Mercenaries!

"Damn it, stuck with the grunt work again?" Blake grumbled under his breath, his frustration boiling beneath a veneer of calm. The thought of taking his ire out on Phillip, promising himself a fierce retribution for the day's grievances, was the only silver lining to his mood.

However, upon reaching the site of the flesh and blood slimes, the duo was greeted not by the anticipated grotesque creature but by a mere heap of decaying remains. "Is this what's left of the slime? Did someone beat us to it?" Blake couldn't mask his astonishment, his voice laced with incredulity.

Scar, usually the epitome of carefree disdain, adopted a rare solemnity. "Dealing with this creature is no small feat," he remarked, his usual smirk replaced by a thoughtful frown.

His attention was then caught by something on the ground. Stooping, he retrieved the carcass of a poisonous demon bee, its presence there a puzzle. "Curious, why would there be poisonous demon bees here?" he mused aloud. Given his knowledge, the nearest nest of these deadly insects was far removed from this location, making their appearance here an anomaly.

Turning to Blake, Scar sought his companion's take on the matter. "Big Beard, your thoughts?"

Blake, eager to contribute, ventured, "Perhaps the bee took down the slime."

Scar's response was swift and scathing. "Foolishness. These monsters don't stray from their territory, let alone extract magic stones."

Undeterred, Blake theorized, "Then it must be the work of the Great Sword Mercenary Group. No one else, apart from us and them, dares to venture this deep into the Undead Mountains."

Pride tinged his voice, believing he'd pieced together a critical insight. "We need to report this back quickly. We can't let them claim all the spoils."

Scar's retort was merciless. "Still playing the fool, Big Beard? Do you really think the Great Sword mercenaries need to employ demon bees against a slime?"

Chastened, Blake fell silent, his brief bout of pride quashed under Scar's scornful gaze.

"Big Beard, you greenhorn, remember this: a seasoned mercenary scrutinizes every detail," Scar lectured, his tone brooking no argument. Crushing the bee remains in his grip, he stood and moved towards several nearby footprints with a practiced eye. "Notice these tracks? They're not human. Only a being of negligible weight—a skeleton monster or soldier—could leave such marks."

Scar's demeanor was a blend of calm and expertise, his years of experience evident in his analysis. Drawing his scimitar, he approached the slime's remains with a determined stride. "Let's see how this behemoth met its end," he declared, ready to uncover the truth hidden within the decayed mass.

Scar, unflinching under the blacksmith Blake's gaze of astonishment, swung his blade with precision and determination. The beautifully crafted sword sliced through the deceased monster, its sharp edge now marred by the filth it parted. As Scar dismantled the beast, his figure was spattered with its noxious innards, yet he nonchalantly licked the grime from his face, unfazed by the foulness.

The slime's carcass was methodically dissected, revealing a stomach filled with undigested flora and the carcasses of poisonous bees. Scar, with a grimace of curiosity, inhaled deeply at the opened stomach contents, recognizing the distinct stench of decay. "This," he announced, "is the scent of rotting flesh, potent with the poison of the dead."

Blake, who had maintained a cautious distance, could barely contain his revulsion, his stomach churning at the sight and smell.

Discarding the gruesome findings, Scar articulated his analysis: "A devious method indeed—using the corpse's intestines laced with venomous bees to slay the slime. Ingenious."

Blake, struggling to compose himself, managed to ask, "But who would resort to such vile tactics?"

Scar, with a knowing smile, corrected him, "Not who, but what—a cunning, yet weak skeleton monster."

Blake scoffed at the notion. "A skeleton, intelligent? That's ludicrous! They're known to be no more sentient than insects."

To him, attributing such cunning to a creature as universally underestimated as a skeleton was as absurd as expecting masterpieces from a swine.

Scar's response was swift, a mix of rebuke and enlightenment. "You're sorely mistaken, Blake. While it's true most skeletons lack awareness, a rare few retain their living memories and intellect. Such knowledge is basic among us mercenaries," he chastised, emphasizing his point with a firm punch to Blake's shoulder.

He leaned closer, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "A skeleton of such rarity is invaluable. Imagine the fortunes to be made from selling it to eccentric nobles or curious mages. We could make a killing."

Blake's eyes widened, the prospect of wealth igniting his interest. "Really?" he murmured, visions of affluence dancing before him.

"Yes, but our discovery must remain our secret," Scar impressed upon him, the gravity of their potential windfall hanging between them like a tantalizing promise.

With a click of his fingers and a cunning grin, Scar outlined their strategy, "To avoid arousing suspicion, we'll need to act as each other's alibis. Our priority is to locate this unique prey and ensure its capture alive."

Blake, his interest piqued, queried eagerly, "And what reward might I expect from such a venture?"

Scar's response was reassuring, his hand clapping down on Blake's broad shoulder. "Fear not, I'll ensure your efforts are handsomely rewarded," he assured, the scars adorning his face deepening with his smile.

...

Upon returning to town, Blake was visibly elated, a tune humming from his lips as he approached young Philip's residence, pounding on the door with anticipation. "Philip! Time to settle your debts! You owe me 995 copper coins. Have you scraped together enough yet?"

Inside, Philip, who had been poring over necromancer's texts, jumped at the sound, hastily concealing his forbidden studies under the mattress. After ensuring the notes were well hidden, he approached the door with a feigned air of confusion, coughing slightly. "Uncle Black, I'm not feeling well, perhaps we can discuss this later?"

Hoping to defer the confrontation, Philip attempted to feign illness. However, his ruse was quickly shattered as the decrepit door gave way under Blake's forceful entry. Like a bear storming into a den, Blake seized Philip by the neck, lifting and then harshly depositing him onto the bed.

"You think you can evade me with feigned illness?" Blake sneered, tightening his grip until Philip's face turned pale, his breaths coming in desperate gasps.

After releasing him, Blake watched with a grim satisfaction as Philip collapsed to the floor, struggling for air amidst tears and snot. Despite the youth's evident terror, Blake couldn't help but revel in the moment.

Kneeling to grab Philip's hair, he taunted, "Consider this a lesson for trying to trick me." His mood lightened by the encounter, he issued a warning, "Next time, make sure to open the door promptly, understand? Or else..."

With a final, threatening gesture, Blake left the house, his laughter echoing behind him.

Left alone, Philip nursed his bruised throat, his eyes burning with a mix of fear and burgeoning hatred. "Blake...," he whispered, a vow of vengeance forming in his heart. "Once I summon my first undead, you'll pay..."

With determined resolve, he bit into his finger, drawing blood to start etching a summoning circle on the floor, his ambition fueling his actions towards dark arts.