The Next Morning...
Inside a small room in a two-story inn, Damian had just woken up. After washing his face and putting on his coat, he descended to the inn's dining area to have breakfast.
He pulled out a chair and sat down. He told the waiter what he wanted and waited a few minutes until a plate was placed in front of him: fried eggs, some rice, and a loaf of dark brown bread. Shortly after, the waiter brought a small cup of coffee—the usual morning ritual with which Damian began his day.
The dining area was almost empty. A few scattered people sat at different tables, most of them likely just lodgers like himself. He paid them no attention and continued eating his breakfast.
After taking the last sip from the small white coffee cup, he paid for his meal and left the inn immediately.
Wasting time was something he had no intention of doing right now—especially after learning about the existence of supernatural powers in this world. He needed to find a way to gain strength as quickly as possible, yet he had no clear method to achieve it. He could defend himself against mid-tier knights, but compared to those of higher ranks, it was extremely difficult. And that wasn't even mentioning those with extraordinary powers, about whom he had no knowledge at all!
Yet this very feeling of desire mixed with danger only intensified his obsessive nature regarding power. This exact situation was what drove a person to evolve at the fastest possible speed—because if he didn't, he would simply become a carrot on the chopping board, waiting for his enemies to come and finish him off.
'I have to go to the Mercenary Guild. I need to obtain a mercenary membership badge to carry out my plan!' Damian thought as he walked down the street.
He was now roughly two kilometers—or perhaps a little more—away from his previous residence. Though he hadn't traveled far, the distance was sufficient for the time being. In any case, he had no intention of staying in this place for long.
The Mercenary Guild was one of the three most renowned guilds in the world, with branches spread across every kingdom and empire without exception—making it, along with the other two, a force capable of turning the tide of conflicts.
As neutral powers, they had played a major role in maintaining peace. Their refusal to involve themselves in various political affairs and activities was clear proof of that.
The three guilds were known as follows:
- The Mercenary Guild
- The Adventurers' Guild
- The Alchemists' Guild
His current destination was one of the branches of the Mercenary Guild, located roughly in the central district of the city, near the palace of Viscount Anderson.
He took a carriage, and within just a few minutes he arrived. He stood before a five-story building that looked even more luxurious and grander than the viscount's palace. Its massive iron door bore a large golden sign that read: **Mercenary Guild!**
The central square was the most luxurious and crowded area in the city. This was attributed both to the proximity of the viscount's palace and—more importantly—to this majestic, vibrant building that occupied a vast space there.
Many mercenaries entered and exited the building. Some looked joyful after completing a profitable mission, while others appeared the opposite. A few even walked in carrying large sacks filled with strange objects!
And as you might have guessed, humans were not the only beings possessing great power. There were animals that wielded immense strength. Some even combined the traits of two or more different creatures—a perfectly natural phenomenon in this world.
The area was relatively calm. Everyone minded their own business. An individual's strength wasn't always the most important factor. Provoking the wrong person without knowing their background could easily get you killed—especially if that person happened to be a high-ranking mercenary.
This place sat on the edge of a forested region. Although the surrounding forest had been cleared of monsters for several kilometers, humans were often far more dangerous than even the strongest beasts. Cases of missing or murdered mercenaries were neither rare nor surprising.
Damian entered the magnificent building of the guild. Groups of mercenaries were scattered throughout the spacious hall, their voices rising in lively discussions and laughter. Others crowded around the huge bulletin board covered with various mission postings.
There were lines of mercenaries at several counters and offices. A number of beautiful female staff members were in charge of organizing them, guiding them, and occasionally escorting some—politely—to the upper floors. None of this concerned him.
He headed straight to one of the three registration queues and waited his turn. After more than ten minutes, he found himself standing in front of a beautiful blonde woman tasked with registering mercenary information.
"Name, family name, and identification card," she said in a cold, emotionless tone.
"Damian Salvatore. I lost my identification card," he replied calmly, showing no emotion, and waited for her response.
He wasn't foolish enough to use his real identity. After all, he still wasn't certain about the reach and network of the Black Angels organization. He wouldn't risk exposing himself and jeopardizing his future plans.
She noted down his name and surname, recorded his gender, stamped the card, and directed him:
"Go up to the second floor, Office No. 6."
Without another word, Damian took the card and headed toward the second floor, following the guidance of one of the female staff members who glanced up at him several times from below—clearly intrigued by his height.
But Damian paid it no mind. He quickly climbed to the second floor, walked down the long corridor to the left, and arrived at Office No. 6. Four people were already waiting ahead of him.
They went in one by one, and soon it was his turn. He knocked on the door. A voice from inside granted permission. He entered calmly and closed the door behind him.
The room was very spacious. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man with black hair and an eyepatch over his left eye. His expression was calm, yet the large painting of a roaring lion baring its fangs on the wall behind him gave off an imposing impression.
"Please, have a seat," the man gestured toward the chair, then set aside a few papers.
As soon as Damian sat down, he placed the earlier card on the desk. The man with the eyepatch picked it up, read the information, and asked:
"Please explain why you lost your identification."
Upon hearing the question, Damian's expression remained unchanged. He answered calmly:
"I lost it in the forest during my journey here…"