- Northern Snowfields (Fifteen Years Ago) -
A variety of flags waved in the wind, their bearers standing amid hundreds of thousands of people.
A young Gavis Balroc, covered head to toe in thick, heavy furs, stared out into that sea of warriors, his demeanour contemplative.
The great mercenary expedition. A venture that had taken an unbelievable amount of effort and time to put together. Some said that people had been trying for hundreds of years to unite and galvanise such a force.
"Gavvy boy!"
A childishly short, green-haired man strode over, swiping aside a thin braid that framed the left side of his face.
"Mr. Ludius," Gavis addressed the man, rising from his stool and offering a deep bow.
Ludius's face twisted into a deep, exaggerated scowl.
"I don't like all the stiff honorific stuff," he said, sitting casually atop a barrel of supplies. "Just call me by my name."
Gavis sat back down, adjusting his furs to fend off the biting cold.
"You're my mentor's sworn brother," Balroc replied. "Disrespecting you is the same as disrespecting him."
"Is it disrespect, though?" the mint-haired man questioned, scratching the top of his head.
"To me it is."
Ludius stared off into space for a moment, then smiled.
"I see," he finally said. "You're both similar and different to your master."
"Mentor," Gavis corrected. "I was unable to learn anything of his. I only received the basics. I can't be counted as a true student."
His tone was flat, but Ludius could hear the bitterness beneath it.
Ludius sighed. "Is that why you're not joining the expedition?"
Gavis's head snapped up. He had planned to leave in secret in the dead of night. He hadn't told anyone about it, so his heart fully leapt to his throat, truly caught off guard.
"You can't hide anything from me," Ludius said casually. "You know that."
"I'm sorry..."
"What for? I never said you were in trouble," Ludius said, pausing to observe the young brunette. "You can go if you want. I just wanted to understand why."
Gavis hesitated. He debated being vulnerable about feelings he hadn't even shared with his father figure.
"I'm not good enough."
Ludius stared at him. "That's pretty stupid of you to say."
"I'm being serious," Balroc said, his tone sombre. "If I go out there, I'll die. I don't want to hold anyone back in the process."
"You think our judgment will be compromised if you're in danger?" Ludius scoffed. "No need to worry. We'll march right over your corpse just fine."
Gavis let out a hollow laugh.
"That's not all," he said. "I just don't think this is for me."
He looked at some mercenaries distributing rations, eyes narrowing in on a raven-haired man with sharp grey eyes.
He turned back to Ludius, whose eyes had never left him.
"I'll go back to my hometown. Start a mercenary guild and sit back into a more managerial role. Who knows, someone I raise up might end up joining your glorious mission one day."
The green-haired man shook his head, forcing a convincing smile onto his face.
"Very well, kid," he said energetically. "I'll give you my blessing!"
Ludius jumped off the barrel, walking away.
"Just... don't run off without saying goodbye to him," he added. "It wouldn't be fair to either of you."
Gavis stood and bowed once more to the man's retreating back.
---
- Balroc's Office (Present) -
The room was regal. Even in the dark, he could make out the abundance of ornate adornments that filled the space. It was a testament to the extensive effort he had poured into creating this life.
Balroc liked to come here even when he had no work. He often looked around the room to remind himself of where he was now in contrast to where he started. It genuinely soothed his nerves and raised his spirits whenever he did.
The recent events, however, plagued his thoughts even as he carried out his little ritual.
Henry Fernand's claiming of the two slaves had rattled the other merchants. To differing degrees, some had lost faith in him because of his failure to prevent the matter. Like the conniving rats many of the Lukarian upper class were, they hid it well, but he could tell.
A knock at the door called for his attention. He sighed, realising that he wouldn't have his quiet contemplative night. He never alerted anyone whenever he did this, so someone must've seen him enter the building late and come to check on him.
"Come in."
A plain-looking elderly man stepped partly through the door, nodding respectfully to Balroc.
"Sorry to interrupt you, sir," the man said before the merchant could speak. "There's a guest here for you."
That took Gavis aback. He rarely received guests at the office, let alone in the middle of the night.
"...Who?"
"A young lady. She seems to be a servant of a noble."
That raised even more questions. Balroc didn't have any dealings with nobles, at least not in this Haven. It would be too much of a stretch to expect a faraway noble to send their servant all this way.
Rather than continuing to question his attendant, he decided to get his answers directly from the mysterious character.
"Send her in, Gil."
The man stepped out, closing the door behind him. Gavis grabbed an old sheathed sword he had leaning against the wall behind him, keeping it at the ready beneath the table.
Gil returned, a red-haired woman in tow. The young lady stepped forward, stopping right in front of his desk before bowing.
"My name is Evora, sir," she said, trying to maintain a calm posture. "I'm here to deliver a letter."
"A letter?" he asked, looking towards the elderly man and gesturing with his eyes.
Gil closed the door, staying between it and the redhead.
"First of all, where do you come from?"
Evora looked confused for a moment, then realised he meant which house she worked under.
"I'm a servant of Henry Fernand, sir."
Balroc immediately tensed, expecting nothing good to come from that man.
Noticing the rapid deterioration of the room's mood, she immediately raised her hands and explained herself.
"I'm not here in service to Fernand."
The fact that she didn't refer to the Baron with the respect expected from a servant didn't go past the merchant. He relaxed, releasing a tired, weary breath.
"Then what is this letter?"
"I brought it as a favour for a friend," she explained. "But the person who sent it is... an associate of that friend."
She placed the letter on the table, taking a step back and giving him time to go through the contents.
Gavis let go of the sword, laying it on his lap. Ripping open the envelope, he unfolded the paper and calmly skimmed across the page. When he got to the end, he fought back a smile.
