The headquarters of the Felix Mercenary Group stood at the eastern edge of Hamar Town like a crouching beast waiting for war.
High stone walls enclosed the compound, their surfaces etched with faint blade marks accumulated over decades. Iron-bound gates loomed at the entrance, darkened by weather and blood alike. Above them hung a banner bearing Felix's sigil—three claw marks crossing a crimson pheonix.
Inside, the courtyard told its own history.
The flagstones were cracked from countless sparring matches. Weapon racks lined the walls—spears polished smooth from use, sabers resting like sleeping serpents. The air carried a subtle mixture of iron, sweat, and medicinal paste.
Men and women who had survived real battlefields moved through the yard with restrained killing intent. Their laughter was coarse, their gazes sharp. These were not sect disciples nurtured in spiritual mountains.
They were people who had killed to eat.
And today, every one of them paused.
Because someone had entered without being announced.
Sogen stepped through the gates as if entering a teahouse.
Unhurried.
Unconcerned.
No guards stopped him.
They had heard.
The cabbage incident had traveled faster than spiritual light.
At the center of the courtyard stood a tall man clad in black armor trimmed with crimson threads.
Broad shoulders.
A scar cutting across his jaw like a memory he had chosen not to erase.
Eyes that weighed men like goods on a merchant's scale.
This was Khamas, leader of Felix.
Behind him stood two youths.
A young woman with sharp features and sharper eyes. Her posture was perfect, chin slightly raised— arrogance and pride tightly leashed.
Beside her stood a boy whose stance was balanced and disciplined. His breathing was steady, spine straight, fingers resting lightly near the hilt at his waist.
"Sogen," Khamas said. His voice was deep and direct, neither welcoming nor hostile. "You move quickly."
Sogen inclined his head slightly. "I was nearby."
The understatement caused several mercenaries to cough awkwardly.
Nearby.
As if reviving two men from poison death in the vegetable district were a routine stroll.
Khamas did not waste time.
"You caught my men."
"Yes."
"They were… loyal."
"They were confused," Sogen corrected mildly.
A ripple of restrained amusement passed through the courtyard. A few mercenaries suppressed grins. One man turned his head and coughed into his fist.
Khamas' gaze did not shift.
He studied Sogen for a long moment.
Measured posture.
Controlled breathing.
No visible tension.
A man who did not feel the need to display strength.
Finally, Khamas spoke plainly.
"I require your assistance."
The courtyard fell still.
"The Crimson Dust Tournament begins in seven days," Khamas continued.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
"Felix will face the Letinca Mercenary Group in a one-versus-one duel. Each side will send 3 people from their younger generation."
At the mention of Letinca, something shifted in the mercenaries' expressions.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Rivalry carved deep.
"They've hired a disciple from Golden Hawk Sect," the boy added quietly.
Sogen's gaze moved to him.
This was Gale.
There was no resentment in his eyes. No insecurity.
"When we entered Kiang Forest two months ago, it was a standard hunting commission. A surge of mid-tier beasts had begun pushing toward the outer trade routes. We were hired to thin their numbers.That was when we found it."
He paused.
"A Crimson Dust Tree."
A faint murmur spread through the courtyard.
"It was not yet mature," Khamas continued.
"Its bark was still dark, its veins only faintly red. But we confirmed it beyond doubt."
His eyes hardened.
"As its name implies, when the Crimson Dust Tree reaches maturity, it releases a wave of fine crimson powder into the surrounding air."
"That dust is no ordinary spiritual residue. It is condensed earth-element essence refined by the tree over decades."
His voice lowered slightly.
"If one cultivates beneath the tree at the moment of release and successfully absorbs the dust… one can directly advance an entire stage within the Earth Realm."
The courtyard grew heavy with silence.
For cultivators stuck at bottlenecks, such an opportunity was not treasure.
It was their whole destiny.
"At the time," Khamas continued, "we sealed the area. Set watch rotations.
Cleared the surrounding beasts quietly. Not a single member spoke of it beyond the inner circle."
His jaw tightened.
"And yet… Letinca learned."
A flicker of anger passed through several mercenaries.
"Scouts began appearing near our perimeter within a week. Then their patrol numbers increased. Tension escalated."
He exhaled slowly.
"If either side had made the first aggressive move, it would have turned into open war."
And in a town like Hamar, open war between mercenary groups meant blood in the streets.
"Before that could happen," Khamas said, "the town's magistrate intervened."
His voice carried restrained irritation at the memory.
"The magistrate claimed that the forest belonged under town jurisdiction. That no single group had the right to monopolize such a resource without due process."
