As I sat outside the forge, soaking in the morning sunlight, Duracal sat nearby.
Behind me, Rusty lay stretched out lazily, enjoying the warmth as well.
I closed my eyes and maintained Beast Breathing.
The rhythm had become more natural recently.
Not perfect.
But better than before.
After some time, I stood up, dusted myself off, and helped around the forge.
When breakfast was nearly finished, I finally asked Duracal a question.
"I want a few throwing weapons. Any suggestions?"
Duracal looked up from his food and stared at me for several seconds.
Then he sighed deeply.
"Kid, if someone saw your equipment, they'd think you were a weapons merchant rather than a mercenary."
I blinked.
He continued counting on his fingers.
"You carry a sword."
"A spaer with an axe attachment."
"A bow and arrows."
"Now you want throwing knives too?"
He pointed at me.
"What exactly is your plan? Use every weapon ever invented?"
I tried to answer.
But he cut me off before I could.
"Don't tell me. I already know."
I laughed.
"No techniques. Just normal throwing knives."
"For training."
"For quick and accurate throws."
Duracal rubbed his forehead.
"I'll make them."
"I can make them myself—"
"No."
His answer came instantly.
"I'll take care of it."
His eyes lingered on me for a moment.
Then his expression became more serious.
You're itching for another fight, aren't you, kid?
I paused.
Duracal had always been frighteningly perceptive.
I nodded slowly.
"I can see it in your eyes."
He pointed a finger at me.
"Your body may not agree with your enthusiasm."
"Be careful."
I smiled and nodded.
"I will."
Later, I rode Rusty toward the mercenary office.
The stable boy had become completely comfortable around him now.
The first time Rusty arrived, the poor kid nearly called for mercenaries to kill a loose monster.
Now he was casually scratching behind Rusty's ears.
Rusty even allowed it.
A rare sign of trust.
After leaving him at the stable, I entered the office.
Immediately—
something felt wrong.
The atmosphere was tense.
Too tense.
Normally the office was loud.
Mercenaries argued.
Laughed.
Boasted.
Today—
silence dominated the room.
Almost everyone stared toward the request board.
I followed their gazes.
The board was nearly empty.
That alone wasn't enough to explain the tension.
Then a man descended from the upper floor.
Red hair.
Dark eyes.
A veteran mercenary.
The moment he reached the center of the room, he shouted loudly.
"We found the lizardman nest!"
The entire office became even quieter.
I immediately understood why.
A colony and a nest were completely different things.
A colony could be managed.
A few dozen monsters.
Maybe a hundred.
Dangerous, but manageable.
A nest was something else entirely.
A true settlement.
Barricades.
Defenses.
Organized hunting groups.
Potentially hundreds of monsters.
When monsters survived long enough while exposed to miasma, they slowly adapted.
They learned.
They organized.
Not as quickly as humans.
But enough to become a serious threat.
If ignored—
a nest would continue growing until it swallowed everything nearby.
The veteran mercenary continued speaking.
"This operation is now mandatory for all available mercenaries."
Murmurs spread through the room.
"We've also secured support from local lords and several aura knights."
That caused the tension to ease slightly.
Aura knights changed everything.
Still—
nobody looked relaxed.
The veteran crossed his arms.
"We don't need panic."
"We need preparation."
"We're going to eradicate that nest."
For the first time all day, excitement spread through the office.
Mercenaries lived for battles like this.
Even I felt anticipation building.
A large battle meant danger.
But it also meant opportunity.
The veteran continued explaining details before dismissing everyone.
"Further information will be provided soon."
"Until then, rest."
"Train."
"Keep yourselves ready."
With that, he returned upstairs.
The office slowly came back to life.
Conversations started again.
Plans were discussed.
I remained for a while before eventually leaving.
Part of me felt disappointed.
I wanted action immediately.
So I returned to Duracal's forge.
As I approached, I heard a familiar voice.
"Siena."
I stopped.
Standing near the forge entrance was Siena.
She crossed her arms and smirked.
"I think it's been a while."
I smiled.
Siena looked at my smile and raised an eyebrow.
"What's with that grin?"
She cracked her knuckles.
"Getting cocky, are we?"
A dangerous smile spread across her face.
"How about a spar?"