Scar didn't even bother replying. He simply lifted his mug in a lazy toast, smiling with that cunning stretch of lips that told me he enjoyed Northern Wolf's outburst far more than he should have. The broken table at our feet didn't faze him one bit; if anything, it pleased him. Watching others lose control was a game to that man.

"But for a mission of this caliber…" I leaned forward slightly, letting impatience show just enough to look natural. "At least from what I heard, we'll need way more people. How far are we from the goal?"

I couldn't wait any longer. My curiosity pushed past caution. Information was the real treasure here, not the coins he promised.

Scar flicked me a glance, the kind a fox gives to a rabbit that suddenly asked too clever a question. "Have you ever heard of the Shadowlands?"

My heart skipped a beat. Don't tell me… Finally, I was starting to feel lucky.

I kept my expression relaxed and shrugged. "Only in stories my father used to tell me when I was a kid. Nothing more." A smooth lie, one I delivered as casually as a breath.

Scar nodded as if my answer pleased him. "Those traitors are headed straight there. Rumor says they're carrying something intended for the ruler of those lands. A treasure stolen from the capital itself."

"Despicable people, aren't they?" he added with a scoff.

"The worst," I muttered, giving him a sideways glance. As if he wasn't the most despicable man in this room. "So how many more fighters do you intend to recruit? I doubt the ones here are enough. Even with Rovan also supporting us, we only have a handful of skilled fighters. The rest…" I let my gaze drift around the pub, sweeping over the drunk, average mercenaries leaning on tables or trying to impress each other with stories far above their actual skill.

"…the rest are nothing more than extras. They wouldn't survive a single move against any of the Ten."

A few nearby lackeys stiffened at my words, but I didn't spare them another look. I wanted Scar's reaction, and Scar's alone.

He signaled for his lackeys to arrange a new table for us, considering my question with an amused tilt of his head. The pub's noise dimmed for a heartbeat, the air tightening as if the whole room leaned closer to hear his answer.

Scar finally exhaled, voice smooth and low.

"Don't worry, little ice mage. We're not done gathering our forces. There are around two more towns before we reach our destination. We still need at least fifty more people. I hope that in the next two places, you'll be able to help me recruit a few more."

He took a slow pause, letting his mug rest against his lips as his gaze sharpened. "Yet… when I think about it now, it's strange. You hid yourselves so well. Quite the coincidence for you two to suddenly learn about the mission like this."

His eyes moved between Northern Wolf and me, quiet and calculating. "Do the two of you know each other from somewhere?"

The entire pub went silent again. Even the drunkest idiot froze in place. For a fleeting second, I wondered if I had pushed too far, if my questions had poked the wrong corner of his patience. Scar was not the type to appreciate curiosity that wasn't his own.

Northern Wolf chuckled, forcing the mood back to life with the kind of laughter that shook the mugs on the table. "We met yesterday. She's a heavy drinker, and I'm a loose tongue. I might've said a little too much, but hey, worth it. Out of everyone here, I'd trust my life the most in Beatrice's hands."

His words softened the tension a little, enough for people to breathe again. But Scar's expression didn't completely ease. His shoulders relaxed, but his eye drifted away, unfocused, as if his thoughts were already spiraling toward one person.

His brother's killer.

Even while talking to us, I could tell his mind wasn't here anymore, as if caught in that memory, sharpening into something vengeful and cold.

He slips so easily between friendliness and suspicion… what an exhausting man to deal with.

Northern Wolf took another drink, trying to lighten the mood further, but Scar's aura still hummed like a drawn blade. A reminder that one wrong answer could shift the night in a very different direction.

The rest of the night turned awkward in a way I wasn't prepared for. I tried not to drink too much, Scar's probing questions had already put me on edge, but Elira, on the other hand, got completely wasted. Her flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, and soft giggles made her look unbearably cute, the kind of cute that made even hardened mercenaries soften around the edges.

