Three Little Mercs

In the known world, the Frozen Continent is the area with the least human activity. Fierce beasts and temperatures plummeting to minus 60 degrees are humanity's greatest enemies. Especially during autumn and winter, there are countless tales of trade caravans and mercenary groups perishing in blizzards each year.

In the early winter of the 192nd year of the Magic Era, a lone adventurer stood on a small hill on the eastern side of the largest forest in the Frozen Continent.

Oh, perhaps "lone" is not quite the right word, because surrounding this human were other creatures... Surprisingly, these creatures were the infamous giant snow wolves unique to the icy continent, known for their ferocity.

"Aw... oooow..." Dozens of adult snow wolves fluffed up their silver fur, growling lowly from their throats as they stared at the adventurer. It was clear that if the adventurer made even the slightest move, they would pounce and tear him to shreds!

What was utterly unexpected was that the adventurer, surrounded by the snow wolves, showed no fear at all; in fact, a smile spread across his face.

"Damn it, don't give me those dead sheep eyes," the young adventurer said, raising his middle finger in a threatening gesture toward the wolves. "Don't think just because you're classified as a first-level protected species by two countries, I won't dare to butcher you. If it weren't for the fact that I didn't want to upset Little White, I would've done it already!"

Of course, the snow wolves couldn't understand a word he said. They continued to growl lowly while several younger wolves nearby were tearing apart the bodies of a few unfortunate humans, their red blood already frozen into ice.

"Sigh..." The young adventurer sighed deeply and sat down in the snow. "You little pups, even if you devour people down to the bones, you can't eat their clothes, right? How are their relatives supposed to find them? Look... look here... I'm talking to you! That ring you just swallowed is worth at least 20 gold coins! And you… you bastard! That was the most valuable purple gold coin, not a purple duck egg! Can you even digest it?"

A half-grown snow wolf, while munching away, rolled its eyes at this nagging piece of food that looked human and then glanced over at another, larger snow wolf standing next to the adventurer, grunting in dissatisfaction.

The adventurer seemed to remember something and immediately furrowed his brow, muttering to himself, "That bastard has gone off to lounge around in the Wish Tower all by himself. Who knows, there might even be a beautiful sorceress waiting for him inside, heh heh..."

A wicked grin suddenly bloomed on the adventurer's face. "A senior beauty, several hundred years old—probably enough to give you, with your high self-regard, a headache. But damn it, you ran off and left me with a burden! What kind of situation is this? Countless beauties from the Imperial Capital are eagerly awaiting my arrival, and now I'm stuck playing free babysitter for you. Sigh... what is this all about? What sin did I commit in my last life to deserve this punishment?"

Frustrated, the adventurer threw some snow away, startling the wolves, who growled defensively at this seemingly deranged human.

"Little White, have your brothers smear some more blood on themselves. We're leaving," the adventurer said as he sprang up, brushing the snow off his clothes. He called out to the pack of snow wolves, howling as they raced south. In the cold air, his last words echoed, "You irresponsible bastard, just wait and see how I 'educate' your son. If he's not reduced to a state of vomiting and shitting, suffering worse than death, then I won't bear the name Chi. By the time you come out of the Wish Tower and see your son, you'll be ready to cry yourself to death!"

"Woo…" "Woo…"

A series of increasingly urgent horn blasts echoed from the north of Haik Village, located in the southeastern corner of the Frozen Continent. Accompanying the sound of the horn was a hoarse voice drawing nearer: "The snow wolves are coming… the snow wolves are coming! There are about twenty of them. Everyone, hide quickly! They'll be in the village in ten minutes!" A panting hunter riding a snow deer appeared at the northern entrance of the village.

Everyone outside and inside the village halted their tasks. Men, women, and children alike hurriedly untethered their snow deer, drove the snow chickens under the eaves into cages, and gathered the snow pigs that were eating, packing them into baskets. The villagers swiftly herded their livestock into their homes, simultaneously lifting the bedding on their beds, flipping up an iron panel, and tossing each animal inside. Finally, everyone squeezed through the opening, locking the iron panel door from the inside.

"Amy, get in here!" An elderly voice called from a small thatched cottage to the south of the village. "The snow wolves are almost here!" The old man's voice grew increasingly urgent and stern.

"Wait a minute, Grandpa! I'll be right there! Two little snow chickens I just hatched yesterday ran into the bushes!" A childish voice came from beyond the cottage fence.

"Aw… oooow…" The sound of wolves echoed from a distance.

The snow wolves were incredibly destructive. Not only humans but even fierce hunting dogs and mighty yaks could not escape once they were targeted by a pack of snow wolves. If the child named Amy were to look up, he would see that the nearest snow wolves had already dashed into the street, just a few dozen steps away.

Bang—The wooden door of the house was violently pushed open.

An old man with white hair rushed to the courtyard entrance and grabbed a little boy by the scruff of his neck from the low bushes, ignoring the child's kicks, punches, and cries as he dragged him inside.

Just as the two figures hidden in the hole beneath their bed, a pack of snow wolves stormed into the house. The largest wolf attempted to lift the iron panel, while several others sniffed around it, their white breath escaping through the cracks.

"Woo… Woo… Grandpa, the little chickens must be dead," the child in the hole lamented, still not fully understanding the gravity of the situation, fixating on the two little chickens.

"Amy, listen to me. The chickens can be hatched again; next time, there will be more," the old man reassured his grandson.

"Grandpa, there are so many hunters in the village. Why isn't anyone going to kill those snow wolves? Last time we went to hunt the snow bear together, and snow bears are much tougher than snow wolves. We could kill them, so why doesn't anyone kill the snow wolves?" The little boy cried, gasping between his words.

"Sigh…" The old man let out a long sigh. "You can't kill snow wolves. Whoever does will pay with their life."

"But how come those uncles who came from outside killed the snow wolves and even took down more than thirty?" The boy protested, unconvinced.

"They are mercenaries. Mercenaries can kill snow wolves," the old man replied, not wanting to elaborate further.

"When I grow up, I want to be a mercenary too…" The tearful little boy clenched his fists tightly.

No one could have imagined that in the great battle of the gods, the young mercenary who would influence the realms of the Creator God, the Dragon Realm, and the Demon Realm—one of the trio consisting of the Human, Dragon, and God—would emerge from such a humble desire to combat the pitiful snow wolves, which ultimately spurred him on to become a mercenary. Of course, from the perspective of "long-term ambition is better than short-term aspirations," it could be said that this young man maintained his commitment throughout.

Yet, what kind of struggles and setbacks would a boy from a remote village, who was born without any desire for power or royalty, have to endure to gain recognition from the gods and eventually become an everlasting hero? 

The road ahead is still long…

Is history what creates heroes, or do heroes create history?

This has always been a difficult relationship to discern. However, from the personal experience of the Mercenary King, Amy Haber, who entered the annals of the Aimi Continent as a lowly mercenary starting from the year 200 (the first year of the Magic Era), the first ten years were about history creating heroes, while the following ten years were a dance between heroes and history. 

—Excerpt from *The Research Notes of Historian Neil Haber