He stood before it, his eyes scanning the listings. Each one was a request, a mission, a plea for help from someone with coin but not enough strength.
Bounty: Clear the Wolf Den
Description: A pack of ten Rock-Skinned Wolves has made a den near the southern quarries, attacking miners.
Threat Level: 6th layer Qi Condensation Realm recommended for a team of three.
Reward: 50 Gold Coins or 5 Low-Grade Spirit Stones.
Bounty: Escort Merchant Caravan
Description: Escort a shipment of iron ore to the neighboring town of Silverstream.
Threat Level: High risk of bandit attack.
Minimum 8th layer Qi Condensation Realm required.
Reward: 20 Low-Grade Spirit Stones per person.
He analyzed the board with the cool detachment of an engineer reviewing project specs. Most were too difficult or required a team. He needed something he could handle alone, something that would offer a challenge but not overwhelm him. It had to be a mission that would allow him to test his capabilities and gain real combat experience without revealing the true, monstrous extent of his power.
Then he saw it, pinned to the very bottom corner of the board, seemingly overlooked by the more powerful mercenaries.
Bounty: Pest Extermination
Description: A large colony of Shadow Weavers (venomous spiders) has infested the cellar of the old Willow Creek Distillery. The owner needs them cleared out before he can begin renovations.
Threat Level: Shadow Weavers are individually weak (equivalent to 1st-2nd layer Qi Condensation Realm), but their venom is paralyzing and they attack in swarms. Caution advised.
Reward: 15 Gold Coins.
He did a quick mental analysis. The low individual threat meant less risk of catastrophic failure. The swarm dynamic would provide multiple data points on crowd control. The venom variable introduced a critical parameter that would test his caution and adaptability.
The reward was a secondary bonus. The primary objective was clear a controlled combat simulation with zero external observers. It was the perfect first field test.
He reached out and plucked the parchment from the board. He walked over to a long wooden counter at the side of the room where a grey-haired, one-eyed man was polishing a mug with a rag. The man looked up, his single eye sizing Aryan up with bored indifference.
"Here for a drink, kid, or are you lost?" the man grunted.
Aryan placed the parchment on the counter.
"I'm here to accept this bounty."
The one-eyed man glanced at the parchment, then back at Aryan, a flicker of surprise in his eye.
"The spider job?" The man's eye narrowed.
"Sure, kid? It ain't a job for glory; it's rat-catcher's work. The venom won't kill ya, it'll just make you wish you were dead while you lie paralyzed in a dark cellar, listening to 'em crawl all over you. That's why the pay is so low—no one wants it."
"I'm sure," Aryan said, his voice steady.
The man shrugged. "Sign the ledger." He pushed a large, leather-bound book and an inkwell toward Aryan. "Name and mark.
Payment is issued by the client upon completion. Hall takes a ten percent commission. You die, we keep the parchment."
Aryan picked up the quill. He paused for a second, then wrote his name in clean, clear script: Aryan Rathore.
The one-eyed man's hand stopped polishing. He stared at the name, then looked up at Aryan, his gaze no longer bored but sharp with a new interest.
"Rathore, eh?" he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Heard one of you Rathore boys put Sameer Sharma in the dust today. Wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"
Aryan simply dipped his thumb in the ink and pressed it firmly below his signature, leaving a perfect, black mark. He didn't acknowledge the question about Sameer, his focus absolute.
"The location of the distillery and the client's contact," he said, his tone flat and professional, like someone finalizing a business deal.
The one-eyed man's grin widened. He liked the kid's nerve. "Willow Creek. North edge of town. Can't miss it. Good luck, Rathore. Try not to get bit."
Aryan gave a slight nod, turned, and walked out of the Mercenary Hall, leaving a ripple of whispers and the curious gaze of the one-eyed man behind him. He stepped back out into the sunlight, his first official mission accepted. He felt no fear, just a cold, thrilling sense of purpose. The data gathering was over. It was time to run the first field test.