A few minutes later, when Hector worried the fort's leader had forgotten about them, a woman emerged from a side building. Her brown hair swayed as she walked down the mud-filled street. Groups of mercenaries stepped out of her way, many throwing nervous glances while others watched with reverence.

"Who do you think that is?" Jodie asked, stepping to Hector's side.

Crossing his arms, Hector shook his head. He wasn't sure who she was, but she clearly wielded authority. "Perhaps someone second in command of this place?" He suggested.

"You think they'd send someone like that out to greet us?" Lincoln asked.

"I don't see why not." Hector stepped forward to greet the woman.

They stopped a short distance from each other. The woman's posture remained tight as she scrutinised Hector and the other two. "I take it you're the Clear Sky Mercenaries?"

A brief thrill buzzed in the back of Hector's mind. Someone had actually used his mercenary group's title—the first time anyone had. Smiling behind his mask, he inclined his head. "That is us. And you are?"

"I am Lord Raquel's personal advisor." The woman turned and made her way back toward the building she'd come from. As she did, she signalled for Hector and the rest to follow.

The group stopped at the entrance to the building a minute later. She knocked crisply on the wood. The door creaked open. A man built like the fortification's gate let them in. Then Hector and the rest walked inside, following Raquel's advisor through several hallways before ending up in an office.

The man Hector had seen on the fort wall sat behind a desk. Piles of materials sat stacked in front of him—various chitin and claws, as well as a few mana cores clustered on the table's edge in a small bowl. The man looked up. With a tired gaze, he smiled at them.

"I saw your efforts from the balcony. I can't say how thankful I am that you turned up and saved my men." He pushed off the desk, getting to his feet and stepped around it, reaching a hand out toward Hector.

Smiling, Hector took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"I'm sorry the hospitality isn't too great. As you can see, we don't really have much of a grip on things at the moment."

The room, for lack of a better word, was a mess. The bookshelves stood destroyed—parts of them clearly ripped off and used somewhere else. Maybe on the fortification's walls themselves. Dust and disrepair claimed every surface.

Hector nodded. "That's all right."

His gaze scanned the room. It caught on an egg-shaped crystal at the back, sitting atop a pedestal with a strange bug coiled in on itself. His eyes lingered for a moment. Raquel turned, following his gaze. Slowly, he spoke.

"Ah, yes, that was returned to us a few hours ago. I'll tell you about it." He paused. "But first—" He signalled towards the woman who had led Hector here. She still stood by the door.

She left, returning moments later with someone Hector recognised. With his burned hands tapping against his breast pocket, Wymon entered the room. His gaze shifted from person to person as he studied them with darting, unfocused eyes.

"You called, my lord?"

"Thank you, Quiness. Yes, I would like a report on how things are going on the southern walls." Raquel's tone carried authority despite his exhaustion.

"Ah, I see." Wymon nodded.

"Oh—" Raquel said, as if remembering Hector was there. He gestured toward him. "This here is—"

"H," Hector said.

Raquel smiled. "And this is Wymon of the Phoenix Company. A man who's been working under me for my incursion into this part of the trial realm."

Wymon nodded toward Hector. Clearly, he hadn't recognised them. Thankfully, the masks were doing their job. He turned back to Raquel.

With a sigh, Wymon bowed. "My lord, the southern walls are holding, but not for long. I fear that if a fourth wave of bugs hits—and it's much worse than the last—we won't survive it." His gaze shifted to the small window in the room. His steps echoing around the space, he strode toward it. Withered hand massaging his breast pocket. "I don't think we can hold on much longer, my lord."

Bringing a finger to his lip, Raquel frowned. He stepped back behind his desk and pulled open a drawer. A crystal appeared in his hand, and he held it up for a moment, then sighed, muttering to himself.

As he turned toward Quiness, the woman who'd guided them here, the door opened. Three individuals stepped inside. The first wore leather armour from head to toe—short black hair, equipment torn in places, though not too bruised. The other two wore similar gear.

Raquel lowered his hand and nodded at the trio. "This here is Blackbridge Company," he said, introducing them to everyone. "But I didn't realise I'd called for them so soon. Haydon, what brings you here so early?"

"I'm just worried, my lord." The black-haired man, Haydon, shifted his weight. "I fear that with our intrusion into their nest earlier, these raids won't stop. We've disturbed a hive, and I think we should get as far away from it as possible."

Raquel sighed, lowering his head. Silence settled over the room.

"You're a brave man, Haydon," Raquel said, looking back up to meet the mercenary's eyes. "He and his party were the ones to bring back this here egg." He gestured toward the crystal Hector had noticed earlier. "If it weren't for him and his party, we wouldn't have it. Though sadly, we lost some people in there."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"We lost many people in there, and that is why I beseech you, lord." Haydon's voice hardened. "Those people are already lost. We shouldn't lose any more lives, clinging to the hope that they'll reappear."

"We have to give them time." Raquel shook his head and sighed.

Hector frowned. Should he interject with a suggestion? Or keep silent?

"I believe if you could get out," Raquel continued, "they can too. They'll find a way."

"We were lucky. We had good timing, and we were fast."

"Exactly, my lord." Another of the trio spoke up, this one with short spiked hair. "The place was swarming with them, and we knew we couldn't stay. Some others thought they could go deeper; they believed in their strength. But we were rational, my lord. And I think that rationality saved us."

"And you're sure you can't tell me any more? Maybe if we knew exactly where you lost them, we could send a team in to retrieve them. Perhaps they live."

