Legends, rumors, hearsay all speak of The Steel Sovereign himself conquering the borders between nations of Terra.
They said he hailed from godless Vinland, where only the soot of plants withering away into the black made up the earth and all plants that grew there were only macabre, pustulating mimicries of life. Skeletons of Fallen Gods making up the center of where cities and empires stood, now all that remained were tribal savages made up of monstrous people.
That's what The Steel Sovereign, a legendary mercenary, is in the eyes of greater Terra's standing nations of the Middle Continent and Eastern Union.
A monster.
They said he toppled a whole mountain pass alongside the borderlands between Ursus and Yan on his own with only a pull of a wrist, they said he sank a grand fleet of an Abyssonian Padeshah, and… that he could crush a knight with his bare hands without even touching the body.
The three scouts now bear witness to that moment, helpless as they watched the hail of arrows from their standing army of 50 soldiers rebound down the direction of fire, dread filled out their hearts fast.
One of them wept, cried, and begged to retreat but the Scout master couldn't let her retreat… it would be better to go down fighting than to retreat with over 40 in casualties.
The remaining 7 of their side's knights charge into the fray against the invading knights, trying to reduce their battles to one-on-ones—while the three Scouts then go one-on-many on the few invading knights who charged in alone.
Three Cavalrymen dead, they retreat fast—fire an arrow from their bow, immediately draw a crossbow to fire after, performing guerilla tactics like this ensured their survival against superior foes.
Division of forces: One scout to the knight, another scout to his steed, and the Scout master adapts given to their scenario.
Five Cavalrymen dead, they then retreat to their back-line now empty and come to find… some exposed weirdo rubbing and molesting a cooking pan?
'Hmph, this should be easy.' They all fire without any precaution, but the arrows stop mid-air just as it reaches his head, facing them and now alarmed of their presence. The Scout master realized quickly who this was… and tried to stop the vengeful scout from reaching for her crossbow.
A singular crossbow bolt fires.
'Shi-" The Scout master and the two scouts then get dragged up into the air, held aloft by a unique magic, The Scout master felt parts of his body vibrating violently—as if magic gripped them with many hands before they all came crashing down at a ridiculously fast free fall.
The Scout master's consciousness turns into one still image from another, they turn their head to the vengeful Scout mumbling her last words, and to the emotionless Scout, who now cries begging for their life.
But the Scout master accepted his defeat here, there was a crushing sensation in his chest that felt like rocks stabbing into exposed flesh, feeling the pain of crushed bones that turned into knives inside of his body.
Closing his eyes… maybe… he'll do better in another life.
…
"Geez! That was a jumpscare!" Sam says as he holds dearly onto the Adamantium Wok, He composes himself as he starts packaging the Wok into his large backpack since that fearful chef couldn't care less about the cooking pot for his own safety, there were plenty of cooking pots and pans all over the place and mercenaries tend to discard fairly easily.
There's no soap here, so instead he improvises by using his magnetic magic to vibrate the pan's molecular structure—a bit of a waste to use it just to clean this cooking pan of its sticky grime and grease.
But he's a lazy bum, and why on earth would he do things the good old fashioned way when he has this at his disposal?
...
Hours had passed from the successful charge, the small retinue of Cavalry begin to fall back as the few casualties they had primarily from those meddlesome Assassins were easily taken care of by their mercenaries.
"With that village now burnt to a crisp, and many others, it should only become a matter of time before it cripples The Fortress City, where the Schwartz Prince Damian can comfortably lead a full-on siege in under a week. Cheers for our success!" The Sergeant says to his Cavalry men, and they all make roars of glory.
There were only 7 mercenaries among them: Some of them resembled nameless hooligans, but obviously one stood out amongst them all, a man who would only ever be seen by the knights as an amalgamate creature of various Plate Armor parts—an abomination composed of far too many arms with sticks for legs.
It looked like a scarecrow… and yet, there's just nothing like it any of the Cavalry men have ever seen amongst their Noble family's fields before.
The Sergeant was paying reparations to the six others before he comes up to the Steel Sovereign, the one mercenary who resembled this horrific amalgamation, and just scoffs "Your intimidating posture does not befit you, kid."
A muffled voice erupts from the well-cloaked cage of this beast amalgam.
"I… may I receive my… commendation invitation for the Imperial Founding Ball?" The Cavalry men all eyed one another hearing that muffled voice demand something far beyond his reach. An Invitation to a royal ball? Unheard of for a mercenary.
Most are content with estates, money, titles, fame, and even straight up one of their mythical weapons—but an invitation to a prestigious ball, let alone the Imperial Founding Ball? The biggest party where ambassadors of the warring nations rub shoulders, share drinks and even nightly escapades?
'There's no way he gets one.' It was written all over the Cavalrymen's faces, they doubted that such a request would be granted. Even for a Sergeant of high standing under the Dukedom of Stark, that demand was—
"Here, my invitation." The Sergeant easily hands over to the mercenary a refined scroll case made out of glass, within it was a wax sealed invitation with the sigil of a house with a sword driven through it.
"Would they… not question it?" The Steel Sovereign asks, before the Sergeant grunts with a scoff and smile.
"Oh please, you're effectively just there to party and waste yourself. Even if you do make connections, there is no way it wouldn't immediately be referred to me, meaning at the end of the day you're just doing my work for free."
The Sergeant pulls out a gun, and points it down at him. Firearms aren't widespread amongst the Standing Armies of Schwartz, or anywhere for a matter of fact, due to being expensive even for nobility, and it requires a proficient Mage to even use the gun, let alone fire it like a real marksman.
The Sergeant however, knew this wouldn't work on him, bullets are made out of metal—if he could stop unseen arrows, he could most definitely stop a bullet. He felt the need to do this to ascertain a motive, to see if there is a human beneath the strange, constantly masked individual. Mercenaries are always paid to do dirty work, and the line is always full of Assassins, either this one is incredibly stupid or he has a clear and definitive motive.
"Why?" The Sergeant asks plain and clear, while the Cavalrymen reach for wooden poles, knowing too well the legends The Steel Sovereign is rumored to be.