The merchant Giff Toggins crossed his arms as he mumbled to himself and stepped out of the carriage.

  Deep creases formed on his already wrinkled face as he walked past Izick and Mill, standing near the back wheel of the carriage.

  He folded down the cargo door on the carriage and checked the condition of each crate stored inside.

  The Hossa mercenaries nearby steered clear of the old merchant as he grumbled to himself and opened each crate.

  “Mill, I’m glad we’re finally near Marca and can rest a bit, but that old guy really had me on edge during that four-hour ride with all of that mumbling he was doing. You think he’s OK up there?” Izick said, pointing at his head and making a circular motion.

  Mill slapped Izick’s hand down, then shushed him as Giff peeked out of the cargo hold to scowl at nearby mercenaries.

  “Stop talking crazy, he can hear you from here. That merchant is nervous about his goods because we were almost raided by bandits. We were able to save that 20% bonus thanks to the wards on the crates set by the Mages. He simply doesn’t trust us anymore, but he can’t replace us now that we are the only caravan in this hostile territory.”

  “So we’re stuck with each other now. Great. But isn’t his attitude towards us making things worse?”

  “Sure, but he’s just a merchant trying to move his wares. We’re the ones trained for this kind of pressure, he’s not.”

  "What is even in those crates anyway?"

  "Don't ask me. Barson and Giff might be the only ones who know the answer to your question."

  Giff tossed his hands up into the air before closing the back of the carriage and storming off.

  Izick turned to his left and sighed at the floating, fractured red and blue menu.

  "Is it still there?"

  "Yeah, and it never changes," Izick said, swiping at the message box with his hand, causing it to jitter but not disappear.

  "It won't go away either. It's really annoying."

  "I hope it resolves itself. You will have another problem if the Blessing remains broken."

  "Guh, more problems are the last thing I need."

  Izick groaned as he leaned into the carriage behind him. He took out a red fruit from his vest pocket and bit into it while staring at the malfunctioning message box that almost seemed to mock him for his ignorance.

  Through the semi-transparent message, he noticed a stout and well-dressed man with a thick mustache, struggling to pull a long crate across the grass.

  He breathed heavily as he lifted his bowler hat to wipe his brow and comb through his graying hair. The man noticed Izick staring his way, so he waved him over.

  “Hey, boy. Mind helping an old man with some crates? Pompous mercs around here don’t like helping for nothing,” the man said with a smile as he tapped the crate.

  Izick turned to Mill and shrugged his shoulders. He began to walk toward the man while tossing his fruit into the air. Izick slipped the fruit into his pocket and stooped in preparation to lift the crate.

  “That settles it. I’m fully convinced that you are a Scout now. You navigated that trap like a pro.”

  Izick raised an eyebrow before looking around like he was confused.

  “A trap? Where?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, young man. I almost missed it, but you dropped a red cube, kicked it towards my buried trap to disarm it, and then tossed that fruit into the air to bring my line of sight upwards. I only noticed your trick because of my experienced eyes. I’m not falling for your facade, unlike most Scouts.”

  Izick clicked his tongue as he stared at the red cube nestled in the tall grass.

  “Ugh, what a pain. I wasn’t expecting someone to use such an ancient Scout hazing rite in this day and age. I thought I was past those days.”

  “Ancient? Are you calling me old?”

  “Well, you did call yourself an old man.”

  He chuckled while extending a hand out to Izick.

  “They call me Hobbs. I’m the head Scout for the Hossa Mercenary Band.”

  Izick inspected his hand before smiling and shaking it.

  “That was a stink trap, right?”

  Hobbs laughed as he released Izick's hand and pointed to the ground with an open hand.

  The air around his hand began to warp like trembling water. A black object shot out of the ground and landed in his hand.

  Mill scowled at Hobbs’ use of Mysteria, but Izick turned to her and gave a thumbs up to signal that he was alright.

  Hobbs smiled as he shook the black and gold drill-like object in his hand.

  “Your assumption was correct. These stink traps are my favorite method of inducting new Scouts into my team.”

  He slipped the trap into a pouch hanging from his belt.

