Three days had passed since the hunt for the Obsidian Basilisk.
In the high-stakes, blood-soaked city of the Dragon Spire, three days was usually enough time for a new mercenary team to either die, go broke, or quit. But the Iron-Toot Mercenaries hadn't done any of those things.
They had thrived.
The sun was setting over the chaotic sprawl of the city, casting long, jagged shadows across the dusty streets. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, exotic spices from the southern Beastman tribes, and the metallic tang of sharpened steel.
Nyx walked down the main thoroughfare, Requiem wrapped in fresh canvas on his back.
He didn't have to push through the crowd. As he walked, the sea of Orcs, Humans, and Dwarves parted. They didn't step aside because he was a massive brute, they stepped aside because of his presence.
He wasn't a giant. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and lean, built like a panther rather than a bear. Even beneath the illusion of the dusty traveler's cloak, his movement was unnervingly perfect. He didn't bob when he walked. He didn't stumble. He glided with a stillness that screamed "predator."
"That's him," a goblin whispered to a companion, pointing a gnarled finger from the shadows of an alley. "The Silent Price."
"Don't look at him," the companion hissed. "They say he caught a Basilisk's tail with one hand. He didn't even sweat. It's unnatural."
Briar walked beside Nyx, her hand resting casually on the pommel of Ignis. She wore her battered leather armor, but she walked with a swagger that hadn't been there a week ago. She heard the whispers. She loved them.
"We're famous," Briar grinned, nudging Nyx with her elbow. "The Silent Prince and the Red Witch. Has a nice ring to it."
"It sounds dramatic," Nyx murmured. His voice was calm, vibrating with that strange, dual-tone resonance that made people shiver.
"Infamy pays better than drama," Lyra piped up from Nyx's other side.
The scholar princess looked less like a mouse now and more like a merchant shark. She was carrying a heavy ledger she had bought, and her fake glasses were perched on the end of her nose.
"Speaking of payment," Lyra said, checking her notes. "We need to offload the loot from the Twin-Headed Viper we killed this morning. The venom sacs are volatile. If we don't sell them within the hour, they degrade by 15%."
"To the market then," Nyx said.
They turned toward the Merchant Quarters. This was the beating heart of the economy in the City. It was a maze of stalls run by the greediest beings on the continent.
They stopped at a large stall run by a fat, well-dressed Dwarf named Gorm. He dealt in alchemy ingredients and rare monster parts.
"Ah! The Iron-Roots!" Gorm rubbed his hands together, his rings clinking. "Back so soon? Did you bring me scraps, or did you bring me gold?"
Nyx stepped back. He was the muscle. He leaned against a wooden post, crossing his arms. Even doing nothing, he looked like a statue carved from marble, too still, too perfect.
Lyra stepped forward. She was the brain.
She placed a glass jar on the counter. Inside, a purple, glowing liquid swirled menacingly. Viper Venom.
"High-grade neurotoxin," Lyra stated flatly. "Harvested twenty minutes ago. Zero impurities."
Gorm whistled. He pulled out a jeweler's loop and inspected the jar. "Not bad. Not bad at all. I'll give you two hundred gold."
Briar opened her mouth to accept, thinking it was a fortune.
"Five hundred," Lyra countered instantly.
Gorm choked. "Five hundred? Are you mad, girl? It's viper spit, not dragon blood!"
"It is Twin-Headed Viper spit," Lyra corrected, tapping the glass. "Specifically from the left head, which contains the paralytic agent used in high-tier anesthesia. The Continental Tournament begins again in two days. Healers are stocking up. Demand is up 400%. Supply is low because most mercenaries are too stupid to harvest it without dying."
She leaned over the counter, her blue eyes sharp behind the cracked lenses.
"I did the math, Gorm. You will sell this to the Vampire delegation for at least eight hundred. I am asking for five. That leaves you a 60% profit margin. Don't be greedy."
Gorm stared at her. He looked at Nyx, who was watching him with those unsettling, muddy-hazel eyes that seemed to see right through his soul. He looked at Briar, who was smirking and tapping her sword hilt.
"Five hundred," Gorm grumbled, reaching for his coin pouch. "You're robbing me, you little witch."
"Pleasure doing business," Lyra beamed, taking the heavy bag.
