Chapter 32: Sepoy Mercenary Members
The hallway was quiet when Raven stepped out of the study. The faint crackle of torches painted rippling shadows across the marble walls, and the distant night wind brushed through the corridor windows. He straightened his coat, the weight of the evening settling on his shoulders.
"My Lord!"
The call came from above.
Emanuel was already descending the split staircase, neat as always, a file tucked under his arm. His quick steps echoed against the polished wood before he stopped a few feet from Raven and bowed.
"Mr. Jacob and his team are waiting in the guest room. I've already confirmed their arrival."
Raven nodded, expression unreadable. "Then let's not keep them waiting."
Emanuel handed him two sheets of parchment. "Their contract, My Lord. I double-checked the seals."
Raven took the papers without slowing, his eyes scanning the fine inkwork as they walked down the long corridor. By the time they reached the guest room, he had already memorized half of its contents.
Emanuel knocked twice.
The door opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with iron-grey hair and calm brown eyes. His presence alone commanded respect.
"Ah, Young Master Thomas," the man greeted warmly. "I thought you'd only come by morning."
"I prefer to end things tonight," Raven replied, stepping past him.
The guest room was modest but well-kept—a pair of beds at the center, a small desk, and a few chairs arranged neatly around a low table. A faint scent of old polish lingered in the air.
Seven people were inside.
The moment Raven entered, they rose from their seats in unison. The woman standing closest to the leader bowed first. "Greetings, Young Master."
Raven returned the nod and let his gaze sweep across them, taking in posture, attire, and subtle tells—their discipline, their strength, their fatigue.
Jacob, the leader, took a step forward. "Allow me to introduce my team."
He pointed to the man beside him.
"This is Marcellus—our Knight."
The burly man inclined his head slightly. He wore a long black overcoat and a bowler hat that didn't quite hide the scars across his jaw. A longsword hung at his waist, worn smooth by years of battle.
"His blade work rivals that of an intermediate-ranked swordsman," Jacob said.
Raven could tell without hearing it. The man's stance spoke for him—steady, balanced, always within reach of his weapon.
"Next, Selene."
Jacob gestured to a tall woman in her thirties. Her raven hair was tied in a tight braid, and sharp green eyes studied Raven like a puzzle. She wore a pale blue gown that looked out of place beside the metallic wand in her hand.
"She's an Acolyte Wizard," Jacob continued. "Not powerful, but clever enough to fight above her rank."
Selene smiled faintly, a quiet confidence in her gaze.
"Reece," Jacob went on. The man who stepped forward adjusted his spectacles, slim and unassuming. Yet the faint scent of beast musk clung to his clothes, betraying his craft.
"Our strategist and Beastmaster. Tracking, infiltration—his expertise lies there."
"Pleasure," Reece said, offering a curt nod.
"Leona."
The woman's auburn hair glinted under the candlelight. She wore a white shirt rolled to her elbows, iron gauntlets over her hands, and the expression of someone who enjoyed breaking things.
"She prefers fists to weapons," Jacob said dryly.
Leona cracked her knuckles with a grin. "And they haven't failed me yet."
The final member was the youngest—a petite woman in her twenties, with a longbow slung casually over her shoulder. Her gaze was sharp and unflinching.
"Felicity," Jacob said. "Ranger. Her aim is… unpleasantly precise."
Felicity gave a small smile. "I try."
Raven set the parchment on the table and sat. "Let's discuss your contract."
He began to read aloud, his voice calm but measured. The flames from the nearby lamp flickered against the parchment.
Contract of Employment
Contractee: Thomas Holmes
Contractors: Sepoy Mercenary Group
Members: Jacob (Leader), Quincy, Felicity, Leona, Reece, Selene, Marcellus
Duration: 10 years (Starting from 8th September, Year 1420)
Payment:
– 58 Platinum Coins (upfront)
– One Uncommon Spirit Technique (complete)
– One Uncommon Knight Technique (complete)
Obligations:
– Protect Thomas Holmes.
– Assist in reclaiming Azmar Town.
– No interference in noble or imperial conflicts unless in direct protection of the employer.
When he finished, Raven looked up. "I'll provide the complete Spirit Technique only after Azmar is reclaimed. For now—" he reached into his inventory and drew out a small notebook, its cover bound in enchanted leather "—you'll receive an incomplete version."
Jacob took the notebook carefully. The others leaned closer as he flipped it open.
The room grew quiet. The faint hum of mana leaked from the pages, silver runes glowing faintly against the parchment. For thirty minutes, the only sound was the steady turn of pages.
Finally, Jacob closed the notebook and exhaled, his expression one of awe.
"This… is superior to the one we've used for decades," he said slowly. "Even incomplete, it could let us reach the peak Radiant rank within ten years."
"You're confident, then?" Raven asked.
Jacob's lips curved into a rare smile. "More than ever."
"Then let's sign."
