Baron Irut's envoy

Maxime, who until now had been sitting on the sidelines, eating and chatting with Laura, rose slowly to his feet, his silhouette silhouetted against the glow of the flames.

His intense gaze swept the assembly. A hundred faces turned towards him, some curious, others slightly tense. They awaited his words.

Maxime advanced to the center of the clearing, taking a deep breath before addressing his men. His voice was calm, but each word carried weight, as if marking a turning point in their shared destiny.

"Mercenaries..." he began, drawing everyone's attention.

The murmurs died away completely.

"You've proved to Plouta that we're not just a group of mercenaries. We've repelled forces superior in numbers, and we've shown the world what we're capable of. But that was only the beginning."

All eyes were on him, some mercenaries shaking their heads with pride at the memory of past victory. Yet Maxime never smiled. His features were serious, almost hard.