Arthur studied the man before him for a moment before replying in a calm yet firm tone: "I don't have time to wait. The campaign will begin soon, and this is not just a passing deal—it is a matter of great importance. You are not the only option in the equation, and time is running out. We must make a decision now and begin negotiations immediately. If you can arrange a quick meeting with your leader, we will be ready for the next step."
Samuel smiled cautiously, then stood up and said: "We won't waste any more time talking. If you are so confident, little noble, how about accompanying us to the leader? Let's take you to the wolf's den and see if your offer is worth considering."
Arthur gave a composed smile and replied: "Of course, that is exactly what I expected. Let's go to the leader and discuss the next step."
Samuel examined Arthur with a scrutinizing gaze, as if trying to see through him, then ran his hand over his chin, where the glint of gold shimmered between his fingers.
"You seem to know exactly what you're doing," he said finally, before adding in a warning tone: "But don't forget, sir, we are not just mercenaries who live off money.
We have our own rules, and we do not work with those who cannot be trusted. We do not make a move unless we are certain that everything is in our favor."
Arthur's calm demeanor remained unchanged, his gaze steady and devoid of expression, reflecting only deep certainty and an unwavering resolve.
He then replied in a sharp yet controlled voice: "The Werner family also does not work with those who abandon us halfway."
With the conversation concluded, Arthur and Samuel rose from the table, making their way down the inn's stone staircase, where the clamor of mercenaries filled the air—loud laughter and conversations blending with the clinking of mugs.
As soon as Garen spotted Arthur approaching, he moved to accompany him, but stopped when Arthur raised a hand in a clear gesture to stay put.
"Return to the castle and wait for me there," Arthur said firmly.
Garen furrowed his brows slightly but did not protest. He knew Arthur never made decisions lightly, and he also understood that objecting now would change nothing.
"As you wish, my lord," he said before giving a slight bow and stepping away.
As for Arthur, he joined Samuel and the rest of the mercenaries, who led him out of the city.
The roads were dark, and no one wanted to draw attention, so they walked in silence, the only sound being their footsteps against the dirt path.
When they reached the waiting carriage, one of the mercenaries gestured toward Arthur and said, "Get in, but before that..."
Two men moved toward him, blindfolding his eyes and gently binding his hands.
However, he could feel their grip was ready to tighten at the slightest sudden movement. Arthur did not resist—this was expected.
The Grey Wolf Mercenaries were different from other groups. They did not gather in cities, nor did they trust others, not even the clients who sought their services.
Even those who wished to pay them after the completion of a job could not do so in a conventional manner.
They were experts at establishing hideouts and operational bases in secret locations.
It was only natural that they would not reveal the way to their temporary hideout so easily—doing so could lead to an ambush or worse.
The carriage moved along the dark roads, the silence of the night interrupted only by the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the dry ground.
Arthur, despite the blindfold over his eyes, was not at ease. It was not the restraints around his wrists that unsettled him, but rather the fact that he was now in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by men he did not yet fully trust.
He could hear the whispered conversations exchanged between the mercenaries, the occasional clinking of swords against light armor with each movement—a sign that they were all on high alert, ready for anything.
At one point, he heard Samuel's voice, calm yet carrying a hint of warning: "Don't think too much, little noble. We're not taking you to a pit… at least not yet."
Arthur did not respond, but he felt a smirk forming on his lips. He knew the mercenaries were trying to gauge his reactions, but only a few among them would be able to decipher his true intentions.
After what felt like hours, the carriage finally came to a halt, and he heard the sound of footsteps hitting the ground.
The carriage stopped so abruptly that Arthur's body swayed slightly from the sudden motion. He still could not see anything—the rough fabric of the blindfold had covered his eyes since the moment they had left the city.
This was no surprise.
If these former bandits had failed to uphold even the most basic levels of security, their heads would have been decorating the city walls long ago.
He heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, followed by the sharp creak of wood—it was the carriage door being forcefully opened.
"We're here."
"Get out," a rough voice commanded.
Arthur felt a hand grasp his shoulder, pulling him gently toward the exit. He did not resist, stepping out with steady footing despite his lack of sight, relying on his sense of balance and direction.
Beneath his feet, he felt uneven ground—a mix of mud and gravel. The damp scent that filled his nose confirmed that they were far from the city, likely near a forest or a cave.
