Chapter 327: Priam, Captain of the Mercenaries
After four grueling days of training, thirty-two humans stood in a massive hangar. At their head, Priam waited for the Reunion’s countdown. Despite the palpable tension of being thrown into yet another unknown world, not a sound louder than a breath could be heard. The reason for this silence loomed less than thirty meters away.
Eyes closed, a monstrous fusion of a praying mantis and a tyrannosaurus was meditating. The towering insectoid hadn’t moved in over thirty minutes, yet its mere presence was enough to paralyze every onlooker. More than its terrifying appearance, the Soul Tier gulf between the Mercenary and the spectators was weighing on their spirits.
Priam was luckier than his comrades. His prolonged contact with Lasha and Wang Lin had allowed his soul to adapt somewhat to the pressure passively emanating from a mid Tier soul. This provided no real protection if the Tier 4 decided to drown his soul—that kind of thing fell under the realm of taboo Titles. Still, it was enough that he wasn’t shaking in his boots like most of the other candidates.
Indeed, humans weren’t the only ones gathered in the hangar. Trying to be discreet, Priam stole a glance at the battalion to his right.
Five hundred and fifteen strong, the Hoplites outnumbered the humans by a wide margin. Priam hadn’t had the chance to speak with anyone from this rival civilization, but Maya had. His second-in-command had reported that their race had unified two millennia ago and was utterly obsessed with war. It wasn’t violence they craved, but rather the honor found in battle. According to Maya, in a skill-less duel, even the weakest among the Hoplites handled a blade better than Kenzo, their local samurai.
Maybe one of them would be interested in training me with a weapon? In exchange, I could teach them about runes and aether manipulation...
Tucking the thought away for later, Priam squinted toward the next group.
Eighteen golden-skinned, platinum-haired men stood upright as if they owned the place. According to Lasha, the Empyreans were particularly gifted in controlling aether while being decent warriors in their own right. If they weren’t so insufferably arrogant and misogynistic, there would have been more of them in the Guild. As it stood, twenty-three had quite literally lost their heads after disrespecting a few humanoid female Mercenaries. According to Luc, the survivors had learned to control their tongues.
The lucky man had spent some time speaking with them about their racial Talent. [Empyrean Path]—and its evolved form, [Royal Path]—nudged the world subtly, bending probability to ensure their success. Luc, with his newfound affinity for luck, had found their discussions enlightening. It had helped him clarify the differences between destiny, fate, chance, probability, and chaos.
Farther to the right stood about a dozen Arkanians—humans heavily augmented with bionic prosthetics.Glowing tattoos laced with crude insults, a complete disregard for basic manners, and an apparent aversion to both cologne and toothpaste made them seem more like brigands than mercenaries. When Priam had asked Lasha about them, she had merely shrugged.
“Mercenary work can be... flexible. Sometimes, the line between us, assassins, and thieves is thinner than you'd like. In the end, it’s better to have these guys with us than running wild elsewhere. Here, at least, there are rules.”
Next came the Duatians, men and women with disconcerting physiques. Despite their prominent muscles, all bore dark circles under their eyes that no makeup could conceal. Eyes were the window to the soul, and theirs had endured trauma. The fact that they were the only ones besides Priam who could ignore the presence of the Tier 4 piqued his curiosity. Biomancers and necromancers... masters of life and death, of body and soul. I should speak with them after the Reunion.
Priam leaned forward slightly to peer toward the back of the hangar, where hundreds of Zoans—beastmen—stood in formation.
Aside from their bipedal stance and humanoid silhouettes, no two were alike. Bovines, canids, felines, amphibians, even reptiles—animalistic features blended seamlessly with humanoid forms, creating a race that looked feral. That perception couldn’t have been further from the truth, and Maya had warned him: their time magic was powerful.
As Priam’s mind raced with ways to counter a hybrid creature capable of navigating the river of time, the hangar doors creaked open.
“Ten civilizations integrated at once, yet only six stand before me. I wonder what the other four look like...”
Wang Lin’s voice resonated through the hangar, shattering the oppressive silence left by the Tier 4’s aura. The leader of the Mercenaries had arrived to inspect his troops.
