Chapter 2: Mercenary Tavern

The Mercenary Tavern — "Helan No. 11."

This is a branch of the Mercenary Tavern, which also has another lesser-known name.

The Mercenary Guild!

Compared to traditional guilds, the Mercenary Tavern operates in the form of a tavern because it serves mercenaries. After all, mercenaries are mostly rough fellows who love drinking. They enjoy drinking, boasting, and then going to the front desk or bulletin board to pick up jobs. The tavern format is naturally the most suitable.

At this moment, inside the tavern, numerous seasoned mercenaries are drinking and eating here, speaking loudly, making the atmosphere somewhat noisy. The air is also filled with the smell of alcohol.

There's also a faint smell of blood.

Perhaps it's from the missing front teeth embedded in the wooden table at the front desk, or perhaps it's from the mercenaries wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.

In any case, it's not a comfortable smell.

But Mike likes it — it feels like coming home to him.

Compared to the smell of cigarettes mixed with vomit in the bars of the wasteland gangs from his past life, this place can be considered refreshing.

At least you can tell that the establishment cleans regularly.

Pushing open the door and stepping inside, the noisy voices in the tavern immediately quieted down a bit.

Mike could feel gazes falling on him one after another.

After all, with his size, he stands out unless he's surrounded by monstrous creatures.

But he enjoys this kind of attention.

In his past life, he wanted to be a big guy but didn't have the conditions. In the end, he could only barely manage to be a "medium-sized guy."

Ignoring the gazes around him, he walked straight to the tavern counter.

Everyone was looking at him, with curiosity, scrutiny, and the provocation and disdain of veterans looking at newcomers.

Ah, this familiar feeling is back again.

Mike grinned and greeted the barmaid with a warm smile, "Hello, I'm here to register as a mercenary."

"Wow, a newcomer!" The barmaid was a hot woman with wheat-colored skin, a beautiful face, wavy curls, and a curvaceous figure.

She could be called a beauty!

"I'm Evelyn, the manager of Helan No. 11." The woman introduced herself, unabashedly looking at Mike's chest with a hint of a teasing smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Mike." Mike kept it short.

"From the Eastern Province?" Evelyn asked.

"Sort of." Mike didn't elaborate.

Evelyn continued, "The rule here is, newcomers have to treat the whole place."

Mike was taken aback, "Treat the whole place? With drinks?"

"Eh-hmm~" Evelyn laughed, "Of course. But if you'd like to treat them to a meal instead, I'm sure they'd be just as pleased."

"Hahaha!" Laughter erupted in the tavern.

At that moment, Mike knew he was being teased.

But he didn't mind and laughed along, "Then I'll treat them after completing my first mission. It's not too late."

At this, the surrounding mercenaries widened their eyes, and the laughter grew louder.

"Kid, are you serious about treating?" A rugged man with stubble beside him slapped his thigh, looking at Mike with keen interest.

Mike sat on the bar stool and turned to look at everyone, "Of course. It's just a round of drinks!"

"Don't just think it's a round of drinks. There are a lot of people here. Even the cheapest rye beer costs more than fifty gold coins."

The currency in this world, is gold, silver, and copper coins, with exchange rates of 1-10-100.

The tavern is not small, with second and third floors. There are about six hundred people present. A glass of rye beer costs eight copper coins, which adds up to more than fifty gold coins.

Mike did have a lot of gold coins on him, inherited from his grandfather, plus the sale of the blacksmith's shop and the money he had saved over the years.

But he didn't plan to spend it here.

However, on the surface, he appeared nonchalant, "Just fifty gold coins. Once we become Saga mercenaries, we could earn tens of millions from a single mission."

"Don't just talk about treating everyone here. Treating the whole city wouldn't be a problem!"

This remark sparked another round of laughter.

Although the laughter was grating, it was only because they heard something funny.

Mike knew very well how to get along with these rough and tough folks.

After this laugh, the looks of hostility towards him had diminished considerably.

After all, a newcomer meant more competition for jobs and opportunities, and few mercenaries genuinely welcomed that.

Mike's display of generosity had already caused many to withdraw their hostile glances, replacing them with some disdain and less animosity.

