"Who are you supposed to be?" I asked flatly.
"You want to know who this old man is?" The man chuckled at his own worn-out line, then lumbered toward us. With his massive frame, he dropped into a seat at our table. "Buy me a drink, and I'll tell you my name."
From the way he spoke, he didn't seem important. I gave a halfhearted nod, and just then the waitress appeared with our food. Perfect timing.
She didn't flinch at the presence of the nasty mercenaries. Whoever worked at this inn must have guts. She set the dishes on the table a bit forcefully, then cast a sharp look around. "Cause a scene, and I'll call the Vigilantes."
"Ah, of course. We are guests who are gentlemen," the hulking mercenary said.
Her eyes flicked to me, and she gave a small nod—probably a signal not to worry. Not that I was worried anyway.
"Bring me a drink," I requested.
"Yes, how many?"
"One mug of beer." I wasn't in the mood to drink, and neither Evan nor Mir cared for alcohol.
Before long, the waitress returned with a frothing mug. I slid it across the table to the man opposite me.
He took it with a smirk and lifted it to his lips. "You're a half-decent kid, easy to talk to—"
Without warning, I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it onto the table. The mug shattered, and the table cracked. I had used all my strength, yet the table held, proving its sturdiness.
"Brother!"
"You bastard!"
"Wanna mess with me? Step up if you want to end up like this fool." I laughed, and the mercenaries around us flinched. Mercenaries survived by reading the room, and now they sensed something off.
I also realized the true scale of this empire. We had crossed only a handful of cities, yet no one recognized me. Back in the capital, I had to cover my face just to walk down the street. Here, in the distant Teper, I could move freely.
"You je—!"
I slammed my heel onto the hulking man's head as he rose, then leaned back in my chair. With both feet propped on the table, I looked every bit the delinquent, but I didn't really care.
Naturally, I intended to pay for the broken mug, plates, and table. It wasn't my style, but southern mercenaries were ignorant bastards who never backed down; direct force was the only language they understood.
I grabbed a piece of meat from an unbroken plate. "Do you think I'm immature for talking about becoming a B-class hero?"
Nobody answered.
"Still, what will you do? Even if all the old mercenaries here gang up on us, you won't touch a hair on our heads," I taunted.
A low voice cut through the tension. "Young friend, you are dangerously overconfident."
It came from a man seated where the brute had first stood. He was small, but his presence carried a sharp, coiled energy, like a snake ready to strike.
This fellow spells trouble. Not for me—Evan and Mir would struggle against him, though. Back in the south, I would have avoided men like him entirely. Most could kill one or two people without breaking a sweat. Of course, there was no need for that now.
"Do you think I'm unqualified to talk about B-class?" I asked.
"Do you even know what a B-class hero entails?" he shot back.
I knew well enough, though I doubted I knew more than him.
I tossed another piece of meat into my mouth and chewed as he spoke. "D-class heroes are the lowest tier. They are treated as apprentices within the Hero Society, but they rank two levels above mercenaries on the same scale. In other words, a D-class hero has strength comparable to a B-class mercenary."
He continued expressionlessly, "As a young master, you might not know this, but B-class mercenaries—"
"They don't earn that rank just by being strong. To become B-class, they must successfully complete at least twenty missions over a minimum of three years... Am I right?"
His eyes narrowed as I finished his sentence. He tried to mask his surprise, but the slight gape of his mouth betrayed him.
Sorry, but I know mercenary life inside out. Far better than the Hero Society's system.
"Exactly," he admitted. "In terms of strength, apprentice heroes rival veteran mercenaries. C-class heroes are almost equal to A-rank mercenaries, and B-class heroes approach S-class levels."
It wasn't a perfect scale, but among mercenaries it was a deeply ingrained belief, and not without reason. Mercenaries would do anything if the price was right. Surprisingly, they often undertook joint missions with heroes. Yet, because of their nature, they tended to pick fights during these missions just to crush the other person's spirit. I had seen it happen countless times.
An arrogant A-rank mercenary, idolized by southern mercenaries and able to walk with his head held high anywhere in the region, had once been defeated by a C-class hero.
The man continued, "B-class heroes can even hold positions like branch manager in the Hero Society, depending on their performance. They are, in fact, the backbone of the Hero Society. Because of this, skill varies widely even within the same rank. Many heroes remain stuck at B-class for decades. It's not a title for someone like you to toss around. Understand?"
This man was unique in many ways. He was a mercenary, yet he spoke of heroes with near reverence, though he was no noble and was no longer young. He was a rare case. Most mercenaries held the Hero Society in contempt, treating its members as fools. If heroes were truly strong, they would have abandoned the Hero Society long ago for the higher pay of mercenary work. The Hero Society paid well enough, but never as much as a high-ranking mercenary could earn.
I asked, "What is your name?"
"Lorcan."
"Lorcan?" I muttered. "Chain Scythe Lorcan?"
"You know me?" His surprise was genuine this time.
I didn't nod. Instead, I studied him with a puzzled expression. In my previous life, he had been a well-known mercenary. His skills were formidable, but his behavior was unusual. After all, Chain Scythe Lorcan had transitioned from mercenary work to the Hero Society and climbed all the way to A-class. He was impressive.