A few mercenaries scoffed quietly.
"The truth," Khamas added coldly, "is that he feared instability."
"So he proposed a compromise."
"A one versus one duel."
Sogen understood what Khamas was implying.
It means the magistrate didn't intervene out of fairness or justice.
He intervened because he was afraid.
He was afraid, if Felix and Letinca fought openly over the Crimson Dust Tree then would be large-scale violence, buildings and trade routes could be destroyed, civilians might get caught in the crossfire,other factions might take advantage of the chaos and the town's economy would suffer.
His authority would look weak.
In short: a war between two powerful mercenary groups could destabilize the entire town.
So instead of allowing a full conflict, the magistrate forced a controlled solution — the 1 vs 1 duel.
He wasn't protecting either group.
He was protecting order, trade and his political position.
That's why Khamas says it "coldly."
Because from his perspective:
The magistrate didn't care about fairness.
He only cared about keeping the town stable and avoiding a situation he couldn't control.
"Each mercenary group will send three representatives. Two must be members of their own group."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"The third… may be selected from anywhere."
"The winning side claims exclusive cultivation rights beneath the Crimson Dust Tree when it matures, and the loser withdraws entirely, no shared access, no negotiation, no second chances. Khamas's expression grew firm."
"Letinca has already confirmed their representatives. Two of them are Lentinca's leader Rhaziel's sons, Varek and Maleric."
"And one outer disciple from Golden Hawk Sect. Yufeng."
"That disciple," Khamas said quietly, "is said to be on Earth Realm sixth stage mid level."
Which meant—
If he absorbed the Crimson Dust successfully, he might leap even further and his bond with Letinca will become strong.
"And so," Khamas finished, his eyes steady on Sogen, "that is why this duel cannot be lost."
For mercenaries, reputation was currency.
Lose it once, and survival became negotiation.
"And you wish me to fight in your stead?"
Sogen asked.
"Yes."
The courtyard stirred.
An outsider.
Risky.
The young woman stepped forward.
Her movements were graceful, precise.
Her eyes never left Sogen's.
This was Siana.
"With respect, Father," Siana began, voice clear and composed, "is he truly necessary?"
Silence descended.
Khamas did not interrupt.
He was listening.
She continued, gaze unwavering.
"He caught our two assasins who hid behind vegetables. That proves nothing except luck."
"Everytime, Krinn and Weston has done missions, they were with father. They are good at following instructions and fight, not at scouting. It was their foolishness that they ate the poison even before fighting. After being healed their qi was in a mess. If they had fought to you, you would not be able to do anything"
A few mercenaries shifted awkwardly.
Sogen remained still.
Siana did not look away.
"The Crimson Dust Tournament is not a marketplace farce," she said. "Letinca will not send fools. They will send a blade."
Her words were sharp but not reckless.
"And we are entrusting Felix's survival to a man whose power we don't even know ?"
The accusation hung in the air.
Gale glanced between them, tension visible.
Khamas remained silent.
He was not defending Sogen.
He was testing him.
Sogen finally spoke.
"You believe I was lucky."
"Yes."
"You believe I cannot handle Letinca's representative."
"I believe," Siana replied evenly, "that Felix cannot afford assumptions."
There it was.
Arrogance but also responsibility.
She was protecting her home.
Sogen stepped forward.
No dramatic movement.
No flashing aura.
But something changed.
His spiritual pressure descended.
Quiet and heavy.
Like a mountain deciding to exist.
The air thickened.
The courtyard stones trembled faintly beneath invisible weight.
Several mercenaries instinctively bent their knees.
Weapons rattled softly in their racks.
Gale's eyes widened as he felt the density of that pressure—refined, layered, controlled to a terrifying degree.
Siana's breath caught.
This was not someone showing off.
This was someone restraining himself.
Sogen stopped three steps from her.
Close enough that she could see her reflection faintly in his calm eyes.
"Luck," he said gently, "does not make poison fail."
A faint golden aura shimmered around him.
Wild, blazing and controlled.
Then—
It vanished.
As if it had never existed.
The courtyard exhaled collectively.
Several mercenaries straightened slowly, their expressions altered.
Respect had replaced doubt.
Siana inhaled deeply.
Her heartbeat was still unsettled.
That was not luck.
That was dominance compressed into courtesy.
All of them were thinking it was the sheer strength of his qi pressure but they don't know that Sogen has also used his spiritual energy.
Sogen understood something the moment Siana finished speaking.
Mercenaries did not respect calm words.
They respected results.
