The evening sun set dimly on a small town nestled at the edge of the dense, ominous wilderness of the Tempest Grove. The town, Coca, located on the fringes of the Republic of Adli, was a curious blend of old-world charm and rugged practicality.
Its cobbled streets wound their way past quaint concrete buildings that exuded an air of history, their paint peeling in some places yet remaining vibrant in others, a testament to years of weathering the elements.
In the town, one could see the grid of streets lined with market stalls overflowing with colorful produce, homemade crafts, and various trinkets, bustling with the chatter of townsfolk engaged in animated conversations. The occasional modern structure peeked through, its glass facade contrasting sharply with the rustic charm surrounding it, a sign of the town's attempts to adapt to the encroaching technology of the outside world.
Coca had grown around the Grove, serving as a vital support hub for those brave—or foolish—enough to venture into the unpredictable wilderness.
A group of twelve people walked through the town, their presence drawing curious glances from the townsfolk. They moved with a purposeful stride, and their gear which bearded marks of a recent skirmish marked them as seasoned explorers or mercenaries.
The leader of the group, a tall man with a rugged appearance and weary eyes, led them to an unassuming building at the end of a quiet street.
The building's exterior gave little away, blending seamlessly with the surrounding structures. Inside, however, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The building was a hive of activity, filled with the low hum of electronics and the occasional murmur of conversation. Rows of people were seated behind computer screens displaying various parts of the town and the Tempest Grove. The hum of electronics and the occasional murmur of conversation filled the air.
As the group entered, a scar-faced woman who seemed to be in charge stood up from her desk and strode towards them. Her piercing gaze swept over the weary faces and battered gear, noting the absence of familiar faces.
"André! Nothing again this trip?" she questioned the man at the forefront of the twelve people, her tone carrying an edge of frustration and impatience.
André, the leader, sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. "We searched sectors C3, I4, and D9 thoroughly, but there were still no signs of the reported object. We did, however, encounter some of Adli's troops in disguise. We lost eight men in the skirmish."
The woman's cold glance swept over him and the eleven people behind him. They bore wounds in several places, and their bulletproof vests were riddled with holes. She let out a slow breath, her demeanor icy and unyielding.
"Rest for now," she ordered curtly. "I'll arrange for replacements for the men we lost. But be careful in future searches. I've received information that both the Normos family's retinue and Couton's men will be arriving soon."
André and his team nodded, their exhaustion evident, and made their way to the resting quarters. The scar-faced woman watched them go, her mind racing with thoughts pertaining to the mission.
As she turned back to the screens, her gaze drifting to a monitor displaying a grainy image of a strange lifeform lying beside some kind of metallic structure.
Despite the poor quality of the image, it was clear that its contours and proportions didn't match any known human physiology.
* * *
"-and this is Ilya on her recent 7th birthday," the teddy bear guy said, pointing to a picture of a pretty little girl in the photo album he held. "Since she wanted to dress as a fairy princess, her mother and I went all out and threw her a costume party. Isn't she cute?"
"Sure, Vance." Rion rubbed his temples in frustration, giving a non-committal reply to to the barrage of information by his seatmate.
It had all started when the teddy bear guy, Vance, jolted awake in the middle of the flight, his excitement bubbling over despite the turbulence. To kill time and distract himself from the rough ride, Rion had decided to strike up a conversation and introduced himself, prompting Vance to do the same. Curious about the stuffed animal around his waist, he had asked what the story was with the teddy bear.
"Oh, this? It's my daughter's," he had replied, "I always carry it around for good luck." And just like that, Vance launched into a non-stop, shameless monologue about his little girl's many virtues.
Since then, Rion had learned more about Ilya's achievements than he ever thought possible. First steps, first words, first day of school—it was like a relentless highlight reel of parental pride.
"Ilya's also the smartest kid in her class, you know," Vance continued, not noticing his growing impatience, "I'm sure your kids—"
"I don't have any kids, Vance," Rion interjected quickly, hoping to cut off the incoming wave of anecdotes.