“It doesn’t matter for now. Today, before being Humans, Hoplites, Empyreans, Arkanians, Duatians, or Zoans, you are potential Mercenaries. Survive, and you will join the family.”
The air trembled as fifty Mercenaries materialized beside the colonel. Priam felt his heartbeat accelerate. It might not seem like much, but every single one of these Tier 4s could single-handedly bring humanity to its knees. Elsewhere, these powerhouses would have been worshiped; here, they were merely Guild members. The message was clear: joining the Mercenaries was a ticket to the elite.
After a brief pause, Wang Lin continued.
“Unlike your parents, the Guild is a family you choose. Surrounded by comrades who have your back, you will explore this universe, face down heroes and dragons, amass wealth and glory! And if, one day, a blade silences you...” The colonel grinned. “We’ll sing of your exploits so loudly the world will never forget!”
Priam’s heart pounded as his blood roared in his veins. This speech resonated with his very soul.
“However, this freedom comes at a price: the Guild comes before your civilization. When your captains give you orders, remember that your dreams outweigh your doubts. Generous to our own, selfish to the world.” ȑαNộ𝖇È𝐒
“Generous to our own, selfish to the world!” the recruits roared in unison.
A second later, a portal opened before each potential Mercenary.
“Figures. I’m also looking for warriors—real fighters—willing to join the Mercenaries. Think that’s something you can help with?”
The merchant grinned as he poured two drinks. “It would be my pleasure! But to persuade them, I’ll need to know exactly what you’re offering and why.”
Priam saw no reason to lie.
“Well, the Guild runs on a sponsor-recruit system that rewards bringing in good talent. Basically, when one of my recruits earns a hundred contribution points, I get five as a bonus. That means it’s in my best interest to find skilled people, mentor them, and train them properly. Do that enough times, and you’ve got yourself a comfortable passive income.”
“Smart.” Mercury handed Priam a glass. “I'm willing to direct elites your way—for a price. However, most of them are already bound to factions. And some… well, let’s just say their contracts are barely a step above slavery. If you were willing to free them, they would certainly be grateful.”
Priam’s expression darkened. He had been warned about these contracts on his first day with the Mercenaries. Drafted by notaries wielding Concepts like Pact, Oath, and Commitment, they were practically inescapable. Loopholes were nonexistent and once signed the exit clauses were deliberately impossible to fulfill.
Of course, if a signer massively outclassed the notary, the Concept’s grip weakened. In practice, factions never let their weapons reach that level of power. There were, however, other ways to free someone.
“With one exception—the Champion of Humanity—I haven’t been authorized to buy out any contracts,” Priam admitted.
No official order had been given, but Wang Lin had hinted that he was willing to do a lot to maintain good relations with the Champion of Humanity. Priam had taken that to mean he could offer to buy out the Champion’s contract if they had had the misfortune of signing something binding.
“There are other ways to break a contract,” Mercury said with a knowing smile. “Mercenaries have a reputation for taking rejection… poorly.”
Priam raised an eyebrow. The merchant had to know the Mercenary Guild’s notaries weren’t strong enough to break contracts from the top factions.
“Even if we were willing to kill notaries, mid-Tier Concepts linger after their wielder dies—not to mention that most contracts are co-signed by multiple notaries. My Guild isn’t going to war with a major faction just to recruit a handful of humans who still need to prove themselves.”
Mercury was silent for a moment, then turned to Priam. “What if there was a way to free them without starting a war?”
Priam started to laugh—until he realized Mercury was serious. “That’s impossible,” he said flatly. “Sector Hope is young, but its strongest factions are run by Tier 7s. Their will is absolute.”
“Everything is relative. Let me tell you about a man who’s about to shake this Sector to its core—Prometheus, King by Divine Right and the second winner of our Impossible Tutorial.”
PHYSICAL:
Strength 893
Constitution 1 450
Agility 1 194
Vitality 1 368
Perception 865
MENTAL:
Vivacity (D) 599
Dexterity 760
Memory 911
Willpower 1 177
Charisma 776
META:
Meta-affinity 1 039
Meta-focus 620
Meta-endurance 1 070
Meta-perception 541
Meta-chance 616
Meta-authority 453
Potential: 27 797
Tier 0
Sun points: 1 143 444
[He Who Eludes Death] charge: PRIMED.
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