Emanuel stepped forward, setting down ink, pens, and two fresh parchments. One by one, the mercenaries signed, their names written in firm, practiced strokes. Jacob signed last.
When Raven pressed his own name beside theirs, the ink shimmered briefly—magic sealing the agreement.
"Emanuel," Raven said, looking up. "Do you have the servant contracts ready?"
"Yes, My Lord." Emanuel produced another stack of papers.
"Bring them in."
Within minutes, the household staff entered—Emanuel's recruits from earlier that day. Each stepped forward nervously, signing under Raven's calm gaze. The night stretched on in quiet efficiency, pen scratches filling the air.
When the last paper was sealed, Raven slid the contracts toward Jacob. "Keep these. I prefer trust over chains."
Jacob accepted with a respectful nod. "We'll honor it."
Before they could disperse, Quincy raised her voice. "My Lord, about accommodations…"
Raven turned toward her. "You prefer to stay outside the mansion?"
Jacob nodded. "We have families, and rotating shifts would serve us better. Half of us will guard during the day, half at night."
Raven tapped the table lightly, thinking. "Reasonable. But when I leave for the capital, I can take only one person. The rest may rest or remain here."
"Then take our leader," Quincy suggested. "We'll guard the mansion. Safer that way—your servants have been… unfortunate in the past."
Raven paused, faint surprise crossing his features. "True. I hadn't considered that."
He handed Jacob a pouch heavy with coins. "Fifty-eight platinum, as agreed. I'll deliver the Knight Technique tomorrow evening."
Jacob accepted it with a bow. "We'll hold you to your word, My Lord."
Raven smiled faintly. "You'll find I keep my promises."
After discussing patrol schedules and perimeters, Raven dismissed them. The group left quietly, boots thudding against the polished floor.
"Arrange their quarters," he told Emanuel as they walked out. "And check the locks before dawn."
"Yes, My Lord."
The two ascended the staircase together. The soft amber glow of the sconces illuminated their path.
"Is the master bedroom ready?" Raven asked.
"It is. We repaired the terrace pump and finished cleaning."
The door opened with a soft click. Warmth spilled out from the fireplace, filling the room with the scent of burning cedar. The four-poster bed stood in the center, sheets crisp and clean. Everything gleamed—newly polished, newly prepared.
Emanuel placed a leather pouch on the desk. "I spent sixteen gold coins on materials and repairs. The rest is inside."
"Keep it," Raven said. "Record everything in the ledger. I'll review it monthly."
"Yes, My Lord." He bowed and stepped back toward the door. "Sleep well."
When the door closed, silence settled.
Raven exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed. From his inventory, he drew out a Gladstone bag and opened it, pulling out a thick file.
Inside was a document stamped with the royal crest—the Will.
"If I want to transfer Thomas's father's assets," Raven murmured, flipping through the pages, "I'll need the executors' signatures."
Two names stood out. Sara Wills. Edward Amell.
He frowned. "Sara runs the Book Emporium. The Amells manage the Velvet Millenary and Dorthey's Confectionery. Yet neither visited Thomas at the hospital…"
He leaned back, the realization tightening in his chest. "Anyone with influence could've learned about this Will."
[Then it's likely the Council of Nobles already reached them,] Zera's voice whispered in his mind. [Without the executors' letters, you can't claim the inheritance.]
Raven's jaw clenched. "And I don't even know who's pulling the strings."
[Then stop brooding and get stronger,] she replied flatly.
He chuckled under his breath. "Easier said than done."
Reaching into his inventory again, Raven drew out a small vial filled with shimmering blue liquid. It caught the firelight, glowing like frozen lightning.
He rolled it once between his fingers, eyes hardening.
"Then let's begin."
[You're going to drink it now? Why not wait until your soul fully recovers?] Zera's voice echoed, wary and sharp.
"I'm tired of being weak." Raven's reply came out calm, yet his grip on the vial trembled slightly. He uncorked it, a faint frost spilling from the opening. The bluish liquid shimmered like molten ice—beautiful, but dangerous.
He tilted his head back and swallowed.
The cold struck instantly. A biting frost crawled down his throat, spreading like venom through his chest. The flames in the fireplace dimmed, snuffed out as frost crept across the walls and glass panes. His breath turned to mist.
He tried to gasp—but even his jaw refused to move. His skin turned pale, his fingers rigid. He sat frozen on the bed, locked in a silent battle with the invading chill.
Minutes turned to hours.
Yet through the pain, he noticed something strange—his heart still beat, steady and strong. His blood flowed. Only the surface of his body froze.
'It's not killing me,' he realized through gritted teeth. 'It's tempering me.'
When the frost finally receded, his body exhaled a faint mist, and he felt… sharper. A strange stillness clung to him—he could feel the air, sense the cold hidden within it.