"Move."
He walked between the mercenaries, surrounded by an unknown number of them. He could hear their footsteps, steady and synchronized, as if they were accustomed to such journeys.
The air was cold, and the wind carried the rustling of leaves and the faint sound of flowing water somewhere nearby.
After a considerable distance, they suddenly halted. He heard the sound of stone scraping against wood, followed by the creaking of a heavy door—perhaps a hidden entrance within a rock wall.
"Wait here," Samuel instructed before stepping away and entering the place.
Arthur remained silent, standing in the darkness, which was no different from the blindfold covering his eyes.
He could hear muffled voices from inside, though not clearly enough to catch their words. But he didn't need to—he knew this moment was crucial, and that the leader he had come to meet was no ordinary man.
Minutes passed, feeling much longer than they were, before Samuel returned and gestured for one of the men to remove Arthur's blindfold.
A moment later, the rough fabric was lifted from his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the entrance to a vast cave, illuminated by torches whose flickering light cast shifting shadows across the rocky walls, giving the place an eerie, imposing atmosphere.
Samuel stood beside Arthur and motioned toward the entrance.
"Come. The leader wants to see you now."
Arthur paused for a moment, glancing around. They were in a narrow corridor, its walls covered with old wooden planks, carrying the scent of dampness and iron.
The echoes of their footsteps bounced off the lifeless walls as Arthur moved with sharp eyes, observing every detail around him.
The place was bustling with activity, yet it wasn't chaotic. On one side, a group of men sat on wooden barrels, conversing in hushed tones, their eyes filled with caution and anticipation.
Others were occupied with cleaning their weapons, the sound of metal scraping against metal filling the air.
Some inspected their gear, while others meticulously adjusted the straps of their leather armor. It was clear that this wasn't just a temporary hideout—it was a well-established base, built on years of experience and strategy.
Some of them have strong builds, their features marked with the scars of time. Each scar told a story of battle, and every movement reflected the experience of a seasoned warrior.
These weren't mere mercenaries passing through; they carried the resilience of fighters who had lived in the heart of chaos and adapted to it.
But not all of them were ordinary mercenaries. Arthur noticed another group—different from the rest—wearing thicker armor and wielding heavier weapons.
Their gear suggested that they weren't meant for open warfare but for special operations—missions requiring precision and ruthlessness beyond what regular soldiers possessed.
Their gazes were sharper, their eyes watching him with open suspicion, as if weighing him carefully, wondering whether his arrival was a blessing or a threat.
Samuel interrupted his thoughts with a mocking tone.
"Have you finished looking around?"
He paused for a moment before continuing, his eyes glinting with a hint of wicked amusement.
"Don't you feel the weight of your steps now, after realizing you've stepped into the den of wild wolves?"
Arthur remained silent, his expression unreadable. This only made Samuel smirk before his tone shifted to something more serious.
"If that's truly how you feel, then that's unfortunate. The leader is still waiting for you, but he has no intention of wasting his time waiting for you to reclaim the pride and arrogance you brought with you."
Arthur raised his gaze to Samuel, then took a quick glance around once more, ignoring his sarcasm. He was not oblivious to the situation he found himself in.
It wasn't that he was the type with unyielding will or fearless in the face of danger, nor was it due to the training in the memories of this body that he had inherited, or the assumption that his noble family's name or protection would shield him.
No, what made him calm and ready to take the risk of coming here was the forces on the card that he could summon at any moment, which were certainly more than enough to protect his small life.
Therefore, he took a step forward steadily and spoke in a calm voice, though not without a hint of challenge: "If your leader doesn't like to wait, then don't make him wait any longer."
Samuel chuckled quietly, shaking his head, then turned and gestured with his hand for Arthur to follow. They crossed the entrance and reached a massive gate made of solid wood, reinforced with rusty iron supports.
Two guards stood in front of it, each holding a long spear, with heavy swords at their waists. They said nothing, only exchanged quick glances with Samuel, then slowly pushed the gate open, emitting a heavy creak that mixed with Arthur's quiet breathing.
Once inside, Arthur found himself in a large hall. The room was dimly lit by a few torches on the walls, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into darkness.
On either side, wooden tables were spread out, around which men in combat attire sat—some eating in silence, while others whispered in low tones, as if his presence meant nothing to them.
