Mercenary Group!

The river babbled softly as James reclined against a smooth, sun-warmed rock in the middle of the water. He let out a long, contented sigh, gazing at the sky through half-closed eyes. The crimson stains of his recent battles washed off, mixing with the current, slowly drifting away.

"I love taking a bath," he murmured lazily, a wry smile playing on his lips. "My skin is feeling fantastic… oh, right, I don't actually have skin anymore."

The absurdity of his own joke made him chuckle. After all, who could appreciate the simple pleasures of a bath more than someone whose body had long since shed its mortal limits? Yet here he was, sprawled out in the river, enjoying it as if he were still human.

Not far from the water's edge, the corpses of several massive rats and a strange, deer-like creature lay neatly in a row. The sight was almost surreal. The deer-monster's hooves and antlers seemed normal enough at first glance, but then there were the sharp, jagged fangs in its mouth and the rows of vicious quills covering its body. It was an unsettling combination, yet in this strange world, such monstrosities were commonplace.

James had been genuinely excited when he first saw the creature. After days of battling nothing but rats, he'd begun to believe they were the only creatures left in this strange, post-apocalyptic landscape. But his excitement was short-lived. As soon as he charged toward the deer monster, it had unleashed a volley of deadly quills, trying to make a pincushion out of him.

Now, it lay lifeless on the ground, joining the rats in death.

"Strange… it wasn't as tough as I thought it'd be," James mused aloud, glancing at the dead creature. For all its fearsome appearance, it didn't put up nearly as much of a fight as the rats. Was it just weaker, or had he gotten stronger? After all, he'd become a top-tier G-class being. Perhaps these lesser creatures simply couldn't keep up.

His gaze wandered toward the horizon, where the thick trees loomed, and he sighed. "Where are those rats hiding?" In recent days, he had stumbled upon several nests of smaller, bizarre rodents, but their larger counterparts; the ones that posed more of a challenge, remained elusive. He had tried tracking their movements, but the giant rats were annoyingly clever. Their thick, muscular tails would sweep the ground behind them as they ran, erasing any tracks they left behind. And even when they fled in panic, they seemed to scatter aimlessly, never leading him back to their nest.

"They're not like animals at all. More like a pack of terrorists," he muttered, shading his eyes as he squinted up at the sun. There was something unnervingly organized about the way they evaded him, their cunning far beyond what normal creatures should possess.

Life in this strange world wasn't so different from the one he'd left behind fifty years ago. Despite everything that had changed; his body, the world around him, he was still fighting every day, still alone, and still facing the constant threat of death. The only real difference was the nature of his enemies. Instead of human criminals, he now battled alien monstrosities.

"Not that it matters," James muttered, shaking off his melancholy. He had no family, no friends, no attachments left in the world. Fifty years ago, the world had moved on without him, and he had no reason to dwell on it. Still, part of him couldn't help but wonder: What had happened in those fifty years? What had turned the world into this desolate, alien-infested wasteland?

Suddenly, the sharp crack of a distant explosion echoed through the air, pulling him from his thoughts. His eyes narrowed. "Sounds like there's been a lot of mercenaries around here lately."

James pulled himself out of the water, water dripping from his towering, nearly three-meter frame. He muttered under his breath as he leaped effortlessly into the branches of a nearby tree. Despite his enormous size; his scarecrow-like body twisted and elongated in strange ways since his transformation, he moved with surprising stealth, disappearing into the thick foliage. The trees, much larger than they'd been fifty years ago, provided perfect cover.

Soon, a group of seven mercenaries came into view, approaching the source of the earlier noise. James observed them carefully from his perch. Among them, he quickly identified one top-tier G-class fighter, four mid-grade mercenaries, and two low-grade ones. The group was well-equipped, far better than the typical scavengers or rat-hunters he'd seen lately.

