Devan took the seat across from them, resting his forearms on the metal table as if this were a routine meeting.
"Relax," he said lightly. "This won't take long."
The E-rank candidate nodded immediately, while Zion remained still, deep in thought.
'Interview, huh?' he thought, closing his eyes for a second. 'Thankfully I memorized my background with Uriel…'
Devan's gaze shifted between them before settling on the nervous one.
"Name and rank," he said.
"E–Erick," the young man replied, stuttering slightly. "E-rank. Just registered last month."
Devan hummed, nodding once as if that explained everything. "First crew application?"
"My second, sir."
"Mm." Devan leaned back slightly and turned his attention to Zion. "And you?"
"Zane," Zion replied calmly. "D-rank. Independent so far."
Devan nodded once more, making a small note on the tablet beside him.
"Now let's talk expectations. What are you both looking for from this crew?"
The young man straightened again. "Experience. I want to learn from stronger mercenaries and earn a stable income."
Devan listened patiently, then shifted his attention to Zion.
"And you?"
"I'm not looking for a long-term crew," Zion answered honestly. "A few solid missions for experience and some money. That's it."
Devan smiled faintly. "Straightforward. I respect that."
He tapped his tablet once and glanced at the screen, as if checking what to ask next.
"Next," he continued, tone casual. "Do either of you have family or close contacts we should be aware of? In case something goes wrong on a mission."
Erick swallowed. "My parents live on Satusk. Other than that, I don't really have anyone nearby."
Devan hummed in acknowledgment and turned to Zion.
"No family," Zion said. "No one to notify."
For just a split second, Devan's expression changed into a smirk. It was gone almost immediately, replaced by the same calm, professional look as before.
'…Did he just smirk?' Zion wondered, eyes narrowing slightly.
He glanced at Erick, but it didn't seem like he had noticed anything.
Keeping it in the back of his mind, Zion carefully watched as Devan added another brief note to his tablet before setting it down on the table.
"Alright," he said, voice still easygoing. "One last thing before we wrap this up."
His gaze moved between them again, a soft smile on his face.
"What kind of weapons do you usually run with?" Devan asked. "And more importantly, did either of you bring them with you today?"
Erick stiffened instantly, hands tightening on the edge of the table.
"I—I use a D-rank plasma rifle," he said quickly. "It's registered, and I… brought it with me."
Devan's smile widened, then he turned to Zion.
"And you?"
Zion's eyes narrowed slightly. "Just the standard handgun and blade from my suit," he replied calmly.
Devan nodded slowly, as if committing the answers to memory.
"Good," he said. "That should be everything."
He picked up the tablet again, glancing at the screen for a brief moment before setting it down with a soft tap.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Suddenly, a loud metallic clang echoed through the warehouse.
Both Erick and Zion quickly glanced behind them, but neither could see where the sound came from.
"W—What was that?" Erick asked, turning to Devan.
"Just standard procedures," he responded, pushing himself up out of his chair.
Zion remained quiet, his gaze directed at the other mercenaries behind Devan. Their sudden interest and wide smiles told him more than enough.
[Host,] it said quietly. [Another D-rank individual is approaching from behind.]
'Shit,' Zion thought, clenching his fists. 'So they were a sketchy crew after all.'
Zion didn't move, acting as if nothing had changed. But hidden beneath that calm, energy ran through his body as black scales spread over his arms.
'Nine D-ranks,' he thought, narrowing his eyes. 'This will be challenging…'
Before he could move, Devan's arm snapped up.
A large handgun appeared in his grip, the muzzle pressed inches from Erick's forehead.
Zion tensed but still didn't move. As long as the muzzle was on Erick's forehead, any sudden motion would get him killed.
Erick froze immediately, even his shaking coming to a halt.
"Hand over the rifle," Devan said coldly.
"I—I will," Erick said quickly, hands already lifting his bag. His voice trembled, but he forced the words out. "But this is against mercenary protocol. If something happens to me here, then—"
"Let me guess, the Mercenary Guild will come after us?" Devan finished his sentence, amused. "Listen carefully, kid."
He leaned in slightly, the barrel never leaving Erick's forehead.
"The Mercenary Guild doesn't care about what happens outside its own buildings. They care about one thing." His eyes flicked briefly toward Zion. "And that is money."
Erick swallowed hard, placing the bag containing his gun on the table.
"As long as no official complaint leaves this warehouse," Devan continued, "this never happened."
He zipped the bag open with one hand, his smile widening as he saw the plasma gun inside.
'That's it,' Zion thought, eyes widening as the muzzle left Erick's forehead for a split second.
Without hesitation, he jumped forward, a large blade still extending through his knuckles.
Zion pierced through Devan's right arm, forcing him to drop the weapon.
Shouts exploded through the warehouse.
As Devan stumbled back, all other Blue Mane mercenaries sprang into action, some pulling out expensive weapons while others relied on the basic gear from their suits.
Yet, it was already too late.
Zion lunged forward, following after the stumbling Devan. With one smooth jab, his blade pierced through Devan's head, instantly killing him.
For a second, the other mercenaries' eyes widened, and the warehouse fell silent.
Then everything exploded.
"Kill him!"
Multiple gunshots rang out, plasma fire and energy shots ripping through the air.
Zion quickly lifted Devan's body, using it to block most of the shots, before throwing it toward three of the mercenaries.
'I have to do this,' he thought, gritting his teeth. 'Now!'