As they walked away, Briar wrapped an arm around Lyra's shoulders.
"Remind me never to play cards with you," Briar laughed. "You robbed him in broad daylight."
"It is just economics," Lyra said, stashing the gold. "Now... dinner? I believe we can afford the expensive wine tonight."
They headed to The Tavern.
The tavern had become their unofficial headquarters. The owner, a grumpy old man named Barnaby, already had their table reserved in the corner.
They sat down, the wooden bench creaking slightly. The atmosphere was loud, rowdy, and filled with smoke, but in their corner, it felt like home.
Nyx watched them. He watched Briar order a massive steak, her eyes lighting up when it arrived sizzling on a stone plate. He watched Lyra carefully wipe her utensils, then dive into a bowl of stew with surprising enthusiasm.
The First Shackle hummed contentedly. The Second Shackle resonated with the life around him.
"You're doing it again," Briar mumbled through a mouthful of beef.
"Doing what?" Nyx asked, taking a sip of ale.
"Looking at us," Briar swallowed. "Like we're the only things in the room."
"You are the only things in the room that matter," Nyx said simply.
Briar turned bright red. She kicked him under the table. "Stop saying things like that in public. It ruins my reputation as a cold-blooded killer."
"Why?" Nyx asked, genuinely confused. "You can be a killer and be beautiful. They are not mutually exclusive."
Lyra giggled, hiding her smile behind her cup. "He has no filter, Briar. You have to get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to it," Briar grumbled, though she was smiling. "It's hard to look scary when my boyfriend keeps looking at me like I hung the moon."
The word hung in the air.
Boyfriend.
Briar froze. She realized what she had said. Her eyes widened.
Nyx tilted his head. "Boyfriend? Is that a rank?"
"It... it means..." Briar stammered, her face reaching new levels of crimson.
"It means a male partner in a romantic engagement," Lyra supplied helpfully, enjoying Briar's suffering.
"Ah," Nyx nodded. "Then yes. I am that."
He looked at Lyra.
"And you are my girlfriends, that's the word right?"
Lyra choked on her ale. Now it was her turn to flush.
"That... well... theoretically... yes," Lyra squeaked.
Nyx smiled. It was the warm, genuine smile that he reserved only for them, a break in his perfect, superhuman mask. He reached across the table and took their hands.
"I like this rank," Nyx said. "It is better than this God Rank you always speak of."
Before the moment could get any sweeter, a shadow fell across their table.
Nyx didn't let go of their hands. He didn't look up. He just felt the air change. The rowdy noise of the tavern died down nearby.
Standing by their table were five massive figures.
They were Beastmen. Specifically, Bear-Kin. They stood seven feet tall, covered in thick brown fur, wearing heavy iron armor adorned with bones. They smelled of wet dog and aggression.
"You," the leader growled. His voice sounded like rocks grinding together. "Iron-Roots."
Nyx slowly looked up. His hazel eyes were calm, boring into the massive beastman.
"We are eating," Nyx said. "Go away."
The leader slammed a massive, clawed hand onto the table, rattling the plates.
"I am Korg," the Bear-Kin roared. "Leader of the Ursa mercenaries. You took the Viper hunt this morning. That was our contract."
"It was on the open board," Briar said coolly, not letting go of Nyx's hand. "First come, first served. Maybe you should wake up earlier, teddy bear."
The tavern went silent. Calling a Bear-Kin 'teddy bear' was usually a suicide note.
Korg's face twisted in rage. He grabbed the hilt of the massive warhammer on his back.
"You think you're funny, little human?" Korg snarled. "You steal our gold. You steal our glory. And now you mock us?"
He looked at Nyx. He looked at Nyx's face, too clean, too handsome, too perfect for a mercenary.
"And you," Korg sneered. "The Silent Prince. Look at you. Not a scar on your face. You're just a pretty boy hiding behind two women. A coward."
Nyx sighed. He looked at the half-eaten steak on Briar's plate.
"I hate it when my food gets cold," Nyx muttered.
He looked at Briar and Lyra.
"Do I have to get up?" Nyx asked them.
"No," Briar said, her eyes flashing with a dangerous light. She squeezed Nyx's hand, then let go. She stood up.
