Flynn wanted to know who had put a hit on him, but the Mercenary Guild's rules left no room for that kind of curiosity. Anonymous contracts were sacred, and Cage looked genuinely pained as he refused the request, his expression carrying an apology he wasn't allowed to voice. It didn't matter whether you were a Bronze-grade rookie or a Gold-grade legend; the guild guarded its clients' identities with near-religious zeal.
Flynn didn't resent him for it. Rules were rules, and in the real world mercenary organizations lived and died by their discretion. A guild that couldn't keep secrets wouldn't survive long enough to regret it. Accepting that, Flynn selected a handful of contracts that offered decent rewards without demanding much effort, then slipped out of Moster City beneath the cover of night.
