Central Army's 3rd Legion (5)
"Woooaaah!"
"You're the best, Blanco! You're the hope of us little guys. Hahaha!"
With the crowd's cheers echoing, Blanco exited the arena.
After that, the captain battles ended with a staggering score of 6:10. And every loss on the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps' side had been by forfeit.
Leoven stared in stunned disbelief.
This... this can't be right! They must've pulled some dirty trick! Drugs or magic or something!
He pulled in the other small and mid-sized mercenary captains around him.
"Does this make any sense to you? These weren't even the top ten from the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps. At best, they were in the twenties. You really think it's possible for the guild's top dogs to fall one after another to guys like that?"
"What do you think we should do, Captain?"
"If we accept this result, our presence in Poznyu will vanish completely."
"Ugh...!"
They all wore troubled expressions.
But they were missing one crucial point.
Everyone who fought in these captain battles had cleared the dungeon alongside Calix.
Thanks to the abundant mana from the dungeon reconfiguration, they'd rocketed past their old rankings in the twenties overnight.
Contrary to what the small and mid-sized captains thought, these really were the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps' ranks two through eleven.
This tiny misunderstanding snowballed into uncontrollable suspicion.
Leoven climbed into the arena and shouted,
"I object! This match is invalid!"
The crowd buzzed.
This event drew not just members of mid-to-large mercenary corps, but nearly every freelance mercenary of note in Poznyu.
The mood here would shape public opinion across the entire city.
Trias frowned in clear displeasure and asked,
"Are you saying you won't accept a fair result?"
"Hmph! What if the process wasn't fair?"
"Can you take responsibility for that claim?"
"Then explain how the same class fighters lose ten out of ten times!"
The freelance mercenaries listening to the exchange began murmuring.
Well, it is ridiculously one-sided. Even if they're from a big corps, they're still just class 4. Can there really be that big a gap?
Right? So what gives? Banned drugs? Secret artifact buffs?
As the mood turned against the Red Wolves, Leoven's face lit up with smug triumph.
Perfect. They're done for now! Without authority and fear, challengers will swarm like a pack of dogs and tear them apart.
Trias let out a dramatic sigh and said,
"Leoven, you still haven't kicked that sly habit of yours."
"W-what?"
"That's exactly why you were cut from the Red Wolf recruitment list—your shifty nature."
"Why bring up ancient history? I never even wanted to join your damn corps!"
"Fine, past is past. But swear it here: If our overwhelming victory proves legitimate, you leave Poznyu."
"Hmph! Talk all you want! Show ironclad proof that even these freelancers will buy, and I'll do it!"
Trias's eyes gleamed coldly.
"I hope you don't regret those words."
Leoven felt sweat beading down his back. But backing down now meant he could never show his face again.
He'd have to leave Poznyu either way.
His escape route was gone.
He gritted his teeth and bellowed,
"Let's hear it, then!"
Trias stared him down and called out,
"Blanco!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Feeling rested?"
"Plenty!"
"Come out!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Blanco, bandages wrapped around various wounds, leaped into the arena.
"Leoven! Think you can beat Blanco?"
"Ha? Who do you take me for? If not for you, no one in the Red Wolves could touch me!"
"If you're so sure, prove it."
Trias turned to Blanco.
"Blanco! Use every artifact you've got. This isn't a duel—it's punishment for slandering our Red Wolf Mercenary Corps' honor."
"Yes, sir!"
Leoven scoffed.
"Hmph! Don't come crying when you lose an arm."
Then Blanco shouted,
"Slow!"
"!?"
Cold sweat poured from Leoven as his body stiffened. Blanco approached slowly and rested his two-handed sword on the man's shoulder.
"Th-this is...!"
"Want someone else? Zepeto!"
"Yes!"
"Go!"
The moment the order dropped, Zepeto yelled,
"Haste!"
"Gah!"
By the time Leoven gasped, Zepeto's spear tip was already pricking his chest.
Trias declared,
"We could've cheated plenty of ways. We cleared the Poznyu dungeon, after all."
"!!"
The arena plunged into dead silence.
Incredible as it sounded, artifacts letting non-mages cast Slow or Haste weren't easy to come by.
And they'd used them openly, just to prove a point.
Meaning these weren't one-use consumables—they were genuine, semi-permanent dungeon drops.
"Wondering how we pulled this off? We endured the brutal dungeon reconfiguration trial. You thought these were just mediocre rank-twenty guys? Wrong."
Trias proudly gestured to his men behind him.
"Dungeon clearers are now our corps' strongest."
He paused, scanning the freelance mercenaries in the stands.
Their eyes swirled with envy, longing, greed...
Even the small and mid-sized captains who'd opposed him until now.
Everyone except Leoven, whose face had drained of color.
Trias continued,
"And that's not all. Thanks to Young Master Calix's generosity here, we even gained mana breathing methods."
The silence was now so thick you could hear a pin drop.
