"Jack, you finally showed up," a rough voice said. It was deep and solid, like gravel.
The speaker was a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his cheek and slick black hair tied back loosely.
Asmon Gainsborough.
His uniform was always a bit messy, but his skills were unmatched. He was also very direct, sometimes painfully so.
With a toothy grin, Asmon stood up and clapped Alex on the back.
The hit was so strong it almost knocked the air out of him.
"Glad to see you still breathing," Asmon said. "I told you not to spend too much time on the frontlines."
He let out a heavy sigh and pointed at the chair across from his desk.
"Sit. We have another mission."
Alex blinked.
"Already?"
Normally, a soldier got at least a week to recover, especially after the kind of battle he had just returned from.
Even if he counted the delay in his return, it had not been that long.
This could only mean something out of the norm had happened.
"...Did we lose? Badly?
