Part Sixteen

Somewhere in southern Italy……

Stepping out of the portal he’d just created, Asantos leaped aside as several fleshy tentacles nearly smacked into the spot where he would’ve landed. Normally, he would’ve used his throwing knives to retaliate, but there was little point to doing that, as this wasn’t an attack, but instead a tantrum.

“WAAAHHAAAAAahhaaaaaa, where have you been!? I’ve been waiting for days, Asanty! Days!”

Tesandros was flailing and wailing even as her tentacles kept up the attack. Asantos was forced to use all his focus in order to avoid the appendages, slipping and sliding in-between them. Any bystanders would’ve thought it miraculous how he did that, but it was actually due to his Class, Acrobat, and its Aerodynamic Skill. So long as he kept himself off the ground, there was little chance of him ever being hit, though this wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience for him either.

“High Seeker, contain yourself. You know as well as I do that I was busy until now. There’s no reason to be throwing a tantrum. Also, drop that wretched nickname.”

“But, but, but! Oooh, I hate when you talk sense. Mnnnn. And no, I will not drop it.”

Thankfully, he was able to talk her down before things escalated, not that they were likely to do so. The High Seeker would never hurt one of her companions, or so she said. Asantos wasn’t so sure if that was true, but then he doubted most people. It was just his nature.

“Haaaah, fine, be that way. I just won’t share any of my ice cream with you!”

“Sure, I don’t like ice cream anyway.”

“Ahhhhhh, how can you not like ice cream!? Heretic! Blasphemy!”

“Haaah, why me? …Ehem, High Seeker? Why have you called for me? I was under the impression that my current mission shouldn’t be interrupted.”

“And it shouldn’t, but I’m in a bit of a pickle. See, I think I found us a new recruit, but I’ve got no one to go interview them, and Headquarters can’t send anyone our way for at least a few months. So I’ve got no choice but to ask you to do it so that poor soul doesn’t die.”

Despite the wedeling tone she took with him, Asantos agreed with most of what she said. Tesandros was too busy to do something like this. She was the one usually in charge of scouting out and monitoring threats, and she was also managing their negotiations with the Committee, though those had yet to actually fully get off the ground. Her display during their first meeting was too much for them at the moment. They’d likely need until the next zone appeared before they’d be up to negotiate.

And then there were the other members of their group. Vekos was right out, as the Draclops was more likely to menace rather than talk, Nevaros was too…Nevaros-y to be helpful, and Menayos was just twisted. If things went wrong, she’d turn their potential recruit into a test subject. System knows it wouldn’t be the first time.

Asantos put a finger to his chin, thinking it over. His work was going well, and he would soon have a little wiggle room before he’d need to move to the next part, so he could do it. But was he willing? That all depended on one question.

“What are we dealing with?”

He simply wanted to know the race of whatever he was recruiting. Depending on the answer, that could make this extremely easy, or extremely difficult. Different monster races had different relationships with each other. Trolls, for instance, were generally rather prideful, and usually held great disdain for the shorter races, while Minotaurs would respect anyone who was strong. Though the best case scenario would be another Kobold, as any who’d see him would immediately ask to serve under him, regardless of Rank or sex. Just one of the perks of being a superior variant.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t so kind.

“A…Weregoblin.”

“…Are you kidding me? They can actually become Daemons?”

Weregoblins were an extremely rare mutation that appeared among the numerous but weak Goblin race. Normally, these anomalies would simply go berserk from having two nervous systems fuse together, turning them into engines of destruction, but it looked like there was one who’d avoided that fate. It was a surprising turn of events.

“I was surprised when I saw it too, but it’s definitely a Daemon. And based on the way it was fighting, I think it might have a Class already.”

“Ah, I see. And I suppose you asked me because of the synergy from us both being wolf-like races?”

“Mn-hm! I know Kobolds and Goblins don’t really get along, but since neither of you are technically of those races, I thought this might work out! Granted, there’s no way to tell how they’ll react until we actually talk to them, but I’m feeling pretty good about this!”

“Of course you do. You’re not the one who has to put in the leg work. Haaah, guess I’ll head out as soon as I can. Give me time to finish up what I’ve started, and I’ll go talk to them.”

“Thanks Asanty! I can always count on you!”

“Please stop calling me that.”

***

Juba, South Sudan. Temporary Base of Operations for Sampson's mercenary brigade…..

“Keep running, you sorry louts! Anyone who doesn’t finish within the time limit is gonna have to run another ten laps!”

“”””””Aahh, sir, yes sir!””””””

Jansen watched as two dozen men ran around the improvised track they’d set up, each of them wearing roughly thirty pounds of equipment. This served as both basic training and an initiation, as anyone unable to complete this was unfit to serve with them. While they were willing to settle for less than the best, they still expected a certain minimum level of performance from their recruits.

Mn, looks like they’re all accustomed to this level of exertion. Guess we should think about making it a little harder for tomorrow.

If any of the recruits could hear his thoughts, they’d all groan in dismay. Their training was hard enough as it was, amping it up any more was likely to cause a few to drop out, though that was partly the point. Fighting monsters was in no way easy. Anyone who’d give up from simple exertion would never be able to withstand the pain of having their flesh gouged and torn.

