Chapter 1: The City-State and the Job

[Incredible chance inserts a weary warrior into the first step of his future.]

~Vincent~

One of these insurgent survivors, Vincent Laverse, who stood in the final charge on Cestalian, wallowed in the corruption and the divine madness that he had been a part of for years. His mind was full of what-ifs, hows, and whys – unending thoughts and mental chatter between him and his superiors, his subordinates, and his comrades. In retrospect, he had decided he could have stopped his leader at any point, but at which point should he have done so? How many innocent lives were destroyed, sacrificed, ended, simply because he didn’t act sooner?

He put these thoughts to silence with a swig and a drag most days. Not the healthiest coping method, he knew, and one that would come back to haunt him later. Drinking never got him buzzed – let alone drunk – for whatever reason, but the combined taste of alcohol and the burn in his lungs from a cigarette never failed to calm his thinking. In his own opinion, it wasn’t running from his problems, but a temporary break from his regret. It was the only thing in his control that didn’t harm others, and the only thing after months that still worked to calm his nerves.

~10^th day of Rhuvu, 1403^rd year of the Kiria Unified Calendar~

Bars in Alhose were consistently busy during the day, but when Vincent came to this one at his normal six thirty-ish in the evening, it was surprisingly empty. There were other regulars, of course, and always at least one or two random new faces (possibly travelers stopping to enjoy the heat of Alhose, or warriors or soldiers taking a load off between trainings or quests), but no more than ten at a time when Vincent was here.

He took a few gulps of the ale in front of him – cheap, and with a crisp, smooth flavor that was malted rather than hopped; a newer breed of alcohol that this bar had been trying for a few weeks now. Smoking was allowed, but a patron had to buy the cigarettes from the bar – this was only the case in this bar, as far as Vincent knew. Not that it mattered, since the brand promoted here was the only one he smoked – named Bold Breech, with the image of a large sea-dweller breeching out of a body of water – and the worries were doubly-dismissed because the bartender knew him and gave him a discount.

The door’s bell rang, and Vincent glanced towards the entryway – a thin but muscular man with long black hair entered the establishment. He had a faded red cloth around his neck and, like Vincent, wore tattered red and black coverage with shoulder and chest pads sewn into the shirt – the only remaining connection these two shared with the SSM, besides each other. His face, though it had seen many battles and horrid scenarios, was peaceful and friendly, though still sharp, and a scar crossed his face from left to right, notifying or reminding those he faced that he was indeed a veteran. Vincent knew him as Vesic Qelin – a Hjina that served as his superior in the time of the SSM, but had also treated him as an equal.

“Confiding in vices again?” Vesic said with a hint of playfulness.

He sat at the stool next to Vincent, holding out two golden coins. “Can I get a drink? Whatever you recommend.” He smiled with a gentle coolness unlike the one he showed during battle or training. It always seemed there was something at work behind his careful demeanor when he was off the clock.

The bartender nodded, and took the coins saying, “You got it, friend,” and started pouring a glass of something for the new patron.

“I don’t see you here very often,” Vincent said dryly. “And I wouldn’t call it confiding. More like… reminiscing.” Vesic chuckled as his drink was put in front of him, frothy and dark unlike Vincent’s crisp and clear ale.

“It’s definitely an unhealthy focus on the past,” Vesic remarked. “You’re easy to read like that.

He took a sip of the beer, made a strange face, then took another sip. Although Vesic was a Hjina, he was able to drink heavily and still function normally – not as much as Vincent, but still a respectable amount, depending on who you’d asked.

They sat in silence for a long while, the only sounds were the sips and clinks from other glasses around the bar. Vincent’s thoughts drifted in that brief reprieve towards the number of people in the bar; three, plus the bartender, plus them – a total of six bodies. No conversations, just silence. One of the other patrons seemed oddly interested in the table he was sitting at, although he may have just been drunkenly sobbing onto it.

These weren’t necessarily things he tried to focus on, but when he was alone with his thoughts for too long, his mind would drift into either his training or the regrets of his past. It wasn’t necessarily ‘calming’, just… habit.

“Hey, you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Vesic brought Vincent’s focus back to the bar. His eyes were focused on Vincent’s face with a tinge of concern. He knew all too well Vincent’s habits.

