The mercenaries were moving through rolling hills of mixed soil, devoid of any plant life.
They were clearly delighted to have left behind the scorching, arid desert—a land so oppressive that even these hardened warriors found themselves slipping into bouts of depression.
"Hahaha!" Jones laughed heartily, his long beard bouncing with each trot of his horse.
"Look at this weather! This is paradise—true bliss!"
"All that's left is a good bath."
Zephyr nodded, wrinkling his nose.
"Yeah, your smell is atrocious, you fat oaf."
Jones scowled.
"Hey, kid! I haven't bathed in two months. What did you expect? For me to smell like roses?"
He leaned closer and grinned. "And you—have you smelled yourself lately? You reek like dung."
The two continued their absurd argument over who had the worse stench until Zephyr abruptly changed the subject.
"Hey, fatty. Tell me about the Empire of Sky Dusk."
Jones paused, his brow furrowing in thought before answering.
"The Empire of Sky Dusk… it's a vast empire, with a history stretching back nearly two thousand years.
To its west lies the desert we just escaped from.
To the north and east is the Empire of Eternal Night.
And to the south, several medium and large-sized kingdoms—most of which swear allegiance to the empire.
The empire protects them, and in return, they offer up a portion of their resources."
He continued, "It's ruled by the Dusk family—the empire itself takes its name from them.
As for the emperor, his name is Aryan. They say he's at the third level of the Ascension Realm.
He governs not only with sheer power but also with wisdom, supported by a council of ministers and advisors.
From what I remember, he's currently around 170 years old, yet still at the peak of his strength."
Zephyr's eyes widened in shock.
"What?! One hundred seventy years old and still ruling with power?"
Jones pulled gently on his horse's reins, chuckling.
"What's so surprising? Ascension Energy purifies the body of impurities and greatly extends one's lifespan.
They say Aryan's father, the previous emperor, is still alive—and he's close to 300 years old."
Zephyr's jaw nearly hit the ground in astonishment.
Fortunately, Jones was riding ahead and didn't see his expression, or he surely would've mocked him.
Jones continued, "Don't be shocked, boy. Ascension Energy can work miracles.
Once you enter the first stage of ascension, you'll start to see how your body and senses evolve."
"Anyway, let me continue. Emperor Aryan has many concubines and has fathered dozens of children.
But the three most prominent are:
The eldest son and current crown prince—Rashford.
The second child, a daughter—Zena, the emperor's darling.
And the third son—Rakan, who competes fiercely with his older brother for the position of crown prince.
The rest of the children are split into factions—those loyal to the first prince, and those backing the third."
"In grand empires like Sky Dusk or Eternal Night, the emperor is revered by the ignorant masses.
So be careful—never speak ill of the emperor or his children in front of others. It could cost you your head."
"Now, let me tell you about the major organizations that are treated as equals by these empires."
"Since we're mercenaries, I'll start with the Mercenary Guild—our vice-captain mentioned that we carry a special permit issued by them.
The Mercenary Guild was founded thousands of years ago, originally in a small kingdom. Over time, it expanded,
and now you won't find a city in any empire without a guild branch.
Their job is simple: they act as intermediaries between people who need tasks done and those who will do them.
Mercenaries accept tasks from the guild, carry them out, and collect their rewards. Easy and clean."
"In small towns, the guild branches are usually headed by those in the late or peak stages of ascension.
In major cities, like imperial capitals, the guild leader is often someone at the Uniqueness Stage.
As for the high council of the guild—rumor has it they're at the third level of ascension."
"The next two major organizations are the Trade Guild and the Alchemist Guild.
The Trade Guild controls the flow of resources—from basic food to weapons and rare materials,
even extending to plants and animals infused with ascension energy.
The Alchemist Guild, on the other hand, is responsible for producing various resources that aid ascenders—
from enhancement elixirs to specialized potions with all sorts of effects."
Jones paused, giving Zephyr a moment to digest the overwhelming information.
Then he continued.
"But that's not all. Other influential groups exist—like the slave markets."
"Slave trading is among the most profitable businesses.
People flock to it, looking for all sorts of humans—some want obedient servants,
others turn slaves into loyal soldiers trained to obey without question.
And, well… some go there just to buy women for their desires."
"Because the slave trade generates immense profit, those who run it pay massive amounts to the empire for protection.
That's how the empires grant them legal status.
Yes—those same empires support them, even supply them with slaves from the kingdoms they conquer or destroy."
Zephyr had heard whispers of the slave trade from Arlund before,
but hearing the full truth like this—how the empires themselves protect and profit from it—shook him to his core.
This truth was brutal… yet undeniable.
Still, he whispered inwardly to himself, Why are you shocked? This is a new world, one ruled by cruelty and survival. Accept it… or be the fool everyone laughs at.
Jones, unaware of Zephyr's stunned silence, went on speaking.
"Perhaps our mercenary group seems small compared to those colossal organizations that've existed for centuries or millennia,
but we're strong—especially compared to most mercenary bands.
We have two members at the peak of the third ascension stage. That alone gives us a reputation.
We're entrusted with missions others wouldn't dare take."
Hearing all this, an intense desire flared within Zephyr—
a burning will to become stronger.
In his current state, had he been on his own, with no one to protect him,
he might very well have been sold at the slave market—auctioned off for some terrifying purpose.
He was lucky… fortunate to have landed among mercenaries with a decent level of strength.
Their journey continued, winding through the dusty plains for hours.
Zephyr rode in silence, his thoughts tangled in everything he'd just heard,
until Jones called out, "Here we are!"
Zephyr leaned over Jones' bulky shoulder to see what he was referring to—
a towering wall, ten meters high, stretching as far as the eye could see.
It appeared to be made of stone.
As the group drew closer, the wall came into clearer view.
Arlund raised his hand, signaling the mercenaries to halt.
They obeyed their leader, gradually slowing their horses as they approached a massive wooden gate embedded in the wall.
Zephyr quietly took in his surroundings, scanning every detail.
He noticed blue flags waving atop the walls, each adorned with a cracked cloud symbol.
The same emblem was carved into the wooden gate.
Soldiers stood guard, clad in armor and helmets tinged with blue.
At the center stood a man—same uniform, but helmet off—revealing a clean-shaven, handsome face.
Zakrox dismounted first, then gestured to Sarin, who followed him down.
Then he pointed at Zephyr.
Zephyr frowned in confusion.
"What does he want?" he asked, unsure of the gesture's meaning.
Jones snorted.
"What are you waiting for, boy? Go!"
Zephyr quickly obeyed, hopping off his horse and walking toward the two men.
Zakrox spoke firmly.
"Come with me."
Then he turned and strode toward the gate.