Chapter 17: Mercenary Association

Identity settled, Alicia headed to the Mercenary Guild.

Nationwide organization—branch in every major imperial city.

Managed empire’s armed idlers, kept them busy, prevented trouble.

Handled mercenary affairs, made money-driven brutes contribute to prosperity, eased empire burdens.

Guild building: classic basilica-style rectangular hall.

Entering, Alicia saw column-supported vast arched lobby.

Sunlight poured through dome glass, shone on white stone floor.

Lounge area: mercenaries resting, some corner-shadowed, silently eyeing comings and goings.

Center hall: huge board swarmed, noisy source—task postings.

Mercenaries bickered for fitting jobs; tasked ones nearby planned, prepped.

Reunited with Cosette, led to task counter.

Reception girl spotted them, excited greet.

“Cosette, you’re back!”

“Miss Sasha…”

Cosette forced ugly smile.

Sasha sensed off mood, frowned puzzled at Cosette, then scrutinized cloaked Alicia behind.

“What happened? Where’s Captain Olga? I don’t see him.”

“The captain he…”

Mentioning Olga, Cosette paled, deep breath.

“Task failed…”

Atmosphere heavy, Sasha’s smile gone.

“Failed?”

“Yes, beastman main force ambush.”

“…Understood. Reporting to president now.”

Sasha rose, ran upstairs.

Soon, invited to president’s office.

Alicia quietly watched elder behind desk.

Moros Morokovich Nikonov, Winterhold Mercenary Guild president.

Alicia knew him well.

Most northern empire-start players took first mercenary quest from him.

Learned useful skills, faster newbie phase; high rep, special rewards.

High player popularity.

But Moros rigid rules, stern big-bro style—love-hate NPC.

After Cosette’s report, elder removed glasses, set on desk.

“Regret this misfortune, Cosette.”

Seeing her pained, sighed, steady tone tinged melancholy.

“Olga and I old acquaintances. No one wanted this. But mercenary fate: sell life for coin, lick blood on blade, worthless in death… Cosette, your plans?”

“I’ll persist. Miss Alicia will help rebuild group.”

To Moros’s ask, Cosette firm.

“…Good resolve, Cosette.”

Moros silent moment.

“But pure gamble. Bare days known, hand whole group to Miss Alicia—too risky?”

“President Moros… I trust my judgment, unconditionally trust Miss Alicia!”

Cosette head up, eyes locked firm; Moros narrowed, studied every expression, then spoke.

“Since resolved, I respect. But as Winterhold branch president, responsible for every mercenary.”

Eyes to Alicia.

“Miss Alicia, adventurer, no guild rating. Rules: no unrated leading group.”

“So, pass rating, approve Cosette’s proposal?”

“Yes, Miss Alicia.”

Moros glasses on, tone serious.

“Olga entrusted Cosette to you; she trusts unconditionally—you match resolve.”

Alicia nodded, inwardly eased—Moros as expected.

“Then, request rating now. No issue, President Moros?”

Room silent.

Moros eyes widened slightly, scrutinized Alicia.

Heard confidence—curious source.

Rating not hard, but not easy.

Moros inward shook head—heard story, still doubted.

Surface: cloaked oddball, no strength seen.

But willing challenge—no more words; at least met Cosette’s trust.

Thought here, pressure gaze eased, appreciation added.

Rang desk bell.

Soon, guild attendant entered.

“President, orders?”

“Colosseum empty?”

“No one using.”

“Good. Notify Harvisa, prepare mercenary rating.”