Farewell to Dawn's Torch
"Yeah, looks like you'll have to go."
The guy making this unreasonable request of me right now was Hiss, the leader of our mercenary group.
He had that classic tough-guy look—bulging muscles and a long scar across his face.
His weapon of choice? A massive greatsword, of course.
As you can imagine, his fighting style was to charge straight into hordes of monsters and bulldoze them.
That alone would've made him reliable and solid... but the problem was his speech and behavior matched that brute style perfectly.
How does a guy like that lead a mercenary group, you ask?
Well, there's a vice-leader getting ground down in the trenches below him.
I'll introduce her if the chance comes up later.
She's at the point where no one's seen her step outside the office lately...
Anyway,
"No can do."
I flatly refused the leader's demand.
It was partly because it was a hassle, but there was a bigger reason.
"Too much risk."
The tournament's purpose was to recruit a single mercenary to assist the Hero's Party.
Not a whole mercenary group or unit—just one merc.
Normally, when clients hired mercenaries, they did it by the unit.
Hiring disposable meat shields for dangerous jobs as individuals was basically pointless.
You needed numbers to avoid extra costs, wasted time, and ensure the job got done right.
So why was the Hero's Party announcing they'd hire just one mercenary?
Probably so the holy Hero—bearer of sacred destiny—wouldn't get backlash for treating mercenaries like sacrificial lambs, no matter how society viewed us as meat shields.
Kill and silence.
Dead men tell no tales.
Inefficient, sure, but the cleanest way to avoid rumors.
Oh, and just so we're clear, the Hero's Party probably didn't come up with this ruthless plan.
The one who formed the Hero's Party, who scouted the Hero and gathered talents from across the nation...
Emperor Gilbert la Deus.
It had to be that bastard's idea.
We're not your fucking citizens, huh?
Fucking prick.
Everyone gets trashed behind their back at least once, but that asshole's probably catching shit from every smart person out there.
Anyway, for all those reasons, even if I got picked, I wouldn't spend a single second with the Hero's Party.
No way the Hero's personality would let a mercenary sacrifice themselves for her without intervening.
Even if she wanted to say thanks or meet me, they'd pull some bullshit like, "The mercenary's too busy on the job right now~ Can't meet."
Now, here's the question that arises.
Why do mercenaries know this and still enter the tournament?
Just because the Hero's gorgeous and they wanna get her attention by any means?
Or hoping survival means a shot at status elevation?
Sure, those play a part, but the reason our leader told me to join was,
"They said the mercenary group of the selected merc gets funding and proper supplies. Basically treated like a knightly order."
For the first time, the leader revealed his conflicted feelings to me.
I'd called him a straightforward brute who bulldozes ahead, but he wasn't stupid by any means.
Right now, his conscience was probably stabbing him like hell.
He must've hated himself for casually telling me to enter like it was no big deal.
But get this?
Of course he wouldn't know since I never told him, but... the man who saved me from my childhood village was none other than the leader.
To me, he was my lifesaver.
The whole mercenary group was my good home, my place to return to.
Sure, I'd been handling some of the group's work, but that hardly repaid the debt.
I'd refused outright at first because I knew it meant throwing myself into the fire.
But since he kept bringing it up even after my refusal, the group's situation must've been really dire.
The leader had a family.
So did the other mercenaries in the group.
They had a duty to provide for them.
Cold as it sounds, I wasn't their blood family.
If you asked anyone passing by which was more precious in this situation... it'd have to be their real families.
"Uh... if you don't wanna go, you don't have to. I just..."
"Nah, it's fine. I've kinda been interested in the Hero anyway."
Lie.
"She's the same age as me, right? Eighteen. They say don't even glance at a tree you can't climb, but with looks like hers, why not take a shot?"
Lie.
"And I just awakened my aura recently—perfect timing. Sign up for the tournament, and I'd get right in, no problem."
My smooth, nonchalant acting left the leader staring blankly at me for a while, speechless.
"Alright... then it's settled. You'll go."
"Cool. So I don't have to work until the tournament starts, right?"
"...Do whatever you want."
I burned what might be the last image of the leader's face into my eyes.
Then I bowed my head and left his office.
- Thud.
In the leader's office after Evan left.
Hiss watched Evan's retreating back without a word.
No "goodbye" or "thanks" would come out.
"Fuck..."
Hiss was someone who'd never broken through to Expert.
He didn't obsess over it or care much, but the reason he'd brought this up was a recent job he'd led personally—one where an entire unit nearly got wiped out.
That was the first time in his life he'd thought, If only I could use aura...
And he still felt that way.
Because of his own weakness, he'd lost a unit, and now he was sending Evan—a kid he wasn't blood-related to but cared for deeply—to the tournament just to keep the group afloat.
Of course, Evan could come back if he wanted.
Leading with his Expert-level strength, taking on jobs slowly and successfully, new recruits would trickle in despite the rumors of a wiped unit.
Rebuild funds gradually, and the group could return to normal someday.