In this courtyard, reputation was not inherited, negotiated, or politely requested.
It was taken.
He could ignore her. He could remain silent and accept Khamas' decision as sufficient authority.
But that would only buy temporary obedience.
Not respect.
And without respect, there would always be whispers.
The cabbage man.
The lucky outsider.
The merchant with pills.
Sogen's gaze swept across the courtyard.
He saw it clearly in their eyes.
Curiosity.
Doubt.
Calculation.
Not hostility—but readiness.
If he faltered even once in the coming days, they would remember Siana's words.
And they would believe them.
Sogen had no intention of being someone's gamble.
If he wished to stand in Felix as an equal—if he wished to command the weight of their silence rather than endure their judgment—then he had to dominate them with his strength.
He had to redraw their understanding.
Because in a place like this, humility was mistaken for weakness.
And weakness invited humiliation.
Very well.
If power was the language they understood—
He would speak fluently.
Khamas stepped forward, breaking the tension.
"You see why I asked."
He turned to Sogen.
"Will you fight for us? If so, what are your terms?"
Sogen did not answer immediately.
The system notification appeared before his eyes.
[Hidden Opportunity Detected]
Participation in Crimson Dust Tournament may unlock chain quest.
Reward: Unknown.
Unknown rewards were often the most profitable.
Sogen nodded once.
The courtyard waited.
Then, calmly, as though discussing the price of tea rather than the future of a mercenary group, he spoke.
"I will fight for Felix."
A faint shift of relief passed through the gathered mercenaries—
But Sogen continued.
"On two conditions."
The relief froze.
Khamas' eyes sharpened. "Speak."
"When the Crimson Dust Tree matures," Sogen said evenly, "I will have one cultivation spot beneath it."
Silence fell like a blade.
The weight of that demand was immediate.
Everyone present understood the implication.
Only three cultivators could safely absorb the Crimson Dust when it erupted. More than that, and the essence would disperse too thinly—or worse, destabilize and harm those beneath it.
Three.
That number had already been decided in the hearts of Felix's core members.
Gale.
Siana.
And one elite captain.
Now Sogen was asking to replace one of them.
He did not stop there.
"And," Sogen added, his tone unchanged, "after the tournament, Felix will owe me one favor."
A murmur rippled through the courtyard.
Not outrage.
But tension.
This was no small request.
A favor from a mercenary group meant manpower, intelligence networks, influence across trade routes, and blades willing to move at a word.
Khamas did not respond immediately.
His gaze did not leave Sogen's.
Behind him, Gale stepped forward instinctively.
"Father—"
Siana moved at the same time.
"This is too—"
Khamas lifted a hand.
The gesture was small.
But absolute.
Both of them fell silent.
The courtyard grew still again.
Khamas' expression was unreadable.
He was not thinking about pride.
He was calculating.
If Felix lost, they would gain nothing.
If Felix won without Sogen, they would still gain only three breakthroughs.
But if Sogen truly possessed the strength he had shown—
Then the victory itself required him.
And a single cultivation spot, while painful to concede, was a price that could be measured but losing the tree entirely could not.
Khamas exhaled slowly.
"When the tree matures," he said at last, his voice steady and final, "you will stand beneath it."
A beat passed.
"And Felix will owe you one favor."
The words settled into the courtyard like a binding oath.
Gale's jaw tightened, but he did not protest.
Siana's fingers curled slightly at her sides, her eyes unreadable.
Sogen inclined his head once.
"Then we have an agreement."
No handshake.
No ceremony.
But in that moment, the balance of the coming tournament shifted.
And everyone present knew it.
As the gathering dispersed, training resumed, though not quite as before.
Whispers traveled between weapon racks.
Across the courtyard, Siana stood alone for a moment.
She watched Sogen's retreating figure.
"He's strong," Gale murmured as he joined her.
"Yes," Siana replied.
"But?"
She folded her arms.
"He demands too much."
Gale glanced toward their father.
"Is that not what powerful does?"
Siana did not answer immediately.
Her gaze remained fixed on Sogen.
At the gate, Sogen paused briefly.
A faint gust swept across the training ground, lifting dust into the air.
Seven days.
Letinca.
A Golden Hawk Sect disciple.
Felix's survival.
And now—
His involvement.
His lips curved faintly.
The system remained silent, as if anticipating something.
"Let's see," Sogen murmured quietly, "how expensive this tournament becomes."
Behind him, the beast at the eastern edge of Hamar Town stirred.
Not in fear.
But in preparation.
And somewhere beyond the town walls—
Another blade was sharpening.