In their eyes, this kind of green recruit who hadn't been beaten down by reality yet might not last long and might die on some mission soon enough. Naturally, they didn't see him as a rival.

Furthermore, how does one integrate into a new mercenary environment?

Simple, just boast with them!

Sure enough, the rugged uncle with the loudest laughter seemed to look favorably at Mike now, beckoning him over to join for a drink.

So, Mike's move dispelled much unnecessary hostility, reduced the estrangement of newcomers, and once again livened up the tavern.

Moreover, there might even be those who would mistake him for a green recruit in the mercenary line. When they came looking to exploit newcomers, Mike could earn some extra cash.

A win-win situation, isn't it?

"Interesting," Evelyn watched Mike joking and bantering with the rugged uncle with a flicker in her eyes. Then, she pushed out a sheet of paper and a card.

"This is the mercenary contract. Once signed, you're officially a mercenary."

"Starting from the lowest level, Brass Mercenary, you must accept at least three Brass missions per month, or you'll lose your mercenary status."

"This is your guild ID card. Blood-drop it and write your name. You can use it to enter other mercenary taverns and take on missions."

Mike nodded, took the contract and the card, filled it out, and asked, "How do I advance to higher ranks as a mercenary?"

"It seems like you really want to become a Saga Mercenary," Evelyn rested her chin on her hand, leaning halfway across the counter, revealing a deep neckline, whether intentional or not.

"Of course, you don't really think I was joking just now," Mike chuckled.

With that sturdy face, his sincere smile was truly deceptive, like he really was an honest person who couldn't lie.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow and continued, "Once you complete enough Brass missions, you can apply for a promotion challenge. Then, complete at least three promotion missions, and you'll advance."

"It's pretty much the same afterward."

"Got it," Mike nodded and handed back the completed form to Evelyn.

After glancing at it, Evelyn took out an anti-counterfeiting stamp of the Mercenary Guild and stamped it on Mike's card. Then Mike pricked his finger, dropped a drop of blood on the card, and it flashed, imprinting the blood stain on it.

Later on, he could use magical means to verify the card's authenticity through the blood on the card.

It's like a magical version of an ID card.

"Eighteen copper coins," Evelyn said as Mike just took the card.

Mike was surprised, "Wasn't it ten copper coins?"

Evelyn blinked, "Don't you want to buy a drink for this beautiful lady boss in front of you?"

Mike laughed and took out a few silver coins, "Of course, I'd be very happy to!"

Evelyn happily accepted. She was still very willing to establish a good relationship with this handsome big guy. After all, with his strong physique, he seemed like a promising prospect.

"Boss, another extra-large smoked chicken rice, seaweed salad, and three pieces of white pork leg," Mike continued, handing over five silver coins.

These items were enough for three people to eat, but considering Mike's size, Evelyn tactfully did not say much. After taking the money, she quickly brought Mike a table full of food.

"Not drinking?" Evelyn, drinking her own wine, asked curiously.

This big guy invited her to a drink but didn't drink himself.

"I don't drink before missions," Mike said, starting to eat heartily.

While eating, he said in a hearty voice, "By the way, boss, do you have any recommended missions, preferably ones with good pay?"

"What kind of high-paying Brass-level missions can there be? They're all more or less the same," Evelyn said.

"So, I have to ask the beautiful and kind-hearted boss for help," Mike smiled.

Evelyn rolled her eyes.

It seemed that this big guy wasn't as honest as he appeared on the surface. A drink and a few compliments were all it took to pry information out of her.

Usually, such information would be worth dozens or even hundreds of gold coins.

After all, these missions were considered "good jobs" — either well-paid, less risky, or both. Mercenaries were eager to take them.

These types of missions wouldn't be posted on the bulletin board but would be controlled by intermediaries like her. If mercenaries wanted them, they either paid or owed favors.

But she found Mike quite pleasing to the eye, and... the less honest, the better.

Don't get the wrong idea. In this line of mercenaries, being less honest meant being less likely to be taken advantage of and being able to go further!

Evelyn had high hopes for Mike's potential, so she would use these "good jobs" to test whether he was just a good-looking lump or had an iron will!

She didn't answer directly but took advantage of the surrounding people's inattention to quietly pass a sheet of paper to Mike.

Mike buried his head and took a look.

Wow, it really is a good job!