“Sorry,” Vincent sighed, “what is it you wanted?”

Vesic wasn’t usually modest or evasive with his words, and rarely beat around the bush, so it was strange that he was intentionally working up to his request rather than saying it outright.

Vesic loosened the cloth bandana around his neck, unintentionally showing the scars that wrapped around it like vines – he had once told Vincent that these were from childhood, though he had never explained any further. “I have a contact in Saruja who would like to hire you for a project.”

Vincent sat up in response. “What kind of ‘project’?”

That word stirred confusion in his mind, since most of the jobs Vesic had for him were quick jobs, hired hunter jobs – a beast that needed to be put down, or a group of raiders that needed to mysteriously disappear. Describing it as a “project” put more emphasis on the length, which Vincent worried about.

“You may enjoy it,” Vesic explained, “but it is definitely more of a long-term commitment than the other jobs I’ve gotten for you.” He scratched off some scum from the rim of his glass. “It’s a startup militia for protecting Saruja as a tactical unit. The request came for you by name from a man named Regnah.” Vesic’s gaze wandered from his cup to Vincent’s stein, then again to Vincent’s face. “Apparently, he’s a well-renowned researcher of psychology and magic around this continent.”

Vincent’s interest waned. “Call it what you want, it still sounds like mercenary work.” His stare didn’t leave the counter. “If I had more options, I would refuse, but if I can do it, I will.” After a moment, his mind caught up, and he refocused on Vesic. “Wait, you said they asked for me by name?”

Vesic nodded. “Saruja in particular was affected heavily by the Second Sacred Military, so those of us who aided in the dismantling have some weight in our names.” He took a gulp of his beer. “Saruja’s head researcher wanted a hard hitter with a strong sense of justice in charge of this group.”

Vesic grinned. “We agreed on you.”

“Wait, in charge?” Vincent almost exclaimed as Vesic’s hands curled around his glass. “I have no experience leading a group outside of the insurgency, but now you want me to lead a group of nobody town guards that have never seen real combat?” Vincent’s tone was slowly shifting from confusion to anger, then to confusion again. “To have people rely on my orders, when I’m…”

Vincent’s voice caught in his throat. Memories were slowly entering his mind – the first person he was put in charge of, a young man no older than him, and no more experienced, slowly drifted out of his reach, into the shadow of the leader and his puppets. Vincent’s first subordinate was also the first person he killed in the charge against Cestalian, a situation no mentor should have to endure.

“…when I’m unreliable.”

Vesic’s grin faded. He was aware of Vincent’s ability to self-doubt, and this put them both in an awkward position. Vesic knew Vincent’s strengths and weaknesses well but pushed him to best his shortcomings and uncertainties. His recommending Vincent to this subjugation squad position – and to be the leader of it – was not a lapse of judgement nor a direct attack on Vincent, but a chance to prove himself, to bury the past, and to expand his horizons beyond his shame. Vincent and Vesic both understood this, though Vincent still had his hang-ups on accepting this kind of job.

“You’re not unreliable,” Vesic encouraged. “No person is perfect, and some situations don’t have a correct answer, as much as we’d want everything to be so simple. Don’t give up on being relied on because of the SSM and that cur Cestalian.” He took a final swig of his dark beer and added, “I believe this job will help your insecurities, and given the chance and the right team, you have the mettle to be a fine leader.”

“And you think this is the team?” Vincent’s tone came out accusatory. He wasn’t completely sure if he meant it to be or not.

“I truly do.” Vesic pulled out another coin that he twisted in his palm. “I haven’t even told you the best part.”

“Oh…?” Vincent was on the verge of tuning him out, but kept listening out of respect.

As if to punctuate his point, Vesic snapped the coin between his thumb and index finger. “They have a special in-town unit for the team. Separate bedrooms for everyone, regular pay, and fresh meals available. What more could you ask for?”

Vincent sighed, taking a few gulps of his beer. It was true that a guaranteed income and place to stay would be better than being a vagrant staying at cheap inns between jobs. Plus, the meals available in a city-state like Saruja would be better and more filling than anything he’d find at an inn, even if he had to pay a little extra. There were virtually no downsides.

