Victor's flabby, jowly face flushed a deep red—whether from shame or anger, it was hard to tell. He stomped his foot and roared at his men, who were enjoying the show far too much. "You goddamn bastards! Are you all just going to stand there and watch?! Get this stuff into the courtyard! If you keep dawdling, I'll dock all your pay for the month!"
"Come on, Victor, don't mind these lawless brats. Let's go inside and figure out how to sell this batch of cubs for the best price," Dario said with a laugh, clapping Victor on the shoulder and leading him into the courtyard.
At Victor's scolding, the mercenaries chuckled and, hoisting their luggage and loot, dispersed to their rooms to rest. In the blink of an eye, the once-bustling entrance was empty, save for Rayne, who stood alone, looking a bit lost.
"Silly boy, what are you standing there for? Come with me." Just then, a pleasant female voice sounded behind him. Freya had returned at some point and was now smiling at him. "I'll take you to get settled in, then you can have a proper bath, and I'll take you into the city to get some decent clothes and shoes."
Rayne was still dressed in the same outfit from the beastman camp: simple leather pants worn shiny with use, an oversized and ill-fitting suit of rough leather armor, a messy thatch of long black hair, and a pair of bare feet caked with dirt and scratches.
It was only then that Rayne suddenly realized how out of place he looked in this clean, impressive courtyard. His small face flushed beet red.
"Oh, so our little Rayne can feel embarrassed?" Freya giggled, covering her mouth as she looked at his predicament. "Don't be shy, come with me. I promise, when you reappear before them looking brand new, you'll completely surprise them!" Since meeting this intelligent child, Freya found her mood had been consistently good. Even the rough mercenaries around her seemed much more tolerable.
The Orchid Bar, located in the most bustling mercenary district of Luminea, was one of the favorite haunts for the city's sellswords.
The owner, a woman named Siviel, was rumored to have been a renowned High-Rank female warrior in her youth, famed for her beauty and skill, with countless suitors.
Later, for reasons unknown, she suddenly retired, married an obscure small-time merchant, and used the wealth she had amassed over the years to open this bar in Luminea.
But time is a merciless butcher's knife. The enchanting Siviel who had captivated the hearts of countless mercenaries was now a plump, middle-aged woman with a thick waist and a face full of excess flesh.
And the man she had so carefully chosen had died years ago in the arms of some young woman, a consequence of his philandering.
There were even rumors that it was Siviel herself who had finished off her unfaithful husband and his mistress.
Even though her beauty had faded and her charm was a thing of the past, the old mercenaries who had once been deeply in love with her still habitually came here for a few drinks after surviving another near-death mission. They would reminisce about their glorious past, and in doing so, inspired a new generation of mercenaries to follow suit, keeping the Orchid Bar's business booming.
Siviel knew the tastes of mercenaries well. Here, you could find the strongest ale, the most tender roasted meat, and... the most seductive women who knew how to please a man. The bar had everything a mercenary could desire after shedding the fatigue and bloodlust of the field.
In a relatively quiet corner of the bar, Jason, Klaus, and four other mercenaries from the Salt Blade were gathered around a large, greasy oak table, drinking heartily. The table was cluttered with large racks of roasted lamb, smoked venison, and mugs of frothy, dark ale.
Jason was clearly drunk. His thin face was flushed, and his tongue was tripping over his words. He held a glistening leg of lamb in one hand and a wooden mug full of ale in the other, boasting to his companions with spittle flying, "I... I'm tellin' ya, hic! You... you virgins... you've probably never... never been with a real beastwoman, have ya? Hehe, the taste... now that's... that's what I call a goddamn thrill!"
"Oh? Brother Jason, from the sound of it, you've... experienced it firsthand?" a young, freckle-faced mercenary asked, his curiosity piqued. He leaned closer, his face full of anticipation. "Quick! Tell us in detail, what kind of thrill is it?"
The other three mercenaries also put down their mugs, their ears perked up, looking at Jason with the same expectant expression, waiting to hear his "words of wisdom."
Seeing this, Jason grew even more smug. He deliberately tore off a large piece of roasted meat, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed with great relish, and then gulped down half his mug of ale. He smacked his lips, drawing out the suspense, but refused to speak.
"One time, Jason was sent to scout a remote wolfkin tribe. He got lost and accidentally stumbled into the cave of a female ursan. And then... he was captured by that broad-shouldered, strong-as-an-ox she-bear..." Just as the others were getting impatient, Klaus, who had been drinking silently, put down his mug and, in his uniquely flat, raspy voice, picked up the story.
"You... you're talking absolute bullshit!" Jason leaped from his seat as if his tail had been stepped on. The sudden movement caused him to spray a mouthful of ale all over Klaus's face. He pointed a trembling finger at Klaus and roared, "Don't... don't listen to his nonsense! It never happened!"
"Well, well, if it isn't little Jason from the famous Salt Blade Mercenary Legion. What, are you thieves who only operate in the shadows and do shady deeds now rich enough to drink at the Orchid Bar?"
Just then, a voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain, oozing with insincerity, came from the entrance of the bar.
A tall, thin man with an effeminate face, surrounded by a group of equally arrogant, burly mercenaries, pushed open the creaking wooden door and sauntered in.
The effeminate man was also dressed as a mercenary, but the hilt of the ornate longsword hanging at his waist was inlaid with an enormous, eye-catching ruby.
The moment they entered, the boisterous atmosphere of the bar cooled instantly. Many mercenaries who had been laughing and talking loudly instinctively lowered their voices.
Jason's flushed face turned ashen upon seeing the newcomer. He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes and slowly turned to the effeminate man. "Well, look who it is. If it isn't Vice-Captain Damari of the Crimson Thorn Mercenary Legion. What brings you here for some fun today, Vice-Captain? As it happens, my brothers from the Salt Blade just made a huge score on our last mission, so we're quite flush with cash. If you don't mind, Vice-Captain, why don't you join us? It'll be our treat."
Though his tone sounded polite, the thick sarcasm was unmistakable.
The Crimson Thorn Mercenary Legion was another Class-B legion in Luminea, on par with the Salt Blade and a long-standing rival.
Hearing Jason's words, Damari's already pale face grew even whiter, and his voice turned icy. "Little Jason, it seems those ribs of yours I broke last time have healed completely? Forgotten the pain so quickly?"
"Heh, you have a good memory, Vice-Captain. I almost forgot myself," Klaus said, setting down his mug and slowly wiping the ale from his face. "But I wonder, Vice-Captain, has that little blood-hole our captain poked in your ass with his sword sheath healed up yet? Why don't you... drop your pants right now and let everyone have a good look?"
"You... you're asking to die!" Enraged by Klaus's merciless jab, Damari's body trembled. His effeminate face twisted with murderous intent as a powerful, violent surge of aetheris erupted from him. The tangible wave of energy spread out, causing the mugs on the surrounding tables to tremble.
Klaus, Jason, and the other Salt Blade mercenaries shot to their feet, their faces contorted with rage, unleashing their own aetheris in defiance. The air crackled with tension. A clash between the two mercenary legions was imminent.
Rivalry between peers was an old story, and it was especially true for the three Class-B mercenary legions in Luminea.
Their relationship had long been in a delicate, volatile state.