Back to Suzail at Last

Ferrara's group had a terrible composition.

Sixteen fighters, one barbarian, and one rogue.

Most of the group were what people called "meatheads."

What was a fighter?

Anyone who wore heavy armor and used a shield to block enemy spears was a fighter.

Anyone who wore light leather armor and used a longbow and short blade to shoot from the rear was a fighter.

A Dwarf who wielded twin axes, hacked his way through Orcs, and shouted the name of his ancestors was a fighter.

An Elf who manipulated a pair of Sword Daggers, danced gracefully through enemy ranks like someone swimming through the tide, was a fighter.

Anyone skilled at using darts and grappling hooks in an arena was a fighter, and anyone who hunted prey in the wild with javelins and nets was a fighter.

This was the most common and most lowly profession in all the Realms.

According to Candlekeep's authoritative data, in the northern Realms, perhaps two-thirds of adventurers were fighters.

There were simply far too many fighters. From a less flattering perspective, adventurers described them as livestock that happened to be alive.

Admittedly, there were outstanding fighters among them.

The most outstanding one in recent times was the former King of Cormyr, Azoun IV, who had perished together with a Great Wyrm Red Dragon during the Goblin Wars. He had been a legendary fighter.

Elite Knights who protected their homes and country, noble lords who fought across the land, royal guards, and city defenders were all fighters, but they made up only a tiny proportion.

Most fighters were village guards, ordinary impoverished adventurers, bandits and mountain outlaws, mercenaries, travelers, peddlers, hunters, independent farmers or tenant farmers, craftsmen, and artisans.

It was a miserable profession.

It was incredibly easy for spellcasters like Aaron and Eleanor to take a quest at the Adventurers Guild. Any adventuring group would welcome them with open arms unless it truly had no need for more people.

But fighters? They could keep waiting. There were 810 people in line ahead of them.

So why were fighters so miserable?

Because their utility was too limited.

"Apprentice Mage: disguise, protection, damage, pathfinding, deciphering.

Apprentice fighter: hit people.

Elite Mage: master more spells to solve all kinds of problems during travel and adventures; begin to gain hard control and powerful area-of-effect magic. Fireball is simple, crude, and brainless.

Elite fighter: hit people harder.

Master Mage: magic can cover almost every need in the majority of adventures, including resurrecting the dead, summoning upper-planar creatures to fight, providing long-distance support, and directly creating a space from nothing for rest and shelter.

Master fighter: hit people more viciously.

Legendary Mage: move mountains and fill seas, establish an empire, create a plane of your own, and rule over a realm.

Legendary fighter: hit people in a super invincible, overwhelmingly powerful, mighty, and peerless fashion."

—A joke from the Realms

Of course, this joke was rather extreme. Fighters were indeed somewhat limited in function, but not to such a foolish degree. It was merely a metaphor for how little fighters could do during an adventure.

Fighters were also one of the few major professions unable to extend their lifespans through their professional abilities.

Legendary Mages, Sorcerers, and Druids could all live for a very, very long time.

Legendary Paladins, Monks, Clerics, Warlocks, and Bards also had many ways to extend their lives.

Legendary Barbarians and Rangers could extend their lifespans by stepping onto the primordial path and merging with the power of the wild.

Only legendary fighters and rogues were truly unfortunate. Without external aid, they basically could not live past the human lifespan limit of 120 years. Most legendary fighters reached the end of their lives at a hundred.

It truly was a profession for the young.

That was precisely why Aaron intended to ask for some guidance.

Ferrara was an Elite fighter who had survived as a mercenary until now. He definitely had his own unique understanding.

There was never any harm in learning more.

And so, at noon, after walking for three hours, the group found a place to rest by the roadside. Montero called the mercenaries together, and they brought out the still-warm food they had bought from Kalan Inn and gathered around to watch Ferrara instruct Aaron.

The two of them each held a sword. The difference was that one of Aaron's hands was empty, while Ferrara held a shield in his other hand.

"In combat, Viscount, you must always pay attention to your weak side—the side without a shield."

Ferrara planted his feet and demonstrated for Aaron. "Generally speaking, we consider the weapon-bearing side the strong side and the shield-bearing side the weak side. The strong side is usually the side used for attacking and the side on which our attention is focused. Therefore, the weak side is often the side most vulnerable to a breakthrough."

"Mm." Aaron recalled his father's and the Purple Dragons' instruction and followed Ferrara's movements. "Mr. Ferrara, I can't hold a shield with this hand. I need it for spellcasting."

"Then, Viscount, you can turn your weak side into a trap and lure your opponent into attacking." Ferrara swung the sword in his hand, moving with the standard steps of a fighter. "Viscount, you look like a Purple Dragon Knight. Most enemies will instinctively regard you as a melee fighter, so you can often catch them off guard."

"A noble youth who doesn't use a shield and prefers a one-handed sword is a piece of ready-made meat in the eyes of adventurers."

