Chapter 140: The Mage Who Fights in Melee (Part I)

Ruier Avenue is one of the many thoroughfares in Como City. Located in the western part of the city, it sits just two or three blocks away from the most luxurious district. Because of this, property prices here are exorbitant, trailing only slightly behind the city center. Even so, the majority of Como’s residents would break their necks just to secure a spot on this street. There are three B-rank mercenary groups stationed here alone, one of which is, naturally, the Rotten Wolf Mercenary Group.

"Tch, the Rotten Wolf Mercenary Group hides on such a cramped little street—don't they feel suffocated!?"

Peipero, hiding in a gloomy corner, curled his lip and muttered. Rosdi, who was hiding alongside him, gave a faint smile and replied, "That is the very nature of the Rotten Wolves. The rent here is four to five times higher than anywhere else in Como, and the space is incredibly narrow, yet they are willing to spend most of their annual earnings to keep their headquarters here. It is nothing more than meaningless posturing. Hmph, if the Rotten Wolves had even half the reputation and mission success rate of our Moon-Slaughter group, they wouldn't have to worry about finding work even if they were tucked away in the furthest corner of Como City."

Anyone could hear the sarcasm in Rosdi’s words, and the reality was indeed as he described. In the entire Vira Empire, there are only twenty B-rank mercenary groups. The Rotten Wolves rank well within the top five in terms of raw power, yet their abysmal reputation and despicable conduct are known to almost everyone in the mercenary world. If it weren't for the fact that they exhaust every possible means to spend vast amounts of money at the Mercenary Guild each year to whitewash their reputation, the Guild would have long since revoked their registration and stricken the Rotten Wolf Mercenary Group from its lists.

"Haha, well said. Garbage like them is a disgrace to all mercenary groups in Como! If I don't wipe them out completely tonight, I’m not Peipero anymore!"

Seeing Peipero’s gnashing teeth and furious demeanor, a trace of concern rose on Rodin’s face. This could hardly be blamed on him; as the second-in-command of Moon-Slaughter, with the leader absent, the weight of responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders. It wasn't that he lacked the nerve to wipe out the Rotten Wolves—it was that he didn't want to! To be precise, he did not want to commit such an act within the city of Como.

Even though this is the City of Mercenaries, violent clashes between groups are not uncommon. However, no matter how deep the hatred between groups runs, no one has ever dared to go too far within the city walls.

It isn't that they fear the city guards. While the guards are numerous, these ordinary men are no match for fierce mercenaries who live on the edge of a blade. In a real fight, it would take three or four guards to barely stand against one mercenary—and that’s assuming the mercenary isn't particularly strong. What they truly fear is the fact that this is the City of Mercenaries. There are three S-rank groups here alone—in the entire Vira Empire, there are only four. Each of them is a king in the mercenary world. If you start a fight under their noses and happen to annoy one of them, well, sorry, but you can forget about ever working in the mercenary world again.

"Peipero, are you sure we can really do this? Perhaps we should wait until the boss returns before making a decision!"

Hearing Rodin’s discouraging words, Peipero flared up immediately. He glared at Rodin and snapped, "Damn it! At a time like this, why are you still acting like a coward? If you don't want to fight tonight, fine, suit yourself. Moon-Slaughter doesn't just have you as a Second-Tier Grand Soul Master!"

Faced with Peipero’s blunt mockery, Rodin looked embarrassed. He turned to look at Rosdi, who was their senior in age. His words carried weight that both he and Peipero would respect.

"Rodin, I know what your concerns are, but... sigh!" Rosdi sighed, looked up, and locked eyes with Rodin, his expression suddenly hardening with resolve.

"Rodin, how could we not have thought of the risks you’re worried about? But this time is different. The Rotten Wolves have crossed the line! This isn't some petty squabble or minor trouble; they want to wipe us out! They want to destroy our mercenary group! Look with your own eyes—besides the six people the boss took with him, how many of us are left? You, me, and Peipero—only three remain! And we barely escaped with our lives! Rodin, if this were just a matter of pride, would we care? We could just write it off as trouble caused by some idiots. But this concerns the dignity of Moon-Slaughter—it is a matter of life and death! Even if we don't strike first, the Rotten Wolves will still come after us to finish the job! Furthermore, we haven't received any news from the north; we have no idea what has happened there!"