Everyone strained to catch his every word.
"Hah!"
Trias exhaled sharply and leaped into the air—over five meters high—before landing lightly.
A movement beyond human limits.
Proof of class 5.
It was astonishingly rapid growth.
And it meant they'd acquired a pretty damn good mana breathing method.
The atmosphere began to heat up.
"I declared in negotiations with the small and mid-sized corps: No more monopolizing commissions."
That part didn't faze the freelancers much. Clients didn't trust corps without real scale anyway.
But what came next was different.
"And I declare again here: Any class 4 who reaches out, come to the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps. We'll teach you mana breathing."
Thunderous cheers erupted the instant he finished.
"Woooaaah!"
Most here were class 4s stalled in growth, mired in anguish and despair. To them, this was a ray of hope.
"But! There's a condition."
The arena hushed again.
They tensed, bracing for some brutal demand.
Mana breathing methods were treasures among treasures, after all.
Join the Red Wolves? Or slave away for years like a dog?
They swallowed hard amid wild speculations.
Trias smirked, as if reading their minds.
"Young Master Calix and House Szczecin graciously gave us this mana breathing method. If anyone who learns it turns against them, we'll take it as a declaration of war against us. That's the only condition."
"Woooaaah!"
The arena devolved into a frenzied uproar. The excitement lingered, refusing to die down. Merchants, sensing opportunity, rushed in booze and food, turning it into a full-blown festival.
As everyone reveled, one man stood ashen-faced and dazed.
"Leoven."
"W-what? Here to mock me?"
"Accept the condition I laid out, and I'll teach you mana breathing too."
"Why the hell...!"
"Frankly, your spineless personality rubs me wrong."
"Kuh!"
"But your talent's the real deal. I hate to see it wasted."
"What do you expect me to do now? I've lost everything. I can't stay in Poznyu anymore!"
Trias nodded.
"Go. Venture the wide world beyond Poznyu, master the mana breathing method, and return having shattered your limits."
Leoven ground his molars.
Trias had always seemed no better than him.
But now he realized: The man's vessel was incomparably vast.
"I'll surpass you."
"Haha! Then our corps' mana breathing will advance—I'll celebrate that. If you do, I'll gladly hand over my seat. You don't think I'll just sit idle, right?"
"......"
Leoven felt profound defeat once more and left the arena forlornly.
Watching his back, Trias said,
"I arbitrarily revealed the mana breathing method Young Master gave us. My apologies."
"I handed you the skillbook. How you use it is your call. If I meant to micromanage, I wouldn't have given it."
"I learn so much from you, Young Master."
Trias turned toward the city gates.
"Now, how will they respond? We handled the mercenary squabbles peacefully... but this won't end it."
"Heh, they won't go easy. But no need to worry too much. I'll find a way."
"Haha, honestly, I never expected a boy as handsome as you to feel so reliable."
"What's wrong with how I look?"
"You're too beautiful—that's what."
"Not saying I look like some pretty-boy house-husband type, weak and frail?"
"Hahaha!"
"Hey, answer me!"
"Hahahaha!"
Grima Baron, the 3rd Legion commander, tapped his fingers on the field desk and muttered,
"Strange. Self-infighting should've erupted by now, but it's too quiet. Hmm, did it fail? Hard to believe."
The terms he'd offered Leoven guaranteed hundreds of gold annually. Easy money from commissions—no risking life for blood money.
"They had that much loyalty to the Red Wolves to give up such massive profits?"
He smacked his lips and yelled outside,
"Hey! Anyone out there?"
"Yes, Commander!"
The guard at the entrance knelt inside the tent.
"You called, sir?"
"Deliver an ultimatum to Leoven: Capture the criminals and escort them here by tomorrow. Also notify them we'll besiege the city and halt all supply movement until then."
"Understood!"
Grima dismissed the guard and summoned the cavalry commander.
"Cavalry Captain."
"Yes, sir?"
"Plan one using Leoven's already hopeless. Time for plan two."
"It's high-risk, Baron."
"I know. By the book, we shouldn't fully besiege the city. We lack the manpower."
With two thousand infantry and five hundred cavalry, besieging a city Poznyu's size was absurd.
Antonio Marquis had subtly pressured him to seize it, but Grima had zero intention of entering.
"Why not pull back now? Without orders from higher command, we've shown enough goodwill to that faction. Push further, and no one sees us as neutral."
"I know. That's why we'll control supplies under the pretext of hunting criminals."
"You don't mean...! Induce a riot?"
Grima nodded.
If riots broke out, the nearest central army commander declares martial law and reports to the royals.
The report's tone could easily twist it into rebellion.
Then Grima could request reinforcements with ironclad justification.
"One favor."
The cavalry captain caught the hidden intent in Grima's eyes. He nodded grimly.
"No report from me. If issues arise, I'll handle it myself."
"Thanks. No need to fret. If I can't clean up that much, I won't hold back either."