The Druid Who Devoured the Great Nature

“…Hella?”

“After all this time, that’s the best reaction I get? You didn’t even show your face when I called you to the office. Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

Hella sniffled and shook her shoulders.

Her act of feigned sorrow had not a shred of sincerity.

I brushed her off lightly.

“Did you get into trouble again? Take a proper contract.”

“Hey, do you think I’m some brat who can’t act my age? Not this time.”

Her companions all turned their eyes to the back of her head.

Noticing their stares, Hella glanced back and silenced them with only her expression.

Their smooth, practiced act of feigning innocence spoke of repetition.

‘…So she really is treated like the troublemaker.’

With her personality, it was unrealistic to expect otherwise.

This was the girl who called her commander “old man,” after all.

But since she insisted it wasn’t her fault this time, I urged her with a look to get to the point.

“Our mercenary band took the request. What about you?”

“Same here—a contract.”

“…So we’re working together again?”

“Seems so.”

No broker would deliberately overlap schedules to confuse things.

This was Greenwood’s request.

‘He said he’d back me, but I didn’t think Cromwell would actually pull in the Drexier Mercenary Band.’

It was what I wanted, yet it still felt unreal.

It only showed how much Cromwell expected from me.

‘Of course, the band wouldn’t have accepted just because Cromwell recommended it.’

Either there had been negotiations over shares, or the band had its own reasons for choosing this job.

Since no money-grubbing broker would give up profit, the latter seemed more likely.

“But this isn’t exactly an easy request. It’s tied to Centrim. Our band only accepted because the old man has personal ties with the client—but you…”

“Personal ties?”

That part caught me off guard.

When I asked again, Hella answered.

“Yeah, they’ve known each other for a while. The client apparently liked his impression and asked him directly.”

A personal request.

‘So the client’s part of Greenwood?’

It meant they had expected difficulty in gathering people.

Even with a big payout, Centrim’s involvement would make anyone hesitate.

‘If I could get an introduction, that’d be good.’

After all, the reason I took on merc jobs was to make contact with Greenwood.

The identity of their shadowy members was now right within reach.

‘Even if not a direct member, they must be close.’

Close enough to personally reach out to the mercenaries.

If I played it right, I might be able to meet someone from Greenwood.

‘This job might solve itself more easily than I thought.’

An unexpected shortcut had appeared.

It wasn’t just talk—I really did need to visit the Drexier Mercenary Band at least once.

“When are you two going to stop chatting? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

At that moment, one of her silent companions—a man with a buzz cut—rested his chin on top of Hella’s head.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you not to touch my head? Want to die?”

“Fine, I’ll take it off—just introduce me first. I can’t stand the suspense.”

“…Now.”

“Yikes.”

As Hella threatened, the man quickly withdrew his hand.

Her twisted expression showed genuine anger.

…Better remember never to touch her head, even by accident.

After fixing her ruffled hair, Hella spoke.

“These are my bandmates. This loafer here is Waver, and that gloomy guy over there is Keljid.”

“Loafer? That’s harsh. I’m your senior.”

“Then act like it. You messed up the last job so badly that the old man forced you into this one.”

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault. I gave it everything.”

“Bullshit.”

So the buzz-cut man was Waver.

Even lighter in tone than Hella, he wore a mask with unique patterns that seemed unnecessary except to hide his face.

Between Hella’s scolding and his demeanor, he didn’t look trustworthy.

But if he really was a loafer, he would’ve been kicked out of the band long ago.

The fact he remained meant he had skill.

‘Waver.’

I remembered the name too.

After the Drexier Band dissolved, he was one of the few mercenaries who made a name for themselves.

Knowing the future, I knew he was reliable.

“…Correction. I’m not a member of the Drexier Band.”

Keljid was a gloomy man with heavy dark circles under his eyes.

I was used to his type.

“A mage?”

“Affiliated with the Tower in a cooperative capacity.”

Obsessed with research until they looked like this—he was like a grad student.

Less human than consumable resource, chronic fatigue seeped into his entire being.

‘A Tower mage, huh.’

Unlike the untrustworthy Lailla or the untrained Sage, a Tower mage was a solid addition.

