The Magog Tribe

The Magog Tribe.

Aside from mana, my stat growth had, for all intents and purposes, ground to a halt. That was exactly why I'd gone so far as to split off from the party, even if it meant pushing myself.

Honestly, it was surprising enough that Agility and Stamina had hit fifty, Strength notwithstanding. Mana, I could maybe chalk up to the elixir — but I never thought Agility and Stamina would climb too. I'd assumed forty-nine was the ceiling. Legendary-grade elixirs really did live up to the name.

I checked my stats and ran through the levels, skills, and gear I needed to aim for. Seven months wasn't exactly a short stretch of time — but it wasn't a long one, either. What I regretted most was that trainees still hadn't started flowing into the Empire.

Teleportation between Magic Towers was impossible except in the major territories, and Magog Territory wouldn't even have access until much later. Which meant, for now, I had to go on foot. That poor standing wasn't some idle complaint — I'd have to spend more than two weeks on the road to Magog Territory alone.

It sat relatively close to the west, where the orcs held dominion, and with two rival races contesting the region on their own, it was a place thick with combat. The absence of a teleport gate grated more than I wanted to admit. Then again, the Magog Tribe's autonomous territory had virtually no temples, and they valued physical strength above all else, so it was a place mages tended to avoid.

Even so, a Magic Tower did exist. Given the races they were constantly fighting, there was no way mages would abandon their curiosity.

Werewolves and vampires.

Not the high-tier kind, of course — not demonic vampires, not true werewolves, and not Lycanthropes counted by generation. At that level they were apex species. I couldn't even begin to contend with them as I was now.

Compared to genuine apex species like demonic vampires and Lycanthropes, these monster-vampires and werewolves were heavily degraded. They possessed reason, yes, but instinct ran far ahead of it. They were vastly inferior to the real thing. Even their appearance wasn't sleek or feral in any attractive sense — they looked like actual monsters.

If you wanted to draw a comparison: the romanticized, higher beings of novels and films were Lycanthropes and vampires. The ones fighting the Magog Tribe were closer to the mindless things that showed up in horror movies. Severely corrupted. Truly low-grade specimens.

And yet they were still Middle Floor monsters. That alone was enough to let me imagine just how monstrous the near-original Generation Zeroes and the pure-bloods must be. A born Lycanthrope of Generation Zero, a pure-blood, a Lord-class vampire — those were in the same conversation as Giants and Dragons. Taxonomically, Lycanthropes were beastkin and vampires were of the demon race, but they could still be considered the apex bloodlines of their respective kinds.

After checking my status window, I tore down the road at speed and reached Eulfe Castle within a day. I flashed my F-Rank mercenary badge, offered a light greeting to the smiling guard who opened the gate, and headed straight for the Mercenary Guild.

Eulfe Castle was on an entirely different scale from Tidrind Castle, or Mellid Castle from the tutorial — considerably larger. The Mercenary Guild was sized to match. As a major logistics hub, the requests here leaned toward bandit suppression and cargo escort rather than monster subjugation. The only jobs I could even take would be bandit hunts, and I had no time to waste on that.

I went straight to the counter.

"Welcome. How can I help you?"

The clerk behind the counter looked over my clothes and asked with a smile. I looked more mercenary than merchant, but I could just as easily have been attached to a trading company. Most of my gear was stowed in my inventory, and since I'd been traveling, I was dressed in something close to light kit. The clerk's decision to treat me courteously first suggested thorough training.

"I'd like to renew my mercenary badge."

"A badge renewal, is it? Could I see your current badge?"

"Here."

I set the F-Rank mercenary badge on the counter. This was no time to look cowed. I placed it down with nothing but composure. The clerk flinched slightly at the wooden tag that marked F-Rank, but kept smiling, asked me to wait a moment, and left. It was beyond her authority, so she'd gone to find a superior. She'd clearly been well trained.

The problem was everyone else.

"Pffft! F-Rank!"

A mercenary off to the side. I didn't even glance that way. Engaging would be a waste of time.

A ripple of quiet snickers spread through the room. A few faces looked puzzled, though. My physique, at a glance, was too solid to write off as F-Rank. Barring some mental issue, a body like mine should have had E-Rank in the bag. With decent instincts and skill, D-Rank would come easy. C-Rank and up wasn't so simple — but even so, this wasn't a bad showing.

This region ran primarily on escort work, so it attracted people with high credit ratings, and as a result, a more civil class of mercenary. That was why it stopped at snickers. If this had been a place where raw ability was enough to take almost any request, like monster subjugation, far more of them would have picked a fight and started running their mouths. It was an occupational disease of people who lived by force — a worship of raw ability. There was a reason I was renewing my badge before heading into Magog territory.

Fortunately, no one else picked a fight. The number of people quietly smirking just kept growing.

A short while later, a middle-aged man who looked to be in charge approached. The traces of training on his body ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the scars scattered across him made it obvious at a glance that he, too, was a veteran mercenary.

"You requested a badge renewal?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Renewal, huh... How many years have you held it?"

"I've been a mercenary for a little under two years."

It definitely wasn't two years. A year and a half, maybe? I'd started at Mellid Castle, so it would have been more than that. But they didn't parse it that finely here either.

"Hmm. That's a long time to stay F-Rank."

Unless you'd become a mercenary as a child, an adult starting at F-Rank and remaining there for years was proof of having neither talent nor skill. That was what he meant.

"I've been training in Tidrind Territory recently. I haven't renewed in that time."

"...Tidrind? Hmm..."

He seemed to be recalling just how rough that place was. A location too difficult for an F-Rank to linger. He asked again.

"Looks like you've taken a fair number of requests."

"I have, but given the nature of the region — and a request that's still ongoing — I don't have certificates."

"...Yeah, that place is like that."

