why those [Mercenaries] specifically? As if he wants to put salt in our wounds.” Graten slapped his hand on the wagon that he leaned on.

“Your brother is…different lately,” Palden opened up. “He has more of a presence, and he convinced me and Graten to prick our finger. Well, that’s not the point, but the actual point is that I find it uncomfortable that he used a compulsion-Feat on me. I worked in your family’s company for most of my life, and he has the gall to use that Feat on me as if he didn’t trust me.” Palden voiced his disapproval.

“It’s more than just a standard compulsion Feat. He might have an Aura.” Graten guessed.

“How so? Aren’t Auras a nobility…royalty thing?” Cultrost asked, unsure of what little knowledge he has on the topic.

“Not exactly.” Graten spoke up.”When you are powerful enough, you can have one. Once when I was an [Mercenary] in another company, we worked beside an [Blademaster] of sorts, and he has an Aura that seemed to cut everything in his presence. People with leadership-Roles also have Auras like [Generals] and [Mayors].”

“Like what Donlor had that one time…” Cultrost mouthed, recalling when the Dullahan bodyguard of Jascias, the one who died buying time for them in the Overthere Hills.

“But in short, Aura is a manifestation of one’s will, so I guess your brother has an iron will.” Graten finished his hypothesis.

“The will to do anything to achieve his dream,” Cultrost whispered to himself.

-

Numisley was summoned by the [General] in the middle of the afternoon, while he left Cultrost in charge of the caravan as a few [Mercenaries] were buying spears and armor from them. He was escorted by a [Soldier] to the headquarters of the camp. The [General] stared at the young [Trader] keenly and she licked her lips.

“What was the commotion outside earlier? I will evict your caravan if there’s any trouble in my camp.” General Karaiste inquired.

“There’s a dispute between my [Mercenaries] and the ones that I plan to hire. I already solved it so there’s no need to worry about any more disputes.” Numisley explained. “But, I want to make a deal. I want to hire one of your [Mercenaries]. The one led by the tall violet Satyr with a javelin.”

“Atasaney’s Prowlers, then. But how much are you willing to pay for them?” The [General] didn’t mention that they are not officially employed since they aren’t paid yet as well as they were yet to be on the battlefield. And she didn't need them badly, since they have the allied Gahkee Tribe as cavalry. Like a good [Mercenary Leader], she learned how to squeeze more coins from her employers throughout the years while minimizing losses both in lives and gold, with this attractive boy as a bonus for her.

“Forty gold. Forty gold, then I’ll buy them from you.” Numisley offered, staring at her eyes.

“I would want to use their hit-and-run tactics for the heavy infantry of the Thunderous March, so it’s either give me more gold or give me something that I can use.” The woman leaned on her chair and rested her legs on the table, looking down at him intently, still half-naked with only the bandages still wrapped on her chest with her blue long open coat despite the cold.

“Give me a paper, quill, and an inkpot,” Numisley demanded. The [General] raised her eyebrows, but he called to one of the [Soldiers] guarding the room and handed Numisley what he needed.

Numisley wrote down the location of the main camp of the Thunderous March. After all, he was still under the effect of his [Bloodbound Contract], but there’s a detail that the hired [General] of Joltstown missed: that Numisley can’t tell the location of his camp, but it doesn’t say anything about not writing it down; a detail that he conveniently left out. He silently passed the paper to the [General], who snatched it and read it.

“This shall be my payment.” Numisley declared. The [General] strode towards him and whispered intimately in his ear as she gripped his chair.

“Come to my quarters tonight. Let’s talk about more of the terms.”

And on that night, fifteen Elves had set their sights on the camp of the Tucken forces.