He sighed again, and finished his drink, the burn of the alcohol lingering lightly in his throat. Am I ready for this kind of commitment, he thought. Vesic was good at reading people, both emotionally and technically. If Vincent was recommended by him, then he obviously saw promise in his skill – and Vincent had learned to never doubt Vesic’s insight.

Vincent patted his chest with his fist inverted, causing Vesic to grin. “When do I start?”

---

Vincent learned from Vesic that Regnah had been tasked by King Atrus Pennrose to create this supplementary attack force – tentatively called the “Saruja Task Force”. Their main duty would be to act as a strike force against Baael attacks around Saruja’s less-protected areas (such as areas not defended by the city’s barrier), but they would also act as liaisons for diplomatic duties related to the betterment of Saruja, assistants to the actual military force, and research partners to gather Baael-related information for Regnah and the College. Because the barrier of Saruja lasted for one month at a time, and recharging it only took eight hours, their prime concerns were assisting the citizens while the barrier was up and holding off Baael while it was down.

Due to the location of the Sealed God compared to Saruja, there was a surplus of Baael just outside the city, notably while the barrier was weak or offline. As the leader of the task force, Vincent would have to decide what the task force needed to combat these threats – speed and power were a must, but technical knowledge (especially those relating to their political duties) was also paramount. Vincent’s only experiences with politics were the few times he acted as a messenger for the SSM before the leader went insane, and in those instances, all he did was politely introduce himself and pass along the message; no parties, no real interaction with anyone.

The bar that Vesic found Vincent in was only a few days away from Saruja following the main roads, but those paths had slavers, bandits, and often, Baael. While Vincent didn’t mind hunting a few Baael for some extra Koin, dealing with mortal beings would be more tedious – slavers were protected by whatever government ruled the area, and he didn’t want to deal with bandits alone. It was a waste of Essence to drive them off, so a caravan was the safest route – a group of people with wheels could benefit from a warrior protecting them, and the warrior would benefit from the quicker travel. It was a win-win for both parties.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, as a non-slaver caravan was passing by Aheya, over the plateau near south Saruja, and into Saruja proper. It was a merchant group (their carts were a dark walnut color with velvety-red trim along the roofs and a silver feather design on each door, the backs, and the wall behind each of the three carts’ driver’s seats), who dealt mainly with brewing potions and ale – this band frequented the bar to restock him every few months – and one particularly talented seamstress (the top half of her face was covered with a veil, but her smile was clear when Vincent offered his services to the group). While he had the chance, he asked each available member what Saruja was like.

Some of the members were relatively new to the caravan and provided what they had heard through word-of-mouth about it – high tales of a military commander who bested a titan-type Baael with ease, rumors of the great leader Pennrose bedding a treaty with the Ovurian Isles in retaliation to Nesetta’s ruthless coastal tests, and the horrid uncertainty and tension that came with the barrier shutdown and recharge period. Older members were able to share a bit more specific information, such as the bustling marketplaces and, more interesting to Vincent, Regnah’s reputation and the College’s connection to their military.

The Saruja city-state of central Alhose was a powerful political leader that was based along the Mistea River, which cut through the east side of the continent. It served Alhose as its own single nation, binding together closely-connected townships and municipalities into one powerful country, and held multiple friendly ties to other countries from outside continents, excluding of course the violent Icredie of Lucanne, and the dictatorship of Nesetta. It had notably close relationships with Miral to the far east, and Edge to the far south (although the citizens of Edge were a mostly peaceful sort, in general).

This was in part because of the leadership in Saruja – the kings that ruled it in times past had built strong bonds of trust with various leaders over its one-hundred-plus years of establishment. The current king, Atrus Pennrose, was also a well-known hero – a Hjina who helped the last king seal away the scourge of the world that came back every few centuries. Although the previous king died in the process, Pennrose set him to peace in the tower near the center of the city; the former castle of the king that now housed some of the most famous heroes in the world, including the second leader of Nesetta, the first Ovurian leader, and the various kings of Alhose.

The major draw of Saruja nowadays (besides its historical sites) was the College of Saruja, the most well-known university in the world, headed by big names and offering direct studies of the Baael, assisted by the Sarujan military. Regnah Sivverya was one of these big names, being the forefront researcher on Baael biology, magic understanding, Border Folk communication, and high-level science. It was only a few years ago, while the SSM was still active, that Regnah had moved his base of operations to the border of Saruja’s barrier.

