District 16, being one of the upper-numbered districts, was classified as the outskirts of Gellerg City.

It wasn't a distance one could cover on foot or by public transport from District 3, the city's center.

Just when I was wondering what to do, the news that a guide from Sylvester would be waiting for me was a huge relief.

'Is that the vehicle?'

When I arrived at the designated meeting point, a van-like vehicle with black-tinted windows was waiting.

I walked up to the passenger side and knocked on the window.

The window rolled down, and a man in a suit asked from the driver's seat.

"Who are you?"

"Are you the guide from Sylvester?"

"I am, but... don't tell me you're the one?"

"I'm Allen, the contractor who took the job."

"Allen, Allen... Ah, that's right."

Now that my identity was confirmed, I figured I could take a seat.

I reached through the window, unlocked the door, and sat in the passenger seat.

"...Aren't we leaving?"

This guy, however, was completely dazed.

When I couldn't stand it anymore and chided him, the guide finally snapped out of it and started the engine.

"My apologies, I was just a bit surprised," he said, repeatedly stealing glances at my face.

"I never imagined the contractor for this job would be so handsome. I was so nervous, thinking you'd be some vicious-looking person with three or four knife scars as medals on your face."

"In this line of work, judging people by their appearance is a bad habit."

"Is that so? I'm not very familiar with it."

The guide laughed good-naturedly.

It was a simple-mindedness unbecoming of someone tasked with guiding a contract mission.

Somehow, I had a bad feeling about this.

"Let me ask you something. How many years have you been with the company?"

"I just passed my one-year mark."

"A rookie. I thought so."

"Haha, that's what people tell me."

Even though my remark could have been taken as an insult, the smile never left his face.

'Did they really just assign him to be a simple escort?'

It was the moment my suspicion—that they had just dumped a tedious task on the newest guy—was confirmed.

It seemed that even a leading conglomerate like Sylvester wasn't any different from other companies when it came to such practices.

'He doesn't seem like he'll be much help, but...'

Still, a job's a job.

While the vehicle was stopped at a red light, I asked him.

"What's the situation on the ground?"

"You probably have a rough idea, but honestly, it's not great."

There was a fair amount of information I could gather from the request itself.

First, I wasn't the only one assigned to this mission.

A mercenary corps and some directly hired contractors were already engaged in combat with the gang.

I was, so to speak, additional manpower—an outsider rolling in.

From that, I could infer that the situation was bad enough to require reinforcements.

"The gang, the Race Lizards, they're cunning bastards. They completely avoid direct confrontation and only engage in sporadic skirmishes. They take advantage of the terrain to set up traps, so we can't even get close to their main base."

It was pretty much what I had expected.

They were tenacious bastards who had survived by making a home out of a part of an undeveloped district, an abandoned land.

Among criminal groups, they were likely the persistent type.

"Even so, the personnel Sylvester brought in can't handle a single gang?"

"Well, this is an internal company matter."

The guide lowered his voice, even though there were only two of us.

His attitude made it clear it was a confidential story without him having to spell it out.

"This project isn't exactly a high-priority one."

"Wasn't this about securing land for a new business venture? New ventures are usually treated as important by any company, aren't they?"

"This project was initiated by a faction within the company that doesn't have much power. That's why the budget is low and the team members lack motivation. When you think about it, doesn't it seem strange to choose a swamp in District 16 as a business site in the first place?"

The guide gave a bitter, self-deprecating smile.

It was a Sylvester secret that the advance team—the mercenaries and contractors on site—wouldn't know.

They were probably wondering why a major corporation, which scrutinizes every single number as if with a knife, was handling things this way. But because it was Sylvester, it made sense.

'So this request was one of Sylvester's failed business ventures.'

Sylvester had launched numerous businesses across the city, bulldozing its way with its sheer size.

The public, who only remembers the successes, wouldn't know, but their success rate was less than 30%.

It was the complete opposite of Centrim, which was revered as the "Golden Hand" and had enjoyed a string of successes.

This was a setting that showed the difference between the eternal number two and the eternal number one.

'He's surprisingly talkative with useful information.'

A tight-lipped project executive would have hidden these internal details at all costs.

