The King of Mercenaries.

Under normal circumstances, Tyron would have laughed in his face. Such an idea was absurd and utterly impossible.

A King of Mercenaries? That kind of nonsense was laughable. No such figure had ever existed in history.

Had he not lost the duel, he would have punched the fool for spouting such nonsense.

But…

Why, for a brief moment, had his heart stirred at those words that seemed so out of reach?

Tyron stared at Julien with a stern expression.

Ah…

He, too, had once entertained such thoughts as a child.

Nobles exploited people under the pretext of fighting the magical beasts that plagued the land, while those who resisted became bandits, preying on the weak.

The powerless were left to live lives devoid of dreams or hope, reduced to preying on each other for survival.

There were a few decent lords, but their number was so small that they were soon devoured by their more ruthless peers.

If only I had power…

As a child, he had vowed that if he ever gained power, he would never live like them.@@novelbin@@

But what about now?

He had become nothing more than a noble’s dog, preying on others to maintain his own survival. The resolve he’d had as a child was long gone, replaced by an insatiable hunger for power and wealth.

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