The Mercenaries

After nearly forty-eight hours of relentless travel, Noah found himself on the brink of reaching the Mercenaries oasis. Having recently taken respite in an improvised shelter, he now stood prepared to resume his expedition. The radiant sun ascended in the wasteland sky, casting its golden glow upon the land. As Noah pressed onward, his path led him towards structures that gradually materialized on the horizon. Consulting the map, he discerned that he stood on the cusp of his destination - the Mercenaries oasis. With renewed determination, he ventured forth, and within mere minutes, the sight he had yearned for came into view.

Noah's odyssey had guided him to the very heart of the Mercenaries oasis. Commanding attention at the village's core was a substantial edifice. With a sense of purpose, Noah advanced towards the building, surmising it to be the headquarters of the Mercenaries. As he drew nearer, a figure clad in attire reminiscent of military uniforms intercepted him.

"Hey there!" the man called out, his voice echoing in the air. "Are you the client from Khavi?"

"Nah, I'm actually here to join the Mercenaries," Noah promptly responded.

"Alright, then go inquire inside," the guard directed, pointing towards the headquarters.

"Sure, but I was wondering—" Noah began, only to find the guard had already returned to his vigil, patrolling the precinct.

Shaking off the encounter with the taciturn guard, Noah continued his course toward the Mercenaries' central hub. The edifice before him, a bastion of stability in the sprawling wasteland, exuded an air of significance, albeit without ostentation. Crafted from locally sourced, weathered timber, it spanned an impressive two to three stories. The sun-bleached walls bore the subtle etchings of time's passage, blending harmoniously with the desert's palette. Sunlight danced upon the wooden facade, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow that seemed to tell stories of distant journeys.

Stepping through its creaking entrance, Noah surveyed the first floor, which appeared somewhat barren yet carried an air of functional purpose. A reception desk occupied a corner, its timeworn surface softened by countless hands. Behind it sat a disinterested-looking woman, her gaze wandering like a restless desert breeze. Sparse furnishings, including weathered chairs and scarred tables, dotted the area.. The room, though lacking opulence, resonated with a stoic charm that mirrored the mercenaries' pragmatic ethos.

Undeterred, Noah approached the reception desk, his footsteps echoing softly against the timeworn stone floor. He could almost hear the whispers of past negotiations and the weight of unspoken contracts as he ventured further into the heart of this bastion amidst the wasteland.

"Hello," the woman uttered, her tone tinged with mild surprise. "Do you have a commission ready, or have you come to request one?"

"Neither, actually," Noah answered. "I'm here to join the Mercenaries."

"Well, well," the receptionist responded, her tone carrying an intrigued note. "Are you a trainee?"

"Yep," Noah affirmed.

"Alright, what type was it?" she inquired.

"A umm…" Noah hesitated momentarily, unsure of the core's classification. "Control, I think."

"Very well, what creature did you dispatch to obtain it?" the receptionist queried, her patience showing signs of wear due to Noah's uncertainty.

"It was a sizable, black, puma-like creature," Noah detailed.

"Hmm, that should fall under…" The receptionist paused, fingers reaching to her temple as she contemplated. "I'm drawing a blank, honestly. Well, I'll ask the boss later. In order to join, you'll need to participate in a mission. For now, you can stay in an extra house we have."

"Alright," Noah replied, nodding. As he turned to leave, a thought struck him. "Oh yeah, where is the house?"

"Just ask one of the guards, they should know," the receptionist advised.

"Got it," Noah acknowledged, and made his way out.

With the guidance of a guard, Noah was directed to his assigned dwelling. While not luxurious by any means, it was a notable step up from the makeshift shelters he had grown accustomed to during his arduous journey. Stepping inside, Noah set his pouch down and took a moment to survey his new surroundings. Weariness tugged at his limbs, yet he pushed past it as he began to contemplate his next steps.

First and foremost, he realized he needed to ascertain the details of the upcoming mission - its location and objectives. New attire was also in order, his current travel-worn clothes hardly befitting his new endeavor. Though a weapon was on his radar, it held a slightly lower priority for now.

