NEC Chapter 27: A Small Mercenary Hires a Small Mercenary  

With business concluded and Chen Mo in good spirits, the one-eyed tavern owner clapped a massive hand on Josie’s shoulder, the force nearly toppling the young Copper Crest Warrior to one knee. 

“This kid’s young and foolish, causing you trouble. How do you want to handle him?” His tone and posture suggested leniency, despite the offer to let Chen Mo decide. 

Josie’s father had once been a mercenary in the owner’s crew, taking a blade for him. Without those old comrades’ support, Josie’s family could never have afforded his rise to Copper Crest Warrior, talent or no. Training in martial skills or magic cost a fortune. 

Chen Mo waved dismissively. “No big deal. My skeleton trips three to five times a day.” 

The owner promptly smacked Josie’s head. “Hear that? Thank the lord for his mercy!” 

He forced the shaken Josie to kowtow several times, then kicked him aside with a grunt. Turning, he hefted the repacked bundle of weapons and armor scraps. 

“By the way,” Chen Mo said, nodding at the pile of “junk,” “Luke told me his friends in Whitestone City have wide connections and clever ways. I’ve got a couple of things I’d like to consult you about.” 

“First, this stuff’s a hassle to carry. Can you find someone to sell it off? Price doesn’t matter much.” 

“Second, after getting my mercenary ID, I plan to head to a mage tower near the North Foothill  River to study. Could you help me find a guide?” 

The owner thumped his chest. “Consider it done!” 

Luke’s friends proved reliable. By midday, Chen Mo’s requests were neatly handled. Chen Mo had kept the Mountain Vine Squad’s mercenary badges, initially dismissing them as cheap metal. He soon realized they were intricate magical items. 

Old John, limping but efficient, guided Chen Mo through the Mercenary Guild’s process: submitting documents, verifying identity, paying fees, and getting stamps. They ended at a corner window for badge crafting. 

Or rather, the official “Mercenary Badge Fabrication Window.” 

Behind it sat an alchemist, his right eye magnified by a lens thick as a bottle’s bottom, his frame hunched. 

He slowly took the stamped documents, peering through his lens for ages before removing it. His cloudy eyes scanned Chen Mo head to toe, then back again. 

“Old Rat,” the alchemist said, half-teasing, half-warning, “that’s six greenhorns you’ve brought this month! Think the guild’s your personal shop?” “Quit yapping!” Old John rapped the wooden frame with his knuckles, making a sharp tap-tap. “I’m bringing you business! No registrants, no fees. What then?” 

“Besides, no mercenaries, no jobs. No jobs, no commissions. Without commissions, the guild’s hundreds of staff can drink the northwest wind!” 

“You know nothing!” 

The alchemist grumbled in some mumbled dialect, slipping his heavy lens back on. 

Carefully, he scooped spell materials from clay jars: shimmering silver powder, dark brown crystals, and a pinch of wriggling indigo moss—none of which Chen Mo recognized. 

He sprinkled them precisely into an oval magical glyph on the table, placed a metal disc in the center, and began tapping with a finger-length hammer. 

Ten minutes later, a warm, slightly hot badge was slid out. 

Old John led Chen Mo to the hall’s center, where a smooth, half-person-high magical cloudstone stood. He gestured for Chen Mo to press the badge into a shallow groove at its base. A faint glow rippled across the stone, displaying clear text: 

Mercenary Name: Chen Mo

Mercenary Rank: Zero  

Registered Guild: Crescent Moon Federation, Whitestone City Branch

Eligible Tasks: None 

A zero-rank mercenary couldn’t take jobs. 

Though Chen Mo didn’t plan to live off his mercenary status, he couldn’t help asking, “No tasks? How do I raise my rank?” 

“Two ways,” Old John said, threading a sturdy leather cord through the unranked badge and handing it to Chen Mo. “Get a proper professional rank—warrior, mage, archer, whatever. The guild has rules to boost your mercenary rank with that.” 

“Or join a mercenary crew, start with the grunt work, and grind out years for seniority.” 

He pulled out his own badge from under his collar, rubbing it gently with rough fingers, his voice low. “It’s an old trick, the guild and crews squeezing newbies. But what can you do? These days, crops barely fill bellies. Farmers lose ancestral fields and either slave in mines or dive into this blood-licking trade.” 

They stepped out of the grand Mercenary Guild doors, descending wide stone steps into the warm afternoon air. 

Old John led the way, his body slightly tilted, muttering on. “The Hedgehog Tavern used to sell Blue Snake ale at three coppers a bottle. Now even Black Snake at one copper for two struggles to move. Everyone’s strapped!” 

“And still, mercenaries from Mirror Lake and the Emerald Duchy flood here, taking the lowest pay and not going back.” 

He paused, gazing at the hazy horizon. “They say mercenaries’ noses are sharper than hyenas’. War’s coming, mark my words.” 

Chen Mo’s heart tightened. 

War was never far, even on modern Blue Star, where he’d studied in peace only because of a strong nation’s protection. Now, though his homeland still shielded him, it was across countless stars and light-years. 

Anxiety and urgency surged within him. 

Back at the familiar porch of the Hedgehog Tavern, the one-eyed owner waited, two young figures lurking in the shadows behind him. 

Seeing Chen Mo, he approached, handing over a heavy, leather-tied coin pouch with both hands. 

“Your items from yesterday were sold through trusted, tight-lipped shops. The coin’s here. Have a look.” 

Chen Mo took the pouch, not bothering to check, and tucked it into Little White’s newly sewn, sturdy leather sack, hearing a faint clink of coins. 

“And your guide? I brought two candidates for you to see.” 

He stepped aside, revealing the pair, and gave a brief introduction. 

Chen Mo’s eyes swept over them. Well, well—a familiar face. Josie, the Copper Crest Warrior, the reckless kid from the tavern yesterday.

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