"I'm sorry, my lord," the third member spoke up and rested a hand on his companion's shoulder, silencing him. "I know you demand the information, but it was hectic, and to be honest, I'd rather not go through it."

It was odd. They seemed so focused on not sharing the specifics. Hector understood the experiences could be traumatic, sure, but why wouldn't they try to help?

Not everyone would have the same sense of justice that his father had drilled into him. Still, these mercenaries seemed to care for each other—and Raquel clearly cared about his people. Then why not these three?

Raquel let out a sigh and slipped the crystal back into the drawer. He then raised a hand to Quiness. "Ah, you can move to the mess hall, where there'll be some food waiting. Quiness here will take you there." He gestured toward the woman. "I would also ask that you stay and help. You seem quite capable, and I'm looking to hire any mercenary that comes our way. The pay is good—we offer resources and cultivation techniques rather than points, as the founder of this place has seen fit not to allow transfers. But as I said, we can pay in cultivation techniques or resources of your choosing."

"Thank you," Hector said.

The three of them hustled out of the room, following behind Quiness. Behind them in the room, Raquel and the Blackbridge Company continued their discussion.

They advanced through the damp streets, sloshing through mud. Groups of mercenaries moved back and forth while others lined the walls, gazing out, waiting for a threat that was sure to come.

Moments later, they entered a large hall—not quite packed with people but definitely not empty either. Toward the back, a large pot simmered with stew. Several groups rushed around serving dishes to disgruntled-looking men and women who had been waiting for a while.

Quiness gestured toward that area. "Over there, you can collect a meal. Someone should come and assign you lodgings shortly if you indeed wish to stay. If not, you can collect your food and be on your way."

"Thank you." Hector reached out a hand. Quiness took it and gave it a firm shake. "We should be staying. I see no reason not to help since we're already here." He glanced back at Lincoln and Jodie. From their eyes, at least, they seemed quite okay with this direction, though he wanted to talk about what they'd seen in the office.

With a last bow, Quiness turned and made her way out of the mess hall. Lincoln, Jodie, and Hector walked to the area at the back to get their food.

After receiving a few ladles of slop and plucking the best bread he could find, they found a bench toward the side of the hall.

"So," Hector said, raising his spoon and dipping it into the bowl of slop. "What do you—"

A bell began ringing through the hall. The sound echoed from outside as well. Mercenaries around the hall jumped to their feet and rushed out. Shouts to grab equipment and be ready to defend echoed all around.

A boy, probably no older than twelve, rushed past. He stumbled over a stool, then got back to his feet with a look of panic.

Hector frowned, sighing. He dropped his spoon into the slop and pushed out from under the table. "I guess we have some work to do."

Hector's gaze lingered on the cooling bowl of brown slop. The wooden spoon bobbed in the liquid, forgotten. Around the mess hall, a cacophony erupted—scraping benches, pounding boots, mercenaries racing toward battle. Peace had shattered. An uncomfortable itch settled in the back of Hector's mind. Could he and his friends rest while others fought?

The bells continued to clang, reverberating through his skull with each toll. An insect siege—growing worse by the moment. Had the wave already crashed against the walls? Were groups out there dying on the battlefield alone?

Lincoln remained seated across from him. Mask halfway pulled up, bread inches from his mouth, frozen in indecision. Jodie's hand had moved to her sword hilt. Her gaze tracked the mass exodus of mercenaries with a hawk's intensity.

A question formed in Hector's mind with uncomfortable clarity. They'd barely been here—what, a few minutes? Standing in line hardly counted as rest. Their bowls still steamed. Exhaustion clung to their limbs after the fights with the Indigo and the bugs earlier. Even [Volt Runner] remained on cooldown. Could anyone blame them for taking a moment to fill their bellies?

Raquel's hired mercenaries—people who'd spent far more time at these walls—were already handling the situation. Surely they could hold out. Hector and the others wouldn't change things drastically. Though they could save lives if the chance arose.

The logic settled into place. His safety and the safety of his friends came first. He wanted to help, yes, but he needed to be fit and ready. Better to rest now and fight later. Preserve their strength. Raquel had made overtures at hiring them, but they hadn't received the promised pay yet. So they served no one.

Yet they were here. In the fortress. Behind these walls. People were frantic—that young boy who'd stumbled earlier, eyes filled with panic. His first of many fights to come. That fear had been real. Hector recognised it well.

His jaw tightened. The choice crystallised before him. He'd made it. Now he had to commit.

"Quickly," he said, pulling his bowl toward him and scooping up a spoonful of slop. The words came out clipped. Decisive. "Both of you. Eat fast. We'll help with this wave and the next if they need it."

Hector's eyes met Lincoln's, then shifted to Jodie's. Neither of the two voiced any complaints.

"I just hope we don't waste too much time being here." He shoved the spoon into his mouth. Salt, grain, and a hint of grit slithered down his throat as he swallowed.

He couldn't blame himself for the deaths of others. He knew that. But part of him still wished to help as many as he could.

—- —- —-

An hour or so after an intense battle, as the last of the bugs died, Hector and the others gathered on the battlefield.

Hector's twin blades disappeared with a crackle of static as Quiness found them on the battlefield. She approached through the pained groans of men, boots crunching over chitinous fragments scattered across damp ground and flattened grass. Around them, the last insects from this wave lay dying. Each corpse—the size of a small horse, some larger—writhed against the earth. Scraping sounds echoed from their fallen husks.

"The lord Flamelight requests your presence." No warmth touched Quiness's voice. Seemingly, no gratitude for the help Hector and the others had just rendered.

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