Drakal, a free city in Auterica.
Located at the intersection of the Azerion Empire, the Zepia Republic, and the southern desert, it was a bustling hub of activity. Despite its barren surroundings, its strategic location and the presence of the continent's largest mercenary guild made it a prosperous city.
'So this is Drakal!'
A group of merchants and their hired mercenaries had just entered the city.
'It's huge. Unlike any city I've seen before.'
Billy, a rookie mercenary on his first journey away from home, gazed around in awe. This dwarfed even the largest cities he had seen on his journey.
"Hey, Billy! This is your first time in Drakal, right?"
"Huh? Oh, yes!"
A fellow mercenary, a senior from his hometown and his role model, clapped him on the shoulder. He was the one who had inspired Billy to become a mercenary with his tales of adventure. If not for him, Billy would still be working on his family's farm.
'I wouldn't be on this long journey if it weren't for him.'
He was technically an errand boy, not a full-fledged mercenary due to his lack of experience, but everyone started somewhere. It was a good opportunity to see the world.
"You look stunned. Come on! The escort mission is over, and we got paid. I'll treat you to a feast!"
"Yes! Thank you!"
His senior had taken him under his wing, helping him adjust to the mercenary life, even treating him to meals at famous restaurants. He was a bit of a braggart, but a good person.
"You have to try this place when you're in Drakal!"
They entered Ogre's Table, a restaurant specializing in meat dishes. The food was excellent, as promised.
As he finished his meal, Billy noticed a group of four devouring meat at an alarming rate. He observed them discreetly, then whispered to his senior.
"Excuse me, but who are they?"
He had been curious since arriving in Drakal. They wore strange clothing, unlike anything he had seen before, yet they walked around casually.
"…Oh, Southern Warriors. Don't stare; they can be troublesome."
"Southern Warriors?"
He glanced at them again. Men and women, their upper bodies covered in tattoos and scars, adorned with beast hides and teeth. They looked like barbarians.
"And don't call them barbarians in front of them."
As Billy turned to his senior—
"Ugh, those barbarians are ruining my appetite."
"Ew, they smell like hicks."
"Hahaha, what are those barbarians even doing here, scavenging for scraps…"
Wham Crash
"Gah!"
"You bastard!"
"Get him!"
A brawl erupted between the four Southern Warriors and a dozen mercenaries.
"…That's why."
His senior sighed, standing up. They had finished their meal, and he didn't want to get involved.
"Tsk! I've been waiting for this! Let's settle this once and for all!"
"You barbarians have no business being here! Go back to your country!"
"Screw you, there's no 'your country' or 'my country' in Drakal!"
"I'll make you shit blood!"
A chaotic brawl, filled with curses and shouts. The other patrons simply shook their heads and moved away. Such fights were common in Drakal, a city of mercenaries. Especially with so many violent, hot-headed individuals with too much time and energy on their hands.
"Let's go. They're brave, fighting inside the restaurant. The losers have to pay for the damages."
That was the unspoken rule in Drakal, unless it was a one-sided beatdown. The Mercenary Guild enforced it, along with the rules against using weapons and intentionally killing opponents.
The staff seemed unconcerned, some even taking bets. The owner watched, calculating the cost of replacing the damaged furniture.
Creak
Before Billy and his senior could leave, the door opened, and another barbarian… or rather, a Southern Warrior, entered the restaurant.
"Huh? What's going on here?"
***
A massive figure, towering over everyone else, his body covered in intricate tattoos.
"Tsk, what's all this commotion?"
He frowned at the brawl, clicking his tongue in disapproval. Then, he turned to the owner.
"Boss! Thirty servings of the special platter!"
He placed his order casually and walked towards the brawl, tapping a mercenary on the shoulder.
"Hey, buddy? I don't mind you guys having fun, but I need to eat, so…"
"Who are you? …Wait, another barbarian!"
His friendly gesture was met with hostility. The mercenary, caught up in the heat of the moment, threw a punch. A powerful blow, infused with aura, that would break an ordinary person's bones.
