Chapter 30 (Part 2 New Beginning)

The first thing I did was secure mercenary status. I registered without issue as an A-rank mercenary, and the next day I returned to the Mercenary Guild to take on a job and gain some experience.

“Hm… here you go.”

At the counter near the entrance, a man flipped through some papers before handing me a badge about half the size of his palm. On one side, the letter “A” was engraved in bold relief. On the other, my name—“Kain”—was etched in deep carving.¹

So why was he frowning? Ah, probably because my rank seemed too high for my age.

“With your skills at your age, you could become a knight. Why choose to be a mercenary instead? I’ve been working here for twenty years, but I’ve never seen someone reach A-rank at twenty—”

“The request?”

Cutting him off, I asked my question. I could already feel a few mercenaries turning their heads toward me at his words.

“Ah, hahahaha! My apologies. I suppose you have your reasons… The requests are posted over there on the board. Pick whichever suits you.”

In fact, mercenaries never asked about each other’s pasts—it was an unwritten rule that had carried on for so long it had become law. The man’s embarrassed laugh was only natural.

And yet… how did I know that so instinctively? It seemed all this knowledge had completely fused into me without my realizing it.

“Damn it, if only I were one rank higher, I could take this request!”

As I headed toward the board the man mentioned, I overheard another mercenary muttering bitterly. The board was posted on the wall behind me, near the counter, and a decent crowd of mercenaries stood there scanning the papers pinned to it.

“Hey, counter guy! When’s the next rank-up application?”

The one who had been muttering now shouted toward the counter.

“Shut it, brat! One month from now. And I’m not the damn counter, you hear me?!”

The reply boomed back, just as loud, even before the first man finished. The two barked and snapped at each other, insults flying, but I ignored them and studied the board.

More precisely, the papers pinned to it.

There were thirteen requests in total. More than half were D-rank, the rest were F-rank, with only two marked as C-rank. Since money was my priority, I skipped over the D and F jobs and focused on the C-rank ones.

Naturally, the higher the rank, the greater the pay. With my situation, I needed the money, so it was only logical to target the C-rank requests.

“Caravan escort…”

I scanned both C-rank requests before heading back toward the counter. They were nearly identical, except for the number of mercenaries needed: one called for five, the other for three. The deciding factor was simple—the departure date was today.

“Haha, so have you decided?”

The man at the counter asked me again with a forced laugh and a gravelly voice. Maybe he was still embarrassed about earlier.

“C-rank. Job one.”

Each paper was labeled with a number beside the rank. Of the two C-rank jobs, only “1” and “2” were available, and I chose number 1—the one with fewer mercenaries.

“Then take this contract, wait in the lounge, and come out when you’re called.”

He pulled out a paper from a drawer, stamped it, and handed it to me. I skimmed the contract, folded it in half, and slipped it into my coat. Without a word, I simply nodded and walked toward the stairs.

Before receiving my badge, I’d heard how the building was organized: five floors in total. The first floor handled requests and had space for mercenaries to eat, drink, and relax. From the second floor upward were the lounges, divided by rank.

The second floor was for F and D jobs, the third floor for C, the fourth for B, and the fifth for A.

Climbing past the second floor to the third, I soon found myself in a short corridor with a single door at the end leading into the waiting room. Inside, I sensed only one presence. It seemed the other mercenary hadn’t arrived yet.

Well, the job started around noon, so I’d only need to wait another hour or so.

“Hm? Hahaha! Well, this is a pleasure.”

Lost in thought, I pushed open the door at the end of the corridor, and the mercenary already waiting inside greeted me with a hearty laugh and a rustic voice.

“Good to meet you.”

Since we would be working together for the next four days, I opened my mouth and returned the greeting. The waiting room was spacious—large enough to seat fifty people with ease. Along each wall stood long benches, and in the center of the room sat a fireplace.

“Haha, you look pretty young. Taking on a C-rank job at your age? What’s your rank?”

Following the voice, I turned toward the mercenary seated just below the window. He looked to be in his early thirties. His face was unusually long, and since I saw no weapons, I guessed he fought with his body. His heavily developed torso and flexible build made it obvious.

‘Horse-face.’

“A-rank.”

The moment I saw his long face, I couldn’t help but think of the Death Knight’s mount stored in my subspace. If his face were even a little shorter, he might have been called handsome—but with that face, probably not.

“Wh-what? Really?”

His expression froze in shock. Eyes wide, voice stammering in excitement, he looked me over again. I could sense that he was only B-rank.

I nodded in confirmation, wondering idly how much bigger the reaction would be if I had claimed an even higher rank.

“Ha… that’s impressive.”

He muttered with a sigh, nodding to himself, though disbelief still lingered in his eyes. Understandable. The gap between B and A was significant. Both used mana, but the way they wielded it separated them.

A B-rank might produce a strong gust of wind with their sword. An A-rank, however, could coat their blade in sword aura—a tangible force that amplified power far beyond mere wind. The difference in destructive strength was undeniable.

“By the way, what’s your name? I’m Sunwar.”

I had just closed my eyes on the bench by the door when horse-face’s rustic voice rumbled again. So his name was Sunwar?

“Kain.”

Clang.

The moment I gave my name and shut my eyes, the door beside me creaked open, and another mercenary entered. I already knew the last member would be arriving soon. I’d sensed it earlier—ever since Sunwar had spoken, sighing.

That aura… I had only ever felt it from the exam proctor back in Mitt’s Mercenary Guild. No mistake.

An A-rank.

“Eh? Hahaha! Nice to meet you.”

Even with my eyes closed, horse-face’s rustic voice told me the newcomer was at least in his thirties. The clatter of metal with each step revealed he was a swordsman.
Still… a C-rank request with two A-ranks and a B-rank? That was unusual.

“Haha, pleased to meet you.”

When the new mercenary gave no response, horse-face repeated the greeting. But to my ears, only the sound of footsteps moving farther into the room was audible.

“Your na—”

“Sharn.”

Horse-face’s excited words were cut off by the sharp voice of the newcomer. It had to be his. The cold tone pricked at my ears.

Slowly, I lifted my eyelids and looked straight ahead.

The mercenary who had named himself Sharn sat across from me, and just as I thought, he had the face of a man in his thirties. His build gave a thin, almost frail impression—no, “skinny” was the more accurate word.

His gaunt cheeks made his cheekbones jut sharply, and his narrow eyes gave him a naturally cutting look. The thinness of his frame made his Adam’s apple stand out all the more. His brown hair, slicked straight back, trailed down to his shoulders.

At a glance, he looked far too weak to be a mercenary. But I knew better—he was skilled enough to coat his blade with sword aura. Judging from his build, his fighting style would rely more on speed than raw power. Even when mana or internal energy allowed one to surpass human limits, a body’s fundamental traits could not be denied.

‘Skeleton.’

The image fit too well. He looked exactly like an undead skeleton given flesh.

“Oh? Is that so? You look about my age. What’s your rank?”

Horse-face repeated the same question he had asked me earlier. Judging by that, asking about ranks must have been some kind of hobby for him.

But this time, Sharn gave no answer. Instead, he drew his sword from the sheath at his waist.

“Wh-what the hell? You wanna fight?!”

As the gaunt Sharn unsheathed his weapon, horse-face sprang clumsily to his feet, dropping into a fighting stance.