But honestly, that was a gamble in their current state.
According to the royal decree, every mercenary group had to send one candidate—no exceptions.
To increase the odds of finding talent, or whatever.
Rebuilding slowly with Evan at the helm seemed safe, like they couldn't lose more...
But Expert or not, not every job succeeds.
What if Evan died before they got back on track?
With the group's budget and situation, they couldn't properly support him to avoid death.
Couldn't invest in his growth either.
Under those conditions, could Evan really skyrocket like a dream and become the group's star?
If that hopeful bet failed, he'd lose his home—and every merc under him—in an instant.
Better to send Evan to the tournament: win or lose, victory meant 100% guaranteed support.
Rationally, the choice was clear.
As a leader, he couldn't afford the gamble.
What if Evan didn't win?
From Hiss's view, that chance was negligible.
Victory was as good as certain.
How many Expert-level mercs were there? How many would even enter?
And even if there were, Evan could beat them.
The talent he'd seen in Evan was once-in-a-generation.
Of course, having never met a true powerhouse in his life, Hiss knew his judgment might be off.
"Yeah, Evan's got insane talent. He'll definitely survive..."
For these reasons, picking Evan as their mandatory entry was unavoidable for him.
Hiss rationalized it to himself like that, clutching his head as guilt and deep self-loathing consumed him.
'You sure you wanna be a merc?'
Hearing that question made me half-regret not just bolting to become a knight instead.
Ever since that bullshit aura awakening on Tusnis Mountain, nothing but bad luck had piled up.
Eh, just shitty timing, probably.
I decided not to dwell on it anymore.
- Step. Step.
Mari was handling admin work in the mercenary building as usual.
I told her I'd be entering the tournament and taking a break to prepare.
"He... the leader approved that?"
I pulled the same act on Mari as I had on Hiss.
Something about the Hero being so stunning I just had to hold her hand once~
Unlike the leader, though, she didn't buy it.
"Yeah, he'll probably come down soon to confirm. Handle it accordingly, please."
Mari always had a smiling face.
Admin work demanded it for all sorts of reasons.
But right now, she wasn't hiding her rare pissed-off expression.
Mari and I were orphans picked up by the group around the same time—she was two years younger.
Of course she'd treasure me.
She shot up from her seat and hurried to the vice-leader's office.
If Mari was like a close confidante we leaned on, the vice-leader was the real mother figure who'd raised me since childhood.
She'd always cared for me with affection, and even after I grew up, she'd check on me after every job.
Sure, as things got busier, she had less time, but she'd still assign jobs suited to my situation, like last time—always looking out.
No way these two would just watch me walk into the fire.
A moment later.
- BAM!!!
A massive crash echoed from the vice-leader's office.
Then two people stormed up the stairs to the upper floor.
For a while, shouting raged from above.
Women's voices full of fury and disbelief clashed with a man's near-screams.
Emotion versus reason.
After a long battle, reason seemed to win.
The door opened.
The two came down and headed straight for me.
Mari, her short brown bob swaying,
"Evan."
And the vice-leader, Helga, with her dark gray hair, already past forty heading toward forty-five.
Helga hugged me tight the moment she saw me, patting my back.
Looking up from her embrace, Mari's face was streaming with endless tears.
"Sorry... I'm so sorry..."
Her voice was hoarse from how loudly they'd fought.
"It's okay. Thanks for worrying. I can handle it, so don't stress. It's not like going there means certain death—I might even lose the tournament."
"Yeah..."
Helga paused.
"Right, of course."
A moment later, her callused hand gently stroked my head.
"If you ever need help, say the word. I admit sending you is the best option now... but once the group's stable, I'll help anytime you need."
"Thanks, Vice-Leader Helga."
With the three of us suddenly huddled in the middle of the first floor like this, the other stunned mercs gathered, asking what was up.
After Helga roughly explained, no one's face looked good.
Some even yelled they'd storm the leader's office, but her words about his reasoning—and that he felt the same—stopped them short.
"Aish, come on, why the long faces? Vice-Leader Helga too—how's the woman who joyfully hacked monster necks with her battle axe making that face?"
I did my best to calm and reassure them.
"Mari, stop crying. I have to go anyway. It's not like I'm off to die??"
"Yeah... come back... promise..."
They were quick on the uptake, catching my efforts, and silently clapped my shoulder with a word or two.
Usually "sorry" or "thanks."
After everyone said their goodbyes, I bid farewell to the group and returned to my quarters.
I flopped onto the bed without changing—staring blankly at the ceiling.
Oh, not the blood-soaked clothes from that variant boar hunt.
No matter how down I felt, I wasn't savage enough to ruin the sheets.
"Hoo..."
The right choice, right?
This repays the debt?
Next time, I'll put my feelings and situation first—got it?
And everyone's acting like I'm doomed, but I just gotta survive.
I'll survive for sure and come back when the Hero's Party disbands.
Everyone... wait for me.
They'll hook us up with fat support. Not one of you dies—wait.
I'll be back soon.