There had only been about twenty people when he sensed them the previous day, but today, nearly fifty men were tidying up the camp, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
"Hey! That tent needs to be buried! Bring the oiled canvas!"
"The furniture will be burned! We can always make more later!"
The sight of the rough-looking mercenaries moving in unison was quite impressive.
Aster silently watched this scene, but a shadow approached him.
"Sir Mage, what's going on here?"
It was Reilly.
He was rolling his eyes, surveying the atmosphere of the 1st Base Camp, with dark circles under his eyes.
"I can't tell you how shocked I was. Suddenly, around dawn, the Abyot mercenaries showed up..."
He thought he was going to faint.
It seemed that what was bound to happen had finally come to pass, considering how much he had offended Chief the previous day.
Reilly had come to the 1st Base Camp countless times and had met Pisher several times, but he had never seen him so angry.
It was unlikely that a mercenary group like Abyot would bury someone just because they had offended Chief, but...
'It's certainly possible.'
In the base camp, the camp guards and Chief have absolute authority.
However, that wasn't the case.
- We will provide ample compensation. Share the information you've gathered on your way here. It would be even better if you could show us a map.
A senior officer suddenly asked him to show them a way out of the Great Forest.
In that hectic situation, Reilly, still half-asleep, was tormented for a long time.
So, how could he not be flustered?
"Sir, I really thought I was going to be buried. What's going on here...?"
"It's nothing. Just think of it as getting a useful shield."
"…Eek, Sir Mage?"
Reilly was terrified and looked around at Aster's blunt words.
"S, s, shield! If you say that, I'll be stabbed without even knowing it."
What do mercenaries hate the most?
It's the derogatory term 'shield.'
They often use it to mock their own situation, but it's different when a third party calls them that.
Mercenaries may sell their pride for money, but there are still things that shouldn't be touched.
However, Aster burst out laughing at Reilly's reaction.
"Is it so bad to call a shield a shield? Isn't that right?"
"No, Sir Mage...!"
As Reilly tried to cover his mouth in shock, a voice interrupted him.
"It's unpleasant, but what does a mere name matter?"
A familiar voice.
"…!"
That voice belonged to someone who shouldn't be heard in this situation.
"H, ha... N, no way."
Reilly, sweating coldly, turned his head at the voice right above him.
With a creak, his head turned like a poorly oiled jointed doll.
When his head finally turned, Reilly's face was filled with despair.
"H, ha. Hahaha."
There stood the person he least expected.
The Chief of the 1st Base Camp.
The leader of the Abyot mercenaries.
Pisher.
"C, Chief, this statement is purely personal and has nothing to do with my position..."
Was he trying to save his own life?
Reilly quickly distanced himself.
Pisher looked down at him with a derisive expression and waved his hand, indicating that it wasn't worth responding to.
"I don't have time to chat with scum like you. Get lost."
"A, ha! Yes! Now that I think about it, there are still some matters to discuss! I'll be on my way..."
Reilly left the scene with a pale face.
Aster watched him leave and then turned his gaze back to the base camp.
"To think that such a guy is still alive."
"It's hard to find someone as good as him. He might even be the best pathfinder in the Great Forest of Hameln."
"…Yeah."
Indeed.
Although he hadn't seen other pathfinders in the Great Forest, making comparisons difficult, Reilly's pathfinding skills were undoubtedly top-notch.
Despite his weak aura, he seemed to see through things as if he had a keen sense.
However...
"Ah! S, sorry... I'll just pass by!"
It was hard to believe, seeing the bulky figure bowing so low.
Anyway.
Aster glanced at Reilly, who hurriedly left after encountering the Abyot mercenaries, and then turned his gaze to Pisher.
"You're more diligent than I thought."
"Isn't it better to be prepared as soon as possible?"
"Have you finished the checks?"
"…Hmm."
Pisher let out a low hum.
The previous day.
- Yes, I sent it off with my own hands.
The ruler of the swamp.
Pisher had heard the shocking declaration that he had personally finished off that ancient creature.
Of course, it was hard to believe just by words.
- …You eradicated the ruler of the swamp? By yourself, a mere mage? That's absurd!
What kind of ancient creature was the ruler of the swamp?
It was a being that was fatal even to ether users, and even more so to mages, who were its natural enemies.
It disrupted the mana in the air, sealing off magic.
How could any mage withstand it?