Regnah was often busy with either teaching or researching (sometimes both), and at the overripe age of 74, no one was sure how long he could continue to do field work – Regnah himself stated many times that he would work until he died, as finding the truth and passing knowledge down were his greatest joys. Surprisingly for his age, he was supposedly spry and full of energy every day.

As for the military, to say that Saruja’s military was the most powerful force Alhose controlled was an understatement. Over the 200 years of unification the city historied, its military was not only large and well-funded, but embedded into the community and culture – most students at the College would find themselves learning battle theory, tactical placement, or combat structure at some point in their university lives, and a great majority of students took classes on Baael types or Essence use. Even the churches of Saruja (sixteen in total, not counting the abandoned five on the outskirts of the city) were guarded at active hours by no less than six soldiers.

The fact that a guild hall was present here almost seemed pointless, though upon further thought, Vincent realized the difference – the guild members would scrape the outsides of Saruja to lessen the threat Baael and bandits posed to the true military force, which would then strike powerfully against threats that directly targeted the city and its people.

Regnah Sivverya, however, was not so complex. He was the primary source on most research papers regarding Baael and magic, but his involvement with the military was recent. Apparently, he had been experimenting (with the subjects’ permissions) on giving Baael-like abilities to mortal warriors, to help combat some of the more difficult threats. This research, unlike most of his other work, was restricted to Saruja through a deal he reached with King Pennrose and the military commander – and this led to the construction of this strike squad that Vincent was to lead. This unit would be the first to test Regnah’s Baael tools, and provided they work, would then be developed in mass, and offered to the rest of the military.

Something about these details rubbed Vincent the wrong way. Maybe the fact that his unit would essentially be guinea pigs for the military, or maybe it had something to do with the military’s tight hold on the city’s resources and people. It reminded him of Cestalian, drunk on power, and willing to kill anyone who stood in his way.

Vincent shook these thoughts away as best he could.  There were no signs that Saruja’s military was corrupt yet, and their leader (despite the rumor of the Ovura treaty) had a good and sound head on his shoulders. Not only that, but despite the number of Baael attacks that happened regularly, the city was still thriving. Markets, airships, scholastics, and trade… Every aspect of this city seemed artificially abundant – almost too good to be true.

But he would find out firsthand what it would be like.

~14^th day of Rhuvu, Year 1403~

The caravan reached the Saruja border on the evening of the third day, under a dusty, scorching sky. The sight of Saruja’s walls was impressive – they were a beautiful golden color with a black border along the top and gate, stretching for kilometers left and right, and high into the sky around sixty to ninety meters. There was obvious damage from past assaults, but they were minimal and treated, either in the process of being fixed or marked with paint where it needed to be. The barrier, though faint, was also visible, covering about two kilometers out from the walls – a wave of clean Essence passed over the group as they entered.

A small line of people and carts were making their way into the city – one by one, they were greeting the tollman at the gate with either exhaustion or fake smiles, along with their trade permits or travel papers. Vincent was no exception – when they had their turn, the caravan provided their trade permits, and Vincent, his mercenary crest (an equal passage form to that of traveling guild members, but with less respect). His crest was a palm-sized square of bronze with a helmet symbol over a small red crystal that was inset in the center. The gatekeeper made a spectacle of Vincent upon flashing it.

“We see an awful number of mercenaries trying to gain entry lately,” he said with a proud, condescending tone. “Where do you arrive from, Mercenary?”

“Originally from the Torelle Abandonment, but arriving from Aheya,” Vincent responded with truth and clarity, very familiar with the “mercenary treatment”.

“And what is your business in our city? Surely, more than traveling with an artisan caravan?”

“I’m here upon request of Regnah Sivverya.” Vincent paused, and corrected, “Dr. Regnah Sivverya.”

Many present, including the caravan members he hadn’t introduced himself to, the guards, and the few in line behind them, all showed a face of disbelief.

“You mean to tell me Master Sivverya sent for some trashy, unkempt punk?” The guard spat with his last word. “Ha! Well-spun, but a lie, nonetheless. Watch yourself, or you’ll see imprisonment or worse. Now state. Your. Business!”

