The Three Brothers Mercenary Company
Stella opened her mouth with a soft smile.
"Five gold coins per elixir — a total payment of five hundred gold coins."
Bran's lips curled slightly beneath his mask.
'Hmm. Not a bad price.'
A single gold coin was worth a hundred silver. Five hundred gold coins matched House Stark's entire yearly budget — enough to buy ten storefronts on the kingdom's most prosperous thoroughfare.
"As you're no doubt aware, this is by no means a stingy offer. If anything, it's an amount we've taken special care to make generous."
Stella continued with a captivating smile.
"I don't know who you are or where you come from, but I hope this deal will be the start of a long and fruitful relationship with Stella Trading Company."
Stella trusted her instincts. Her keen merchant's sense was telling her that this man was no ordinary customer.
'Yes — his identity doesn't matter. As long as it profits us.'
In a season when elixirs were as scarce as they were now, a hundred intermediate elixirs was a chance to lift Stella Trading Company to the next level. Stella spoke again.
"How would you like to settle the payment? Five hundred gold coins is quite heavy — it would be difficult to carry on your person... Shall we assign some men to escort you?"
Bran slowly raised a hand, cutting her off.
"No need. I'll be taking something other than gold coins."
At the unexpected words, Stella's brow arched slightly.
"I beg your pardon? Then in what form shall we pay you?"
"Half in bills of exchange. And the other half..."
Bran continued slowly.
"In iron ingots of equal value."
This was, after all, a trading house that purchased goods — and iron ingots were no exception.
"Iron ingots? But a value of some two hundred fifty gold coins would..."
Bran answered flatly.
"One hundred tons of iron ingots. Can you manage that? Keep whatever's left over as your fee."
At the out-of-nowhere demand, Stella's eyes wavered.
'A hundred tons of iron ingots...?'
A hundred tons. An ordinary trading company couldn't even dream of such a scale — a volume only a state acting directly, or a truly colossal trading house, could hope to move.
'If any other parvenu had walked in with such an absurd request, I'd have refused on the spot, but...'
The man across from her was a whale who could supply a hundred intermediate elixirs in a single transaction.
Stella bit her lip. If she turned down this offer, the mysterious customer might never supply them with elixirs again.
'Compared to the worth of those elixirs, sourcing a little iron is nothing...'
Her mental abacus rattled at lightning speed.
"It's not impossible, but frankly, preparing a hundred tons all at once would be difficult. Twenty tons a month or so — even at our fastest, that's how long it would take to gather. Would that be acceptable?"
Bran nodded readily, as though he had expected exactly that.
"That's more than enough."
He intended to use the supplied iron to produce weapons and goods at the family forge. With the forge and every other preparation still unfinished, time was on his side.
Bran extended his hand.
"I look forward to working with you, Mistress Stella."
Stella answered his smile and clasped his hand.
"The pleasure is entirely ours."
Stella's porcelain-white hand was soft and warm. A fresh, clean scent drifted from her skin.
And that was the very moment—
"Kyaaaaah!"
A piercing scream tore through the air from the direction of the main building.
Stella's face froze cold in an instant.
Her bodyguard sprinted toward the main hall without a moment's hesitation, and Bran and Stella followed close on his heels.
Even mid-run, Bran took note of Stella's footwork — precise, unbroken steps. Inwardly, he was impressed.
'Hmm? This woman — a 3-star-level fighter, was she?'
These were not the movements of a mere merchant.
At the same time, Stella, watching Bran run, was feeling the very same thing.
'Mastery of this caliber... He truly is no ordinary man.'
Their gazes crossed in midair.
When they reached the main building, a gruesome scene spread out before them.
The floor was soaked red with the employees' blood, and the guard who had been posted at the main hall lay sprawled on the ground with his throat slit.
A pack of vicious-faced men were pressing blades to the employees, barking threats.
Among them, the most hideous of the lot spotted Stella and broke into a leering grin.
"So you're Stella, the company mistress?"
A pig of a face — nose squashed flat, flesh greasy and glistening. His small, greedy eyes crawled slowly over Stella's sensual body.
"Just like they said — a proper little temptress. Now I want a taste for myself."
A flash of icy killing intent crossed Stella's face; her eyes turned as cold as ice.
The colder she became, the more the man seemed to savor it, erupting into a lewd chuckle.
"Heh heh. What a riot. That frosty expression of yours just stokes my lust all the more."
The pig-like man abruptly changed his tune and barked an order.
"Hey, bitch. Listen up. Bring me a thousand gold coins, right now. If you don't..."
He pressed his blade tight against the throat of the female employee he'd taken hostage. Her face drained white, her eyes blowing wide with terror.
"Hiik!"
The keen edge grazed her skin, and a thin line of crimson welled up.