However.
'…I never thought it would be true.'
To confirm, he sent the fastest officer from Abyot to the swamp.
And before dawn, a message was transmitted through the communication crystal.
- …Chief, it seems the mage's words are true. No, they are true.
The corpse floating in the swamp, though damaged in places, was undoubtedly the ruler of the swamp.
The Abyot mercenaries were tidying up the 1st Base Camp for this reason.
"Exactly... What are you?"
Pisher asked, recalling the footage recorded by the fast officer.
The corpse of the ancient creature floating in the swamp.
The marks left on it looked more like it had been torn apart by a giant monster than a human.
However, Pisher's complex feelings were in stark contrast to Aster's simple answer.
"What, a client."
"…Hmm."
"Ah, don't tell me you still haven't made up your mind? I thought you had decided when you started tidying up the camp. Do you need more time?"
At that casual question, Pisher shook his head.
"The decision is made."
The decision was made the moment he confirmed that the ruler of the swamp had been eradicated.
The reason for tidying up the 1st Base Camp and recalling the scouts who had been out in the Great Forest since the early morning was also due to this.
"However, let's confirm one thing."
"What is it?"
"As I said, only the veterans will go to the 4th Base Camp. The young ones...?"
"Will go outside the Great Forest, right?"
"…Yes."
It was something they had discussed before, but Pisher wanted to confirm this point.
The ruler of the swamp.
If a mage who had eradicated it were to force them to go, they wouldn't stand a chance.
He had realized the power disparity.
Of course—
'He won't go down easily.'
He would have to put up a final struggle.
While Pisher was mentally preparing for any possible situation, Aster replied.
"Alright, then. When will the preparations be complete?"
"The camp cleanup will be done soon, but a few haven't returned yet. Still, it should be finished by morning."
"Morning...?"
Aster silently calculated the time.
It was enough time to wait.
If it were just any group, it wouldn't be worth it, but the Abyot mercenaries, and especially Pisher, were unexpected reinforcements. Would a few hours matter?
"Then, let's hurry with the cleanup."
Aster said this and shook his hand.
As he was about to move, Pisher's voice came.
"What do you want? No, what do you desire?"
"…."
Pisher was now speaking more formally.
However, he wasn't being servile.
How should one describe it?
Until a moment ago, he was treating the visitor to the base camp as Chief, but now he was addressing a client as a mercenary.
Aster stared at him for a moment and then spoke.
"I already told you."
"What...?"
"Shield. The destination... Let's make it the 4th Base Camp. After that, you can do as you please. You will guard us until we reach the 4th Base Camp. Let's make the request like that. How about it?"
"Understood."
Despite the blunt term 'shield,' Pisher bowed respectfully.
In fact, it was more of a formality.
Would a mage of that caliber really need a guard?
However—
"I will safely escort you to the 4th Base Camp."
As a mercenary, he took the client's instructions to heart.
"And one more thing."
"…?"
"Let's be casual. I'm only two years older, and I don't plan to be strict since we're in the same boat. What do you think?"
With that, the masked mage walked away.
Pisher watched him go, and a smile of disbelief appeared on his face.
"You, insolent..."
He insisted on the two-year age difference.
Even though he looked much younger.
'Or is he not?'
Judging by his exposed skin and voice, he seemed to be of the same generation as the young mage.
Considering that he had eradicated the ruler of the swamp, it was uncertain.
Such a young mage, who had ruled the Great Forest of Hameln in terror for so long, had eradicated the ruler of the swamp?
'It would be more plausible if an old mage had taken a youth elixir and rejuvenated.'
Of course, such an elixir only existed in legends.
"Chief?"
"Hmm, yes."
Pisher snapped out of his thoughts at the call of a nearby mercenary.
"The scouts have all returned. The camp cleanup is almost complete."
The preparations were finished sooner than expected.
Pisher looked at the young mercenary and then turned and walked away.
"Let's finish the camp cleanup here."
"Then..."
"Collect everything and burn it. We don't want goblins setting up a village here."
"Yes, understood."
The young mercenary accepted the order without a word.
"And once the cleanup is done, gather everyone. We can't keep the client waiting any longer."
* * *
The 1st Base Camp was now empty.
A place once bustling with mercenaries, adventurers, and a few merchants was now guarded by only about fifty mercenaries.
Under the suffocating silence, the fifty Abyot mercenaries stood in neat rows, facing forward.