“You say you’re not a member, but you come to our office for every job. Might as well transfer already.”

“I admit Drexier is competent, but you lot are not. And you think a mercenary band could replace the Tower?”

“Stubborn bastard. Typical shut-in mage. And younger than the old man, yet worse than him.”

“I’m more mature than you.”

“Ha! Being older’s something to brag about?”

“…”

Picking fights like that took talent.

If he refused to transfer despite such familiarity, Hella’s presence probably had a lot to do with it.

Before the supposedly dignified mage lost his composure further, I stepped in.

“Is this everyone from the band?”

“Of course not. The old man only took volunteers. It’s a high-risk job. Since we accepted out of personal ties, fulfilling basic duty is enough.”

But duty didn’t guarantee survival.

Especially for a leader, letting emotions dictate was unacceptable.

Just taking the job made Drexier rare, honorable mercenaries.

“And in our plan, we don’t need many. A small elite team works better.”

“You already have a plan?”

“Details later. For now, be ready to greet someone. They’ll be down soon.”

“…?”

“Our old man. He came along for the talks.”

Right then, I heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs.

I turned toward the sound.

In the dim lighting, like midday shadows, a figure emerged.

“…So you’re the promising one Hella spoke of.”

Was he part giant?

His massive frame was the first thing I noticed.

Deep-set eyes, short beard, and the rugged air of a Westerner.

As he drew near, I felt a primal weight press on my chest.

The kind of presence that only came with years.

If he were my enemy, it would have been fear. If my client, reassurance.

Drexier stood before me, scrutinizing me carefully.

His gaze was sharp enough to cut me apart piece by piece.

Then his eyes slid to Hella.

“…You didn’t get swept up by a pretty face and spew nonsense, did you?”

“Really? Do I look that gullible?”

“Well, lying’s not in your skill set, I’ll give you that.”

“What?”

Praise that sounded like an insult made Hella flare up.

Ignoring her, Drexier focused back on me.

“I expect great things.”

“You make it sound like I applied to your band.”

“I can match any terms. Better than living as some moth-like freelancer. Even if you refuse, it benefits us to know a capable ally.”

The hand he laid on my shoulder was heavy.

It felt like a boulder was pressing down on me.

‘A giant among men.’

The weight of his presence made it clear why the scattered remnants of his mercenary band had still made names for themselves.

I couldn’t take my eyes off his retreating back.

“Ugh, that old fossil. Never any help. Instead of locking things down and pulling us closer, he just struts around acting all heavy.”

“The commander has the right to.”

“He’s nothing but a worn-out relic pushing papers. Still thinks he’s some war hero from back in the day.”

Hella was shockingly insolent toward Drexier.

She brushed off Waver’s defense without a care and took the lead.

“Let’s go. We’ll make sure the old man can’t lift his head.”

“The factory’s far. Since you said there’s a plan, shouldn’t we get the briefing out of the way first?”

“We’ll go over it on the way.”

She pulled a key from her pocket.

At the press of a button, a beep sounded, and the door of a car parked by the entrance swung open.

“My baby. Cute, right?”

“…”

I kept my mouth shut.

Hella’s car was a compact so flimsy it looked like the wind could topple it.

The criteria for choosing a vehicle should’ve been sturdiness and fuel economy—especially in a city this dangerous.

From her pink wallet to this, her tastes were far different from her appearance.

“Before bragging, at least drive properly. Do you know how terrifying it is every time I ride with you?”

“Then don’t get in.”

“Ahem, just saying.”

When Hella glared, Waver clamped his mouth shut and sat in the passenger seat.

Even Keljid climbed in without a word, so I hid my doubts and got in as well.

‘With a compact like this, the ride should at least be smooth.’

Still, it beat wearing out my legs.

“Alright, let’s go!”

Vroooom!

“…!”

The moment the engine turned over, the car launched forward with a lurch, skidding around corners in daredevil arcs that felt more like stunts than driving.

Fortunately, though Hella drove recklessly, she was swift and precise.

By midday, we reached our destination.

From the hill where we stopped, the factory below belched smoke.

The number of personnel milling about flaunted its recent success.

Iron gates sealed every access point, and overseers whipped the workers as they shouted.