Vesic had given Vincent travel documents detailing the basics of his business, which he had given to the gatekeeper when he flashed his crest, which had then been passed on to another guard without looking. The second guard tapped the haughty one’s shoulder, pointing at a stamp from Regnah’s laboratory.

“The pass is authentic, Tellerus,” the guard said with a sense of authority, handing the papers back to Vincent. “Please pass, apologies for the trouble.”

It took quite a bit of effort for Vincent not to smirk at the conceited guard, who turned away in a huff and shouted, “Next in line! Hurry up!” Vincent’s mercenary attitude slowly replaced his faux-military etiquette, but he still maintained his composure.

The inside of the city was even more stunning than the walls – outstretched before Vincent was a wave of flowers on either side of a stone path, with a triangular pattern engraved every few meters. The air was sweet, and houses and businesses were lined up a couple meters away from the entrance. To his left, he saw a two-story pillbox – military quarters for the ones stationed at the gate for more than a few hours, most likely. The gleam of Essence from the barrier was visible above, giving a slight rainbow effect to the air. Far off into the city’s center – maybe a few dozens of kilometers in – was a set of towers, one in obvious disrepair. The other was taller, wider, and more modern (this was likely the center of their government, the king’s home, and the command center for the military). Although they paired in the distance, Vincent could tell the older tower was probably about a few kilometers closer than the seat of power.

Vincent took in the sights for a few moments, forgetting his original purpose here and for once feeling relaxed, if only a little. The caravan leader tapped Vincent’s shoulder, bringing his focus back to reality.

“A parting gift, sir, as well as your payment for the escort,” he said warmly. “Milyae wanted to give it to you personally, but it seems she’s on a certain mission.”

Milyae, Vincent remembered, was the name of the woman with the veil on the caravan. He did not remember her sewing anything that could be of use to him, but then again, he spent much of the trip on guard or gleaning information. He was handed a small, palm-sized box along with a thin envelope, and the caravan leader waved goodbye as he returned to his cart.

Vincent opened the envelope first – it contained six bills of value, the equivalent of around 60 gold pieces in Alhose, about what he expected from the escort. He could get a couple of good meals and a night or two at a good inn with this, along with a refill of his cigarettes, of which he had three remaining.

The other item contained two red-dyed cloth wristlets, with a unique pattern sewn into it. He didn’t really understand it, until he investigated the box again and saw a small, folded piece of paper.

“May your journeys include at least one faithful ally. These should help against magical foes, Mr. Warrior.”

…so it read. Along with it was an unreadable scribble at the bottom, probably her name based on the position. It was now that he realized he had only introduced himself to a few in the caravan, and she was not one of them. He sighed, and put on one of the wristlets, tucking the other into his pocket.

Vincent wandered near the walls – he was only told that Regnah lived near the edge of the city, not which side or how far. He felt like a tourist, though in a way, he was. After twenty minutes and a mile of searching, he kicked his pride and asked a food stall for directions. The man was a Retura – a beast-man, specifically a bear-type called a Kamuy – running a dried meats stall.

“Eh, doktor Ziverryaz lap?” The man talked with a deep, gentle voice and a heavy accent. “Eetz just right ov de Zout gate. You kant miz et, eet haz zolar panelz in de yart.”

Vincent collected the basics: just right of the South gate and a yard full of solar panels. He thanked the merchant with a few silver coins and waved goodbye with a “thank you” before turning in the direction of the South gate.

His first instinct was to go to the gate that he came through, but after a quick consultation of the city map (he found a fixture on one of the streets with points of interest for tourists), he realized that there was the Southwest gate (the one he came through) and a South gate, which was about eight kilometers away. Vincent cursed his limited knowledge of this city despite being born and raised in Alhose. This was his first time in Saruja, and honestly his first time in a big city with so many entrances.

After another hour, he managed to find a place like the Retura had described. The building was a dark cream color, with a butterfly roof and what seemed like steel panels for walls. The yard didn’t seem to have solar panels on first glance, but upon closer inspection, parts of the yard’s floor were metal and glass, ostensibly submerged into the ground (the twilight hour had already begun, so it made sense that the panels wouldn’t be active, though this was more technologically advanced than Vincent was expecting), and the parts of the yard that weren’t panels seemed to be exotic and medicinal plants, some of which weren’t native to Alhose, at least as far as Vincent knew.

