Over the next few days, Rion dedicated himself to meticulously fine-tuning the Sentinel, ensuring it was in prime condition for the upcoming expedition. Although he was assured of his skill, he knew that even the best equipment could fail under the harshest conditions. He couldn't afford to take any chances.
That was why everyday, he conducted rigorous tests, pushing the Sentinel to its limits. In the mornings, he took it to remote areas around Pinecrest, simulating the rugged terrain of Tempest Grove. Each successful test reinforced his confidence in the Sentinel's capabilities.
In the afternoons, he returned to his workshop to analyze the data collected during the field trials. He fine-tuned the Sentinel's systems, optimizing its performance. He adjusted the calibrations, reinforced weak points, and even added a few new features to increase its adaptability.
Between these intense preparation sessions, he also managed to finish his recent commissions. The custom firearms he had crafted for Li He's friends were well-received, earning him a substantial windfall. With the extra money, he bolstered his resources, investing in high-quality gear and cutting-edge tools as well as stocking up on essential supplies for the expedition.
The day of departure arrived sooner than he had anticipated. He methodically packed his gear into a reinforced, durable backpack, arranging everything for quick access and efficient organization. He donned his tactical attire, designed for optimal mobility and protection, before securing the already packaged Sentinel Mark-1 onto a sturdy cart.
With everything in place, Rion made his way to the designated meeting point set by the Normos Family.
* * *
The sun was beginning to rise over the Northern District of Pinecrest, casting long shadows over the private airport situated along the rugged coastline. The airport was a modest facility compared to the bustling commercial terminals of the city, but it was crucial for discreet operations—ideal for cargo, clandestine meetings, and off-the-record flights.
Four imposing cargo planes stood in a line on the tarmac, their metal skins glinting under the fading sunlight. Each plane was under meticulous inspection by ground crews, who moved with practiced precision. Engineers in coveralls checked the engines, loaded fuel, and ran diagnostics, ensuring that every system was in perfect working order. The hum of machinery and the occasional barked command filled the air, creating a backdrop of organized chaos.
Some distance from the planes, a group of about forty individuals stood in distinct groups and sized each other up. They were an eclectic mix, their appearances reflecting a variety of backgrounds and specializations. Most were dressed in tactical attire—body armor, combat boots, utility belts bristling with weapons and gadgets. Others wore civilian clothing that concealed their deadly intentions and capabilities.
Standing apart from the groups was Rion, his tactical suit a blend of dark greens and grays. He stood there with a quiet confidence, his gaze sharp and calculating as he observed the people around him.
What in the ever-loving fuck is going on here?
Contrary to his confident outer appearance, his mind was in turmoil at the scene before him. The people were obviously all mercenaries and their presence here was no coincidence; they had also accepted the Normos Family job.
But that was what was shocking about the situation. He had anticipated a team of about ten people—those who had accepted the mission. But now, there were at least fifty individuals here, with more still arriving. It was as if every mercenary in the region had gotten an invitation to the party, and he had shown up thinking it was a small dinner gathering.
Those bastards at Arlo's held out on me....
To make matters more confusing, the mercenaries weren't just from one group. He recognized teams from a variety of mercenary associations, some even larger in scope compared to the Mercenary Legion.
All this for some dusty old ruins?
Rion couldn't help but wonder what the exact details of the mission were. No archaeological expedition could be worth this much manpower. As he scanned the area, trying to spot familiar faces or gather more intel, his attention was drawn to two very famous mercenary teams facing off against each other, holding what he could only describe as the most intense staring contest ever.
To the left, a group of six men and women dressed in urban camouflage gear conversed in hushed tones. They were from the Black Vipers, a notorious mercenary group known for their urban warfare expertise and ruthless efficiency. Their leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, scanned the other team with sharp, calculating eyes.
Opposite them, a trio of women stood apart, dressed in sleek black outfits with subtle, integrated armor plating. These were the Shadow Sisters, experts in stealth and sabotage. Their leader, a tall woman with striking silver hair, leaned casually against a container and stared back, her piercing gaze betraying nothing of her thoughts.
Kuuuuh... What an electrifying atmosphere...
As he was absorbed in his thoughts, a figure emerged from one of the hangars—a man in a tailored suit that contrasted sharply with the utilitarian garb of the mercenaries. He walked with the kind of swagger that suggested he could probably sell sand in a desert and have people thank him for it.
Behind him were two bodyguards, one large man and an equally large woman. Both carried a huge bastard sword on their person, looking formidable as they escorted the man.
Those guys are dangerous... Very dangerous...
The suited man stopped in front of the assembled mercenaries and cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience," he began, his voice smooth and practiced. "I am Dixie Normos, your liason for this mission. I see we have quite the diverse assembly here today."
His words solicited a chuckle from some members of the crowd, helping to slightly ease the previously tense atmosphere.