"In combat, blocking isn't a good idea. Dodging is. When you're forced to block, you must leave enough room and reserve strength in your arm and wrist."

"Use shields with caution."

"Unless you're certain of hitting, never put your full strength into a sword strike. First, if the blow is dodged, it will leave you with a huge opening. Second, as an Apprentice or second-tier professional, using your full strength one or two extra times will easily leave you exhausted."

As a seasoned fighter, Ferrara taught Aaron the skills he had learned during his adventures.

"Don't fixate on your weapon in battle. Many times, our shoulders, legs, fists, and even our foreheads and teeth are powerful weapons. We fight to win and to stay alive, not for elegance. At least, not we mercenaries."

Ferrara demonstrated two techniques involving shoulder charges and raised-leg kicks.

Aaron nodded. He was like a sponge, desperately absorbing knowledge.

Every part of the body was a weapon in battle.

"Pay attention to your opponent's movements in combat. Whether they're thrusting, slashing, or delivering a heavy blow, their body will inevitably make a preparatory movement. At that moment, you must pay attention to what they intend to do. Also, judge their will to fight." Seeing how quickly Aaron was learning, Ferrara smiled.

I can actually instruct a Viscount! I'll have something to talk about in the tavern hall from now on~

"Will to fight?" Aaron frowned, somewhat confused. "You mean their determination to fight?"

"I once fought a fellow roughly equal to me for more than three hours in a manor brawl. Afterward, I received a huge reward from a noble master, and I didn't even need to take my weapon or shield to a blacksmith for repairs." Ferrara sounded rather pleased with himself. "Unfortunately, jobs that good don't come around often."

"I understand." Aaron indicated that he had grasped the idea.

"If your opponent is vicious, you must give it your all. If they're just going through the motions, you don't necessarily need to use everything you've got. Most of the time, we're all mercenaries who live by the blade and work for money. There's no need to stake our lives every time. There may even be some misunderstanding between us." Ferrara continued, "It depends on what your mission is, Viscount, or what you hope to gain."

So he means to know when enough is enough? Aaron seemed to understand. "I see. Please continue."

"Sometimes we face attacks that are truly impossible to dodge. In that case, we must do our best to protect our torsos." Ferrara continued, "Don't worry. With the armor the Viscount is wearing, unless it's a transcendent weapon, it will at most leave a cut in the armor and draw a little blood."

"What if it's a transcendent weapon?" Aaron asked with interest.

"That's a field I know nothing about. You may need to ask someone else, Viscount." Ferrara shook his head.

After practicing for a while, the two sat down. Ferrara accepted the buttered bread Aaron handed him and continued sharing his adventuring experience.

"Combat is only a small part of adventuring, Viscount. What are we mercenaries adventuring for? To make a living, to earn money, and only after that do we consider improving our strength."

"Based on that, most of the time we don't want to fight. In fact, we do everything possible to avoid fighting."

"Even when we do fight, we do everything we can to make it unfair. Gouging eyes, kicking groins, insults, spitting—anything that causes trouble for the other side and reduces their fighting ability is a success."

"Besides that, throwing ash, setting traps, poisoning people, and causing rockfalls—if it solves the problem, nothing is off-limits. If you don't do it, someone else will. That means you're handing your life to another person."

Ferrara pointed mockingly at himself. "After all, this line of work is selling your life. I've tricked people more than once by telling them there was something behind them, then killing them with one sword strike. I've also promised things wholeheartedly and gone back on my word more than once."

"Those in the mercenary trade are destined for hell."

"Things have been better these past few years because I've established some connections. In earlier years, I also went through periods without income. In those times, you couldn't avoid coming up with ideas. We generally divided our targets into several types and chose the easier ones to attack." Ferrara grew a little embarrassed as he spoke. He scratched his disheveled hair. "Staying alive is what matters most."

"Loyalty exists only because the price of betrayal isn't high enough." Aaron expressed his understanding instead and said meaningfully, "As for Miss Eleanor and me, you definitely wouldn't have complete confidence, and the aftermath would be especially troublesome, right?"

"Uh, people like you are always the most troublesome." Ferrara nodded awkwardly.

A local noble, carrying a royal mission, a bloodline Sorcerer who could cast spells, and a temple Cleric who was powerful and knew Divine Magic.

Even if he managed to take care of them, Ferrara had no idea how he would handle the aftermath.

He didn't know why, but whenever he faced Aaron's sky-blue eyes, as boundless as the distant sky, he couldn't help but blurt out everything in his heart.

"Self-deprecation, dignity, rules, elegance—my Viscount, all of these are privileges of the strong. We're mercenaries. Our job is to complete the mission, deliver the goods, and get that damned money. That's all. Compassion and kindness during an adventure are things we don't need. They're too extravagant—so extravagant that we never dare hope to possess them."

"We usually follow the rules because doing so benefits us. But under certain special circumstances, we can tear up every contract, touch every taboo, and attempt every evil, also because doing so can benefit us in a desperate situation. It's that simple."

