Chapter 1

"Hoho! The winds turned tad bit chilly, looks like the season is going to shift once again!"

An old man exclaimed as he entered the brightly lit tavern filled with wanderer's and mercenaries chugging on drinks with their weapon sheathed beside them.

Hanging up his coat he walked towards a young woman near a counter as his previous words were directed towards her.

"Again, grandfather? Isn't this the thrice in two months for the season to change. Is it an omen of some kind? Hope it isn't the start of some kind of reckoning."

The young woman with a slightly beautiful face, which though seemed a lot plain was made attractive by the inquisitive and bright brown eyes which shone naturally as she spoke.

"Marcella, I did ask you stop reading Gernald, didn't I? Too much fantasy in that one, now."

"You did, but Werne is too boring to read and Mercy has too much romance in it. I prefer thrill over drama, grandfather."

She replied while letting out a captivating smile, before cleaning the mug with a rag and filling it with a special looking bottle of ale before sliding it down towards the old man.

"You have too much of my blood in you and so less of your parents. I don't know if it is a good thing."

The old man let out a helpless smile while subconsciously glancing at the magnificent looking bow pinned at the wall behind the counter.

Marcella followed his line of sight to look at the bow and let out a smile as she replied.

"Definitely a good thing. I would rather prefer to be unstable and adventurous rather than steady and boring."

"That is the reason why I worry."

The old man let out a sigh while shaking his head as he knew very well how much he still missed the steel and the monsters even after so many years.

His granddaughter was a replica of him. Ambitious, smart and charismatic. He often thought it of a pity to have her life rotten away in this small town at the edge of nowhere.

He knew very well that she would've been someone who would've shaken the core of subterfuge, yet the sins of the older generation would always compel the younger one to compromise.

He knew that his granddaughter must have blamed him at some point even though she would always flash a smile of warmth towards him, yet he had no courage to ask.

Ignorance really is a bliss.

He thought to himself as he swallowed his words while looking at her immersed in her work.

While immersed in her word Marcella didn't fail to read the complicated emotions on her grandfather's face causing her to change the direction of the conversation.

"So, what do you think of them, the new mercenary troupe which has been frequenting recently."

The old man raised his eyebrows before staring at his daughter for a few seconds before replying.

"Oh? The one with that handsome kid in it?"

"It's the one with that handsome kid in it. But, you know that is not the point now, isn't it grandfather? Don't act like you haven't noticed it grandfather."

Marcelle slightly raised her voice as she brought another bottle and slid it down to a customer who threw few pieces of copper and a silver as he left.

"Well, it all boils down to that handsome kid again, isn't it? What was his name again? Cassius Blake was it?"

The old man slowly sipped his drink before putting it down, as he closed his eyes to take a deep breath before continuing to speak.

"Quite dangerous, that one. That unique choice of dirk and sword, there is only one place on the continent I've seen someone use something as heretic as that. His regal look and a sense of nobility from his actions, along with those familiar looks, he most probably someone that I am thinking about. Hence, someone you should absolutely keep away from, even if death knocks your door."

The old man's previous cheerful attitude disappeared as an intense look formed on his face, while he once again glanced at the bow.

"Doesn't he look like he just turned eighteen years old, grandfather. Is he as danger as you depict him to be?"

'And lo, the prophetess Elara, blessed with divine purpose, emerged to stand against the unholy horde. In her hands, a blade enrobed in the ethereal radiance of purest light, a beacon of righteousness in the darkest of times. With unwavering conviction, she smote the demonic forces, casting aside their shadowy taint with each resolute strike. Her valiant deeds shall forever be inscribed in the sacred annals, a testament to the triumph of purity over darkness.'

"How old do you think the prophetess was when she raised her gilded sword against the demons in the first war? Every talented person doesn't become a general and nor does every single one with bloodline becomes the king. One needs authority and respect to gain legitimacy. When there is power, lies become truth and illegitimacy become legitimate, such is the law of the world."

Marcelle stared at her grandfather with a puzzled expression as she understood halfway through what her grandfather rambled but the other half went over her head.

Watching his granddaughter form a confused look, the old man let out a smile as he spoke.

"You might not understand this old man's ramblings today but one day you will understand what they meant."

