Joel was completely beside himself.

  The tavern had been reduced to a scene of destruction, and the situation was becoming truly dangerous when the first city guards began to arrive.

  By then, several mercenaries lay unconscious, others groaned in pain, and more than one watched Joel with open fear, aware that this had escalated far beyond a simple tavern brawl.

  It was at that precise moment that Basil and his lieutenants appeared on the scene.

  They had arrived alerted by the commotion, convinced that some lunatic was destroying their favorite tavern. Their initial intention had been to help subdue the culprit before the guards turned the place into a bloodbath.

  None of them expected that their current boss would be at the center of the chaos. The shock of recognizing him was immediate.

  "Evander!" —Basil shouted loudly, trying to break through the maelstrom of screams and blows— “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?”

  Basil's voice accomplished what no one else had managed up to that point.

  Joel stopped dead in his tracks. His fist hung suspended in the air, mere centimeters from the bloodied face of a mercenary who offered no further resistance. Joel's breathing was ragged, his body still tense, but little by little, the fury began to dissipate.

  He recognized that voice, and with it, reality. His eyes slowly scanned the scene, as if he had just awakened from a feverish dream. He saw the shattered tables, the injured people, the terrified faces. He felt the weight of what had suddenly fallen upon him.

  His expression changed. Confusion, shame, guilt.

  It was the classic look of someone who had crossed a line under the influence of alcohol or drugs, something Basil recognized instantly. Without wasting a moment, he cautiously approached him, speaking in a low, firm but controlled voice, trying to anchor him to reality before the situation spiraled further out of control.

  Fortunately, Joel offered no resistance. He allowed himself to be led out of the tavern like a defeated man, while behind them lingered a thick murmur of witnesses, wounded, and indignant mercenaries. Outside, a large crowd had gathered, watching with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

  The first contingent of guards was also there, led by a mystical master, whose presence exerted a silent but undeniable pressure.

  Joel walked with his head down. Utterly ashamed, deeply remorseful, he allowed Basil to speak for him. He offered no excuses or justifications, though in the back of his mind escape plans were already forming, in case things took a turn for the worse.

  Basil, for his part, acted swiftly and with experience. He made ample use of his reputation, downplaying the incident as much as possible. He emphasized that there were no deaths or serious injuries, that it was a fight that had escalated due to alcohol and heightened emotions. He pointed out that Joel had lost control, yes, but that he had been restrained in time.

  It helped a great deal that Joel, without protest, handed over a considerable sum of gold. He even added energy crystals, a compensation that left more than one person speechless, intended to compensate all those affected and to repair the damage caused.

  The leader of the guards turned out to be an old acquaintance of Basil's. That, combined with the discreet bribe in crystals and the obvious fact that Joel was a warrior of the highest caliber, finally tipped the scales in his favor.

  The decision was clear. Joel would not be arrested. However, as punishment, he had to leave the city immediately… and not return for a long time.

  He nodded silently. And in the end, he was escorted out of the city without further incident.

  There were no insults or shackles, but the constant presence of the guards right up to the city limits made it clear that this was no mere courtesy. Once past the last buildings, Joel continued to be guided by Basil and the other members of the company, and together they headed north, toward one of the training sites they used regularly.

  Their destination was a farm. It had belonged to Basil for years and had been carefully prepared to serve as a training, rest, and planning center. It wasn't a luxurious place, but it was spacious and functional, far enough from the main roads to avoid prying eyes.

  The journey was short, just a few minutes of leisurely walking. For Joel, however, it felt like an eternity.

  Each step was accompanied by a persistent, heavy, almost suffocating guilt. Images of the wrecked tavern, the bodies on the floor, and the terrified stares returned to his mind again and again. Shame pressed against his chest, mingling with the emotional turmoil he still couldn't quite control.

  Ashoka didn't remain silent either. The monk's voice, usually serene, was laced with suppressed reproach. He blamed himself for not anticipating the extreme effects that breaking Joel's emotional barrier would have on him. For underestimating the abruptness of the change, for not insisting that Joel first be in a completely safe environment before attempting it.

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  Paradoxically, the mercenaries seemed to take the incident very differently. Far from condemning him, they began to see Joel in a new light.

  Most of them had suspected from their first encounter that this discreet man was no ordinary person. His presence, his movements, even the way he spoke, had always left an unsettling feeling. But now, after what had happened in the tavern, those doubts had become certainties.

  They were working for someone truly powerful. Someone who, if he weren't hiding, would probably be a great master… or something even greater. The mere fact that an organization could employ such a figure spoke of a level of support that far exceeded the norm.

  Joel wasn't stupid either. He immediately sensed the change in their expressions. Up until that moment, the interaction had been professional and respectful, just as one would expect between a contractor and mercenaries. Now, however, there was something else. A new undertone. Fear.

  But not pure fear, rather a mixture of unsettling anticipation. The feeling of being in the service of something large, dangerous, and potentially lucrative.

  Upon arriving at the farm, Joel wasted no time. He wasn't fully recovered yet; his mind was still a minefield of conflicting emotions and thoughts. However, he felt functional enough to accomplish what he had come to do.

  He requested that the planned meeting take place immediately. There were important matters to discuss.

  "First of all, I want to thank you for what you did for me, Basil," Joel began, his voice noticeably more emotional than usual. "I'm going through a rather complicated situation... and I'm not managing to control myself as I should."