"Then I understand. That's the mindset of an ordinary mercenary."

Aaron drained a cup of malt liquor and rose. He stood at the edge of the group, gazing at the bright spring sunlight and the nearby villages, and sighed.

The complexity of humanity was truly displayed to perfection in adventurers.

"You shouldn't spend too long mixing with them." Seeing that Aaron was in low spirits, Eleanor couldn't help walking over and speaking softly. "We are servants of the Lady of Silver. We should learn to be kind."

"Staying alive is so difficult." Aaron smiled, but said nothing more.

"No matter how difficult it is, you still have to live." Miss Cleric spoke firmly. "Have you forgotten what our Lady expects of you?"

"That's right. Even if it's for the Lady of Silver, I have to live well. Really well!" Aaron nodded.

Mercenaries were socially destabilizing elements and potential criminals, but nobles always needed them.

In the Realms, ownership of territory was often settled only after decades or centuries of war. When a noble planned to develop a territory, it could take decades or centuries of intermittent warfare to clear out monsters, establish settlements, explore the surroundings, resist monster counterattacks, build cities and walls, cultivate farmland, construct houses, and establish the domain before all the ill-intentioned "neighbors" nearby finally acknowledged his sovereignty over the land.

Take the Kingdom of Cormyr, for example. Even after the Elven Empire withdrew and clearly transferred ownership of the land to humanity, the Kingdom of Cormyr, founded in Dalereckoning 26, the Year of Opening Doors, was forced to begin its own long history of war—with Goblins, Lizardfolk, Beastfolk, dragons, and pirates.

The unceasing wars continued until Dalereckoning 432, the Year of the Sea Princes, when the King of Cormyr led the nobles who supported him in returning to defeat the pirate king Maglas, who had occupied the capital, Suzail. After 400 years of war, they finally secured basic recognition from all the surrounding powers of humanity's sovereignty over the territory.

Four hundred years of war.

Maintaining an army of one's own was simply too expensive. That was the major reason adventurers and mercenaries remained active throughout the Realms.

As he pondered this, Suzail came into view around three in the afternoon.

Cormyr's capital towered beside Dragonmere. It was a jewel in the center of the Realms and a testament to the Obarskyrs' thousand-year rule over this land. It had tall, magnificent walls, and equally towering buildings rose behind them.

Two enormous sculptures stood at the city gates.

The first was a famous Purple Dragon, Saghro. This ancient dragon had once ruled the Cormyr region. The Elven Empire had allied with human tribes to wage a long war against it, eventually driving it away.

From that day onward, the Purple Dragon became the symbol of Cormyr.

Not because the people worshiped dragons, but because they took pride in having slain one.

The second enormous sculpture was of the famous Cormyrian King Duar Obarskyr.

This was the very King of Cormyr from Dalereckoning 432, the Year of the Sea Princes. King Duar had spent half his life fighting countless foreign enemies within the kingdom. Yet the capital, Suzail, had been betrayed to the pirate king Maglas by a traitor. King Duar had been forced to hide in a secluded manor in the King's Forest with a small number of loyalists. He managed to secure the support of some nobles and a mercenary company, killed the pirate king Maglas that same year, reclaimed the capital, and formally established humanity's sovereignty over the land.

Four hundred years of war had finally borne fruit.

It was worth mentioning that the name Suzail came from Sussara, the wife of Cormyr's first king, Ondeth Obarskyr. However, the queen could no longer endure the seemingly endless wars and frontier development, and ultimately chose to leave.

The group approached the north gate. Carriages and travelers crowded the entrance, forming a long line. Amid the chaos, the guards checked the packages and vehicles of those entering the city, along with the indispensable permits.

Because there were so many people, the guards' attitudes were not very good. But the moment they saw Aaron's tabard and armor, along with the credentials he presented, it was enough for them to wave him through immediately.

After passing through the gate, the first things that struck them were the dimmed light and overwhelming stench. Crowds, noise, beggars, and vendors surged around them. Young children in rags stared up with wide eyes and stretched out their tiny hands toward Aaron and Eleanor, their eyes filled with longing.

"Why are there so many people?" Aaron had not even had time to signal with his eyes before Ferrara immediately led the mercenaries forward. With fierce expressions, they frightened away the crowd gathering around them. Under Miss Cleric's sorrowful and helpless gaze, he asked in confusion.

"There are many refugees from Arabel here. They've all crowded into Suzail." Aaron spoke calmly while comforting Miss Cleric. "Their homes have fallen, so Suzail has become more crowded than ever."

"Are you going home?" The mercenary leader knew it was time to part ways.

"No. We'll go to the cemetery first." Aaron shook his head and took a small square box from his luggage.

"That bastard... His soul should be allowed to rest in peace."

Updated. Tianzi wishes everyone a happy National Day.

(The End of This Chapter)