"But you're not young anymore... Oh well, when you do, you'll understand," Vance said with a knowing nod.
Understand your sister...
Rion nearly vomited blood at these words. One should know that his outward appearance was only a skin mask he wore in order to hide his identity. Underneath, he was only 17 years old, not even an adult by this world's standards.
Rion forced a laugh, his patience wearing thin. "Yeah, I bet. Sounds... rewarding."
Vance, oblivious to Rion's sarcasm, launched into another story. "And did I mention her dance recitals? Oh heavens, she's a natural performer. Last month, she did a solo that brought the house down. Even her teacher said she's got a bright future in ballet."
"That's amazing," Rion replied, his voice flat.
"Maybe when we land, I can show you more pictures. I have a whole album—"
A sudden, violent shake in the plane cut Vance off. The force pressed Rion hard into his seat, and he heard a few gasps and mutters from the other mercenaries.
The plane touched down with a final jolt, the engines' roar slowly dying down. Rion exhaled, feeling the tension in his muscles start to ease. He looked over at Vance, who was grinning widely, seemingly unfazed by the rough landing.
Gradually, the pressure eased, and the loudspeaker crackled to life with the pilot's voice. {Attention, all passengers. We've landed. Please gather your belongings and prepare to disembark.}
At the words of the pilot, the cabin door creaked open, letting in a rush of humid air. The mercenaries began to disembark, stretching their limbs and adjusting their gear after the long flight. Rion grabbed his backpack, securing the straps before joining the flow of people making their way down the ramp.
As he stepped out onto the tarmac, the thick scent of wet earth and decay hit him, a stark contrast to the sterile air of the plane. The landing site was a bustling campsite belonging to the Normos Family, surrounded by high concrete walls topped with barbed wire. Guards, dressed in tactical gear and armed to the teeth, patrolled the perimeter, their watchful eyes scanning the surroundings.
Rion took in the scene, noting the large metal gate that served as the sole entrance and exit to the base. The campsite was well-fortified, with watchtowers at each corner and floodlights illuminating the area despite the encroaching dusk.
"Alright, Forger," Vance said, coming up beside him with a grin. "Let's see what kind of mess we've gotten ourselves into this time."
They joined the other mercenaries in a line, passing through a checkpoint where Normos Family personnel checked their IDs and equipment. Rion logged in to the Mercenary Legion portal and showed them the mission seal, watching as the guard scrutinized them before nodding.
"Team C," he said as he waved Rion away and begun attending to Vance behind him.
Inside the campsite, the atmosphere was a mix of urgency and organization. Tents and temporary structures were set up in neat rows, with people moving purposefully between them. Command posts, medical tents, and storage areas were clearly marked, and there was a constant buzz of activity.
Rion and Vance found an unoccupied spot to set down their gear, including the Sentinel Mark-1 which one of the cabin hands had just brought over. Coincidentally, the both of them belonged to the same group.
"Ah... I'm famished." Vance said, leaning against a nearby crate. Wanna grab something to eat?"
Rion nodded. "Sounds like a plan."
* * *
Coca town had many amenities, including entertainment facilities, casinos, a pharmacy, restaurants, and even places for one to release some steam. Researchers, explorers, and mercenaries alike passed through its streets, sharing stories of their encounters and trading goods found in the depths of the Grove. The local economy thrived on this constant influx of adventurers and the unique resources they brought back.
As Rion and Vance walked through the bustling streets, they took in the vibrant atmosphere. Street vendors hawked their exotic wares, the aroma of street food wafted through the air, and the sounds of laughter and music filled the space.
They moved towards a nearby bakery and Rion pushed the door open, the little bell above tinkling a cheerful welcome as the comforting scent of fresh bread wafted through the air. Just outside the door, two boys in duckbill caps and baggy clothes loitered, their presence as inconspicuous as a pair of pigeons.