This inexperienced rookie couldn't distinguish between what should and shouldn't be said.

'Does this mean I can assume there will be no support from Sylvester?'

If you had to name an advantage of taking on a job from a major corporation, it would undoubtedly be the robust support.

For some requests, they would even draw up individual action plans for you.

If the District 16 project was a marginalized one at Sylvester, it was realistic to assume such support would be non-existent.

"We've arrived."

Just as I finished organizing my thoughts, the guide stopped the car.

The place visible through the tinted window was my mission site: the outpost Sylvester had set up.

***

The hot, humid air clung to my skin.

The ground was strangely damp and muddy, even though it hadn't rained.

Everywhere my eyes and feet touched seemed to insist that this place was the swampy District 16.

"..."

I stopped in my tracks and slowly looked around.

"...It's quite a sight, isn't it?"

The guide, who had accompanied me inside, spoke first.

The atmosphere of the outpost, built from prefabricated materials, was as limp as its shabby exterior.

The mercenaries and contractors, who should have been brimming with energy—even if in a bad way—were sprawled out on the ground, letting out huge, bored yawns.

Some of them, with dazed eyes, reeked of a foul smell, suggesting they were secretly indulging in drugs.

It was a lazy spectacle, hard to believe for a battlefield where relentless, sporadic skirmishes were supposedly taking place.

"I'd heard about the general atmosphere... but this is worse than I was told."

Cromwell had diligently briefed me on all the information he had about this request.

The thing he emphasized the most was this very atmosphere.

They were a group of completely defeated soldiers.

There was no sign of any will to resolve the mission.

When morale drops this low, the client usually takes action, like kicking them out and hiring new contractors or trying to motivate them.

Here, there wasn't even a trace that such measures had been considered.

The Sylvester employees who were supposed to be supervising the personnel just looked away, giggling among themselves.

'I heard a low-reputation mercenary corps was included, but they're no different from a bunch of thugs.'

It seemed I had drawn the short straw.

While better than most contractors, there were still low-quality groups among mercenary corps.

They were just guys who had formed a group out of fear of operating alone, without any clear ideology.

They weren't particularly invested in the success or failure of the mission.

All they needed was the title of "mercenary."

"I see why the mission is dragging on."

When the people who are supposed to be fighting have given up on the job, there's no way the objective will be achieved.

'In that case, the lack of support from Sylvester must be an open secret.'

Even if they hadn't heard it directly from an employee like I had, they must have felt it in their bones.

That's why they could act so brazenly towards Sylvester.

If this project had been one of Sylvester's official ventures, these guys would have been culled long ago.

"Well then, I'll be on my way."

With that, the guide ended his escort duty and left.

Whatever the situation on the ground, he had done his job.

From here on, it was up to me.

"Are you the contractor our client brought in as a transfusion?"

As if in a relay, a man approached from inside.

He was dressed in the typical mercenary attire: body armor, a sword, and a gun.

A thick smell of gunpowder and blood wafted from him, confirming he was indeed the leader of the mercenary corps.

He looked me up and down, then clicked his tongue.

"Sylvester really has washed its hands of this. Bringing in a pretty boy who'd tremble at the sight of a gun and a sword, and calling him a contractor?"

I stared at him blankly.

His low-class, provocative tone almost sounded cheerful.

When I didn't respond, he continued, as if the fun had been spoiled.

"I'm Percival, leader of the Python Mercenary Corps."

"Allen, contractor."

"Forget it. I don't need to hear it. Just shut up and follow me."

"Where are we going?"

Percival jutted his chin towards the interior.

It was a conference room, presumably the place he had just come from.

"Let's have a comfortable chat among the working-level staff, away from any annoying supervision."

***

"What are the details of the request you received?"

Percival locked the door and asked me point-blank.

It was a straightforward Q&A, befitting a rough mercenary.

"The subjugation of the Race Lizard gang."

"Kh-kh-kh."

Suddenly, Percival burst out laughing.

He was clutching his stomach, on the verge of rolling on the floor with laughter.

Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, he said,

"You're screwed."

"What?"

"You've been handed the short end of the stick. Unlucky bastard."

When I frowned, he elaborated.

