Zephyr walked quietly behind Zakrox and Sarin… or at least pretended to be calm.
Inside, a storm raged. Anxiety gnawed at his chest like a hungry wolf.
"Damn it… I was just sitting peacefully by my horse's hoof. Why did he call for me?!"
Zephyr cast a glance filled with frustration and irritation at Zakrox's back, as if trying to pierce through his skin with his blazing stare.
But Zakrox, as if he could feel the burning gaze on his back, spoke in a calm voice without turning around:
"I called the two of you because one is hard-headed and only understands the language of battle,
and the other… ignorant of how things work in this world.
To truly learn how things go around here, you must witness them firsthand."
The group continued their march until they reached the front gate, where a formation of guards stood tall, like iron pillars.
Here, Zephyr got a clearer view of the gate.
It was built from precisely stacked stone blocks, bearing scars from ancient battles—gashes, scratches, and black stains that resembled burns from magic or intense fire.
Each mark told a silent tale of wars and sieges this wall had endured. Yet despite it all, the gate had never fallen. It stood firm, radiating a sense of power and grandeur, a monument to the Empire's might.
The guards themselves wore metallic armor adorned with blue fabric, belts wrapped around their waists with sheathed swords hanging at their sides.
They held tall spears planted into the ground, their sharp heads pointing skyward—almost in defiance of the heavens.
At the front stood a man without a helmet, revealing a stern, emotionless face. Draped over his shoulder was a faded golden sash that ran from his shoulder down to his waist—a symbol of his higher rank among the soldiers.
He stared at the approaching trio, and once they were close enough, he spoke in a gravelly voice:
"State your identities."
Zakrox smiled lightly and responded with casual ease:
"We're a mercenary group affiliated with the Guild."
He pulled out a small badge made from an unknown metal, engraved with a cluster of weapons arranged in formation—the symbol of the Mercenary Guild.
The commander glanced at the badge for a moment, then said:
"And what's the purpose of your visit?"
Zephyr watched the exchange closely, keeping an eye on the expressions of the guards standing behind the commander.
The moment Zakrox revealed the guild badge, the soldiers' faces twisted in disgust, as though smelling something foul.
Zakrox answered calmly:
"We're here to carry out a mission issued by the city of Western River, and we request passage through this checkpoint."
The commander remained silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes before replying in a cold, flat tone:
"Request denied. Turn around and leave."
Zakrox's eyes narrowed slightly as he heard the reply.
"Oh? And may I ask why?"
The commander replied with indifference and overbearing confidence:
"We've received no orders to allow mercenaries entry."
Zakrox let out a mocking laugh:
"And since when did Guild mercenaries need special permission to enter lands that house one of their own branches?"
Tension flickered across the commander's face.
He replied sternly,
"I won't repeat myself a third time. Turn around and leave… or else…"
He raised his fist backward, and instantly the guards struck their spears against the ground in unison, producing a thunderous, intimidating sound that echoed beneath their feet.
Zakrox pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly—like a serpent ready to strike. Then, with a calm and deadly voice, he asked:
"Or else what?"
The commander replied with a voice heavy with menace:
"Or else we'll send you back disgraced and humiliated."
Zakrox chuckled softly, then spoke:
"From that golden sash on your shoulder, I take it you're one of the deputy commanders of the Western Imperial Garrison.
And holding that rank means you're kept well-informed.
Surely, you're aware of the rising tensions at the northeastern borders… between your Empire and your lovely neighbors—Darknight Empire."
He uttered the last phrase with mockery and scorn, so sharp that Zephyr could almost feel its sting.
The commander's brows furrowed in displeasure, but Zakrox quickly continued, raising his voice slightly:
"As the conflict between the two empires escalates and war looms near the Narrow Edge pass,
tell me, Deputy Commander…
Do you think your Empire is ready to handle additional pressure from the Mercenary Guild?
All because a soldier denied passage to a mercenary squad—violating the agreements that grant entry to any badge-holders upon mission verification?"
He paused briefly, then continued with a sharper tone:
"When an empire faces pressure, what's the smarter move?
To clash head-on with the Mercenary Guild and gain a new enemy alongside your age-old nemesis, the Darknight Empire?
Or take the simpler route… punish the commander who refused the mercenaries, strip him of his rank, perhaps imprison him—claim it was a personal action not reflective of national policy—and avoid the crisis altogether to focus on the larger warfront?"
Zakrox fell silent, his words sinking like slow poison into the commander's veins.
Then, he took out a small pouch that jingled softly and tossed it to the commander, saying:
"Catch."
The commander caught it reflexively, the sound of coins clinking inside unmistakable.
He looked down at the pouch, then back up at Zakrox, who stood calmly, expression unreadable.
Zakrox spoke evenly:
"Think it through. Let us through as if nothing happened. You keep your position, earn some coin, and enjoy your day.
Maybe… even gain some powerful friends among the mercenaries.
As for us—we pass, complete our task, and get paid.
Everybody wins, doesn't it?"
The commander stood silent for a few moments, then turned toward the guards atop the wall and shouted:
"Open the gate!"
He signaled the nearby guards to clear the way, then turned back to Zakrox with a triumphant smile:
"You're right… we both gain something."
Zakrox sighed and returned the smile.
"I thank you for your noble cooperation… Long live the Empire."
He turned and walked back toward the horses, followed silently by Zephyr and Sarin.
He moved calmly, as if he hadn't just threatened an Imperial army commander minutes earlier.
Zephyr looked at Sarin, who returned the gaze, both of them still processing what had just happened.
Once the trio had moved far enough from the gate, Zakrox suddenly asked:
"So… what did you two take away from that little exchange?"
Neither of them answered. Zakrox shook his head and said:
"The commander denied us entry without proper cause. It was likely his own decision.
So I used high-level intel—stuff only upper ranks would know.
If he already knew, he'd be convinced immediately.
If not, it would rattle him, as it would seem like a serious national security threat."
He took a slow breath and continued:
"Then I framed the situation as a veiled threat to the Empire's security.
Pressed his patriotic nerves.
After that, I dangled a larger stick: he might become the scapegoat, the one sacrificed to protect the Empire's image.
And finally… I threw him the carrot—money—to complete the plan."
Zephyr and Sarin finally grasped the full picture, exchanging stunned glances.
Zephyr thought to himself, horrified:
"Damn… what a cunning snake!"
The trio eventually rejoined the rest of the mercenaries.
Zakrox gave Arlund a nod, who returned the gesture, mounted his horse, and raised his arm high—signaling the march toward the gate.
They passed by the commander, who didn't look at them, standing like a statue, staring into the horizon.
As for the other soldiers, their expressions were filled with contempt. Some even spat on the ground, swallowing their frustration.
But the mercenaries didn't react.
They marched forward, unfazed.
And so, they crossed the mighty gate…
Taking their first steps inside the lands of the Great Empire.