He gave them a quick once-over, recognizing the look of potential pickpockets, but decided they weren't worth the energy to worry about—at least not yet.
Inside, the bakery was a haven of warmth and delightful aromas. The man behind the counter greeted them with a friendly nod as they began surveying the assortment of pastries and breads.
"I'll take two of those almond croissants," Vance said, pointing to a tray of golden, flaky pastries.
Rion's gaze lingered on a particularly decadent-looking chocolate croissant. "And one of those," he added, slipping a touch of impatience into his tone.
The man behind the counter, an older fellow with a thick mustache, started gathering their order. Meanwhile, the two boys quietly slipped into the bakery, their movements small and precise, like mice sneaking crumbs.
Rion watched them out of the corner of his eye, making sure not to turn his head. They moved with the grace of seasoned street performers, their hands quick and subtle. Rion recognized the telltale signs of a practiced lift but maintained his casual demeanor. After all, they weren't targeting him, and he found the kids' bravado mildly entertaining.
Meanwhile, the baker's eyes narrowed, having noticed the boys' entrance. His gaze remained vigilant, tracking their every move. The boys hovered near the counter, appearing to admire the array of baked goods but making deft swipes at the bread when they thought no one was looking.
As the boys slid two pieces of bread into their oversized jackets, the baker acted. With a surprisingly swift move, he lunged forward, grabbing one of the boys by the collar.
With a startled yelp, the boy dropped a foot-long piece of bread, which hit the floor with a soft thud. The other boy, seeing his companion caught, froze for a split second before making a run for it. He dashed out of the bakery, disappearing down the street in a blur. The boy in the baker's grasp looked even more panicked, his eyes darting toward the door.
Seeing that the other boy managed to escape, the baker's face reddened with anger.
"You damn brats, I told you not to come back again!" he roared, lifting the boy off the ground by his collar. The duckbill cap fell off, revealing a dirty little face with expressive eyebrows and bright red eyes. It turned out that the thief was a actually a girl with short red hair—a tomboy.
The baker's fury only grew as he pulled out a short stick from behind the counter. Without hesitation, he began to hit her. Despite the tears filling her eyes, she didn't cry out, enduring the blows with a silent defiance.
Rion watched the scene with a detached expression. Such incidents would be common in Coca, a town perpetually on the edge of survival due to its proximity to the Tempest Grove. Orphans were a dime a dozen, and being beaten and going hungry were part of their harsh upbringing. Whether they could survive in this cruel world depended on their own resilience and fate.
But Vance couldn't stand by. "Hey, stop that!" he called out, stepping forward. "What's the price of the things they took?"
The baker paused, glaring at Vance. "They're not worth your sympathy. If I don't teach them a lesson, they'll be back again tomorrow."
Vance reached into his pocket, pulling out a 5 kila banknote. "This should cover the total cost."
The baker hesitated but then snatched the money from his hand. "Fine," he grumbled. "But I hope you know that you're just encouraging them."
Ignoring the baker, Vance moved over to the girl, who was still trembling.
"What's your name?" he knelt down to her level and gently asked.
"Adrienne," the girl who looked no older than fourteen replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
He admonished her gently. "Adrienne, you can't keep doing this. Here," he handed her a 20 kila note, "take the bread with you and use this to get something more. But don't let me catch you stealing again, understand?"
Her eyes widened in gratitude. "Thank you, sir," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. She turned to face Rion to thank him as well but instinctively took a step back when she saw his expressionless face.
Mouthing a silent thank you, she clutched the money and the bread tightly and ran out of the shop.
"You're too soft," Rion muttered as they left the bakery, but there was no real bite in his words.
Vance shrugged, taking a bite out of his croissant. "Maybe. But if my Ilya were in her place, I'd hope someone would show her some kindness too."
Rion gave a noncommittal grunt, taking a bite of his chocolate croissant.