Chapter 19: Mercenary enrollment (2)
There were only a few minutes left before the test began.
Silence had fallen over the room like a heavy blanket. Only the muffled sounds of footsteps, the rustling of fabric, and a few deep breaths could be heard. About thirty candidates were waiting, each lost in their own thoughts. Some had their eyes closed to concentrate. Others were sizing us up, with suspicion or confidence. And then there were those, like me, who were observing in silence, trying to understand before it all began.
My gaze fell on a boy younger than me, barefoot on the cold floor, his fists wrapped in worn bandages. He was warming up with a precise method, repeating movements like an automaton. A strange energy floated around him, subtle but perceptible. It was neither aggressive nor flamboyant, but tense like a bowstring.
When our eyes met, he didn't flinch, but I saw his fingers tense slightly for a moment before he resumed his routine.
"Interesting..."
"Wow."
I turned slightly. A man had approached. He was tall and massive, with a poorly trimmed black beard and a fresh scar running across his face to a glassy eye. He carried a training blade over his shoulder and wore an amused expression.
"Looks like they're letting the kids in now." "
I stared him straight in the eye.
"You got a problem with that?"
A moment of silence. Then he let out a dry, gravelly laugh.
"What energy! I'm just curious to see what you're worth. But stay focused, kid. Otherwise, you might lose an eye!"
He turned on his heel and joined a small group nearby.
"Good luck, anyway!" he called over his shoulder.
I didn't answer. Friendship wasn't on the agenda. Not here.
My gaze drifted to the stage at the back of the room. A man had just stepped onto the stage, emerging from the shadows. He was dressed in plain black and gray clothing, but that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the marks. They ran along his neck, wound around his arms, and glistened slightly in the light.
"A... graduate?" I whispered, incredulous.
I felt my heart rate quicken.
"As expected of such a large organization," I thought to myself with a mixture of fascination and shock.
Essence is the basis of combat and survival, so its mastery and quantity naturally serve to define an individual's power. For this purpose, the Acet scale is generally used, divided into seven major levels of five stages each.
The Novice rank corresponds to discovery.
Then comes the Apprentice stage, where I currently find myself, at an advanced level. Most fighters never reach the third stage of Apprentice, the one I have passed.
Above that is the Graduate rank. Those who reach this level can face a hundred men without flinching. The essence then becomes an extension of their being, and marks resembling living tattoos appear under their skin, drawn by the constant flow of energy in their bodies.
Next come the Masters, then the Grand Masters, warlords capable of wiping out armies. Orwen Ivan, the current leader of the Mercenary Union, is one of them.
And at the top is the Royal rank, held by the Five Saints and the Seven Plagues. Beings who, it is said, have transcended death.
And beyond that? The mythical rank of Deity.
But this was no time to dream of such heights.
The graduate descended the steps of the podium, his footsteps echoing heavily. His mere presence was enough to silence the commotion. All eyes were on him. When his voice rose, it was deep, calm, devoid of emotion.
"You are here to join the Union. What you did before is irrelevant. What you do here, now, will matter." So, make sure you behave yourselves, okay?"
He paused, scanning the room.
"There will be three simple tests. The first will be a duel against one of us." "
At that moment, many faces paled. They had undoubtedly realized the power gap that separated them from this man.
He chuckled for a moment before speaking again. "Don't worry, it's not really a fight. We'll just assess your level and use only weak attacks to test your reactions. " He laughed: "The second test will be a duel between you. We will judge your abilities regardless of the results, then we will organize group fights.
I took a slow breath. My heart had calmed down. My mind was clear.
I wasn't there to impose myself. Nor to get noticed.
He spoke again after giving us time to take in the information. "Now, form two groups: one for melee fighters and one for ranged fighters, then head to the weapons store, please."
=================================
The groups formed quickly.
The groups formed quickly. Without hesitation, I headed toward the melee combatants group.
As I walked along the room, my gaze passed between different blunt blades of all types.
I inspected them one by one, comparing them to the sword I was currently using, until a noise caught my attention.
I turned to see members of the group of young people from earlier discussing their weapons.
Across from them, the boy I had spotted earlier was watching them indifferently. My gaze met his again as he kicked a pile of blades on the ground.
He smiled and walked slowly, his shoulders relaxed, as if detached from his surroundings. He walked barefoot on the cold tiles. His gait was neither confident nor nervous. Just... fluid. Natural. It was as if his body was ready to parry any attack, as if he were already in the midst of battle.
In an instant, he stopped in front of a shelf, right next to me, and took out a sword.
"Here, this sword will suit you perfectly," he said, handing it to me with a broad smile.
"Yeah, thanks." I took the blade from him as I replied.
It seemed perfect to me. Whether it was the length or the balance, it seemed perfectly suited to me.
"Thanks?"
"My name is Damien, nice to meet you!"
"Lance, but..."
"Don't worry, it's not like I need it," he finished, picking up a pair of metal gauntlets.
"Hey! You think you can just walk away like that?!" It was one of the guys he had been fighting with a moment ago. A tall blond with impressive muscles and a haughty air, particularly irritating.
"Aww, can't you just let it go?"
"What did you say?!"
The blond man had stepped forward, his shoulders stiff, his fists clenched, the veins in his arms bulging with tension.
"You got a problem, bum?"
Damien turned slowly. His gaze was neutral. Almost empty.
"No."
One word. Nothing more.
It was enough to make the other man take half a step back.
Then, as if nothing had happened, Damien shrugged, put his gauntlets back on, and turned on his heel to rejoin the line.
The blond man watched him for a moment, his jaw clenched, but said nothing.
Neither did I. But I had just realized: this Damien wasn't just an eccentric.
He knew exactly what he was doing. In his own way, he had tested us all long before the real fight.
There was no doubt that he was very powerful.
I took one last look at the weapon he had handed me.
Strangely, it seemed tailor-made for me.
A long whistle sounded.
One of the examiners raised his hand.
"First candidate. Get ready!"
The test began.