"I can feel it," he whispered. "The chill itself…"
He reached into his inventory and pulled out the Frozen Ender spear. Its shaft glimmered faintly under the moonlight.
[Don't tell me you're going to use it now?] Zera's tone sharpened.
"I just want to move," Raven said, gripping the weapon. "Maybe I'll learn something."
[Pointless. Even my previous owner couldn't unlock its full potential. That spear belonged to someone from the Primordial Era. He sealed it himself before dying.]
Raven's expression hardened. "Even so, I saw what it can do. Casper used it—and just mimicking him made my technique sharper."
He stared at the weapon's icy surface. "Maybe the key isn't the spear. Maybe it's memory. Wait… Memory? Past?"
He then recalled Zera mentioning something.
'Her owner, Runeth, told her to learn the 'Past Touch' skill at all costs.'
He raised his hand. "Let's test a theory."
The runes in his eyes lit faintly.
"Past Touch."
The world shattered.
A flood of blue light swallowed his vision. His consciousness was pulled—ripped—from his body.
…
He awoke beneath a vast blue sky. The scent of grass brushed against him, though the air felt eerily still—too perfect, too quiet.
'This isn't my room,' he thought, scanning the open field around him.
Then he saw it.
A lone figure stood ahead, moving with inhuman precision. The being wielded a spear—iron, ancient—and each motion was a lesson in grace and destruction. Thrust. Sweep. Deflect. Feint. Spin. Over and over, a rhythm so flawless that even the air seemed to dance with it.
Raven's eyes followed, mesmerized. Every strike corrected the mistakes in his own form.
'So that's what true mastery looks like…'
The being's skin was blue, faintly luminescent under the false sunlight. A third eye gleamed from its forehead, glowing softly. Two delicate antennae swayed as if feeling the air itself. Ice shards orbited its body like obedient spirits.
Raven took a cautious step forward. "Hey!"
The being didn't react.
"What is this place?"
"A fragment," said a voice behind him—aged, calm, and powerful.
Raven spun around.
A man in a golden robe stood a few feet away. His hair was pale gold, his eyes like amber glass. Wrinkles lined his face, but his presence radiated command—effortless and overwhelming.
"W-Who are you?" Raven asked.
The man smiled faintly. "Runeth Aixus Rit'zyk. Some called me Holem's Crown. Others… A-035."
Raven's breath caught. "You—you're the owner of Zera?"
Runeth chuckled. "A remnant of him. I died long ago. What you see is a will—what remained of me inside the spear."
His gaze sharpened. "You've inherited more than I expected."
Raven frowned. "You said… your soul was reborn?"
"Reincarnated, yes. The Eternal River of Life cleansed me. Erased every memory. What I am now is only a whisper left behind. But I left something behind too—a Memory Library. Zera was its key."
Raven hesitated. "I've already learned three skills from those books."
Runeth's expression softened. "And yet your soul is damaged. The Ice potion's resonance tells me you weren't born with this affinity."
Raven's hand tightened on the spear. "I wasn't born with any choice."
After a long silence, he told him everything—about the devouring power, the bloodline absorption, and the presence of Casper within him.
Runeth listened, grave.
"So the World Eater survived." He muttered, his tone darkening. "It evolved into that thing inside you. We once tried to erase it—gods, mystics, all of us—but it devoured everything. When I realized I couldn't kill it, I took it within my soul and entered the Eternal River of Life. Still, I didn't expect to survive the cleansing rebirth fire."
Raven's heart skipped. "Then… is there a way to remove it?"
"Remove? No." Runeth shook his head. "Conquer it."
"Conquer?"
"Comprehend its essence—Devouring—and make it your own. But fail, and you'll become its vessel."
Raven's face paled.
Runeth studied him again. "Though… perhaps you're safe. Zera already sealed that fragment within the System. It can no longer harm your body."
Raven exhaled in relief—but then another voice laughed coldly.
A crimson mist bled from his chest, twisting into shape. A boy—pale, red-haired, wearing black robes—emerged beside him. His eyes were white as ash.
"Didn't think I'd see you, old man." The boy grinned.
Runeth didn't flinch. "Casper."
He waved his hand. Golden runes flared into existence, forming chains that wrapped around the boy's body. Casper struggled, screaming.
"You think these toys can stop me?!"
Another golden chain coiled around Raven himself.
"H-Hey—why me?!"
"Because you're one and the same," Runeth said. His voice carried both sorrow and authority. "He isn't a separate being anymore. Just another face of you."
The ground trembled. Runes swirled in the air like fireflies as Runeth began a long incantation. Each symbol burned brighter, sinking into Raven's body and then into Casper's.
"You can't erase him," Runeth said, his tone low and final. "But I can seal him. He'll only surface if your will breaks."
Golden chains shot forth again—binding Casper tighter until he was dragged screaming into Raven's chest.
The world cracked apart.
Raven fell to his knees, clutching his chest as light flooded his vision.
Then—silence.