Inside a bustling tavern in the city of Thurion, the constant murmur of conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses created a chaotic yet familiar soundtrack. The air was thick with the scent of bitter beer, roast meat, and the unmistakable smell of sweat, as merchants, travelers, and passing soldiers filled every available table.

  At one of the tables closest to the center of the tavern, four figures stood out not for ostentation, but for the natural authority with which they occupied the space. Three men and a woman sipped their drinks calmly, exchanging occasional comments as they watched the activity around them with watchful eyes.

  They were well-known in Thurion. Not famous or legendary, but respected nonetheless. The Brave Hearts “Gennaies Kardiés” were a local mercenary group specializing in escorting caravans and merchants through the ever-troublesome north of Dirmistan. Their reputation wasn't built on spectacular feats, but on something far more valuable to merchants: consistency. Few failed contracts, almost no dissatisfied clients, and a survival rate that spoke for itself. That reliability was the reason why, even in difficult times, they were never short of work.

  The group's leader was Basil, a man of robust build and firm bearing, whose presence commanded respect even when seated. A mystical master specializing in fire and the use of the spear, Basil had the look of someone who had survived too many battles to take things lightly. He didn't talk much, but when he did, the others listened.

  Beside him stood his three lieutenants, all Mystic Experts. Dario, with his serious expression and restrained movements, always seemed to be calculating something. Elian, more relaxed in appearance, observed his surroundings with an almost distracted attention, as if nothing could surprise him. And Calista, the only woman in the group, maintained an elegant yet alert posture, her arms crossed and her eyes sharp as blades.

  The odd thing was the time. It wasn't usual for the Valiant Hearts to frequent the tavern so early. The sun was still high, and there were several hours before sunset. However, that afternoon they had an appointment. A potential client, recommended by a merchant with whom they had worked for many years.

  And, according to the recommendation, the contract promised to be… interesting.

  At exactly six o'clock, the tavern door opened. A man entered, and although he did nothing to draw attention to himself, Basil noticed him immediately. Fair skin, neatly combed black hair, and clothes typical of an average merchant: clean, functional, and understated. He carried no visible weapons and gave no indication of being a mystical warrior. He walked with a confident stride, unhurried, observing the place with measured calm.

  Based on the description he had received, Basil had no doubts. He raised a hand, calling his attention, and the newcomer approached without hesitation.

  “I take it you’re Basil of the Brave Hearts,” the man said as he approached the table, offering a professional, rehearsed, yet convincing smile.

  “And you must be Evander,” Basil replied, returning the smile as he extended his hand.

  The man accepted the handshake firmly, neither too strong nor too weak, and then bowed slightly in greeting to Darius, Elian, and Calista, one by one. Finally, he took the only available chair and sat down naturally, as if he already belonged at the table.

  “Our mutual acquaintance informed me that you need mercenaries for a rather lengthy job,” Basil began bluntly, resting one forearm on the table as he carefully observed the man across from him.

  “Indeed,” Evander replied matter-of-factly. He signaled to one of the waitresses and ordered a pitcher of beer before continuing. I have a project from my boss that requires quite a few staff… and, frankly, it seems more sensible to hire an established company than to deal with dozens of individual agreements.

  Basil raised an eyebrow slightly. “That’s not common,” he remarked with genuine interest. “But I should warn you that our group has sixty-five members. It won’t be cheap to hire us all at once, let alone for an extended period.”

  “Only governors or large merchant houses usually have the resources to hire entire mercenary companies,” added Dario, crossing his arms. “And even then, only for very specific jobs.”

  Evander didn’t seem fazed. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said confidently. “My boss has the financial backing to pay you properly. Besides, the business involved represents a rather profitable opportunity for both parties.”

  The word “business” hung in the air.

  “What exactly are we talking about?” Basil asked, with the tone of someone who already sensed the answer wouldn’t be simple.

  Evander held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, and then smiled. “We’re talking about slaves,” he said bluntly. “Acquisition and transport.”

  The noise from the tavern seemed to subside for a moment. The four mercenaries glanced at each other, exchanging expressions of surprise and bewilderment. No one spoke immediately. It was Basil who broke the silence, his voice colder than before.