"The request our mercenary corps received is similar to yours, but different. It's the subjugation of the gang, but if that proves difficult, our mission is to protect the Sylvester employees."

The mission details were different.

Even for the same case, manpower can be needed for various purposes, so requests can be posted differently, but the intention here was blatant.

"They never expected to succeed in subjugating the gang from the start."

"That's right. The guys here are satisfied as long as they can keep their own necks safe."

I could finally understand the lazy atmosphere on site.

At first, they must have also aimed to subjugate the gang.

But when the gang's resistance turned out to be fiercer than expected, they must have started testing the waters.

If Sylvester's response had been firm, things might have been different, but they weren't stupid enough to risk their necks for a failing project.

From that point on, the mercenaries read the mood and completely changed their course.

"I don't know who posted your request, but they must have had different ideas. There are always people like that everywhere."

There were people who were genuinely invested in the project, like the rookie who had acted as my guide.

It was unexpected that one of the higher-ups in the faction leading the project was that type.

The sad part was that the efforts of just one person wouldn't be enough to change the situation.

The Sylvester mission site was still the worst in every aspect.

Of course, the job I had to do remained unchanged.

"You have no intention of helping me complete my mission?"

"Hey, let's get this straight. We get to complete our mission just by sitting on our hands here. We're different from you."

Percival casually propped his feet up on the desk.

It was a clear expression of his intent for me to suffer alone.

'How is it that, aside from the Drexier Mercenary Corps, every group I've worked with has been trash?'

Was this the average, or was my luck just that bad?

My fortune with people was sigh-inducing.

"Don't hold on to any foolish hopes. Just consider it a good lesson learned and leave. Paying the penalty fee might sting, but if you think of it as the price for your life, it'll feel cheap."

"Thanks for the advice, but that's going to be difficult."

This wasn't a request I took for the money.

It was a move to investigate the Unchanging Swamp that had turned District 16 upside down.

Even if I gave up the request and focused on the investigation, neither Sylvester nor the gang would look kindly on it.

Cleaning up the situation wasn't a choice, but a necessity.

"Don't thank me for you choosing to waste your own life so cheaply. I won't stop you if you want to go die foolishly."

Ignoring Percival's mockery, I closed my eyes and sank into thought.

'It'll be difficult for me to annihilate the gang on my own.'

This was a different case from the Brotherhood's 85th branch.

Back then, only the branch manager and a small elite group had come to the negotiation table. It was supposed to be an assassination targeting the manager, but things worked out easily because he threw a fit and caused internal strife.

That strategy was impossible to execute this time.

Furthermore, the Race Lizard gang was on a different level from a Brotherhood branch in the 80s.

Even a rotten fish is still a sea bream; they were a mercenary corps.

I'd have to check the exact numbers, but the existence of casualties and the repeated defeats were proof of the gang's high level.

'It's not impossible, but...'

It's not efficient.

I had no idea how long it would take to finish my preparations.

'It also bothers me that if I go through all this trouble alone, these guys will just reap the benefits.'

The reward for the mission's success would be distributed equally.

The Python Mercenary Corps could end up getting a huge reward without lifting a single finger.

'I'm no philanthropist.'

I couldn't allow such a windfall.

'So, what should I do?'

I tapped the tabletop with my index finger.

If possible, I had to make these guys do their part.

But there was no way they would suddenly choose to fight when they could just rest easy.

In that case...

"...I'll have to force them to fight."

The conclusion was reached.

I lightly stretched my body and stood up from my seat.

"Still no intention of fighting?"

"Man, you're just dripping with lingering attachment. If you were in my shoes, do you really think you'd go through the trouble?"

"You seem to be misunderstanding something."

I moved closer to him.

A distance where my arm could easily reach him.

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Percival corrected his posture and placed a hand on his hip.

"This isn't a proposal."

But it was a futile struggle.

I would make it so.

"It's a threat and a demand."

"This son of a bitch, I was nice to you and now...!"

Percival drew his longsword and charged at me.

"I'd appreciate it if you followed my orders with that same spirit."

Even bullets, which were consumables, were a luxury.

As I raised my fist, the Sentinel Hawk tattoo, responding to it, glowed with a blue light.

(End of Chapter)