I lifted my foot from the hulking man I had been pinning down.
He groaned in pain. "You bastard! You will die toda—"
"Enough," Lorcan spat.
"What? B-but—"
"I said enough," Lorcan growled.
"Y-yes..." The hulking man shut his mouth and slunk away.
Lorcan looked at me and said, "You look like a noble, yet you know me and are well-versed in the ways of mercenaries. How interesting."
"You are interesting too. If we meet in the exam, please take care of me."
"You won't run into me there." With that final, weighty remark, Lorcan stood and walked away.
"Huh?"
So he isn't participating in the exam?
I would have followed him, but the waitress appeared, glaring at me with a strained, vein-popping smile. "Excuse me, sir?"
I immediately took out money and paid for the damage.
***
After eating, I headed straight to the reception desk. I first registered Mir and Evan for the Origin, then showed the receptionist my badge.
"Oh my, that's a Hero Badge," the receptionist noted.
"It's one from my family," I explained.
"I see. May I ask which family?"
"The Badnikers."
"I thought so," the receptionist said with a smile. "I'm honored to meet the young hero of the Badniker family. You are Hero Luan, right? I've heard of your feats in the capital."
Was it because he worked for the Hero Society? He seemed to catch rumors quickly.
"I want to participate in the Origin as well. That's possible, right?" I asked.
"Ah, that will be difficult. The rules changed this year."
"So I can't participate?"
"Not for the Origin," he clarified.
I frowned. What's he talking about?
The receptionist leaned forward. "Hero Luan, your goal in participating is to advance in rank, right?"
"Exactly." Becoming B-class would let me enter the Utgard Concentration Camp.
"Then you can participate in the promotion trial, Hero Luan."
"Promotion trial?"
"That's right. However, you have to be prepared. The promotion trial at the main branch is famous for being harsh. You can get seriously injured or in the worst case scenario, even die," the receptionist warned.
"Got it."
Back then, I had heard that the Hero Society was a safe place, protected from the harsh winds and waves of the outside world. Now, his casual attitude toward death reminded me of the Badnikers' training camp.
"I'll apply," I said. "Can I really become B-class immediately, depending on my performance in the trial?"
"No."
"What?"
"Depending on your performance, you could rise as high as A-class," he replied.
That was more extreme than I had expected. Of course, these were just words. How many people in history had jumped from D-class to A-class?
"Will you participate?" he asked.
"I will."
"Excellent. You've come just in time," the receptionist said with a smile. "The promotion trial starts tomorrow."
I blinked in surprise.
"To be precise, it starts at midnight," he added.
There's no time to take a breather , I whined inwardly.
***
I returned to the inn, completed the bare minimum of preparations, and headed straight for the Hero Society's main building, where the exam would take place. Before leaving, I informed Mir and Evan that we would be apart for a while.
"I heard the promotion trial can take a few weeks. The Origin trial lasts about a week, so they might overlap. Whoever finishes first should wait at the inn," Evan said.
"Works for me," I replied. I had booked the inn for a month, so it wouldn't be a problem if they finished first.
Mir clenched her fists. "Make sure to rise up, Luan!"
"You can do it. Be careful," Evan added.
"You guys work hard too," I told them.
I left the inn and headed to the Hero Society's headquarters—a massive building that reminded me of the main hall at Cartel Academy. It looked like a Colosseum, with at least ten floors, not only tall but impressively wide. From the moment I set foot in Teper, its presence had been overwhelming.
So this is the heart of the Hero Society.
It carried a weight different from the imperial palace. Though it was nearly midnight, light spilled from the windows. For those who worked here, day and night seemed meaningless.
A man standing at the entrance called out, "Luan Badniker, right?"
Was he one of the examiners? He radiated strength. Even I, at my current level, couldn't confidently predict the outcome of a fight against him. He had to be at least an A-class hero.
I nodded.
"You're late. Follow me," he said.
What kind of exam awaits me? I followed him, hiding both doubt and anticipation.
After stepping into the Hero Society's headquarters, we passed through a meticulously maintained hallway and arrived at a modest room. Yet the atmosphere felt unusual. Including me, there were ten people. One familiar face stood out.
"You...?" It was Chain Scythe Lorcan.
Ah, this guy is already a hero. That explained why he had been so furious when he thought I was disregarding heroes, and why he had insisted he wouldn't encounter me at the Origin.
I tilted my head, pretending not to know him, and scanned the other candidates: five men and three women. Their appearances screamed of diverse backgrounds. I could see a mercenary, a knight, a nobleman, a merchant, and even a mage.
Heroes came in all forms, so the diversity did not surprise me. Still, the mage drew my attention, their tall, pointed hat shadowing most of their face.
I blinked in surprise at the face partially hidden beneath the brim. The face belonged to a girl who appeared roughly my age.
The examiner who had guided me said, "Sit down."
I found an empty seat next to Lorcan and sat. He seemed like he wanted to speak but remained silent, likely out of respect for the examiner.
"The first trial starts now. Two rules: don't leave this room, and follow what's written on the paper. You have one hour. Good luck." With that, the examiner left.
I lowered my head and unfolded the paper on the table.
It read: A church member is hiding somewhere in this room. Find the church member.
A sigh, nearly a groan, escaped me.
Am I screwed already?