However, Arthur was not blind to the eyes watching him from the corners of the room, studying his steps, analyzing every detail of his stance.
At the end of the hall, a large wooden table took up most of the space in the room. It was covered with a large, detailed map of the region, marked with small stones, each point indicating a battle or a strategically significant location.
Behind the table sat a man in his mid-forties, with a thick, unkempt beard and dark hair threaded with gray at the edges.
He had one intact eye, gray in color, and wore a black scarf embroidered with a logo Arthur recognized—a black wolf, famous in the forests of the eastern kingdom.
In front of him lay scattered old maps and papers. He wore a dark coat, and his eyes gleamed under the torchlight, staring at Arthur with a steady gaze that carried a hint of evaluation.
Samuel took a step forward and bowed slightly before speaking in a respectful yet unflattering tone: "Leader, I've brought him as you requested."
Calmly, the man rose from his seat, and with deliberation, extended his hand toward Arthur for a handshake, saying in a deep, imposing voice: "Welcome to our humble refuge, Mr. Arthur Werner. It may not be as grand as the castles you're used to, but it remains a safe haven, far from the eyes of intruders."
The man's gaze was penetrating, and his words were filled with appreciation and respect, completely contradicting Arthur's expectations of mercenaries and thieves who hide in the shadows.
"So, you're Marx, the leader of this renowned group." Arthur replied calmly, stepping forward and gripping the man's hand in a firm handshake.
Marx nodded in agreement, then gestured with his hand toward the opposite chair. "Sit."
Arthur did not hesitate. He sat quietly, his eyes fixed on the man before him, trying to read the expressions hidden behind his face.
Behind that steady gaze and lone gray eye, Marx resembled a seasoned hunter studying his prey, measuring its movements, waiting for it to show any sign of weakness or act impulsively.
"A man of experience... He doesn't speak much, but he chooses his words carefully, and that makes him dangerous. No doubt, his position as the leader of this group for all these years wasn't just a matter of luck," Arthur thought, analyzing the details of Marx's posture.
"It's a good thing I've read many novels and series on emotional intelligence. Now, it's time to test the lessons from Sherlock Holmes and the two films I've watched," Arthur thought to himself.
Marx broke the silence with his deep voice, speaking bluntly: "Samuel told me about your offer, and truthfully, your words piqued my interest. But let me be clear, I need to make sure I'm on the right side of this deal."
Arthur didn't respond immediately, allowing a few moments of silence to pass as he gave himself time to weigh his words.
He knew full well that his first reaction would be analyzed by this man. If he acted too hastily, he would be seen as a reckless young man, and if he hesitated too much, he would be perceived as weak or indecisive.
Before Arthur could respond, Marx raised his hand in a slight gesture, as if cutting off his train of thought, and said in a calm yet firm tone: "But before we begin negotiations, could the noble Arthur do us a small favor?"
Arthur's brow raised slightly, but he quickly concealed his surprise. This was an expected move, and while he wasn't sure exactly what Marx intended to ask, the tone of his voice carried a clear signal—this was not just a conversation, but a test.
"According to the stories I've read, leaders and those who want to show their experience and mystery, how they distinguish themselves from others, often put others to the test. They ask them to make decisions or choices, but in reality, it's just a trick to see whether the person will accept the offer or not. But I've already watched a 1000-episode series of The Little Detective, and your trick is obvious," Arthur thought quickly, realizing what was about to happen next.
"Service?" Arthur repeated, his tone inviting Marx to clarify further.
Marx smiled faintly, but the smile didn't reach his single gray eye. He then stood up from his chair and gestured for Arthur to follow.
Arthur had no choice but to comply.
He followed Marx and Samuel to a secret location inside the cave, where the spoils and treasures from their raids were stored. There, Marx presented a small box covered with a thick cloth.
With a confident motion, Marx lifted the cover to reveal several small bottles containing a shimmering liquid that sparkled in the candlelight.
"Lord Arthur, you are a noble from the Viscount family, and you must have received a good education. Can you recognize these vials?"
When Arthur saw the bottles, his pupils dilated slightly, which did not escape the attention of Marx and Samuel.
It was clear that he was familiar with these potions.
He paused for a moment, his breath quickened, as thoughts raced through his mind.
In the end, he couldn't hold back and whispered in internal anger, "Damn all those fake stories and novel about successful MC After crossing in to Another world.!"