NOVEL NEXT Chapter 155: Mercenary Guild
The dirt road stretched endlessly under the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. Cicadas buzzed in the grass, and the gentle sway of the trees framed Ethan, Lirael, and Sylvie as they walked side by side.
Lirael broke the silence first, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.
"Ethan, I heard some nobles are gathering adventurers and mercenaries. They're preparing for a Crack raid… and this one's rumored to be dungeon-type. Supposedly it generates monsters endlessly."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, but before he could reply, Lirael slipped into explanation—her tone turning thoughtful. She knew Ethan wouldn't know about it.
"There are three types of Cracks," she said. "The dungeon type is the most sought after. Inside, time runs differently—days inside pass as mere hours outside. Spend twenty days there, and less than an hour has passed here. Rulers love these places: they provide constant raw materials, steady employment, and attract crowds of adventurers. Sometimes entire cities grow around them, bustling with trade and commerce. Of course…" her lips pressed into a thin line, "…they have to be cleared regularly. If monsters build up too much, they spill out. Thats what is dungeon break. And that's disaster if its in a city. I am pretty sure the crack here went unnoticed fir quite a while and leading to dungeon break, increasing the density of monsters in the forest. And one thing to note. When dungeon break occurs more crack appear which connects to the main crack spewing different monsters from different cracks, though they slowly dissappear and only the main one remains"
Sylvie also heard Lirael carefully as this was new for her too.
Lirael continued, her blue eyes glinting. "Then there are the territory-type Cracks. Once cleared, they leave behind empty space. Some are turned into farmland, others into hidden fortresses, or even luxury retreats for nobles who want their own little pocket world. But there a generous amount of loot inside too. Specially special equipments, tools and artifacts. Sometime it even has a disaster class monster inside it which wrecks havoc when it comes out."
She then continued.
"And then… there are the rarest of all—world-bridging Cracks. They connect realms across the cosmos. Sometimes, they link to worlds without mana at all. Imagine what happens then—mana flooding a place unprepared for it. Societies crumble, technology twists in strange new directions, and people who were ordinary yesterday awaken as monsters… or tyrants."
Her words lingered in the air, Silvie got more near them as if seeking protection.
Ethan slowed his steps. A stray thought gnawed at him.
What if, when I fell into this world… Earth changed too? After hearing her I am pretty sure I came through a crack...then what about the driver...
Did his home now suffer an upheaval of mana, reshaped beyond recognition? Would he ever return, and if so, what kind of world would he find?
Not that I'm eager to go back… A wry grin tugged at his lips. Heh.
"Ethan?" Lirael nudged him gently with her elbow. "You spaced out."
He blinked, shaking off the reverie.
"So… what do we do?" she asked again, tilting her head.
Ethan exhaled slowly, then smirked. "First, we set up our mercenary company. If nobles want our help, fine. Let them come knocking."
Her brow arched. "Oh? So you are planning to join a noble?"
"Join?" Ethan scoffed, his grin widening into something of an evil planner. "Nah. I'm planning to look them in the eye when they make their pitch… and deny them flat-out. Just imagine their faces."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, his expression twisting into a mock-evil laugh.
Lirael couldn't hold it in—she burst into laughter, covering her mouth but failing to hide the sparkle in her eyes.
"Pfft! That… that really is just like you."
Sylvie blinked between them, lips forming a small smile.
The road ahead felt uncertain, yet thrilling—just the way Ethan liked it.
After some time, their steps brought them before a weathered stone building. It wasn't as imposing as the Adventurers' Guild—no gleaming banners or any polished brass plates—but there was something heavy and alive about it. The worn wood of the sign above the door read Mercenary Guild, looked like its letters gouged into place by rough hands rather than carved with pride.
Ethan pushed open the door.
The smell hit first—sweat, stale ale, leather soaked in blood and rain. The air was thicker here than in the adventurers' halls, as if years of violence clung to the beams. Inside, crude laughter and the clatter of mugs mingled with muttered curses.
Dozens of eyes turned to them.
The room was full of hardened faces—scarred men, burly women, lean killers who watched everything like hawks. There were humans aplenty, but also catkin lounging with tails flicking idly, dogkin with ears twitching at every sound, even a couple of aloof elves and other beastkins nursing drinks in shadowed corners.
And then there was Ethan, striding in with Lirael and Sylvie—two women whose beauty and refined bearing marked them immediately as outsiders. Their clothes were clean, their posture unbroken, and their presence screamed of sheltered nobility. It drew attention like blood in the water.
A few smirks. A scoff. The sharp edge of curiosity.
Lirael's lips curled faintly as she leaned toward Ethan. "We're being stared at."
"Heh, let them," Ethan replied, unbothered. His eyes scanned the hall with a lazy confidence.
Here, things were different. This wasn't the Adventurers' Guild, where regulations and paperwork wrapped people in a net of order. This was raw and lawless.
The unspoken rules were simple: the guild would not protect you from insults, from theft, not even from a knife slipped between your ribs. Misconduct here wasn't punished—it was expected. If you were too weak to defend your purse, or too soft to endure a beating, then you didn't belong.
"Crude place," Sylvie whispered, clutching Ethan's sleeve tighter.
"Crude," Ethan agreed with a grin, "but the very place we need."
Because freedom lived here, too. No contracts tying your hands, no pompous regulations limiting who you could fight or what jobs you could take. You could rob, cheat, intimidate—so long as you survived the retaliation. And the guild wouldn't bat an eye.
Of course, there were lines no one dared to cross. Even here, nobles were untouchable. Raise a blade against one, and you'd be on your own. The guild would shrug, and the noble could cut you down in the street with the law on their side. Though verbal jabs were common to weak looking nobles, those that you could tell were weak with a single glance.
But everything else? Fair game.
Jobs weren't simple errands, easy escorts or monster subjugations like in the Adventurers' Guild. Here, contracts came from noble houses and shadowy employers alike. Large-scale exploration. Recovery of missing persons. Bandit exterminations. And yes—contracts that demanded blood. Killing humans and eliminating threats.
High risk. High return. The currency of mercenaries.
A hulking man at a nearby table leaned back in his chair, his scarred cheek splitting into a grin.
"Well, well. Looks like some fancy little birds wandered into the wolf den."
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Ethan didn't even turn his head. His lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smirk as he guided Lirael and Sylvie deeper inside.
"Lets see if anybody bites," he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear, "It will be fun."
Lirael chuckled softly, her eyes sharp. Sylvie tried to shrink into Ethan's side.
And just like that, the mercenary guild had taken notice of them.