Scar kept circling back to questions about my past, casually at first, then with a sharper curiosity. Why are you pushing so hard, old fox? I would be suspicious of me too, to be honest, but that didn't make it any less annoying.

No matter how skillfully he tried to corner me, I always dodged the questions with one little twist, one vague statement, one redirecting joke. Never enough to anger him, but never enough to give him anything real. Eventually the drinking drowned out the conversation, and the night pulled us toward its end.

Soon the day to leave the town arrived.

For some reason, my wagon suddenly became a gathering spot. During the day, Northern Wolf, Lucy, and even Cut Throat decided they wanted to hang around with me and Elira. It was lively… maybe even too lively.

Beelzebub, poor thing, was snatched up by Cut Throat almost immediately. I never would've guessed a man who looked like a hateful, battle-hungry menace could turn into a softhearted mess over a hamster. Apparently, he was heavily fascinated by rodents. Beelzebub became his new obsession for the trip.

Well… at least one of us is enjoying himself.

A few days later, we reached a new city surrounded by riverbanks. It was breathtaking: the flowing water intertwined with the streets as if the city had grown from the rivers themselves. Wooden bridges arched between buildings, wheels turned by the current-powered mills, and narrow boats drifted past like gliding shadows. Life here moved with the river's rhythm.

It felt refreshing… like stepping into a different world entirely.

Once again, Rovan approached me with a drink he clearly expected me to accept. I refused, of course. I could see his eyes narrow at the rejection, the sharp awareness sliding across his face.

I kept my easy smile, pretending not to notice his shift in attitude. He couldn't possibly think I was a demon… could he?

One after another, people began to gather, drawn in by the glittering illusion of good money, clinging to the false hope that this mission would change their lives. None of them realized they were walking straight into death. And those who heard even a whisper of what the mission involved were no longer allowed to refuse. Once you stepped into Scar's shadow, there was no turning back.

The powerful decided your path. Even if you wanted to run, your legs were no longer yours to command.

In this city we managed to collect several more fighters, some impressive, some questionable, and some I wished I could throw into a river before they caused trouble.

First was a man named Nikolaus. Tall, long blond hair braided down his back, and eyes sharp like a wolf. He commanded several beasts formed entirely from water, shimmering wolves that moved with an eerie grace. A summoner was a special case, rare and dangerous and unpredictable. Exactly the type Scar wanted at his side.

Next, I found someone myself. A young woman named Anna. Her body looked frail at first glance, her big eyes and messy braid giving the impression she would snap in half if pushed too hard.

That illusion vanished the moment she grabbed her enormous hammer. Her magic wrapped around her limbs and reinforced every movement, turning her swings into devastating bursts of power. A fragile figure blessed with brutal strength was a delightful contradiction.

And then came the ones I disliked the most.

A duo of brothers named Root and Bark. Even their names irritated me. They were elemental users of wood and earth, useful in theory, but the aura around them made my skin tighten. The way their eyes drifted over the women in our party, lingering in all the wrong ways, made me wonder if I needed another night of cleansing. Their presence alone felt like rot spreading across the group.

But they were no pushovers.

Killing the two idiots we buried deep in the ground when I first joined the caravan had been simple. They practically offered their throats with their arrogance. These brothers, however, would not fall as easily.

If I ever decided to silence them, I would need to plan every step carefully, and choose a time when Elira would not question why I returned smelling of dirt and blood.

For now, I kept my expression neutral and my smile polite.

Inside, I was already sorting them: assets, pawns, threats, and future problems I would eventually have to deal with.

"Only one town left, people. Prepare yourselves. Soon you will have the honor of fighting those who would normally step over you with a single look." Scar's voice thundered from the front of the caravan, rolling across the entire group.

They roared back in agreement, a loud and unified sound that echoed across the road. Yet beneath that noise, I could hear something else. The cracks. The tremble in a few voices. The thin layer of courage that barely managed to cover their worry and uncertainty.

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