He approached the door facing the streets and knocked on it. The response was immediate – a well-aged Sichie of about a meter and a half or so and seventy years opened the door; his nose was a little bulbous, and his eyes were thin with large brown irises. He wore a black button-up shirt and white slacks underneath a stereotypical lab coat stained with what appeared to be (and what Vincent hoped to be) red paint, soil, and grease.

“Good evening,” the man said with a steady and deliberate tone. “Am I able to help you?”

“I am Vincent Laverse. I’m here to see Regnah Sivverya,” Vincent responded automatically.

The man smiled softly. “That would be me. With that name and posture, I assume you are Vesic’s referral?”

Vincent nodded. He had instinctively straightened his stance when the door opened, looking straight ahead, and avoiding eye contact. Within a few words, however, he realized that Dr. Sivverya was not a “military etiquette” type. He relaxed his posture a little.

“Not to sound rude, but maybe you should keep an eye on the time when you arrive for a meeting.” Regnah’s face became stern for a moment but immediately returned to being kind. “That said, I appreciate you coming sooner rather than later, because it means we can get some items off the checklist.”

Regnah’s house was… sparser than Vincent was expecting, considering the size. There was, in fact, a dining room with a table, and a living room with a few chairs and a radio, but the walls were featureless and white, and there was almost nothing else of note in the rooms he was guided through. Though, for a laboratory, this seemed doubly weird – the space was more like an apartment unit than a place for science and experimentation.

Once he was led to the stairs, however, the “laboratory” sense was more prominent. Downstairs from the living space was a sterile white room with bright lights, a table at one end with various tools on it, and a C-shaped table with a surgical bed in the center. Vincent shuddered at the thought of what exactly Regnah would be doing in a secluded operating room like this.

There was another room down here, where the lights flicked off as they came down the stairs. Out of the hallway, another tall, younger man with long blond hair tied into a ponytail revealed himself. He had a sharp chin and wore oval glasses with a half-rim blue-metal frame, complementing his gentle blue eyes. His complexion was that of someone who had worked mostly indoors – his skin was an almost pasty-white, though he had a little more color in his hands than his face.

“Oh, we have a guest?” The young man’s voice was a higher register. He had a lab coat not dissimilar to Regnah’s draped over his arm. “I didn’t know we were expecting someone today, not least of all so late.”

It was a little irritating that they’d both mentioned Vincent’s timing – had he known his way around the city, or at least been given directions when Vesic prodded him to take the job, he could have been here at a reasonable hour, or at least while the sun was up. He cursed Vesic’s lax nature – the one sign that showed that he had been drinking already, his beating around the bush, and Vincent hadn’t caught it.

The young man extended his arm. “My name is Simon. Pleased to meet you, mister…”

“Vincent Laverse.” Vincent met his grasp with his own hand and shook it. “Sorry for the tardiness, I wasn’t given directions to this place.”

Simon gave an apologetic smile as he shook. His hand felt callused, as if he’d been working with them for a few days. “You’re the one I’ve been hearing about. You have quite the reputation as part of the team who killed the mad general.”

Vincent felt a tinge of irritation towards Simon for mentioning that – not only was he part of the strike team, but he was the one who dealt the killing blow on Cestalian. This was not a high point in his life, it was something of shame for Vincent – principally considering their relationship.

“Simon,” Regnah said, “let us focus on the important matters, yes?”

Regnah tapped his foot on a white square on the floor just left of where they were talking. Out of the floor, five poles extended and expanded, forming four block stools with a circular table in the middle. Whether this was pure technology or maztech, Vincent was surprised and impressed. This, along with the panels outside, made Regnah out to be more than just a medical doctor or Essence scientist.

Vincent and Simon took a seat, while Regnah wandered off into the other room.

“Firstly,” Simon began, “we would like to know a little more about you.” He pulled out a thin piece of metal that unfolded into a writing panel. From atop his left ear, he pulled a pen-like tool. “I’d like to start with your history combatting the Baael.”

Regnah returned with a platter carrying three mugs, each with steam piping out from them, as Simon asked rudimentary questions that Vincent then answered.