"Sit down, Nyx," Briar said, stretching her neck. "You handled the Basilisk. I need a workout."
"Statistically," Lyra said, standing up and adjusting her glasses, "a Bear-Kin has a high physical defense but low magical resistance. They are susceptible to sensory overload."
She pulled out her wand.
Korg laughed. "Two little girls? You insult me!"
"Get them!" Korg ordered his pack.
The four other Bear-Kin charged.
"Flash Step" Briar whispered.
She didn't draw her sword. She didn't need to kill them. This was a bar fight, not a war.
She moved. Her fist, wreathed in condensed blue fire, connected with the jaw of the first Bear-Kin.
CRACK.
The massive warrior was lifted off his feet. He spun in the air and crashed through a nearby table.
"One," Briar counted.
Two others lunged at Lyra.
Lyra didn't move. She flicked her wand.
"Vaccum Sphere"
A bubble of air formed around the heads of the two attackers. Instantly, the sound was cut off. The air was sucked out.
The Bear-Kin clawed at their throats, their eyes bulging. They couldn't breathe. They couldn't roar. They fell to their knees, gasping.
"Two and three," Lyra counted calmly. "I will release them before permanent brain damage occurs. Probably."
Korg stared. In three seconds, his team was down.
He roared, swinging his warhammer at Briar. It was a blow that could shatter stone.
Briar didn't dodge. She caught the handle of the hammer.
Her hand was wreathed in blue fire. The heat was so intense the wood of the handle began to smoke instantly.
"Is that it?" Briar asked, her red eyes glowing. "I've sparred with a Void God. You're just... heavy."
She punched the hammer.
The force of her Intermediate Lunar strength, amplified by her fire, shattered the weapon. Splinters rained down.
Korg stumbled back, holding the broken handle. He looked at Briar. He looked at Lyra, who was casually sipping her ale while maintaining the vacuum spell.
Then he looked at Nyx.
Nyx was still sitting. He hadn't moved. He was casually eating a fry.
But as Korg looked at him, Nyx raised his eyes.
And for a fraction of a second, the illusion failed for the Bear-Kin leader.
The hazel contact lenses dissolved in Korg's vision. He didn't see human eyes. He saw an Abyss hidden from those golden Irises.
He saw a depth that had no bottom. He saw a hunger that could swallow the stars. It wasn't the gaze of a mercenary, it was the gaze of an Apex Predator looking at a bug.
Nyx put a finger to his lips.
"Shh," Nyx whispered.
Korg turned pale beneath his fur. His legs shook. He dropped the broken handle.
"We... we yield," Korg stammered, backing away, terrified of the beautiful monster sitting at the table. He kicked his gasping comrades awake. "We leave. Sorry. Sorry!"
The Ursa Major mercenaries scrambled out of the tavern, tails tucked between their legs.
The tavern erupted into cheers. Barnaby, the owner, slammed a pitcher of free ale onto their table.
"On the house!" Barnaby laughed. "I haven't seen a beating like that since the last war!"
Briar sat back down, blowing a stray hair out of her face. She looked at Nyx, grinning.
"See?" Briar said. "We can handle ourselves."
"I never doubted it," Nyx said. He pushed the fresh pitcher toward them. "You were magnificent."
"And you were very restrained," Lyra praised, releasing her spell. "You didn't eat anyone."
"I am practicing," Nyx smiled.
They spent the rest of the night drinking, laughing, and letting the tension of the upcoming Tournament bleed away. They weren't just a team of powerful cultivators. They were a family.
But as the night wound down, and they walked back to their inn under the starlight, the reality of their situation returned.
Nyx stopped outside the inn door. He looked toward the North.
The Deagon Spire was glowing. A signal fire had been lit at the top.
"They're preparing for the Tournament," Nyx said softly.
"We also prepared for this long enough" Briar said, her hand finding Nyx's in the dark. "We're ready now."
"We have gold," Lyra added. "We have rank. We have confidence."
Nyx looked at them.
"Then tomorrow," Nyx said, "we climb the stairs."
He opened the door to their room.
"But first," Nyx murmured, pulling them both inside, "I believe we have a bed to share."
The door clicked shut, locking out the world for one more night. They were ready for war. But for now, they chose peace as always.