Seeing the greed flicker in the burly man's eyes, Roland narrowed his eyes slightly.
Before setting out for Pine Wood Town, he had already heard what others said about these mercenaries and adventurers.
They chased fame and profit, stopped at nothing, and were vicious and violent.
Amid the many accounts, there was one point on which everyone agreed with surprising unanimity.
These people were all bullies who preyed on the weak.
If one showed even the slightest fear, they would swarm in like hyenas scenting blood.
Therefore, Roland had expected the situation before him and had already thought of a countermeasure.
"Boy, you new here? Let me tell you—"
The bald brute advanced with a feral grin, his scar-covered face twisting into a terrifying mask.
Just as that coarse hand was about to land on his shoulder, Roland lowered his stance.
His right fist shot out like a venomous snake striking.
"Bang!"
Amid the dull impact, the bald brute's unfinished sentence caught in his throat.
While the other man doubled over in pain, Roland lashed out with a whip kick that struck the side of his knee with pinpoint accuracy.
With a crisp crack, the brute staggered and dropped to his knees.
Looking at the vulnerable neck exposed before him, Roland's right hand instinctively slid toward the dagger at his waist.
At that moment, heavy footsteps approached from a distance.
A faint glint flashed through Roland's eyes, and he withdrew the hand reaching for his weapon.
Instead, he curled his fingers into a cone and thrust them toward the man's throat with lightning speed.
"Cough—phlegm."
Before the onlookers could react, the brute's eyes bulged out. He staggered backward several steps before collapsing heavily into the mud.
He happened to fall beside the tall man who had been beaten.
Muddy water splashed everywhere, making their disheveled figures look even more miserable.
Just then, a thunderous roar exploded through the air.
"Everyone, stop!"
A fully armed squad of guards approached in orderly formation.
The man at the front had short brown hair and a burly build. His polished armor gleamed coldly in the dim light.
His sharp gaze swept across the chaotic scene, and he was just about to begin scolding them.
"Scarface Haiden! I warned you—"
His voice suddenly cut off.
The short-haired man's pupils contracted as he stared incredulously at the bald brute sprawled on the ground.
The usually arrogant and overbearing "Scarface" was now curled up in pain.
His hands weakly clawed at his throat, while his entire face had turned a frightening purplish red.
After several hoarse, choking coughs, the notorious mercenary rolled his eyes back and passed out in the mud.
The short-haired man's brows twitched violently.
Scarface Haiden.
The infamous thug of Pine Wood Town had relied on his burly physique and vicious methods to run rampant without restraint.
His habit of targeting only the weak, combined with his beastlike cruelty, had made this mercenary Pine Wood Town's most troublesome bastard.
But now—
With a clatter of armor, the short-haired man's sharp gaze locked onto the only stranger still standing in the scene.
When he stepped forward, the shadow cast by his tall body nearly swallowed Roland whole.
"I am Whitman, the constable."
He pushed open the sword guard with his thumb, his voice harder and colder than the armor.
"These two."
He nudged the unconscious bald brute with the tip of his boot.
"Did you do this?"
After hearing the man give his name, Roland merely raised an eyebrow. In silence, he lifted a corner of his linen robe, revealing the dagger Darko had given him at his waist.
The silver dagger sheath flashed with a cold gleam in the dimness.
Whitman's expression instantly froze, after which he respectfully lowered his gaze.
"You—"
"I came to take care of some personal business."
Roland's tone remained calm.
"Then I apologize for my offense."
Whitman immediately bowed slightly, his voice dropping very low.
"Please leave this place to me."
As soon as he finished speaking, he straightened abruptly, turned toward the guards behind him, and shouted sternly.
"What are you waiting for?"
His thick finger pointed at the two men in the mud.
"Throw these two fools into the dungeon and let them reflect properly!"
"Yes!"
Upon receiving the order, the guards hurriedly dragged the unconscious brute away.
Just then, another commotion came from the distance.
Whitman rubbed his tired brow and hesitantly spoke.
"Sorry, uh... sir, may I ask how I should address you?"
"Roland."
Roland spoke as he tied the reins to a wooden post.
"You don't need to be so formal."
"Understood, Mister Roland."
Seeing Roland's easygoing attitude, Whitman visibly relaxed.
"I still have some official business to handle. If you need assistance—"
He pointed toward the northern side of the town.
A tall watchtower stood there.
"You can find me there."
"Sorry for the trouble, Mister Whitman."
"Not at all, not at all."
Whitman waved his hands repeatedly, gave a hurried bow, and then led the guards toward the disturbance.
The clinking of armor gradually disappeared beneath the din of voices.
At the same time, whispers rose and fell among the surrounding mercenaries.
"Where did this kid come from? Even that mad dog Whitman is bowing and scraping to him."
A scar-faced mercenary lowered his voice.
"Who cares what his identity is?"
His thin, tall companion took a swig of ale, his eyes gleaming.
"Didn't you see how he moved just now? That bastard Haiden didn't even have a chance to fight back!"
"Tsk, he looks refined enough, but his strikes are vicious."