The sight brought back memories of the factory I had once escaped.

‘But their security won’t be as sloppy as that place.’

Unlike that site, where overseers doubled as guards, this factory had hired professionals.

Each one armed with firearms and armored vests.

Their listless gestures suggested boredom, but the inspections were thorough.

Orders from above clearly kept them in line.

They weren’t the type to slack.

“You’ve memorized the plan?”

Hella, watching with me, asked.

I nodded.

The outline was simple.

Two would cause a distraction up front while the other two infiltrated.

During the diversion, one would assassinate a key figure to further draw attention, while the other destroyed the factory’s algorithm data.

It was a double-layered feint.

“Let me spell it out again so you don’t forget. If the algorithm data’s destroyed, production halts. At least three months to recalibrate. More than enough time for rival corporations to pick Delippersy apart.”

Greenwood’s goal for this raid was halting production.

Blowing up the place wasn’t the only way.

Break the machines, and the line stops.

Kill the person who could fix it, and shutdown was guaranteed.

“But can the data really be destroyed?”

It was under the factory’s highest level of security.

Could it really be breached so easily?

Without a hacker, that was the weak point of the plan.

“…We don’t need to steal it, just fry it. No need to bypass security if we burn it all.”

White sparks crackled at Keljid’s fingertips.

Lightning magic. That was enough to trust.

If a Tower mage vouched for it, he’d manage.

Then Keljid leaned in to whisper.

“About your request… I’ll consider it.”

“Good.”

“Request?”

Hella butted her face between us.

She heard that? Sharp ears.

“Nothing much.”

It was just a small deal sealed with a cut of the payout.

I waved it off, burying her curiosity.

‘So Quadrapple’s supposedly deployed here… but I don’t see them.’

They were the real obstacle.

Centrim’s iron shield.

We had decided on roles based on how they were positioned.

“…Don’t see them.”

My companions also failed to spot any sign of Quadrapple.

That made things tricky.

Perhaps bored of watching, Waver stretched.

“Guess Quadrapple got the cushy job inside?”

“…Or they pulled out.”

“Maybe they just spread the word to scare people off. That makes sense too.”

Keljid’s guess seemed to cheer Waver up.

“No. Cromwell’s intel was solid.”

“Exactly, human. Stop slacking and assume the worst. If we can’t see them, it just means they’re inside.”

Hella looked at him with disdain.

Flustered, Waver scratched the back of his head and muttered.

“Then the assassination job’s key.”

If Quadrapple guarded the interior, they’d watch infiltrators closely.

Priority one: destroy the data. Priority two: assassinate the target.

If the assassination succeeded, good. If not, it still had to distract them long enough for the data to be destroyed.

Nodding, Hella asked the group.

“So, who’s going?”

“I’ll go.”

“Whistle.”

I volunteered at once.

I glared at Waver, who whistled, and Hella turned to me.

“You sure?”

“I’m the one who took down the black mage.”

It had been an advantage of matchups, but only I knew that.

For the group, it was reason enough.

Waver clapped my back.

“Bold. I like it. Think of it as your trial for joining the band. Do well.”

“Trial, my ass. I vouched for his skills.”

“I’m a skeptic. Gotta see for myself.”

I didn’t bother chiming in.

It was my decision. Their chatter meant nothing.

Besides, I had my own reason for tearing through the factory.

‘It’s Greenwood’s request. I might find another spirit cocoon.’

Just like the job in District 7, I held hope.

‘And I’ve questions for their executives.’

Delippersy had ties to Alfonso, Centrim’s prized agent.

He might be linked to Dalton Sunderland’s recruitment as a black mage.

Even if it turned out to be coincidence, the lead was worth pursuing.

“Alright, let’s prep and move in an hour.”

Hella stretched, eyes glinting with a predator’s hunger.

I, too, was eager.

Was I strong enough now to keep pace with a top-tier mercenary band?

‘I can’t afford to fall behind here.’

If I was to push my purpose through against corporations and monsters alike, I had to clear missions like this with ease.

「The World Tree burns with determination, telling me to trust it.」

The results would soon prove themselves.

I stroked the World Tree and steeled my resolve.

(End of Chapter)