---

A good amount of time had passed by the time the questions had ended – as expected, it was less of a job interview and more of a tabloid one. The questions regarding his Baael knowledge boiled down to general weak points, what he had faced, and his strategies for taking on swarms – this much, at least, he could answer with some modicum of confidence. Simon had avoided questions regarding the SSM (and by extension, Cestalian), but there were more specific questions, such as his travel history (he had only traveled through Alhose), his skill with weapons (he had practiced with swords and small guns, but nothing bigger than a machine pistol), and his knowledge of national leaders and their hierarchies.

“Good, we have enough data to start with.” Simon folded the device back into his coat. “Glad to have you aboard, Vincent!”

“That’s all it took?” Vincent was caught off guard. No questions about his personality or his leadership tactics? Just a few questions about how he fought and some social studies tests?

“We have information regarding your past jobs with Vesic’s initial referral,” Regnah explained, putting the empty mugs back on the platter. “To be frank, we are more interested in determining what kind of person you are now – what you know as far as political and military expertise, and from that, we can glean a basic…” He cocked his head for a moment, looking for the word. “… profile.”

“Think of this interview as a formality”, Simon said. “For now, we’ll judge how you work in a group through the housing unit and the small missions we’re assigned until our group formation is complete.”

Vincent faced Regnah and asked, “I thought the team was already built?” Based on what Vesic had told him, Regnah should’ve had all the members selected and ready to fight.

Regnah shook his head. “I am afraid that bit of information may have been misconstrued on its way to you.” He lifted the dishes and started walking back to the other room, his voice raising as he got out of sight. “The team is in the process of being built – so far, we have you, Simon, and one other who you will meet at the house.”

“How many are we expected to have in the unit?” Vincent asked, not truly wanting to know the answer now.

“We want at least four,” Simon confirmed. “Preferably, we want six to ten, max.”

Such a small team for a strike force, Vincent thought. Though, his team to kill Cestalian, he remembered, was small and useful as well, holding just that number, ten. The problem he really had with it was the minimum: four. A tactical force with only four members seemed dangerous, especially if that team was tasked with defending the largest city in the world from the largest Baael attacks in the world.

“Do you have positions determined for these members?” Vincent prodded, looking for any sign of security. “What qualities are you after in search of the members? Or are you just hiring mercenaries with whatever works to defend your king?”

He paused, realizing his emotions were getting riled up. He took a moment to study Simon’s face – it was a little shocked by the outburst, but still calm and studious. Regnah came out of the other room, wiping his hands with a towel – his soft smile had not changed.

Simon cleared his throat (obviously anxious) and adjusted his glasses. “I… We are doing this on behalf of the College, not the military. Although most of our supplies come from the military, such as the training grounds and tools, our major funds are currently backed by the College – including the housing, test equipment, and personal funds.” He motioned to Regnah and continued: “Regnah in particular is helping me iron out the details of the project.”

Simon’s hand started to twirl his pen – an involuntary movement attached to his anxiety, more than likely. “Regarding your questions, in order: there will not be assignments to roles directly, but we trust you to be the leader of this group based on the information provided by Vesic.” He held up two fingers. “Secondly, the qualities we are looking for are survivability, tactical intelligence, fundamental Essence knowledge, and strength of will – qualities we can find quickest and easiest through structured questions.”

He pointed at Vincent; “You, specifically, hold a role because we know of your skills and talents ahead of time.”

He tilted his head up, looking into the lights. “Please trust me, Vincent. My goal is not only to build a prime strike force / political liaison unit. It is to give hope to those who need it, and to provide a home to those warriors and fighters who cannot find a place.”

Something about that last part resonated with Vincent – a home for those who cannot find a place. It wasn’t militaristic or something a government would come up with, it was a passion project mission statement. But despite how he felt about it emotionally, the fact of the matter was that it was just that: a passion project. And Vincent couldn’t shake the feeling that if this was approached the wrong way, it would fall apart violently.

Vesic’s voice echoed in Vincent’s head as he weighed these thoughts. We agreed on you. Regnah and Simon, despite not really knowing him, agreed that Vincent was the person to lead this squad. Did Vesic’s testimony really mean that much to them? Vincent wanted to believe that he was able to lead a squad, especially one he had a hand in creating.

He patted his chest with his fist inverted, and said, “I’ll do my best with the resources I have, so trust that I will lead this group better than anyone else.”