Once the introductions had settled and the first barriers between us had melted away like ice before a fire, Amy and Nor made their way toward Mary, who sat behind her neatly organized wooden desk.
The tone of their conversation was calm and serious—completely different from the friendly atmosphere that had filled the room moments earlier.
They were too far away for me to hear their words.
The guild was crowded with conversations and noise.
But their expressions said what distance could not.
This was work.
This was serious.
This was our first mission.
It wasn’t long before they returned carrying a folded sheet of paper.
Amy flashed an excited grin.
“Take a look, Daron!
This is our first mission as a team.”
I accepted the paper, unfolded it, and read.
Hunt twelve wolves in the Western Forest.
My eyebrows rose slightly.
“What…?”
I looked up.
“Are we leaving right now?”
She laughed softly, the kind of laugh that started deep in her stomach and reached all the way to her eyes.
“No, idiot.”
Her familiar bright smile appeared.
“We leave tomorrow morning.”
Then she added,
“Today, we have something important to do.”
She winked.
Before I could object, she had already grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the exit.
Before leaving, she raised her voice toward the rest of the team.
“Tomorrow morning!
At the city gate!”
Replies came from behind us, though I couldn’t make out the words.
It wasn’t long before we were walking through the crowded market streets.
Our objective was obvious.
Preparation.
Or more accurately—
Shopping, under Amy’s command.
A process I quickly discovered she treated as a military operation.
Thanks to Amy—or perhaps because of her—my journey of spending money officially began.
She dragged me from shop to shop with unwavering determination.
Several shirts were selected first.
A lightweight summer shirt made from soft fabric.
Two darker shirts made from sturdier material.
Then two practical pairs of trousers with side pockets.
Several pieces of comfortable underclothing crafted from technical fabric.
She inspected every item with a level of care I hadn’t expected.
Feeling the cloth between her fingers.
Checking the stitching.
Examining every seam.
As winter slowly approached and its first cold winds began appearing in the early mornings, she stopped in front of a coat hanging from a hook outside a shop.
“This one suits you.”
She said it with absolute confidence, as though the decision had already been made.
I didn’t argue.
I picked it up.
It felt comfortably heavy in my hands.
The outer layer was made from water-resistant material, colored somewhere between deep blue and gray.
The moment I tried it on, it felt as though a comfortable layer of armor had wrapped itself around my body.
A few minutes later—
Ten silver coins had vanished.
I stared at my pouch in mild shock.
That quickly…?
But after looking at the items in my hands, I understood why.
The coat alone had cost seven silver coins.
It wasn’t an ordinary coat.
It was thick and durable.
Reinforced around the shoulders and elbows.
Unlikely to tear even if caught on branches or scraped against stone.
Designed for mercenaries.
For people who spent more time outdoors than inside homes.
Armor could be worn over it without restricting movement.
Expensive.
But worth every coin.
The boots weren’t cheap either.
Three full silver coins.
Made from thick leather with rugged soles designed to grip slippery mud.
They rose high enough to protect the ankles.
The moment I put them on, my stance felt different.
As for the rest of the clothing—
Despite the quantity and quality—
It had all cost less than three silver coins combined.
Strange.
The most important things were always the most expensive.
Once the shopping was finished, we headed for our next destination.
A blacksmith.
The shop sat inside a side alley.
Its wide doorway stood permanently open, allowing the sounds of hammering steel and the heat of the forge to spill into the street.
“This is the best one in the district.”
Amy sounded completely certain.
When we entered, a man in his fifties greeted us.
His features looked as though they had been carved by years of labor and hardship.
A broad forehead.
Huge calloused hands.
Yet his gray eyes remained sharp as needles, evaluating everything and everyone with a single glance.
Amy ordered two swords.
A short blade suitable for fast close-quarters combat.
And a medium-length sword designed for versatility.
She inspected both carefully, turning them in her hands and testing their balance.
As for me—
I handed over my sword.
The one I had taken from the knight trainee on the battlefield.
The instant the blacksmith held it, his expression changed.
Routine professionalism gave way to genuine admiration.
“This…”
He turned the blade beneath the forge’s light.
“This is an excellent sword.”
His appreciation was obvious as he examined its edge and craftsmanship.
“Where did you get it?”
I didn’t elaborate.
I simply told him I wanted it repaired.
Yet inside—
Something strange.
As though I had finally earned the right to wield it.
As though the fear, pain, and determination it had taken to obtain it had truly made it mine.
The cost was straightforward.
Amy’s swords: four silver coins.
Repairing mine: two silver coins.
Once everything was arranged, we returned to Sarah’s inn.
Fatigue had begun creeping steadily into our bodies, while sunset slowly painted the horizon in shades of orange and pink.
We ate dinner with Sarah.
A thick, hearty soup.
Fresh warm bread.
Then we collapsed into sleep.
The next morning, we headed directly to the blacksmith.
When I received my sword back—
For a moment, I almost didn’t recognize it.
The shine it possessed before the blacksmith touched it had doubled.
The edge seemed so sharp that you could feel it simply by bringing a finger near the blade without touching it.
The balance felt perfect.
As though its weight had been distributed in a way that made it a natural extension of my arm.
It was a true weapon.
Anyone could recognize its quality at first glance.
Once our equipment was ready, we headed for the city’s main gate.
The team was already waiting there.
Karl leaned casually against a stone pillar with practiced elegance.
Gene stood like a mountain.
Nor calmly inspected her bowstring.
It was as though they had been waiting eagerly for this moment.
They greeted us enthusiastically.
Without wasting time, we immediately began discussing the plan.
The objective:
The heart of the Western Forest.
The place where wolves gathered and built their dens.
“They move in packs.”
Karl spoke with the confidence of experience.
“At least seven.”
“Possibly as many as twenty.”
Roles were assigned with precision.
Gene would take the front line and absorb any initial charge.
Karl and I would operate on the flanks, eliminating as many wolves as possible.
Nor would remain in the rear, providing ranged support and preventing encirclement.
Amy would stay near the center, supporting the team and covering any openings.
Her position was the second safest place in the formation.
The reason was obvious.
The injury in her shoulder had not fully healed yet.
Even though she hadn’t complained about it once.
When the discussion ended, a brief silence settled over the group.
The kind of silence that always comes before a beginning.
Heavy in its own way.
I looked toward the forest waiting before us.
Deep.
Dark.
Its towering trees blocked much of the sunlight, creating depths that couldn’t be seen from where we stood.
Then—
We moved.
Our first step into the true world of mercenaries.