Scar swept his gaze over the entire room, his single eye glinting with something unreadable. It wasn't a simple observation. It felt like he was scouting, weighing each person's worth, judging who would be an asset… and who would be a liability.

"The caravan will move in a few days," he began, his tone low yet carrying through the room with ease, "and we should reach our target soon. I have already disclosed information that only a few are meant to know."

A sudden chorus of metallic clicks and smoldering tension rolled through the pub.

The sound of swords leaving their sheaths clattered sharply against the wooden floor and walls, silencing even the most drunken mercenary. One by one, Scar's lackeys stepped forward, forming a semicircle behind us. Their boots thudded in perfect unison, their blades positioned with clear intent. Ready to strike the moment Scar commanded.

So that's how he wants to play it.

I didn't need to look behind me to understand the message. Anyone unwilling to join this mission would instantly become a risk. A loose end. And Scar didn't seem like the type to tolerate loose ends.

Of course he would use the lives of everyone here as silent hostages, tightening the noose so no one could run or inform outsiders. That was how leaders like him maintained control: fear first, loyalty second.

The atmosphere thickened, heavy enough to choke someone weaker. Elira shifted beside me, her shoulders tightening, but she kept her face steady. The rest of the room grew still, every person acutely aware that escape was now nothing more than an illusion.

He's testing us again. Seeing who cracks under pressure.

Scar's smirk widened slightly as he met my eyes, as if daring me to react.

Everybody nodded; not a single person dared to disagree. After all, we had all gathered here with the same purpose. To join the mission. To prove our worth. And perhaps, for some, to survive whatever lay ahead.

"Good. Good. Come now, drink up! Why the long faces? We're celebrating tonight!" Scar's voice boomed with forced cheer. "After all, we have Northern Wolf with us! A walking myth! With his strength, this mission will go as smooth as butter."

He raised his mug toward Northern Wolf, who lifted his own with a grin as wide as the table.

"You know me," Northern Wolf bellowed, "what wouldn't I do for a petty coin?" His laughter shook the room like a rolling thunder, making my ears ring. I had grown used to his volume by now, but Elira nearly dropped her cup from the shock.

A splash of alcohol spread across the table, drawing a round of chuckles from the mercenaries around us. She flushed, looking adorably flustered.

"But," Northern Wolf continued, leaning forward, "I must ask, who are the traitors? If I know who I'm fighting, I can prepare better. Myself, and my men."

The four men around him tightened their grip on their mugs, their bodies subtly tensing as they waited for Scar's answer.

Scar's words hung in the air like a dull blade pressed against someone's neck.

"Let's just say one of them is quite close to you."

Northern Wolf's laughter faded. The mug in his hand stilled, fingers tightening around the handle. Elira shifted beside me, and I could feel how her body tensed, even if her expression stayed calm.

Northern Wolf cleared his throat. "Close to me, huh? I do not recall drinking with any Holy Knight before." His tone tried to stay casual, but the stiffness in his shoulders gave him away.

Scar watched him for a long moment, then tilted his head. "Your brother knew them even better than you, am I right?"

The entire table went quiet.

Northern Wolf's jaw clenched. "Do you have any information on that bastard?"

Scar nodded. "That's right. The one who killed your brother is part of that group."

The mug in Northern Wolf's hand cracked. Ale spilled over his knuckles, dripping onto the table. His aura flared, a pale blue that almost shimmered like frost at the edges.

So that is the hook he uses to keep you on the leash. My gaze fell on Northern Wolf's furious eyes.

Scar lifted his hand, gesturing lazily in the air as if he were swatting away flies. "They call themselves the Ten Oathbreakers now. Once, they were the empire's brightest Holy Knights. Each of them commands a unit. Each of them is a nightmare in their own way."

What a way to spin a story… I actually look forward to hearing all his lies about the group. His master had instructed him to go against the empire and ambush the knights, after all. Calling them traitors worked best for that.

He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, but his voice sharpened with every name.