Roland paid no attention to the discussion.
He raised a hand and gently stroked Black Wind's forehead, then whispered a few words into the warhorse's ear through the [Animal Companion] trait.
Black Wind snorted loudly and docilely rubbed against his palm.
After confirming that his mount was settled, Roland straightened his robe and entered the Adventurer's Guild under everyone's inquisitive gaze.
In an instant, a wave of noise crashed over him.
The murky scent of ale mixed with sweat and fermented in the air, while greasy torches made the hall flicker between light and shadow.
Rusty armor and worn weapons were piled in a corner, while half-eaten food lay scattered across several worm-eaten wooden tables.
Rather than an Adventurer's Guild, this place looked more like a tavern.
Behind the counter, a fleshy-faced bartender wiped a filthy wooden cup.
Several drunken adventurers sprawled across tables, snoring, while even more figures lurked in the shadows.
Some sharpened daggers, some counted coins. Every gaze clung to Roland the instant he entered, only to hurriedly look away when he raised his eyes.
Clearly, Roland's defeat of Haiden had left a deep impression on this group of mercenaries and adventurers.
"New here?"
The bartender lazily looked Roland up and down before casually pointing toward the wall plastered with commissions.
"Look for yourself over there."
His rough finger left a trail of water on the dirty cup.
"Bring over anything you like and register it."
Roland nodded slightly and walked toward the mottled oak wall.
Yellowed sheets of paper stained with dried ale were nailed densely across the entire wall.
His slender fingers brushed over the papers. He noticed that every commission had a red dot stamped in vermilion ink in its lower-right corner.
It presumably represented the mission's difficulty level.
In addition, every commission detailed the time limit, required number of people, specific location, and other conditions.
Surprisingly, there were very few commissions to exterminate monsters.
Roland had no choice but to read them line by line.
"Escort a merchant caravan to Dawn Territory. Commission duration: twenty days. Reward: sixty copper coins. Difficulty: one."
"Recover stolen property. Commission duration: three days. Reward: thirty copper coins. Difficulty: one."
"Five intact deer hides required. Commission duration: five days. Reward: fifty copper coins. Difficulty: one."
After browsing for quite some time, Roland finally found the commissions he wanted.
"Exterminate a goblin camp. Commission duration: fifteen days. Reward determined by the number of goblins. Difficulty: three."
"Exterminate a kobold den. Commission duration: fifteen days. Reward determined by the number of kobolds. Difficulty: three."
"Investigate unusual monster activity around Pine Wood Town. Commission duration: thirty days. Reward: two silver and fifteen copper coins. Difficulty: five."
On the last commission, whose edges had curled, five bright-red dots were especially conspicuous. The ink was also much fresher than that on the other commissions.
"Unusual monster activity to the southeast?"
Roland committed the information to memory before carefully reading the first two commissions.
After confirming that neither contained descriptions of kobolds covered entirely in scales or goblins with non-green skin, he weighed his strength.
Once he confirmed he could handle them and had enough time, he reached out and removed the first two commissions from the wall.
When he turned toward the counter, he gently placed the parchments on the counter and pushed them toward the yawning bartender.
The bartender narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Roland, his brows unconsciously knitting together.
"Two commissions, and you're doing them alone?"
He asked gruffly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the counter.
Roland nodded calmly.
"Another one who doesn't know his own limits."
The bartender muttered under his breath, but his hands swiftly copied down the commission details.
As the ink spread across the paper, he spoke without looking up.
"Listen, kid. If you exceed the time limit, you'll have to pay a penalty. Of course, that's assuming you can make it back alive."
He pushed the copied documents and the inkpad box toward Roland with a dull thud.
"Sign your name, leave a fingerprint, and the jobs are yours."
"Thanks."
Roland replied briefly, then picked up the pen and left his neat handwriting on the parchment.
He folded one of the copies and tucked it into his robe before turning toward the entrance.
Just as he was about to push the door open, a figure wrapped in a large black robe entered against the light.
The newcomer was thin, with only a pair of deep-blue eyes visible. Pale skin could be vaguely seen beneath the mask.
As they brushed past each other, an overpowering smell of blood surged toward Roland.
The scent was so intense that it seemed almost solid, making Roland frown involuntarily.
"It's The Executioner! Why did that lunatic come back at a time like this?"
"Damn it, what rotten luck! Let's go, let's go!"
The noisy guild hall instantly fell silent. The adventurers scrambled for the exit, accompanied by the repeated sounds of tables and chairs overturning.
After only a few breaths, the vast hall contained only Roland and the mysterious person known as The Executioner.
"The Executioner."
After murmuring the name inwardly, Roland did not linger.
He pushed open the door and walked toward Black Wind, who was chewing on fodder.
After untying the reins, he led the warhorse around town, ultimately choosing a reasonably clean inn and staying there.
At dawn the next day, while the morning mist had yet to disperse, Roland was already riding toward the location mentioned in the commission.
Black Wind's hooves struck the dew-covered dirt, leaving a clear trail of hoofprints behind.
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