The battle was over.
But Border Town was far from okay.
The walls were scorched. Streets cracked. Buildings shattered. Smoke still hung in the sky like a warning. Clerics tended to the wounded, and exhausted guards patched holes in the gate using whatever timber hadn't been set ablaze.
People didn't talk much. Not yet.
They just looked at the mansion on the hill—where the Mercenaries of Mayhem lived—and quietly adjusted their opinions.
Maybe they weren't just disasters in boots after all.
In the town hall—what remained of it, anyway—Mayor Joff sat at a table with the Mercenaries across from him, his coat covered in dust, his hair wild, and his patience worn to a thread.
"I hate to say this," he began, "but… thank you."
Bob smiled. "We're used to gratitude. And property damage."
"That's the problem," Joff muttered. "But we're alive, so fine. You get one free compliment."
Then his face darkened.
"But this isn't over."
The room went quiet.
Joff leaned forward. "Volgas wasn't bluffing. The Holy Empire of Athenea doesn't forget. They won't stop just because they took a punch to the face. They'll be back. With more soldiers. With more power. And next time, they won't ask for the Arcane Eye—they'll burn their way through the kingdom until they find it."
Derek nodded slowly. "Then we have to find it first."
"Exactly," Joff said. "You said it was stolen. That ice mage—Kain, right?"
"Yeah," Marcus muttered. "He poisoned us with wine, stole the Eye, and disappeared like a snowy jerk."
"If we can track him down," Bam said, "we might be able to stop this before the Empire comes back swinging."
Joff sighed. "So go. Find him. Whatever it takes. I'll buy the town time."
Back at the mansion, the group turned to the one person with the best shot at finding anyone.
Anna.
She stood in the hallway, arms crossed, looking particularly uninterested.
"You want me to track someone who is deliberately trying not to be found?" she asked.
"Yes," Derek replied.
She narrowed her eyes. "Then I'll need something of his. Something physical. Magic like this needs a personal anchor—blood, hair, worn clothing. Otherwise, I'd be trying to find a snowflake in a blizzard."
There was a pause.
Then Bob slowly reached into his pack and pulled out… a single, balled-up sock.
Everyone stared at it.
Anna blinked. "Is that…?"
"Kain's sock," Bob said proudly.
A long silence.
"…Why do you have that?" Marcus asked.
Bob shrugged. "He left it when he stayed over. I kept it."
"Why would you keep it?" Bam asked, horrified.
"What?" Bob said, genuinely confused. "It's a good sock."
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're not doing this."
Anna took the sock with visible reluctance, holding it between two fingers like it was cursed.
She sniffed once. "Disgusting. But it'll work."
That evening, Anna stood in the center of the mansion's study, arcane circles glowing beneath her feet. She whispered words in a forgotten language, and the sock floated in midair.
The light pulsed. Then twisted.
And finally, it pointed—due east.
"The trail leads into the barren lands," Anna said. "Monster territory. No towns. No law. If he's hiding, he chose the most miserable place to do it."
"Sounds like fun," Marcus muttered.
Bob grinned. "I like monsters. They're simple."
"I'll hold the mansion down," Anna said. "If the Empire returns, they won't enjoy the surprise."
Derek nodded. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me. Just bring back that damn Eye. I am losing my reading time."
As dawn broke, the Mercenaries of Mayhem stood at the edge of Border Town, packs slung over shoulders, weapons ready.
They had a direction.
They had a purpose.
And for once… they had a plan.
Kain had the Eye.
The Empire wouldn't stop.
And the chase had begun.
They stepped onto the road east, into monster-infested wastelands—following a sock, a trail of betrayal, and the one hope to stop a holy war.
As the Mercenaries of Mayhem prepared to leave, the townspeople gathered quietly near the gate—shopkeepers, guards, even a few wide-eyed children. There were no grand speeches, just nods, awkward waves, and a few claps on the back. One old vendor shouted, "Try not to blow anything up this time!"—and the crowd laughed. For once, it wasn't mockery. It was respect. Border Town wasn't just sending off mercenaries. They were sending off their own.