It connected with the barbarian's bare stomach.
Crack
A sickening crunch echoed through the restaurant as the mercenary's arm twisted at an unnatural angle.
"…G-Gaaaaah!"
"What? What the…!"
"Barbarian ambush! Rob's down!"
"Reinforcements?!"
The mercenary's comrades turned to face the newcomer, confident in their numbers advantage. Dealing with a single barbarian shouldn't be a problem.
"…Is that…?"
"Huh? Do you know him?"
But unlike the mercenaries, those observing from afar sensed something amiss. They had clearly seen how the mercenary's arm had been broken.
"…Just by flexing his muscles? What is he, a monster…?"
The mercenary wasn't weak. A veteran of a large mercenary company, skilled in monster hunting, taken down by a single blow.
"Gah!"
"Kuh, what is this?!"
"Stop! Stop it!"
The other mercenaries who rushed in suffered the same fate, collapsing with broken bones. One, who had used his aura, even coughed up blood from internal injuries.
The others, fighting in the front, paused, their attacks weakening, then stopping altogether as they retreated, watching the commotion warily. Assessing unexpected variables was crucial on the battlefield.
"…A Warrior's Mark?"
"No, that's…!"
The Southern Warriors were the first to recognize the newcomer. The intricate tattoos, far more elaborate than their own Warrior's Marks. They had never seen it in person, but they knew what it signified.
"The Fighting King's Mark!"
"The Overlord of Calcos…?"
Harley, the Fighting King, the newly crowned king of the Southern Tribes, the trendsetter who had revived the traditional attire. He had vanished for a while, and now he had reappeared.
'Shit… We're screwed. Why now…?'
The mercenary leader also recognized him, albeit a bit later. The tattoos, the imposing figure, and the heterochromia were unmistakable.
"W-What do we do? Rush him?"
"…Are you crazy? Do you want to die?"
The fight was over.
***
The brawl ended abruptly as one side surrendered.
"Hehehe… We apologize for interrupting your meal. There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding…"
"Misunderstanding? You started it…!"
"O-Of course! We'll take full responsibility and compensate for all damages! The restaurant repairs, their meals… and of course, for interrupting your meal, Sir Harley."
The mercenary leader groveled, forcing a smile, as the Southern Warriors stood behind Harley, chests puffed out.
Harley nodded casually at their desperate pleas.
"Really? Are you sure? I eat a lot."
"O-Of course! Haha…"
He wasn't about to refuse their offer. It was a merciful sentence for challenging the Fighting King. He considered them less than insignificant flies, not worth his attention, especially with a delicious meal awaiting him.
He would crush them if they continued to annoy him, but there was no need for further bloodshed if they offered tribute and retreated.
'I would have crushed them all before.'
Harley, the embodiment of rage and conflict. But after his trip to Ganghwange and mastering the 「Mad Conquest Technique(Modified)」, he had gained some measure of control, even managing to regulate his aura.
'They wouldn't have even dared to challenge me before.'
His presence alone would have intimidated them. He was still easily angered, but—
'These guys…'
He glanced at the cowering mercenaries, clicking his tongue. They were pathetic, not even worth his anger. He was more concerned about whether to order roasted or boiled meat.
"Here's your special platter!"
"Ooh! Smells delicious. Next, the special boiled meat platter!"
"Yes, sir!"
The answer, of course, was both.
'I wasn't planning on paying anyway.'
He had a sponsor now. And free food was always the most delicious.
"Another twenty servings…"
"Hmm, excellent. Thirty servings…"
"This is getting tedious. Just bring us everything you have!"
The remaining mercenaries, who had avoided being carried away on stretchers, paled as they watched the mountains of food disappear.
After a while, their faces ashen—
Ogre's Table achieved record sales, selling out of all their meat, and the mercenaries, unable to pay, were forced to work off their debt.
"Hmm, still a bit hungry, but I'll stop here. Thanks for the meal, friends! Ehahaha!"
"Ah… Ah…"
The incident, witnessed by the other patrons, spread throughout Drakal, heralding the king's return.