  Basil bowed his head slightly, maintaining his usual professional composure. “No problem, Lord Evander,” he replied politely. “The situation may have looked terrible from the outside, but in the end, you held back. There were no deaths or serious injuries, and that makes a huge difference.”

  Joel let out a short, humorless laugh. “Nothing I did was conscious,” he confessed, forcing a smile. “And it’s something I’d rather forget as soon as possible.”

  Everyone immediately understood that this episode was not something to be taken lightly. Even so, the ensuing silence was awkward, heavy with unspoken questions… until Calista, unable to contain her curiosity, voiced what everyone was thinking.

  “How strong are you?”

  Joel wasn’t surprised. He had anticipated that question from the moment they left the city. However, he also didn’t feel ready to answer honestly. Trust wasn’t enough yet, and revealing too much could create more problems than it solved.

  “I’m afraid that’s something I can’t answer,” he finally said calmly. “The only thing I can assure you is that I’m stronger than all of you.”

  It wasn’t a threat, nor was it boasting. It was a simple fact, and everyone in the room knew it. Some showed slight disappointment at their mysterious boss’s secrecy, but no one protested. They accepted the answer as it came, aware that there were lines they shouldn’t cross.

  Joel quickly steered the conversation toward safer ground. He asked for a detailed report on the company’s progress over the past few weeks, particularly regarding the recruitment project and strengthening of its combat capabilities.

  The results were, generally speaking, positive.

  The promise of stability and an attractive salary had allowed them to bring in several dozen new members. For now, they were mostly apprentices and adepts, although negotiations were already underway with experts from smaller companies.

  Joel had been clear from the start. He didn't want a rushed expansion or to hire just anyone to inflate the numbers. The company's prestige had to be preserved at all costs, and that meant establishing strict criteria: a clean track record, discipline, and, above all, the ability to work as a team.

  The Joel who had devised that plan, the cold and meticulous strategist, would have been satisfied with the progress, however slow. But that wasn't the Joel sitting across from them at that moment.

  The ease with which Basil had managed to pull him out of a situation where he could easily have ended up in a jail cell… or in a direct confrontation with an entire city, had opened his eyes to a stark reality. Having influence changed everything.

  Having his own network, capable of mitigating mistakes, manipulating situations, and swaying opinions, was too convenient to ignore. So much so, that impatience began to brew within him. A growing desire to accelerate the company's growth and expand rapidly. Further than his more rational self would have deemed prudent.

  "Why don't we consider directly acquiring other mercenary companies?" Joel asked suddenly, his tone serious and his gaze intense. "Say… some smaller ones than ours, with similar reputations."

  The proposal landed like a stone in the middle of the room, as no one had ever considered anything like it. Not because it was impossible, but because, from their perspective, it was an excessive, almost reckless leap.

  “Entire companies?” Dario asked, incredulous.

  “Exactly,” Joel replied, visibly excited by his own idea. “Why recruit individuals one by one when we can absorb entire groups? We would leverage the cohesion they already possess, the trust among their members… and, incidentally, we would gain experienced leadership. It’s much more efficient.”

  For a few seconds, silence reigned. Their eyes met, heavy with doubt, until Basil finally decided to speak.

  “It’s not something that hasn’t been seen before,” he admitted cautiously, “but it usually only happens when a company leader dies or retires. The biggest problem is always leadership, since most reputable companies are led by mystical masters.”

  “And it’s very difficult for a Master to accept orders from another,” Calista added, “especially if it’s not clear who is the strongest.”

  “There’s also the factor of willpower,” Dario interjected. “Many would be unwilling to abandon something they've built over years. Convincing them would come at a very high price.”

  Joel let out a short, almost amused laugh. “So the problem boils down to two things,” he said with a lopsided smile, “the strength of our dear Basil… and money.”

  His gaze fell directly on the mercenary leader. “Tell me, Basil,” he continued, “are you capable of reaching the rank of Grandmaster?”

  Basil blinked, clearly surprised by the direct question, but answered honestly. “According to my latest tests, my growth hasn’t stopped, so it should be possible for me to reach the rank of Grandmaster… perhaps even Mystic Knight (level six).”

  “How long?” Joel asked bluntly.

  “At the current rate… maybe ten years.”

  Joel’s brow furrowed immediately. “Too slow,” he declared. “How can we accelerate the process?”

  “Accelerate it?” Basil repeated, increasingly confused.

  Joel observed him with a mixture of frustration and impatience. “How do you accelerate it? Are there potions? Elixirs? Superior training techniques?”

  “They exist,” Basil admitted. “But their prices are usually… prohibitive.”

  “Let’s imagine there are no resource limits,” Joel replied without hesitation. “Could you reach the next rank in a year?”

  Basil was silent for a few seconds. He was beginning to understand where this conversation was headed.

  “With the right resources,” he finally answered, “I can’t guarantee reaching the rank of grandmaster in less than a year… but I am certain I could do it in less than two.”

  Joel’s smile widened. “Then that solves our first problem,” he said with satisfaction. “All that remains is to increase the company’s budget. We need to increase our power… and do it quickly.”

  No one in the room said a word, but everyone felt a chill run down their spine. Because, in that instant, it became clear that they were no longer thinking like a simple, expanding mercenary company.

  They were taking giant leaps… toward something entirely different.