Dawn was both elated and apprehensive; elated because his brother had fully recovered and could still fight, apprehensive because of the money—they simply couldn't afford it.
They had only been in the field for just over three years, warriors in their twenties, the epitome of the profession. There weren't many veteran warriors as turnover was quick, and warriors had the highest casualty rate among all professions.
Heaven to the left, warriors to the right.
They were the ones sent forward for a charge, the ones to cover retreats, the ones to withstand powerful enemies, and even the ones to cut down the rabble, strike after strike.
Dawn and his brothers had worked for three years, saved a bit of money, but not much. This was because they refrained from squandering it on vices, unlike many mercenaries who spent all they had on women and gambling. Yet, even so, a single mission mishap leading to exorbitant medical costs was beyond their means.