  "That can hardly be considered a revolutionary business in this region," he said. "And even less so something capable of justifying paying an entire company like ours... just to act as mere transporters."

  "It's not just about transport," Evander replied, leaning slightly forward. "What we need is for you not only to escort, but to buy the slaves. Directly from the source."

  The change was immediate. Postures tensed, gazes hardened. The atmosphere around the table grew heavy.

  Calista was the first to speak, her tone firm and without a trace of doubt. "We don't do that kind of work," she declared. "Much less cross borders to get involved in something like this."

  Evander seemed to go blank for a moment. Her expression, genuinely bewildered, lasted only a couple of seconds before something clicked in her mind.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Excuse me,” he finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not exactly good at negotiations. I think I misspoke. I’d better explain the job clearly.”

  “That would be ideal,” Basil replied immediately, his caution undisguised.

  Evander nodded and began calmly. “First of all, there’s nothing to worry about regarding traveling abroad. All the work would be done within Dirmistan. More specifically, in the southeast, in the city of Naros and the surrounding provinces.”

  Calista frowned. “The border with Migozyria?” she asked, surprised.

  “That’s right,” Evander confirmed. “As you probably know, border clashes have increased considerably lately, especially in that area… and even further south. We’re talking about hundreds of mercenary companies constantly clashing with their counterparts from the neighboring duchy. Small battles, sporadic clashes… encounters where sometimes you lose, and sometimes you win.”

  He paused briefly before adding, “And it’s precisely in those ‘victories’ that prisoners are taken.”

  Basil narrowed his eyes. “I think I know where this is going,” he murmured.

  “It’s not public knowledge, at least not yet,” Evander continued, lowering his voice slightly, “but a fairly active market for prisoners turned into slaves has been developing on Naros for some time now. Especially mystic warriors, of all levels. According to my sources… more than one grandmaster has even been sold in the last year.”

  Dario clicked his tongue, visibly uncomfortable. “With a situation like this on the frontier, it’s only a matter of time before a major military escalation occurs.”

  “That’s true,” Evander admitted seriously. “But it also represents an exceptional business opportunity. My boss is looking for a group dedicated exclusively to negotiating the purchase of slaves directly with the mercenary companies operating in the area.”

  Basil raised an eyebrow. “So we’re talking about a full-time job.”

  “Exactly,” Evander agreed. “That’s why the contract would be long-term. Fixed monthly pay, plus attractive bonuses if results meet or exceed our expectations.”

  Calista rested her elbows on the table. "How much money are we talking about?"

  Evander reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small notebook. After doing a couple of quick calculations with a worn pencil, he looked up.

  “Two hundred gold coins a month,” he declared. “Plus two hundred level one energy crystals.”

  When he mentioned the gold, none of the four reacted. It was a decent sum, but nothing out of the ordinary for a company of their size. It might even be considered low.

  But upon hearing the second part… their eyes widened.

  The crystals, not the gold, were the real offer.

  A mercenary’s work has always been dangerous. In return, the pay is usually far superior to that of any ordinary civilian, especially for mystic warriors, whose skills are rare and in high demand. Even so, there are unwritten rules in the market: payments are almost always made in gold, and when crystals are included, they rarely exceed thirty percent of the gold coin amount.

  But what they were offered was different. In this case, the payment in crystals was equivalent to the gold coins. Something practically unheard of.

  For any mystic warrior, crystals weren't a luxury, but a necessity. Gold was for survival; crystals, for growth. They were the foundation of advanced training, the key to breaking limits… and also a resource difficult to obtain legally, with prices that sometimes bordered on prohibitive.

  "Are you serious?" Basil asked, unable to hide his astonishment.

  Evander responded with a frank, almost relaxed smile. "Of course."

  Dario quickly intervened, frowning. "This sounds too suspicious. It's an absurd amount for a job that, in theory, consists only of buying and transporting slaves."

  "It's many times what we earn in a month," Calista added. "Even with Basil being a mystic Master, no one pays something like that without an ulterior motive. What's the catch? Is there something illegal going on?"