"First, there is Sir Blackbrand. Greatsword specialist and a fire user. He likes to burn the battlefield and walk through the flames as if they are nothing. He is crude, loud, and arrogant, but his swordsmanship lives up to his reputation."

Northern Wolf's fingers twitched. I saw something dark pass over his face at that name.

Scar continued.

"Second, Lady Mirella. Spear and chain, an annoying combination. I met her once myself and witnessed her earth and metal magic. She can turn the ground into a forest of spikes or drag people in with her chains. She likes to toy with her enemies, breaking their defenses slowly."

He laughed, smirking into his mug. Was there more to it than simply meeting her? I could tell his eye softened when he spoke about her.

"Third, Sir Aldren. He uses a simple bow and wind magic. And yet, he once shot a man straight through the eye from a tower two kilometers away. If he marks you, do not run. Hide, and even then the odds are against you."

Scar's gaze moved across the room, making sure his words settled like weights on everyone's shoulders.

"Fourth, Sister Ilyana. She still wears the priestess robes, but do not be fooled. Healing, poison, blood magic. She can fix a man's wound or empty his veins with a single prayer. I recommend you kill her fast if you see her."

Sounds like someone I could deal with… but not without revealing myself as a vampire.

I prefer not to be on the wrong side of that woman. But it might be interesting to study her.

"Fifth, Sir Darius... Tower shield and hammer. Defensive specialist. He creates barriers, holds lines, and crushes anyone who thinks they can break through by brute force alone. If you see him, you need to think around him, not through him."

"Sixth, Lady Serine Frostgale. Dual daggers. Ice and shadow. She prefers the dark, silence, and stabbing people where they least expect it. Some call her a ghost; some say she walks through walls. I simply say she is a pain to deal with."

My eyes narrowed slightly.

Ice and shadow, interesting... I wonder how my frost compares to hers.

"Seventh, Sir Roland. Halberd user. Nasty fellow with gravity magic. He pulls, pushes, and twists the weight itself. Fighting him on open ground is almost suicide. The heavier you are, the worse it becomes."

I remember him… he was in the last battle with Hera. So he survives this one. I should try to change that. He is the reason Hera reaches Lyssandra so easily. I must slow her as much as possible…

"Eighth, Lady Vivienne. She is a staff user with profound control over lightning and sound. She can deafen you, paralyze you, and turn your head into cooked meat if she wishes. Stay away from her if you value your brain."

The men around us shifted uneasily at that description. No one liked the idea of their thoughts being fried like breakfast.

Scar's voice turned colder.

"Ninth, Sir Magnus. Wields twin axes. A Berserker. Rings a bell, Northern Wolf?"

Northern Wolf's aura spiked again. His eyes turned sharp, almost feral, as memories I did not know flickered in their depths.

Scar went on, ignoring the sudden shift in the room as if he did not care how Northern Wolf felt. He used that fury as a tool. No wonder Northern Wolf warned me about him before…

"He uses physical strengthening magic and blood rituals to heighten his power. The longer he fights, the stronger he becomes. He likes to drag battles out. He enjoys watching people despair when they realize he is not getting tired. He is not clever, but he is tenacious and cruel."

Northern Wolf did not say anything. His knuckles were white around the mug.

"And lastly, the Tenth," Scar said, his tone dropping even lower. "Commander of the group. Sir Lucien. He fights with a sword–spell combination. Light magic and illusion. Those who have faced him claim their memories blur mid-battle. Be careful not to look him directly in the eyes. Many say they lose their sense of distance, timing, sometimes even which direction they are facing. He prefers to break the mind before he takes the body."

I was already working through counter-strategies in my mind, mapping out each of them and how I could use my own party to create a window for myself and Elira to slip past. Maybe the key to all of this could be Beelzebub… I grinned just thinking about it. It wouldn't be the first time I used him as bait. What can I say, that little hamster was useful in far more ways than just his blood-devouring ability.

"I will follow you, but you must leave him to me. I will personally kill that trash!" Northern Wolf roared, slamming his fists into the table and shattering it. Finally, even this mountain of muscle lost control.

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