He probably wouldn't have believed the certificates even if I'd brought them. Tidrind Castle's reputation was that poor. We had a long way to go. I'd need to properly hammer in that things had changed. I'd help, but the heaviest lifting would still have to fall to Tophen.

"In that case, proof of ability would be a spar, I take it?"

"That's what I want as well."

"You said you'd been training. What rank are you aiming for? E seems a bit low for you..."

Judging by my build, he'd already decided E-Rank wasn't the right fit.

"The B-Rank examination."

"...B-Rank?"

"Yes."

The supervisor's face was incredulous. And the mercenary who'd mocked me earlier — apparently still eavesdropping — burst out laughing and started broadcasting the conversation to everyone around. Half the room looked dumbfounded. The other half was grinning. The supervisor's brow furrowed slightly.

"...The requirements for B-Rank are..."

I drew a dagger I'd prepared in advance. The supervisor reacted instantly. Not so sloppy after all. But I was a fraction faster.

Sword Qi bloomed along the blade.

The supervisor's expression went rigid. The air in the room shifted all at once. I could feel the mercenary's disbelief — the one who'd been laughing and narrating — and the stares of everyone around, packed with shock. Ignoring them completely, I asked the supervisor:

The supervisor nodded, his face still set.

Issuing the badge didn't take long.

A B-Rank mercenary who could use Sword Qi was, on the spot, knight-grade combat power. Completely different from an actual knight, of course. Real medieval knights had often been little more than thugs with a mercenary streak, but the Tower's knights were closer to the ones in novels. Even I, when I heard the word "knight," thought of loyalty, discipline, the army, units, officers, cavalry — the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠feel of a rigorously trained, high-grade elite force.

Individually they might be less adaptable than mercenaries in a chaotic melee, but given proper preparation they dominated entire battlefields — genuine weapons of war, incomparable to mercenaries. And once a knight accumulated experience, the extensive training that produced them even patched over that supposed weakness — poorer improvisation than a mercenary in varied situations — until they became complete.

A B-Rank mercenary was judged to have comparable individual combat power to people like that, so the Mercenary Guild treated them quite well. Which was why, at my request, the new badge was issued without delay and processed as quickly as possible.

I had the badge in a matter of hours. In that time, recruitment offers poured in, inviting me to join their companies. I was B-Rank with no credit to my name, but they wanted to pull me in first and figure out the rest later. Just having a B-Rank on the roster boosted a company's reputation. This was a region that often lived on credit, but if a mercenary had no actual ability, the requests themselves wouldn't come in.

That was why they wanted me. If I'd actually needed to make a living here, joining another company to build credit and a track record would have been mutually beneficial. I didn't need that.

The funny part was when the company of the mercenary who'd first mocked me and played announcer tried to recruit me. The company captain mashed the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠guy's head down, forcing an apology, while the mercenary himself apologized with a reluctant, what-can-you-do attitude. I almost laughed. I didn't accept the apology. I used it as an excuse to refuse, instead — saying none of the mercenaries here had an eye for people.

It was a provocation, if you wanted to call it that, but they'd been in the wrong first, and given my level they apparently didn't want unnecessary trouble. There were no further invitations.

I turned down every offer and checked the request board. As expected, there were no escort jobs I could join. In the end, the moment I had my badge, I booked a room for the night and went straight to bed.

The instant day broke, I set out for the Magog village. Over two weeks of travel I ran into a few bandits and monsters, but none of them were difficult to handle. I could have avoided them, but I had no intention of turning away experience points that had rolled right up to my feet.

Some of the bandits begged for their lives, or claimed there was a bounty on them and I'd make more money bringing them in alive. I ignored every word, killed them all, rifled through their pockets, and disposed of the bodies. Whether there actually was a bounty, who cared? I wasn't a bounty hunter, and I didn't have a list. There was no way to check.

Running myself into the ground like that, I arrived in Magog Territory in fifteen days — a day later than I'd expected.

"A B-Rank mercenary? Heh. What's a guy like that doing here? And a fresh one, at that? That badge is brand new."

A large man was staring at me with an expression of sheer disbelief at my statement that I intended to operate here for a while.

"Just go. This isn't an easy place."

The young man had copper-toned skin and an exposed upper body. He waved me off like he was shooing away a bothersome bird. His bare torso was a map of scars, proof of someone who'd been through countless battles. But anyone looking at that bare chest would have their eyes stolen by something else entirely. His upper body was covered, wall to wall, in tattoos.

"I don't think my ability is the issue."

"...Well, that's true. B-Rank's useful enough. And the place that issued it isn't bad. At the very least you're not some underpowered nobody."

"Then why are you telling me to leave?"

The place we were talking was inside the Mercenary Guild of a village that served as the first gateway into Magog Territory. I had applied for a monster subjugation request. The man was rejecting the application — as a "recommendation," supposedly. He looked at me like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Ability's ability, but this is the kind of place where ability alone will get you killed, brat. Eulfe Castle — that's an escort town, isn't it? A talent who built up this much skill there dying pointlessly here would be a waste. Go fight the beastkin in the south or the orcs in the west and get some experience. Then come back. If you look around, there are less intense battlefields..."

He seemed to know Eulfe Castle well. Unexpected. People like that weren't common among the Magog Tribe's "warriors." I cut him off with a smile.

"That's a fine set of tattoos."

"...What?"

"Hmm... a Tattoo of Valor and a Warrior's Tattoo? I heard you don't usually get a Warrior's Tattoo... You must be quite skilled..."

"...Brat. How do you even recognize that? This is..."

"I didn't come here knowing nothing."

I said it with a slight smile.

That's right. I looked into everything before I came. How could I not know?

The Legendary skills I was here to obtain. Two of them were, of all things, tattoos.