Recruiting

The bartender, stepping over the bodies of the beaten thugs sprawled across his tavern, walked to the unconscious form of Twicher, who lay across a table. He turned a bowl of water over the man's face, and in response, Twicher shot up, gasping heavily as though he had been drowning.

As he awoke, Twicher took a look around him—the men's bodies—and then his gaze shifted to Aric, who sat in a chair on one side of the bar. His eyes then trailed again to Borag, who also sat, calmly drinking a pint of beer.

"Good, you're awake," Aric said to Twicher, who still looked starkly confused. "I do apologize for knocking you out. It was important you did not intervene."

Twicher was nothing like the other thugs. If Aric had given him a chance to attack with them, it would have become problematic.

The men Aric had made quick work of were not martial artists. Becoming a cultivator was no common feat; in fact, less than twenty percent of the world's population were born with the ability to harness ki. If one were to become a cultivator, they were guaranteed a spot in the imperial army, and if they were strong enough, they could swiftly rise in ranks, earning unparalleled wealth and fame.

For this reason, martial artists had no reason to resort to becoming petty thieves to make a living, which meant most thugs were nothing but average humans. However, Borag and Twicher were exceptions.

Both of these men, at the time Aric had met them in his last life, were already at the realm of Martial Knight. Even with the opportunity being a martial artist presented, they turned to a life of petty crime and led groups of bandits.

For what reason they chose this, Aric did not know, and frankly, he didn't care. What mattered to him was their use.

"Now, Mr.…" Borag dragged out the last word, waiting for Aric to complete it.

"V," the fourth prince offered, not wanting to reveal his identity.

"Mr. V… please do tell what business you have with us, as you've certainly piqued my curiosity now," Borag inquired.

This red-haired bandit before Aric most definitely did not seem like one. The way he spoke and carried himself, his mannerisms—all pointed to something more. He was a dangerous man, and Aric knew that.

"I already informed the others, but I doubt they'll be able to convey any message to you right now," Aric glanced at the nearly half-dead men lying on the floor, not a single one capable of getting up yet, only letting out groans every now and then.

"I plan to take leadership of your… organization," Aric declared, his tone assertive and carrying a certain dominance. "You and your men will now answer to me."

Borag let out a small chuckle. "Why would we do something like that? Oh," he stopped himself, gesturing to the thugs on the floor. "I guess to avoid ending up like them?"

"No," Aric shook his head. "You'll do it because it's more worthwhile than your petty thefts."

Aric, seemingly reaching into thin air, retrieved two large pouches, both of which he had prepared and stored in his inventory.

"Thirty thousand gold... each," Aric threw one pouch to Borag and another to Twicher.

"I'm sure that's more money than you've ever made stealing, but now, think of this as a welcome incentive. When you carry out an order successfully, you get even more."

After Aric spoke, a moment of shocked silence settled over the room.

Then, suddenly, both men erupted in laughter. They looked at each other and then back at Aric.

"Oh sire, why did you get your hands dirty? If you wanted these fools disciplined, you could have asked me to do it for you," Twicher said, loosening the pouch to peek inside. The reflection from the coins almost blinded him.

"Just tell us what you want done. Is it killing? Give us a name, and they'll be dead in two hours," Borag laughed loudly.

Aric sighed, standing up from the chair. He gestured to Lerai, who tossed him a rune stone the young mage had crafted himself.

"Keep this with you at all times. I'll be in touch soon." He tossed it to Borag.

Aric gave these men the coin fully understanding that when it came to loyalty, gold forgets.

The fourth prince walked, his footsteps marked with blood as he reached the exit. Turning back to the two bandits one final time, he said, "These men will wake up afraid—afraid of the consequences of opposing me. Today, they learned a new kind of fear, one that surpasses the respect they harbor for you both. I don't need to offer them anything else, but I'll let you lead them by my name."

Aric's eyes narrowed as he gazed at both men.

"All right then, lads," Aric nodded, turning around and leaving a few more coins on the counter for the bartender before exiting the tavern.

For Borag and Twicher, the gold was the reason they would do the prince's bidding, but the fear of a fate similar to or worse than that of their men was the reason they wouldn't dare to do otherwise.

Unlike coins, fear always remembers, and Aric had instilled varying amounts of it in every person who witnessed the events of that tavern.