Rosdi’s words left Rodin speechless. He stood stunned, his mind in turmoil for a moment, before finally offering a helpless, bitter smile. "It seems," he said quietly, "this is the only way."

"Alright, old Luo, let's discuss the current situation," Peipero said, shooting a glare at Rodin before turning to Rosdi.

"I’ve been watching for a day, and I’ve confirmed the situation. There are fewer than sixty people inside. Not many elites, and only two Grand Soul Masters—both weaker than you and Rodin. The rest are just small fry. The Rotten Wolf leader must have gone north to harass our boss, and we’ve already taken care of their second and third-in-commands. In other words, there is no one in charge inside. The two of you could probably storm the place without much trouble. The key problem is that we are so close to the downtown area. Time is our biggest enemy!"

As Rosdi spoke, he frowned. Just as Rodin feared, the most troublesome aspect was their location—inside the City of Mercenaries.

"About that problem..." Peipero suddenly looked up at Rosdi and Rodin, his tone turning strange. "Vier said he could take care of that issue..."

As he spoke, a brilliant fireball shot up into the dark night sky. It flew high before dissipating without a trace in the blink of an eye. Rodin watched the fleeting fireball and asked Peipero, "What is the meaning of this?"

"It means we can move!"

***

These past few days had been the most frustrating for the Rotten Wolf Mercenary Group. A few days ago, the leader had left the city quietly with a dozen elites. That same afternoon, the third-in-command, Galey, took a few more men and departed. Three days ago, the second-in-command, Pass, left as well. With these departures, the group’s internal elite force had been completely hollowed out, leaving only fifty or sixty mediocre characters. Because they were so insignificant, they didn't even know where their leaders had gone or what they were doing. For the past half-month, they hadn't received any major missions—partly because they lacked the strength, and partly because their reputation was so poor that the Mercenary Guild wouldn't entrust them with any work.

"Damn! What kind of life is this!"

Paff grabbed his hair and cursed. He was the strongest among those left behind. Standing next to him was Sman, who, like Paff, was a First-Tier Grand Soul Master. While they were only First-Tier, they were indeed the strongest remaining members of the group.

"What? Can't sit still anymore?" Sman gulped down some strong liquor and slumped into a comfortable chair—the one reserved for the leader of the Rotten Wolves—lounging in it with no regard for decorum. Whether from the excitement or the alcohol, his face was flushed. He looked at Sman with a wicked grin. "How about we go out and find some fun?"

"What do you mean?" Paff’s interest was instantly piqued, and he eagerly asked Sman to elaborate.

"I heard a song-and-dance troupe passed through the city yesterday. They had their final performance this evening and left immediately after. If you calculate the time, they should have just cleared the city gates... Heh heh, you know, I heard the girls in that troupe are all fresh and supple, and their voices when they sing, tsk, tsk..."

"Heh heh, that sounds good! Quickly, take a few brothers and let's chase them down!"

Once Paff heard this, his heart surged with excitement. He grabbed Sman and headed toward the door, leering as he reminded him, "Don't bring too many, just four or five. Too many people and it's a hassle; we'd have to wait forever for our turns!"

"Heh heh..."

Sman laughed lewdly and summoned a few brothers from the Rotten Wolves. When those fellows heard the purpose of the trip, they acted like rutting wolves, rushing out in a panic, terrified that they would miss the troupe. But just as Sman reached for the front door, a strange, chilling sensation crept into his mind. His body instinctively dodged to the side, and in that instant, he felt a sharp weapon graze his neck. Bright red blood sprayed out. In the shadows, Peipero saw that he had missed and threw his crossbow to the ground in a rage. He glared at Rodin, gnashing his teeth, and hissed, "How about that, Rodin? I told you, assassination just isn't for me!"