Turning his thoughts to the newfound power he had harnessed, Noah found himself grappling with uncertainty regarding its true nature. While he leaned toward categorizing it as a control-type ability, his conviction remained tentative. The most practical way to test and confirm this hypothesis was to acquire another control-type core and see if he could absorb it. Additionally, securing a badge to gain access to Averane was crucial, a task he anticipated being able to tackle once he had amassed sufficient funds. Yet, for the moment, exhaustion gripped him in its embrace, and with the comforting prospect of a real bed, Noah surrendered to the embrace of sleep.

As the sun's golden rays spilled over the desolate wasteland, casting long shadows that stretched like ancient sentinels, Noah roused from slumber and stepped out of his modest dwelling. The sand underfoot felt cool and gritty, a reminder of the world's rugged nature. The first order of business was a visit to the village marketplace, a bustling enclave of vibrant activity amidst the harsh backdrop. There, he navigated through stalls adorned with exotic trinkets, aromatic spices, and handcrafted wares, immersing himself in the eclectic culture of the settlement.

Procuring several sets of fresh attire, he reveled in the texture of new fabrics, a visual departure from the travel-worn garments he had arrived in. The intricate embroidery on a deep blue tunic caught his eye, reminiscent of distant constellations that once guided him. Returning to his abode, he shed his old clothes, each thread a witness to the paths he had tread, and donned the new ones, the fabric embracing him like a second skin. A renewed sense of purpose coursed through his veins, a reminder that every step forward was a choice to be reborn.

With resolve etching lines of determination on his face, Noah ventured back into the village, the hum of conversations and the scent of sizzling street food filling the air. He was acutely aware that his next move necessitated an increase in funds, a realization that propelled him forward. Casting his gaze about, he identified a vendor, a wizened figure with sun-baked wrinkles and eyes that held stories of ages past. Negotiations flowed like a dance, the cores he had acquired changing hands in exchange for 18 iron coins that clinked together, a harmonious melody of potential.

Guided by the gleam of opportunity, Noah embarked on a quest to locate a blacksmith within the village, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal guiding him like a siren's call. After a diligent search that wound through narrow alleys and hidden corners, he chanced upon a solitary and time-worn establishment situated at the village's edge. The blacksmith's forge burned with an ancestral fire, casting flickering light that danced on the walls like the spirits of forgotten legends. Crossing its threshold, he initiated a conversation with the somewhat brusque blacksmith, their words a fusion of practicality and the unspoken respect of artisans.

Following a transaction that held the weight of a solemn vow, Noah emerged with a spring sword, its hilt worn from countless hands and battles of yore. The blade gleamed as if it held secrets of stars and destinies, capable of projecting its edge akin to an arrow's flight. Clutching his newfound tool, he marveled at its balance, the weight a promise of protection and possibility. With the sword at his side, he made his way back to his dwelling, the anticipation of destiny's call humming beneath his skin like an echo of the future.

Partaking in a modest meal that mingled flavors of distant lands, Noah nourished both body and soul, the simple act a celebration of life's sustenance. The sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, as if bidding farewell to another day in the wasteland. Intent on gleaning further insights into his developing powers, Noah's footsteps took him once more into the arid expanse, a realm of solitude and challenges that had become his crucible of growth.

With each experiment, each surge of power that crackled like lightning, he harnessed the energy of the world around him, a dance of elemental forces that both humbled and emboldened. The sun's descent marked the conclusion of his trials, its last rays illuminating a landscape of scars and footprints, a testament to his unyielding spirit. As the stars emerged like ancient storytellers, he retraced his steps to the haven of his dwelling, the pull of weariness tugging at his bones.

Upon the morrow's arrival, a canvas of endless possibility, Noah's determination remained steadfast. His strides led him back to the Mercenaries' headquarters, the imposing structure a symbol of camaraderie amidst the shifting sands. Within its walls, he sought further enlightenment regarding the impending mission, the receptionist's guidance a whisper of intrigue that stirred his curiosity. A rendezvous was set, a promise of secrets unveiled on the following morning, details withheld for the time being.

With information clasped like a precious gem, Noah embarked on another expedition into the wasteland, the wind carrying his determination like a banner unfurled against the horizon. His intent to master his powers burned within him, an eternal flame that mirrored the desert's unyielding tenacity. As dusk painted the sky in hues of twilight, the world seemed to hold its breath, and Noah retraced his steps to the haven of his dwelling. There, beneath the tapestry of stars, he surrendered to weariness and the embrace of sleep, his dreams a tapestry of possibilities yet to be woven.