The streets of Bellanova were quieter than usual at dawn, though the merchants' carts and the smell of baking bread reminded Rico that the city never truly slept. He slung his pack over his shoulder and adjusted his sword, feeling the strange lightness of being unranked for the first time in twelve years.
Outside the city gates, the dirt road wound through rolling hills and vineyards. Marco's farm appeared over the rise, smoke curling from the chimney and the sound of horses whinnying drifting across the fields.
"Rico!" Marco called, emerging from the stable yard, wiping his hands on a straw-streaked cloth. "What brings you here so early? You're supposed to be… on duty, aren't you?"
"Not anymore," Rico said, trying to sound casual while dragging the pack behind him. "Which is why I need your help."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "Help with what?"
Rico gestured vaguely. "Some work. Guarding, escorting, protecting… you know. All that exciting stuff I've been dreaming about since I was seventeen."
Marco snorted. "You're insane."
"Technically," Rico admitted, "I'm just underappreciated. You, on the other hand, know horses, can organize supplies, and hopefully won't panic when someone tries to stab me. Not bad for a first recruit."
"I'm not looking for an adventure," Marco said, shaking his head. "I have a farm. My brother, Matteo. How am I supposed to take care of them?"
"Matteo's all grown up, and you've taught him everything he needs to know, right? He can manage while we're gone," Rico said. "If you're still unsure, just help me this one time."
"Fine, vado," Marco said, slapping his palm against his face, knowing he might regret the choice.
"Have you gotten any work yet, or are you still looking?" Marco asked.
"You know the local merchant Lorenzo? Well, he needs help transporting goods to Il Castello Bianco. He's a good friend of mine, and I've had my fair share of drinks with him," Rico said.
"Alright, I'm only helping you this once," Marco replied. "After that, you should scout for new recruits."
"Come vuoi," Rico shrugged.
With that, they began organizing the caravan: two horses, a small cart, and a few barrels of wine they had agreed to transport for the merchant friend, Lorenzo de Fiori.
By mid-morning, they had crossed the last hill out of Bellanova. The city gates shrank behind them, and the world suddenly felt bigger, quieter… and far more dangerous.
"First step out of the city after twelve years," Rico said, brushing sweat from his brow.
Marco looked over the cart, the horses, and the empty fields stretching ahead. "Don't get so excited," he said. "You'll need to survive the road before you start thinking about glory."
Rico grinned. "Onward, then."
The road ahead was dusty and uneven, lined with hedgerows that hid more than a few curious eyes. Somewhere between the vineyards and the river ford, the first real test of their fledgling mercenary life was waiting.