  “I had my suspicions about you, but I like your attitude, young man. Though it is a bit strange for a Scout to parade as a Healer’s apprentice.”

  “Is it really? No one wants to hire an unvetted mercenary Scout since most of us are crooks and thieves at the end of the day. Being a Mage pays better anyway.”

  “No lies were spoken there, but would you be interested in helping our Scout Corps if called upon? We're taking a Scout team deep into the Misty Alps near Damaran. We might run into a few ogres, so I can't guarantee this mission's safety, but it should be a simple trek if we do things properly.”

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  “I’m fine with it, but is this some sort of punishment for not telling you my class? Or are you needing members after scaring away promising Scouts with stink bombs?”

  Hobbs smirked as he dismissed Izick's questions with the wave of his hand.

  “This is no punishment by any stretch of the imagination. I have a good team, but most of my Scouts are green with little to no field experience. Having someone skilled like you would be an assurance for us, not a requirement. No pressure. Just give me your answer before the end of the day.”

  Hobbs picked up the crate and rested it on his shoulder with practiced ease, shocking Izick with his display of strength. He plodded away with the heavy crate on his left shoulder while whistling a simple tune. Mill walked up to Izick while keeping an eye on Hobbs, who loaded his crate into the back of a carriage.

  “That was weird. Why did he ask you to help with that crate if he could lift it himself? Also, what did he pull out of the ground with that Mysteria Skill?”

  Izick pulled out a yellow cube and pulsed some Mana into it, creating a barely noticeable yellow ring over the grass below him and Mill.

  “Now I can talk. He tried to get me with a hidden Scout trap, and the crate was just an excuse to expose me. Sorry, Mill, that Scout got me. My cover as a Mage is probably blown.”

  "Nothing we can do about that now, but are you OK? You said he tried to use a trap on you."

  “It was probably just a stink bomb, but I disarmed it in case it was something dangerous. He used a well-known yet outdated hazing ritual on me, designed to humiliate young Scouts or expose shady Scouts trying to hide their identities. Sometimes the trap is stinky, and sometimes the trap is explosive. Really depends on if you want the Scout to be dead or alive,” Izick said while rolling the yellow cube in his palm.

  "So he tried to kill you?"

  "I don't think so. He was likely testing me. He did passive-aggressively pressure me into joining a scouting mission. I think he wants to keep me close in order to monitor me and utilize my skills."

  Izick explained his and Hobbs' quick conversation and the potential Scout job to Mill. They continued this conversation until Barson walked into view with the Mage named Scotts in tow.

  The nearby mercenaries all paused their work and activities to give Barson their undivided attention.

  “Me, Hobbs, and a supply crew will check out the town of Marca to stock up on supplies and find the best route through the Misty Alps since that town works as an entry point,” Barson said, pointing to Scotts beside him with his thumb.

  “Scotts here will be in charge until we return. Naturally, I expect everyone to be on their best behavior. We kept all of Giff’s goods intact, but we can’t afford to anger and worry our dear client for the sake of our rep and business connections, so play nice. Anyway, that’s it. Pass the message along.”

  Barson turned around and motioned for his chosen mercenaries to follow him. Scotts stepped forward and looked around the mercenaries, who mostly walked away or simply refused to make eye contact with him.

  “I haven’t even asked anyone to join the supply crew, and all of you are running like some cowards. All you're doing is buying items and bringing them back here.” Scotts said with vitriol as he stared down everyone near him.

  “Counting and writing are the worst. We’re paid to kill and escort, not count numbers!” said a mercenary who got loud agreements from others around him. Scotts growled at the mercenary, shutting him up and quieting down the others. He grumbled at the unmotivated members of his band, but noticed Izick and Mill amongst the mercenaries.

  “You're the new Healer, right? Can you and your apprentice read and do math?” Scotts said as he walked over towards Izick and Mill.

  “We can. Do you need something from us?” Mill said before taking a quick glance at the mercenaries rushing back into their carriages or fleeing the scene on foot.

  “Yes, I need you two to help Giselle and a few others pick up supplies in Marca. We need more food and water before we brave the grueling Alps. Give this list to Giselle towards the front of the caravan.” Scotts said as he pulled out a strip of paper and held it out to Mill.