Marcelle could only nod as she still lay there confused yet there was nothing, she could for understanding philosophy was not something which had aptitude for.

As if the mentioning him, caused his presence to be known, a handsome youth walked though the door followed by a company of four, who instantly had themselves seated in a corner booth before signalling for drinks.

"Well, there they are, for their usual pint of spiced ale. I'll be back in a bit, grandfather."

The old man slightly drunk, stared at the mercenary for only a second before waving his hand as he turned his sights back to the drink.

Marcelle pulled out a bottle from the top shelf and poured it in a glass, while pulling out another bottle from the middle shelf and poured in the rest of the glasses before heading their way.

"Up with your usual drinks, dear mercenaries."

Marcelle served the drinks to the mercenaries while speaking as she subconsciously glanced at the huge, multiple bags beside them, which were slightly leaking in red.

The handsome man among the mercenaries and their leader, Cassius Blake a youth about the age of eighteen, followed her gaze with his ice colored ice while his handsome face looked poised despite being under the penetrating gaze of Marcelle.

His lips parted as his husky tone voiced out as he spoke with a tint of elegance subtly hidden in it.

"I am sorry for getting the floor dirty and would gladly pay for the tainting the establishment."

He stared at the woman in front of him, whom he knew though for a short span of time, had pictured a strong image of herself within his mind.

Though she looked plain enough, she had a strange sense of charm in her followed by a sense of determination, which made sense to him only after he got to glimpse at the face of the old man.

No wonder, she's, his granddaughter. Despite not seeing much of blood or war, she still doesn't have an exaggerated reaction unlike others.

He thought to himself as he spoke, while observing a slight smile form on her face as she replied.

"Oh, don't think too much of it, sir. If it were you and your company, we wouldn't be able to survive against those demons. Even though they attack in minute squads, it would be really difficult to find someone capable within the village to even take care of them."

Cassius let out a nod, while a person sitting next to him bearing long blonde hair spoke in a pleasant tone.

"Well, at least there is someone who doesn't just blatantly ignore us and really values out efforts."

He was Thomas, the rogue of the group who was well versed in the art of using dagger as well as planting and dispelling traps.

"Don't make it all that noble now, Thomas we are in it for money more than the humanity aspect of the job."

A cold tone belonging to the resident mage of the troupe, Emily rebutted while calmly sipping her drink, earning a giggle from the next companion Lily and archer of the group while at the same time Thomas glared at her.

"Well, well we have company now. Don't make a fool of us or the leader."

A composed voice belonging to the slightly older looking man, William the swordsman of the troupe, who bore a handsome visage as well spoke out as the look within his emerald eyes clearly showed his disdain towards the childlike attitude of his colleagues.

"Enough!"

Cassius's voice once again rang while his gaze once again was directed towards Marcelle as he spoke.

"Pardon for the unsightly behaviour for we still have children in our troupe who haven't had the chance to learn basic etiquette."

Marcelle let out a chuckle as she waved her hand while speaking.

"That's alright, I found the banter quite lively. Yet, at the same time I am curious as to where the rest of your members are? Have they taken up an individual contract?"

"Oliver and Isabelle are completing the legal part of the contracts we fulfilled and then we can get rid of these stinky things we are carrying."

Thomas answered while Marcelle nodded in understanding, before her lips parted to get on with a follow up question, when the door of the inn opened with a loud bang while at the same time, Cassius's eyes widened before he ran towards the door with his sword at bay.

Just as he ran toward the door, the rest of his comrades seemed to sense something, causing them to unsheathe their weapons while landing on their feet, which alarmed the rest of the crowd within the tavern.

Marcelle's eyes darted from Cassius's back towards her grandfather, who seemingly had the same reaction, with a rare sense of hostility lingering in his eyes.

He agilely slid though the counter and pulled out the bow from the showcase, while the cause of such ruckus entered though the door making the entire troupe to respond in various mixed emotions.

While on the other hand Cassius unsheathed his sword, which bore a slight scarlet colored blade engraved in multiple symbols before raining down on the one who entered the tavern.

An all-familial figure to everyone in the tavern.

A pale face, bearing bright silver eyes and beautiful black hair. A face of a looker and might of an arcane mage, it was their other companion, Isabelle who was now bleeding under Cassius's blade.