51 Epilogue (1)

One Year Later

The blazing heat of the desert sun shone brightly upon the light brown military truck that traversed the sands of Ara. Inside, a young man wearing a half open sand-colored military fatigue sat right beside the truck's driver and fanned himself with the thin computer in his hand. He was in his early thirties. And although it was his fourth deployment, it was his first time spending his tour of duty in a desert.

"Still can't believe we're being thrown here for some goddamned scrap pickers," the man complained. He pulled his top's zipper further down to expose his sweat drenched shirt and the abdominal muscles that were visible from the wet fabric.

The man controlling the steering wheel laughed. His thick bushy beard quaked as he chuckled. "You'll get used to the heat soon, Davis."

The Nick Davis huffed. "But still – The Ministry of Alchemy and Mystics should just send its own people instead of tapping into the Armed Forces stationed in Myron. They're the ones investigating the case of the previous Great Apothecary. Why the hell do they have to drag us into it to clean up the additional troublemakers?"

"It is what it is, sonny," the bearded man said. "Besides, I've been serving for almost two decades now and the Department of Defense wants to show off everytime the Ministry looks bad."

"But Sergeant Hoffer, if the guys in DD really want to drag the Ministry's magic-weilding asses down, shouldn't they investigate the new Great Apothecary?" The younger male straightened himself up on his chair. He flipped the computer's lid open and verified their coordinates on their screen before returning to the conversation. "I mean, isn't it obvious that Asha Claire was involved with Silas Fidi in the Elisium case?"

Tyler Hoffer hummed. "Well. There are some things that even the all-powerful Defense Department can't touch without solid evidence. Either that, or they're in cahoots with each other."

The man scratched his beard with one hand before giving the man sitting beside him a meaningful look. "But you should probably pay less attention to that, Nick. Or else the Major General's gonna start talking your ear off about your duties as a navigator."

A gruffy but husky laugh erupted from the back of the truck. A man in his fifties opened the window that separated the back from the front of the vehicle and popped his head through it. He had a squarish face that was pinkish in hue and a slightly crooked nose that pointed down to thin lips. He had white hair that was trimmed in a standard military cut and white bushy eyebrows. If he had grown his hair out and sported a mustache with a white beard, he would either pass as Santa Claus or the figurehead of a chicken restaurant that was famous all around the world.

"I'll have a craic at it, sure," the man said. "But I won't act the maggot. It's my last deployment so let's make sure nothing goes arseways."

The two men in the front of the truck stiffened and cleared their throats.

"Major General Ironcrest," they managed to croak.

Neart Ironcrest returned to his seat but continued talking. "Don't worry. I won't take the piss out on you. Let's just get home safe. Me wife's going to give me the boss-eyes if she finds a scratch on me."

The men continued on their journey in silence. The white-haired male crossed his arms and focused on the sounds and scents that surrounded their vehicle. The sand and rock made for a slightly rough yet tolerable ride yet the smell of sweaty oozing from grown men was something that made the trip even more unpleasant. However, Neart Ironcrest had learned how to ignore the strong masculine odor a long time ago. After all, he had spent half his life around the company of soldiers. A scene – and a scent – like this wasn't anything uncommon to him.

The exterior of their vehicle suddenly shook. Multiple shots echoed from the outside and were absorbed by the armor of their military truck. An expletive escaped Corporal Davis's mouth.

"We're being shot at!"

The soldiers inside the vehicle automatically raised up their firearms and prepared to dismount the vehicle at a moments notice. Neart Ironcrest readied his rifle by his side and tapped at the glass window separating him from the head of the truck. "What's your visual? How's our vehicle holdin' up?"

"About twenty men, all armed. Judging by their clothing, they're all mercs, Sir. The car's doing fine and our vehicle's been upgraded with the new military-grade plasma coating so their firearms can't do a damn thing," Sergeant Hoffer replied. "Your orders?"

"Plow through 'em, Sergeant," Neart Ironcrest said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed on to his seat to steady himself. "Corporal Davis, find me the nest of these maggots. The rest of you lot, get ready for some action!"

A chorus of 'Yes Sir's erupted from inside the vehicle. The military truck automatically sped towards the group of attackers, spun on its axis and did a 360-degree turn, kicking up clouds of dust as it moved. The group of mercenaries dispersed and jumped out of the way. The men attempted to regroup and began making their way towards the car as they fired at the vehicle.

Unknown to them, the soldiers had dismounted the vehicle the moment it swerved through the sand. They used the cloud of dust as their cover and jumped out of the truck the same moment the mercenaries had scattered. As the mercenary group advanced towards the military truck, the soldiers crawled towards them on the desert ground in silence.

The mercenary group surrounded their vehicle. A few of the irregularly clothed men circled towards the back, their guns raised. Yet before they could get to the steel doors of the armored vehicle, a series of yells and curses made them turn their necks around. They didn't have time to fire their guns. The next moment, they were lying down on the sand with blood dripping out of their bodies. None of them had time to understand what was happening. It all ended in an instant.

Neart Ironcrest studied the men that were all wearing bullet proof vests over loose clothing that covered most of their skin. Black scarves covered their faces. He knelt beside the nearest corpse and pulled the face mask down. A bearded face with brown skin greeted him. Just as he was studying the gun in the man's hands, Corporal Davis hopped out of his seat and gave him a salute.

"Sir. Satellite imagery shows a makeshift camp that's about three kilometers away from here," Davis soldier reported. "I compared the feed with a few historical shots and it seems it's been sitting there for about a month. Do we head over there first?"

"Aye. We should clean it up and clean it good," Neart Ironcrest replied. "Do these guns look familiar to ya?"

The Corporal knelt down to look at the gun. His eyes widened in surprise. "These are... the modified models the Defense Division have been confiscating since last year."

"Yep. Question is, from whose arses are they coming' from?" Major General Ironcrest sighed. "Tell the boys to confiscate 'em and let's head out to their nest. Bet there's more where that came from."