In the midroot of the forest, twelve aspirants surrounded a single person.
It was Nathaniel or rather, Augusta Van Astraea still wearing the guise of a mercenary of humble origins.
Augusta stared at the aspirants who surrounded her with a scowl. Her patience was wearing thin.
This was the fucking limit.
First it was that bastard Azazel, then the infuriating dean who had put a bounty on their heads and now twelve idiots were flanking her thinking she was an easy target.
"To think the dean placed such importance on a mere commoner, it's insulting. I've heard about you Nathaniel Taylor, you're an aspiring mercenary of humble origins just like instructor Cashmir but not everyone has the ability to make it big like him, if you stand out too much as a mere thorn you're bound to be weeded out."
The aspirant who spoke was a smug looking guy, his posture was stiff, like he had a stick up his ass, black hair gelled neatly to the side while his nose…