  "Alright, then we'll be on our way."

  Mill took the paper from Scotts and slipped it into her robe pocket.

  ***

  Izick and Mill followed the dozen or so mercenaries as they trekked up the steep hill. The cool morning mist made the trees around them feel eerie and dream-like as they now climbed the wide, spiraling stone steps that seemed to ascend into the sky.

  A giant stone gate finally came into view. A wooden sign with the words “Welcome to Marca” painted in white hung from the tall stone.

  Giselle groaned as she leaned against the stone gate at the top of the steps. She breathed heavily in exhaustion while more mercenaries joined her at the top to catch their breath, but Izick and Mill stood close by, perfectly fine. Giselle looked at the two of them with an annoyed expression before sighing.

  “I’m pretty confident in my physical ability after vigorous training, but it’s embarrassing to be outpaced by a Healer and her apprentice.”

  “Don’t underestimate a Healer’s endurance. Our prowess in battle is typically limited, but we survive by running, healing, and raising shields. I usually travel by foot anyway, so this isn’t anything out of the ordinary for me."

  “What about him?” Giselle said, pointing to Izick.

  “I do a lot of cardio,” Izick said, swinging his arms in an exaggerated manner.

  Giselle seemed unconvinced but walked away from the stone gate to enter the town of Marca and get the supply run over with.

  Izick passed through the stone gate and noted the neat, flat stone streets and the stone houses scattered around. Very few people were walking around, and the few who noticed the incoming mercenaries quickly retreated back inside.

  Izick stopped at a large, triangular silver tower. The sun reflected off the seamless tower that loomed over him. A glowing red crystal with white swirling energy at its center was set at the very tip of the towering structure. Mill walked up to Izick's side as she looked up at the structure as well.

  “A teleportation relay? I’m surprised something so expensive is in a town like this.”

  “I'm a bit surprised too. Although this thing is pretty useless if you don’t have authorization, know the Mysteria Skill to use it, don’t have a large group, or if your Mana Base is small like mine,” Izick said as he thrusted his hands into his pockets while staring up at the tower.

  "Not to mention, this one looks damaged. That crystal at the top turns red when something breaks. I know this because Alister sent me on a one-way scouting mission, knowing the return relay was damaged. Took a whole two days to make it back to the party."

  “That sounds rough. Still, our journey to Alain could have been reduced to seconds if Alain had a relay and we had teleportation authorization…”

  Giselle quickly called them back over to rejoin the group to continue the supply run.

  Izick separated from Mill and entered the market to pick up dried meats for the caravan. He was negotiating the price of some Parody Bird jerky when a bloodied man stumbled into the market, causing customers and stall owners to gasp.

  Many people paused their purchases to gather around the man and sit him down in a nearby chair.

  “Turkin! Who did this to you?” a middle-aged man said as he passed the bloodied man a canteen of water. He gladly accepted the water and took a long, heavy swig, choking and coughing.

  “I was attacked by those filthy ogres! I was on my usual route when those scoundrels just jumped out and robbed me of all of my wares! I’m ruined now because of them,” He said with wrath as he squeezed the canteen in his hand. “Every day is getting worse for us up here!”

  Izick stared at the scene until an old woman, working at the stall in front of him, slapped the two sack bags of jerky in front of her to get his attention.

  “I’d recommend you get out of town as soon as possible, boy. Preferably, the direction that goes away from the Misty Alps.”

  “Hm? Any reason?” Izick said as he placed the money for the jerky on the table. The old woman looked towards the high mountains beyond Izick before slowly shaking her head.

  “War. A war will explode on these Alps, swallowing everything like a great fire. I was born in these Alps and will die here, one way or another, but that shouldn’t be the fate of travelers passing through our gates. Leave while you still can, child.”

  Izick felt a deep chill go down his spine as he pushed the wrapped-up jerky into the heavy pack used for gathering supplies. Cutting town and leaving as soon as possible seemed like the move. Hopefully, this mercenary band could outrun the flames of war that were being stoked within the Misty Alps.