"So that's how it is," he spoke with barely contained mirth. "Tell the sender that I'll handle what he asked of me. I'll communicate the price with him at a later time."
Evora nodded, bowing and walking back towards the door.
"Before you leave..."
"Yes...?" She said, turning back towards the seated man.
"Are you a part of the Carmen tribe?"
The redhead tensed, her expression hardening.
"I am."
"Be at ease," Gavis said assuredly. "I don't discriminate against your people."
He thought of a regrettably familiar head of long red hair decorated in blood, the man it belonged to sporting a signature crazed smile.
"The faults of a few don't extend to every other member."
Evora blinked in surprise, smiling at the man in appreciation for the words. Gavis reciprocated her expression with a warm smile of his own. She bowed and left the room, Gil making way for her.
When they were sure she had completely left, Gil turned to his lord.
"The letter seemed to lift your spirits," the elderly man said, his tone inquisitive.
A serious expression overtook Balroc's face.
"Gil, mentally ready yourself. We'll be busy for the foreseeable future."
---
The air in the streets of Lukaria was buzzing with something that morning.
Patrick wasn't known for his sharpness, but even he could feel that the energy was off. Nonetheless, he carried on until he approached an old inn building far removed from everything else. It looked long abandoned, and if he hadn't been here previously, he would've completely disregarded it.
Making his way up the front steps, he called out for the man who had become a sworn brother to him.
Aluilde opened the door, scanning for other people before smiling and giving the other man a firm handshake and inviting him in.
"Brother, you're earlier than I expected," the redheaded man said casually. "We agreed on meeting at noon, right?"
Patrick chuckled nervously.
"Well...," he started. "I'm a little tight on money, so I thought maybe we could get an early start today. You know... play longer, win more."
Aluilde looked at him with the familiar indescribable look, then broke out laughing.
"Patrick, my brother, that's no way to live," he said playfully, then his expression abruptly turned serious. "These little games can't hold you up forever."
"I know, but for now it should d—"
"We're not going to a gambling den today," the taller man interrupted.
"What? Why?!"
"Like I said." He paced to the old couch in what looked to be the former lobby of the building and sat. "No more little games."
He began twirling a knife small enough to be compared to an arrowhead by its ring handle.
"Have you heard yet?"
Still flustered, Patrick eyed the knife in the man's hand, fear crawling up within him.
"...Heard about what?"
"I really had to keep my ear to the ground," Aluilde explained. "But it paid off, so I can't complain."
"Out with it then," Patrick said, temporarily forgetting himself in his impatience.
Aluilde stopped spinning the knife, placing it beside himself on the couch.
He smiled, eyes squinting. "I found out that this time's Lukan Arena tournament will be continuing after all."
"What? But how? The arena's a complete wreck, and everyone should be hesitant after what happened last time."
Aluilde failed to maintain his demeanour, clicking his tongue.
"All that doesn't matter when the right people come together."
He stood up, walking back up to Patrick and draping his arm around his shoulder.
"Fernand and two others pushed for the tournament to continue," the redhead continued. "I don't know who the others are for sure, but one of them is likely Willian Tigris."
"Why would Baron Tigris want to resume the competition?" Patrick asked, completely lost.
"He must have ulterior motives," Aluilde said plainly, not in the mood to get into explanations. "Just like us."
Inford backed away from the man, fervently shaking his head and arms in denial.
"Us?" he asked in a panic. "What do you mean us?"
The other man straightened from Patrick pushing away from him, a snake-like smile forming on his lips.
"Remember what I told you about before?"
"That crazy nonsense when we were drunk? You meant it?"
"Of course," he said. "I was dead serious, and this is our chance."
"From what I received from my... sources, the people who won their preliminary matches are continuing in the tournament. The rest of the spots will be filled with another qualifier being held three weeks from now."
"Okay, and?"
Aluilde held back the urge to smack the man.
"You're deeply ingrained in the slavery market in Lukaria, correct?"
"Yeah."
"Then use whatever channels you used to get the glowing slave girl and find another star we can enter."
Patrick looked at the man like he had grown a second head. For the first time, he considered that maybe that slave of his had been correct about his association with Aluilde being a mistake.
But wait... that slave of his.
"I already have a pretty strong guy."
"Really?" Aluilde asked half-heartedly, not even looking at Patrick.
"Yeah, you've met him."
The red-haired man looked at Patrick, a doubtful look on his face.
"That guy? Really?"
"Yeah! I had to give him a reinforced slave seal so that he couldn't act up, but he's the real deal!"
Aluilde leaned against the old inn's reception counter. He tapped his foot, lost in deep thought.
"Hmm," he muttered. "Fine then, we'll use him."
It was only then that Patrick realised he had been supporting something he wanted no part in.
"Wait," he said. "I'm fine, actually. I still don't think I want to join you in trying that."
Aluilde threw him an empty glance.
"Even if it's a chance for you to screw Fernand over?"
That was all Patrick's simple mind needed to hear for his anger and ego to take precedence over his reason.
Aluilde walked over, putting his hands on the smaller man's shoulders and looking him in the eye. Nothing but madness swirled in the gateways to the red-haired man's soul.
"We'll succeed," he said confidently. "The tournament is already generating buzz simply off the potential of a match between Gewalt and the glowing girl."
"It's the perfect stage to take advantage of," he continued. "While everyone's occupied, we'll take over Fyke's faction and make our own proper debut into the underworld."
Patrick wasn't listening, too absorbed in his imagination of paying back Henry Fernand. Aluilde started pacing around the room, frantically turning around again and again, as if looking for someone that wasn't there.
"After that, we'll grow. Once we're good enough..."
He kicked through the reception counter, splinters taking flight in every direction.
His violet eyes glowed with a mix of paranoia and rage.
"We'll kill Drexler Pallen," he finished.