"According to the mission details that you all accepted," he continued, "You should be aware that we seek a certain ruins from a bygone era that lies deep in the heart of Tempest Grove—a place that, as some of you may know, isn't exactly welcoming to visitors."
Rion subtly raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to let out a low whistle. The man had a flair for the dramatic, that much was certain. But despite the over-the-top introduction, there was an undeniable weight to his words. Whatever lay in the Tempest Grove truly had to be significant for them to need so many people.
"So, why the need for so many of you?" Dixie continued. "Because like other anomalous regions on this planet, the Tempest Grove is as dangerous as it is mysterious. Between the unpredictable weather, and the creatures that call it home, we need to be prepared. We don't know exactly what we're walking into, but I assure you, it will be anything but easy."
Rion noticed a few mercenaries exchanging skeptical glances as the speech continued, while others nodded, seemingly reassured by the man's confident demeanor.
"As for the role you'll be playing," Dixie said, once again flashing that disarming smile, "you'll be escorting a small party of experts—scientists and historians—into the heart of the Grove. You all will be assigned to six different teams led by commanders from our ranks upon arrival. Each team will be responsible for a sector of the Grove as we make our way through it. The experts will be divided into your groups, and your job is simple: keep them alive, fend off any threats, and make sure they find the location while still in one piece."
"Now, before we proceed, I need to address a few ground rules," he continued after a short pause, clapping his hands together, his tone growing more serious. "First and foremost, cooperation is key. Regardless of your affiliations or rivalries, you are all part of the same team for the duration of this mission."
"Secondly, any and all discoveries are to be reported immediately. Failure to comply with these rules will not be tolerated."
"And finally, please remember that the stakes are incredibly high, so approach this mission with the gravity it deserves."
He makes it sound like they're planning a full-scale invasion rather than an archaeological dig, Rion mused.
Dixie smiled, a gesture that somehow seemed both genuine and unnervingly shrewd. "I know that some of you are probably wary of the dangers we might face, and skeptical of what lies ahead. However, I assure you that the rewards for those who perform well will be significant. The Normos Family values results and excellence, and there will be substantial bonuses for those who distinguish themselves on this mission."
Rion noted the subtle shift in the crowd. Mercenaries were a pragmatic lot; the promise of substantial rewards had a palpable effect, turning skeptical glances into expressions of determination and interest. Money talked, and Dixie Normos knew how to use it to his advantage.
Dixie continued, "We have substantial resources at our disposal, and those who go above and beyond will be generously compensated. Think of this as an investment in your future—both financially and reputationally. Success here could lead to more prestigious and lucrative opportunities within the Normos Family's extensive network."
Rion felt a mixture of curiosity and caution. He knew better than to blindly trust the promises of powerful families, but the potential rewards were tempting. This mission was clearly high stakes, and with high stakes came high rewards—and high risks.
"Now," Dixie said, gesturing towards the planes, "we will begin boarding shortly. Please follow the instructions of the ground crew and prepare for departure. Dismissed."
With that, he stepped aside, allowing the ground crew to take over. The mercenaries began to disperse, heading towards the planes to stow their gear. Rion, still processing the situation, took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey ahead. This was it—no turning back now.
He wheeled the cart carrying the Sentinel Mark-1 towards his chosen plane, and secured the Sentinel and his gear after which he climbed the narrow stairs into the passenger cabin.
Finding an empty seat near the window, he settled in the uncomfortable chair, feeling the soft hum of the engines beneath him. The cabin was dimly lit, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of overhead lights that cast long shadows across the rows of seats.
He leaned back, closing his eyes momentarily, feeling the tension of the upcoming journey settle into his bones.
After making himself comfortable in the worn seat, he opened his eyes and glanced around the cabin. A few other mercenaries were scattered throughout, their faces shadowed by fatigue or anticipation. These people were going to be the stepping stone to his ascent.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft snore from the mercenary seated beside him. A large cowboy hat obscured most of the man's face, but from the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, it was clear he was fast asleep.
Like him, the man posessed a dark complexion that was very prevalent in Northern District. However, one standout thing about the man's getup was the teddy bear around his waist, with a small, sewn-on patch that read 'Ilya.'
Yup... I've seen it all....
As he mused over the odd sight, the engines of the cargo plane roared to life. Rion stared out the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. The particulars of this mission was shrouded in mystery, but one thing was clear: it had the potential to be a game-changer. Whatever lay ahead, he was ready to face it head-on.
«Whoosh!»
The air grew colder as the plane lifted off and soared into the sky, the familiar hum of engines turning into a steady background noise. Rion took a glance out the window at the receding lights of Pinecrest like a god looking down upon the material world. The illusion buoyed his spirits a little.
One day, I will float among the clouds by my self and own all that is within my grasp.