At noon.
The well-rested Mercenary Corps began to assemble, low commands breaking the swamp's silence.
They swiftly formed a standard expedition formation—the outermost perimeter consisted of warriors wielding tower shields and greatswords, while the mages were tightly protected at the formation's center.
Assassins and rangers scattered around the formation and along its flanks like ghosts, vigilantly scanning for any suspicious movement.
At the front of the party, Calvin rode an oddly shaped mount.
A Swamp Salamander, an amphibious Demonic Beast with sturdy limbs and broad webbed feet, capable of easily traversing marshes and other wet terrain. It had a gentle temperament and was well suited as a mount.
Calvin guided the Swamp Salamander back and forth before the formation, his gaze passing over every captain and mercenary. The invisible pressure he gave off made several squad leaders among the formal Professionals unconsciously straighten their backs, their palms beginning to sweat.
Once the formation was fully arranged, Calvin reined in his mount and faced all the mercenaries, his steady voice reaching every ear.
"I know why you're standing here."
His opening was blunt. "And I know very clearly what I myself am here for: gold. Generous bounties, enough to set anyone's heart racing, enough for us to take the necessary risks."
Calvin paused, sweeping his gaze across the crowd and seeing the gleams of agreement and greed flashing in many mercenaries' eyes.
He knew full well that the sounds of their encampment and movements could not possibly be completely concealed from this place's masters.
What awaited them ahead could not possibly be only the swamp's natural perils.
Therefore, if he wanted to eliminate this target, he needed the corps to possess greater cohesion.
"Since our goal is clear, since it's all for money, then this is simple. If we want to