Jansen turned and left the recruits, making his way back into the hotel they were staying in. Several other members were in the lobby, and they saluted him as he passed by. Jansen wasn’t the one who’d told them to do that. That honor went to Sampson, who’d wanted to implement a few simple rules to help maintain discipline. One of them was to salute the group's leaders, though there were only four at the moment.

After a quick elevator ride, Jansen arrived at the penthouse suite, where the other leaders were gathering for today's meeting. They’d decided to keep their hierarchy pretty simple for now. There was Sampson as the general, Jansen as his lieutenant, and two sergeants who’d been promoted for their ability and contributions to the group.

The first of them was Ezekiel. He was actually one of the original members of Sampson’s group, and had the habit of calling him Boss all the time. But despite his tendency to act like a two-bit villain’s henchman, he was the group’s number three when it came to actual combat ability. And while he emulated Sampson’s fighting style, his natural affinity for Alteration Magic gave it a unique spin that made him dangerous in his own right.

The other sergeant was actually a more recent recruit, and he wasn’t particularly strong. But since he was capable of not only using Healing Magic, and was also a skilled scout, he’d taken on a level of responsibility within the group that you wouldn’t have expected him to have. Aside from Ezekiel, no one else had really protested his appointment, which is somewhat what led to both of them being promoted.

“Good, we’re all here. Jansen, how’re the newbies looking?”

“About as you’d expect. A third of them have already dropped out, but I think most of those who remain will last the rest of the week.”

“Then all that remains is to take them into some real danger and see how they react. Good, good. Denzel, how have our negotiations gone?”

“Hm, hard to say. The other party's a little too reticent for my tastes, but I’ve been getting through to them little-by-little. I think I’ll have a definite answer by next week, but it could really go either way at this point.”

While his answer wasn’t exactly good, it wasn’t enough to outright displease Sampson. He knew that he’d set his sergeant a difficult task, so he was fine with waiting a bit longer. But not everyone present was so accommodating.

“Ya better hurry it up, runt. Don’t disappoint the boss, or you’ll have ta answer to me!”

“Hmph, if you think that scares me, then you’ve got an overinflated image of yourself. Maybe I should cut you down to size?”

With an eerie grin, knives appeared in each of Denzel’s hands as if by magic. It was only sleight-of-hand, but it was still enough to make anyone on edge, especially the members of their group. They’d all seen how he’d throw seemingly endless waves of knives in battle, so Ezekiel had to know that he had more than just those two blades on him. And yet, he responded to the threat by using his magic to harden his skin, before proclaiming:

“Hehe, bring it on! If you think you can take me down, then I’ll just have ta crush ya head on!”

The two stood up, emanating bloodlust towards one another. Just as Jansen was about to cast a spell to quiet them down, another wave of extremely thick bloodlust began to fill the room, causing both mercenaries to pale and sit down.

“Gah, sorry boss! I just got carried away because of this snake.”

“Apologies. This lunk-head's idiocy made me lose myself.”

Even though they were desperately apologizing, the fact that they felt the need to throw barbs at each other spoke to how much they didn’t get along. One might think that having two of the group’s leaders practically at each other’s throats was a bad thing, but Jansen thought otherwise. He’d been a part of a group that broke apart due to internal tensions, so he had some experience in this.

To him, the hostility between Denzel and Ezekiel was barely anything to worry about, at least for now. While the two may butt heads, they knew better than to actually fight each other. Gwyn Morgan had let his irritation and contempt for Braddock simmer under the surface for weeks, until it eventually burst free, causing the small cracks in the other relationships to become un-ignorable fractures. Compared to that, there was little chance of this really causing any real issues. And even if it did, the were ways to deal with it.

“Haaaah, what am I gonna do with you two? Now, let’s move on to our future plans.”

Sampson’s grin showed that he was still as voracious as ever. His ambitions were slowly but surely coming within reach. All he needed to do was to keep the course, and everything would be his to take.

***

Somewhere along England’s eastern coast. Ixan Isphael’s secret manor…….

*Clang, clang, clang!*

Sweat dripped down Corgan’s face as he repeatedly brought his hammer down. The white-hot blade in front of him was probably the hardest piece he’d ever worked on, as the metal was highly resistant to being forged. If not for the ring he wore, which boosted his tolerance to heat, he likely wouldn’t be able to stand it for longer than a few minutes. But for this piece, he had to go all out.

His apprentices were currently in charge of mass-producing weapons, all so he could focus on this one particular piece. It was meant for someone he owed his life to, so he couldn’t skimp out when it came to making it. His pride wouldn’t allow it. He was going to use every last technique he’d learned to craft it. He’d even learned how to use Enchantment, all so he could make sure that this weapon wouldn’t fail his friend.

Corgan straightened up with a grimace, his right arm sore from hammering the unnaturally sturdy metal, but he merely switched arms and went back to work. If he didn’t finish this soon, his savior would be left with a sub-par weapon during the most dangerous time of his life. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. He refused to even consider it.