"Hm, interesting," he thought, raising an eyebrow. "Looks like something big is going on here." In the past ten days, the fields had been swarming with mercenaries, far more than usual. It was clear to him now that there was more to this place than just a simple rat extermination mission. Something deeper, something dangerous, was drawing so many fighters to the area.

And whatever it was, James was certain it wouldn't be long before he found out.

The leader of the mercenary group, a top-grade G-level fighter named Michael, led his team with a calm yet commanding presence. As they approached the riverbank, their eyes immediately fell on the grisly sight; several dead giant rats and the strange thorn-covered deer monster, all lying lifeless by the shore.

Without a word, Michael raised his hand, signaling one of his subordinates to inspect the scene. The man, a middle-grade G-level mercenary named Wilson, crouched down and began examining the corpses.

Michael broke the silence. "What do you make of this, Wilson? Was it a fight among themselves?"

Wilson, after a quick but thorough look, shook his head. "No, Michael. These rats don't have any of the thorn deer's quills in them, and the thorn deer wouldn't have the strength to take down this many giant rats. Whatever killed them, it wasn't each other."

Michael nodded, his face impassive. "Don't touch them. We're moving out."

Wilson rose to his feet, ready to follow orders, when a voice interrupted. The only woman in their team, Teresa, stepped forward with a thoughtful look on her face.

"Michael, wait," she said. "The skin of these giant rats is tougher than iron; perfect material for protective gear. And those deer thorns and teeth? They're valuable, extremely valuable. We wouldn't dare challenge these creatures alive, but dead like this? We'd be fools to leave them."

Michael's gaze turned sharp as he cut her off. "Teresa, before you start dreaming of profits, think. What do you think killed them?"

Teresa blinked, caught off guard. "How should I know?"

Turning to Wilson, Michael pressed, "And you? Any ideas?"

Wilson hesitated for a moment, then crouched back down, scrutinizing the bodies with renewed focus. "The thorn deer aside, there's something off here. There are no bullet wounds on these rats, and many of them have broken bones; crushed, actually. Look at this one," he gestured to a particularly large rat with its skull smashed to pieces. "That kind of damage… it wasn't done by any of us. And look at these strange claw marks."

Teresa, still determined, piped up, "Does it really matter what killed them? We're only here for the materials. The skins and the teeth; that's what we need."

Michael's expression darkened. "You should care. These weren't killed by any mercenary or wild animal. And we're close to the giant cave; too close. These bodies were left here, not dragged back to the cave by the monster rats. That means whatever killed them is still around. Nearby."

The weight of his words settled over the group, and Teresa's usual boldness faltered. "I… didn't think of that."

Michael didn't soften his tone. "We're already too close to danger. Out here, we could die at any moment. The last thing we need is someone stirring up trouble by taking risks. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Teresa answered quietly, her earlier enthusiasm drained.

It was clear that despite her fiery spirit, she had deep respect for Michael's authority. He was a leader who not only commanded, but protected.

"Good. Now, let's move out before whatever killed these things decides to come after us." His voice dropped low but carried the finality of an order. "Don't provoke it."

A chorus of low "Yes, Captain" followed as the team prepared to leave, their movements now cautious, alert.

---

Above them, hidden high in the trees, James watched the scene unfold with interest. His keen eyes followed the group as they slowly retreated, leaving the corpses untouched. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, his mind working through the bits of conversation he'd overheard.

"Giant cave? Hmm…" James mused. "Could this cave have something to do with the rat nests I've been finding?"

His thoughts raced. The mercenaries were obviously afraid of whatever lurked near the cave. If they were so cautious, then there was a chance it might be worth investigating. After all, he hadn't come across anything in days that could really challenge him; maybe this was the break he'd been looking for.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Why not follow them? See what this 'giant cave' business is all about."

With a graceful leap, James descended from his hiding spot in the tree, his enormous frame landing softly in the tall grass of the melon field. He crouched low, his movements careful, and began tailing the group of mercenaries, keeping to the shadows. Whatever lay ahead, he was ready for it.