Both Crimson Thorn and the Nightshade Syndicate were old, established legions with nearly a century of history. Their roots in Luminea ran deep. Long before the Salt Blade appeared, they had been fighting over missions, territory, and reputation for decades. The resentment between them was bottomless.
The rapid rise of the Salt Blade had torn a large chunk of fat from their mouths, leading to continuous and escalating friction and conflict.
For a group like mercenaries, who lived by the sword, the most direct and effective way to resolve friction was with fists and blades.
Any form of compromise would be seen as a sign of weakness.
Damari's cold aetheris was now at its peak, his narrow eyes flashing with a predatory light. Jason, Klaus, and the others were not to be outdone, taking combat stances as aetheris of different colors swirled around them.
The other mercenaries in the bar, seeing the confrontation, quickly backed away, clearing a space in the center. However, no one left. Instead, they all watched with great interest, ready for a good show.
Even the bar owner, Siviel, merely leaned lazily over the counter, her chin propped on one hand, watching with amusement, a playful smile on her lips. To her, mercenaries getting into a drunken brawl was the most common thing in the world. As long as they didn't use real weapons or kill anyone, she was happy to turn a blind eye. After all, they would have to pay for any tables, chairs, or mugs they broke, down to the last coin.
In Luminea, no one was foolish enough to stiff her on a bill. Many of her most ardent admirers from back in the day were now leaders of major mercenary legions.
Just as Damari's rage was about to explode and a brawl was about to begin, the wooden door of the bar was pushed open once again.
"Oh my, Sister Siviel, what's all the commotion in here today? It's so lively!" a clear, melodious female voice, tinged with a lazy smile, announced as Freya walked in. Her face, under her hood, was somewhat obscured in the dim light of the bar, but her blue eyes shone like bright, captivating sapphires.
Upon seeing Freya, Siviel's face lit up with a warm smile. The two were good friends.
"Oh, my dear sister, you've finally arrived! You're just in time! Come and see, it's that bastard Jason. After a few too many cups of horse piss, he's forgotten his own name and started a little tiff with Vice-Captain Damari of the Crimson Thorn. They're about to go at it!" Though Siviel's words were scolding Jason, she was actually giving Damari an out, implying he shouldn't lower himself to brawling with a drunk.
"Oh? How coincidental. Vice-Captain Damari has graced us with his presence as well," Freya said, her gaze shifting to the ashen-faced Damari. She chuckled lightly. "Since we've run into each other, it must be fate. How about this: today, the drinks for all our brothers from Crimson Thorn are on me. What do you say?"
Faced with Freya's sudden gesture of goodwill, Damari, no matter how furious he was, had no choice but to retract his fierce aetheris.
This woman was a Rank-6 Mage, an opponent not to be underestimated. Besides, Damari knew that if a real fight broke out, his small group wouldn't necessarily gain any advantage against this bunch from the Salt Blade.
Damari snorted, accepting the olive branch extended by Siviel and Freya. He led his mercenaries to a large, empty table. After sitting, he said with a sneer, "We at Crimson Thorn appreciate Vice-Captain Freya's kind offer. However, we can afford a few drinks ourselves!"
"Well now, who is this handsome little fellow? Freya, is this a new magic apprentice of yours?" Siviel asked curiously. She had only just noticed the young, good-looking boy trailing behind Freya's tall figure.
The Rayne standing there now was a far cry from his previous disheveled state. He wore a well-tailored, short, teal-colored warrior's tunic that accentuated his straight posture, and a pair of soft, brown leather boots. His once-messy black hair had been neatly combed. His small face, previously caked with mud, was now perfectly clean.
Not only was Siviel surprised, but Jason, Klaus, and the others also stared with their mouths agape when they saw Rayne's new appearance.
They could hardly connect the handsome boy before them with the grimy, cunning, and fierce Rayne from the beastman camp.
"Good evening, Auntie Siviel," Rayne said, facing her unabashed gaze without a hint of unease. He bowed gracefully and greeted her in a clear voice.
"Oh my! What a delightful little thing!" Siviel was overjoyed. She reached out, pinched Rayne's cheek, and kneaded it a few times. "Such a cute face, and such a sweet talker! If I were twenty or thirty years younger, a young man like you would have me head over heels, unable to walk straight!"
Rayne instinctively tried to dodge, but her grip was surprisingly strong. He couldn't escape and could only let his cheek be tormented.
"Hehe, you're joking again, Sister Siviel," Freya said with a laugh, gently patting Siviel's hand to rescue Rayne. "His name is Rayne. He's a new assistant Brother Victor hired. I thought your roasted meat is a delicacy, so I brought him here to try it."
"Oh, so he's one of old Victor's new hires." A look of understanding crossed Siviel's face, followed by a sympathetic glance at Rayne. "Poor little thing. Victor has a terrible temper, and he's a cheapskate! But don't you worry, little Rayne. Once you taste the meat I roast myself, I guarantee you'll forget all your troubles!" With that, she couldn't resist giving his still-reddened cheek another firm pinch before sashaying toward the kitchen, her full hips swaying.
Freya shook her head with a smile and led Rayne to Jason's table.
Jason was still fuming. He took a huge gulp of ale and muttered to Freya in a low voice, "Freya, I really don't get you! Why were you so polite to that Damari? We should have taken advantage of our numbers and taught those Crimson Thorn bastards a lesson!"
"Jason, can you please use that alcohol-soaked brain of yours?" Freya chided him sharply. "What's the point of a meaningless bar brawl? Even if we win, what do we get besides venting some anger? In the end, we'd just have to bother Dario to come and clean up our mess. Jason, you remember this: we are mercenaries, not street thugs who only know how to fight! Every action we take must have a corresponding reward. Otherwise, it's just foolish!"
"Mmm-hmm, Teacher Freya is right!" Rayne, who had been busy stuffing his face with a large, fragrant roasted lamb leg, looked up at her words and nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full and his lips greasy.
Jason, too intimidated to argue with Freya, was still fuming. He turned and saw Rayne's goofy expression, and his anger flared. He smacked Rayne on the back of the head. "What do you know, you little brat? You haven't even grown all your hair yet! This is grown-up talk, what right do you have to interrupt?"
The blow made Rayne stumble, nearly spitting out his mouthful of meat. He managed to swallow it, then rolled his eyes at Jason and retorted, "What do you mean, I don't understand? I think what Teacher Freya said makes perfect sense! Even beastmen know not to waste precious energy on meaningless fights!"
"Meaningless fights? Heh, you've got a big mouth, kid! You think I don't know those stupid beastmen? When they're bored, they love to get together and beat the crap out of each other for fun!" Jason's anger grew at Rayne's retort. He rolled up his sleeves, glared, and raised his hand to hit Rayne again.
Rayne was ready. He ducked like an eel, sliding off his chair and under the table. He poked his head out and looked up at Jason. "That's not just beating each other up, that's fighting for honor! They're competing for the title of the strongest warrior in the camp! That has meaning!"
"You little rascal, still talking back to me!" Jason was so angry he laughed. He pointed at Rayne under the table. "Fine. Then what we're fighting for with those Crimson Thorn bastards is also honor! The honor of being the strongest mercenary legion in Luminea! So you tell me, what should we do now?"
"Isn't it obvious? We issue a formal challenge!" Rayne said, still crouched under the table.