Despite their image as free-spirited and rough, they looked like seasoned veterans who had undergone rigorous training.
However, there was an undeniable wildness in them.
A sharp military spirit.
Pisher stood like a towering mountain, firmly, and took in the sight of the Abyot mercenaries.
'...'
Their faces were diverse.
From seasoned veterans who had been together since their rookie days, for decades.
To greenhorns who had only been together for about a year.
Pisher took them in silently and then opened his mouth.
"It's time to leave."
"..."
"Half of you will go deep into the Great Forest, and the other half will head outside."
Abyot, who had guarded the 1st Base Camp for about two hundred years, was about to leave their home.
"I won't say much. The directions may differ, but our purpose is the same. And you know what that purpose is, don't you?"
How could they not know?
Abyot's mercenaries had no place to go.
The 1st Base Camp was a haven for drifters without parents, siblings, or even teachers.
Though not related by blood, the Abyot mercenaries were like brothers, parents, children, and teachers to each other.
So, they wanted to protect it. The 1st Base Camp.
No, the name Abyot.
Thus, their purpose was one and the same.
'The survival of Abyot.'
Some drifters were walking towards death for this reason.
To protect their brothers', children's, and disciples' haven, their place to stand, their place to belong!
The same went for those who were leaving.
Amidst the intense heat of a single-minded resolve, a voice erupted from the crowd.
"...Chief!"
The voice belonged to a young mercenary.
"I... I want to go too!"
He couldn't accept it.
The idea that only they would leave to live, to escape!
It wasn't dishonorable.
Mercenaries didn't know honor.
It wasn't shameful.
Mercenaries didn't know shame.
But it was frightening.
The thought of sending comrades to their deaths and surviving alone, enduring the long, lonely time, was unbearable.
This strange heat soon spread.
"...W, well."
"I, if I go, then I...?"
No, it wasn't an infection.
All the young mercenaries had harbored this feeling, and it was just bursting out.
"Chief! I'm better with a sword than that kid!"
"I may not be good with a sword, but I'm faster on my feet, right?!"
The military spirit crumbled, and emotions ran high.
The outbursts from all directions swept away the suppressed emotions.
Who would want to survive by sending comrades to their deaths?
Abyot had been able to guard the 1st Base Camp for nearly two hundred years thanks to this bond.
The veterans' hearts also wavered.
'...Damn these guys.'
'Curse...'
Were they not afraid of death?
No.
'Then, let them...'
They wanted to live.
Rather, they wanted to replace one of those young ones and survive outside the Great Forest of Hameln.
However.
"This kid...!"
One of the veterans let out an angry voice.
He broke the formation and approached the young mercenary who had spoken first, striking him with a brutal punch.
"...Gah!"
The young mercenary fell from the sudden blow.
"Where do you think you're going, kid! Seniors! In the water! What?! Really, you're just as bad, you bastards!"
He mercilessly beat the fallen mercenary.
The mercenary had long passed out, but the veteran continued to punch with a murderous look, as if trying to kill him.
"Let's see you maintain discipline! What? Are you comfortable? Are we comfortable? Kid! Where do you think you're going?!"
No one tried to stop him.
The veterans watched with complicated expressions, and the young mercenaries froze.
A voice came then.
"Stop."
Pisher's low voice.
Despite the calm tone, it was expected that the excited mercenary would calm down, but...
"..."
Strangely, the veteran immediately stopped.
His eyes, looking at Pisher, were far from excited. They were colder than ever.
Pisher exchanged a glance with the veteran and then took in the sight of the young mercenaries.
"Indeed, discipline has become lax. I won't accept any objections. All of you, get out. Go outside and wait for your punishment. Damn you."
Those words settled the situation.
"What? Hurry up and get out!"
At the angry shout, the young mercenaries moved quickly.
Pisher watched them leave and then turned and walked away.
There were no farewells, no well-wishes.
The veterans headed deep into the Great Forest, and the young mercenaries towards the outskirts.
However...
The only thing the young mercenaries could do was different.
- Wait for your punishment.
A promise that wouldn't be kept, but that one word.
That one word made their steps lighter than a hundred farewells.
The Abyot mercenaries who had guarded the 1st Base Camp.
23 veterans to the 4th Base Camp.
A weak step to stop the unholy existence, the Destrue, passed down from ancient times.