  Evander's smile vanished. His tone became serious, firm. "There's no catch," he said. "It's an incentive. We want you to take this job with the utmost seriousness. If you prefer to put it in more professional terms… it’s an investment.”

  He leaned slightly forward. “Because the job isn’t about buying off any prisoner you find.”

  Basil exhaled slowly. “It sounds a lot more complicated than it seems.”

  “I need you to find the worst of the worst,” Evander continued bluntly. “The lowest of the low in moral terms. I have reports that in Migozyria they are employing mercenary companies made up of criminals brought directly from Fullgorth. Many of them aren’t even being sold into slavery; they are being condemned to death for the atrocities they are committing in our nation.”

  He paused briefly, his words heavy with meaning. “Those are the kinds of individuals we are looking for.”

  Silence fell over the group. No one spoke for several seconds, each trying to piece things together, to understand the logic behind such a specific… and disturbing request.

  Finally, Elian, who until that moment had remained silent, broke the silence with a crooked smile. “I suppose those slaves won’t exactly have a promising future. Or a second chance.”

  “Absolutely not,” Evander replied without the slightest hint of guilt. “I don’t have the exact details, but I assume they’ll be used in some kind of experimentation… or in jobs with a high mortality rate.”

  Then he added, anticipating the group’s reaction:

  “And before you ask, no. It’s not illegal. There are legal precedents for trading with death row inmates. They can be bought, as long as their limbs are amputated… and their eyes and tongues are removed.”

  The starkness of his words landed like a blow.

  “You use those kinds of individuals?” Basil asked, visibly shaken. “In that state?”

  Evander shrugged. “It’s not my job to ask those questions,” he replied coldly. “I’m just in charge of getting them.”

  Silence returned to the table like an uncomfortable, heavy presence, revealing that none of the four mercenaries knew what to say. Evander's words had left a far deeper impression than anyone was willing to admit.

  He was the first to break the silence.

  “Look,” he said in a practical, almost conciliatory tone, “if you analyze it rationally, it’s not such a big deal. You would only have to fulfill your part of the agreement. Nothing more. And we chose you precisely because of your reputation… we know you wouldn’t try to deceive us by bringing any kind of slaves.”

  As he spoke, Evander stood calmly, straightening his coat.

  “You don’t have to decide now,” he added. “Take your time. You have a week to give me an answer, through our mutual partner.”

  He then took out a few silver coins and placed them on the table. They were enough to cover everything the mercenaries had drunk… even the beer he himself hadn’t touched.

  He turned to leave, but before walking completely away, he stopped and looked at the group one last time. A slight, almost friendly smile appeared on his face.

  “I recommend you decide quickly,” he remarked. I have five other companies I need to talk to… and there's only room for two.

  With that, Evander disappeared into the tavern's crowd, vanishing through the main entrance as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

  The four mercenaries remained silent, looking at each other, as if waiting for one of them to have an immediate response to what had just transpired.

  None of them were innocent. They all knew well how the world worked—the violence, the misery, the cruelty that lurked in the upper echelons of power. And it was true: their participation would be strictly limited to what they were tasked with. Nothing more. In return, they would receive a rather substantial reward.

  "I think we're in for a long night of discussion," Calista sighed, finally breaking the silence. "It's an excellent opportunity for all of us… but we must carefully consider all the possible ramifications. Those that could affect us in the future."

  The others nodded silently, aware that accepting this assignment wouldn't be a decision they could easily undo.

  However, Basil added something no one expected. "That guy isn't normal."

  The three of them immediately looked at him.

  “No ordinary man can withstand the aura of a mystic Master without being affected,” Basil continued gravely. “And I did my best to focus my energy on him throughout the entire conversation.”

  The surprise was immediate and evident on the others’ faces.

  “Either he’s protected by extremely effective defensive devices…” Basil added, “or he’s used to dealing with individuals much stronger than myself.”

  The comment fell like a shadow across the table.

  “That could be good… or bad,” Dario murmured, “in too many different ways.”

  Silence settled once more, but this time it wasn’t just morality that troubled them. Everything indicated that if they accepted the job, they would be getting involved with some kind of rather powerful organization.