"Kheheheh. Women really are prettiest when they're terrified."
At the sight of blood, he panted with excitement, roughly grinding his bulging manhood against the female employee.
Stella's eyes blazed with fury.
"You son of a bitch! Stop it right now!"
She gritted her teeth, barely strangling her emotions down.
"You think a thousand gold coins is child's play? Even for us, that much cash on the spot is impossible."
The pig snorted in mockery.
"That's your problem, not ours."
He drove the blade harder against the hostage's throat.
"You have exactly one hour. Be late, and everything in this building becomes a pile of corpses. I mean it — we of the Three Brothers Mercenary Company are men who do what we say."
Bran murmured low.
"The Three Brothers Mercenary Company?"
Stella whispered quickly at his side.
"They're infamous for cruelty and exceptional martial prowess. There are even rumors that every last member is knight-class."
Her gaze flicked toward the pig-like trio.
"Those three brothers in particular are said to be 3-star knights at the very least."
Sure enough, the auras of the three pig-faced men were especially potent.
"I heard they were defeated in the recent war and have been on the run ever since... So this is how far they'll stoop to fund their escape."
Stella was quietly despairing.
'Three enemies at 3-star or above. On our side, just me and the bodyguard.'
Worse, the enemy held a hostage. The gap in strength was glaring.
But there was one variable — the fox-masked man whose identity and skill were both unreadable.
'He followed us all this way. Does that mean he intends to help?'
She knew instinctively that the fate of her trading company now hung on this man's choice.
Just then, the fox-masked man spoke in a low voice.
"If I help you — what will you give me in return?"
Stella answered without a beat's hesitation.
"I'll source your iron ingots on the first deal at no profit whatsoever."
"..."
When the man's silence stretched on, Stella hurriedly added,
"And I'll match it with the finest quality we can procure."
At that very moment—
The pig ripped the female employee's clothes to shreds with a savage yank.
"Kyaaah!"
A scream of pure terror erupted.
The pig rasped between ragged breaths.
"Can't hold it any longer. Let me just stick it in once, yeah?"
As he tore down his trousers, a massive, beast-like cock sprang free.
Then Bran stepped forward.
"...We'll settle the rest of the contract terms after I've dealt with those bastards."
The pig's eyes, bloodshot with lust, swung toward Bran.
"Huh? The hell are you supposed to be?"
Bran slowly drew a gold coin from inside his coat.
"You wanted gold coins, didn't you?"
Then he flicked it with his thumb.
Ting!
The coin flew like a bullet and punched clean through the forehead of the bandit at the front.
Crash!
The man crumpled without even managing a proper scream.
Bran flicked his finger again without pause.
Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting!
Coins shot out one after another, each one skewering a bandit's vitals with dead precision.
The underlings threatening the employees dropped one by one. In the blink of an eye, only the three pig brothers remained.
Robbed of their men, the brothers' faces twisted into rage at once.
"You son of a bitch!"
The hot-tempered youngest charged at Bran first, his sword cleaving down with ferocious momentum.
But Bran simply twisted aside and let it pass.
At the same moment, the eldest and the second brother were intercepted by the bodyguard and Stella respectively.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The swordplay of six began in earnest, sharp shrieks of steel reverberating through the hall.
Before long, Bran's dagger sank deep into the youngest's chest.
"Khek!"
SPLAT!
Blood gushed like a fountain. The youngest's belly split open, and vivid red organs tumbled out onto the floor in a wet heap.
THUD!
The youngest crumpled where he stood.
"Youngest!"
The eldest pig's eyes went scarlet. Explosive energy poured from his entire body.
"You bastard! Don't expect to die pretty!"
A green aura engulfed the pig's frame.
Bran's eyes flew wide.
'That's... 4-star energy!'
WHAM!
The bodyguard holding the pig at bay was hurled through the air in an instant and smashed into the wall.
BOOM!
Riding his momentum, the pig came charging straight at Bran. In his hand he wielded a bizarre, crescent-shaped sword.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
It was a monstrous assault. Facing 4-star might for the first time in his life, Bran felt gooseflesh crawl up his spine; he was hard-pressed merely to keep the blows from landing.
'Now I see why a 3-star bodyguard went down in a single blow.'
SCREECH!
Under the crescent blade's vicious strikes, Bran's dagger shattered.
'No way!'
He understood even as he fought — the man's weapon was purpose-built for shattering an opponent's blade.
Shk!
Bare-handed now, Bran wrenched his body aside — but not cleanly enough to escape.
The crescent sword tore through his clothing and raked across his shoulder.
"Kugh!"
Blood welled up.
Drip. Drip.
Red droplets running down from his forearm gathered at his fingertips and fell, one by one, to the floor.
