Under the bright rays of the morning sun, the two mercenaries strolled through the streets, the calm morning breeze blowing against their faces as they slowly approached the guild building.
A peaceful stroll. To the onlookers, that was what it would seem like.
But to Maxwell, the young water mage, this stroll was anything but peaceful. He wore a subtly annoyed expression, and a creaking sneer fought to stretch on his lips as his eyes twitched.
And the cause of Maxwell's barely contained annoyance was… Frilo's new 'head rest.' Eithan.
"So, Max…"
The blond young man never stopped talking. He was like a chattering box that went on and on.
Eithan's bright smile masked a carefree expression as he walked side by side with Maxwell.
"Ya ever heard of the Ten Great Lances?"
Almost groaning, Maxwell rolled his eyes, then let out a soft sigh as his sneer dissolved. He moved his neck, casting a shallow gaze at the metal bar gates of the mercenary guild overhead.
After about a second of well-enjoyed silence, he replied to Eithan with a resigned, lazy tone:
"Yes, I've heard of them." Max furrowed his brows, an inquisitive look on his face, as if trying to recall a distant memory. "For generations, they've represented the ten greatest warriors of the Northern continent, Nuncapor, right? Every generation's ten greatest warriors in Nuncapor are named part of the Ten greatest lances, right? It's… I don't fully recall. But why do you ask?"
Hearing Maxwell's questions, Eithan nodded slowly. And just before they could reach the gate, he slowed his pace, causing Maxwell to do the same.
As Maxwell gazed at the young man's face, he noticed that the man's smile had faded, replaced by a somewhat serious expression.
"I plan to be part of the lances one day. It's the whole reason why I'm trying my best to build experience, solid ground, and a reputation. It's all so I can challenge the tenth lance and step into the realm of the ten great lances, but–"
"But we aren't in Nuncapor," Maxwell chuckled at Eithan's lofty aspiration, "We're in Levaria, where that dream of yours won't be able to prosper. What will you do about that?"
Eithan's eyes widened, and he paused, gulping.
"That– I… I plan to leave for the Northern Continent. Not now, though. But soon. I heard it's more brutal over there, as there are little to no mages and more weapon users, so I'm using this place as a training ground, building my foundation before I head out into the real world."
Maxwell closed his eyes, smiling.
'A man's dreams and aspirations,' He breathed out. 'It's a good thing that man is allowed to dream, but…'
"Why do you tell me this?" Maxwell asked.
Suddenly, Eithan's short-lived composed expression broke, and a mischievous smile surfaced on his lips.
"So you won't miss me much when I'm gone."
Maxwell scoffed, waving a hand dismissively.
"You wish."
Eithan chuckled as their pace increased, and they continued their stroll to the gate.
Reaching the guild gate, Maxwell immediately took his license out of his pocket and showed it to the guard at the other end, who observed the license for a while, nodded, and then opened the gate.
The two mercenaries were silent as they walked past the courtyard and into the building. And Maxwell felt it was odd, Eithan should've been chattering by now.
So, after observing the blond youth's face, he noticed that the man was in deep thought. And as Maxwell noticed this, he broke the ice:
"You know," he began, looking ahead, at the guild entrance they were steadily approaching, "I don't know why you want to become a great lance." He paused for a while, gauging Eithan's interested gaze, then he shrugged. "I believe it's something personal," Maxwell cleared his throat, smiling. "And I respect it."
Eithan smiled.
"Already missing me?" The man chuckled, "Don't worry, I'll send you letters."
"Yeah, sure."
Ignoring the curious gazes of people who didn't expect to see Maxwell and Eithan together, the wary gazes of the mercenaries who were present yesterday, and the cowardly gazes of the ones who feared Maxwell's presence, the duo — no, trio — made their way into the lobby.
The noise, the chattering, the odor, the poor lighting. Maxwell braced himself for them all. And it seemed Eithan was already used to it. As for Frilo, who still pleasantly lay on Eithan's hair… Well, Frilo was Frilo.
All this talk about the Northern Continent and the ten great lances reminded Maxwell of someone. Someone whom he'd called his friend at a certain point in his last life.
'I believe he was an active Great lance at this time…'
Maxwell gazed at Eithan.
"When you get to Nuncapor, head to the Empire of Avalon. It's a relatively small Empire compared to the giants like Kafer or Jiran, but it's a prosperous nation that houses one of the greatest spearmanship academies. The head of the academy, Jeriq, is a one-armed spearman. He's currently training in seclusion, hoping to surpass the 8th-core and enter the realm of the 9th-core in his lifetime." Maxwell smiled and nodded. It was all coming back to him now. "That man, Jeriq, is the fourth great lance of Nuncapor. Beg him to take you in as a student."
At that moment, Eithan's eyes widened, and he staggered for a second, regained his composure, cleared his throat, adjusted his spear, and gazed at Maxwell.
"I… I know every great lance's name and weapon path by heart, but I do not know about their location or anything personal about them. How do ya know this? You speak as though you've been to Avalon before, or as if you've traversed the lands of Nuncapor. But last time I checked, you've been in Jalozi all your life. In fact, it hasn't been long since you left the shelter of Belognia and the capital, to head to Ludi–"
"I read about it." Max shrugged. "In a book."
Maxwell looked past the crowd of mercenaries, staring at the receptionists' desk.
Meanwhile, Eithan had a dumbfounded expression.
"A book? Huh? A book! What book was that? Wait– no, I'm not dumb, what book could completely change the way you– I'd noticed this earlier too, you seem… different, like you suddenly aged 50 years in one day. You smile at me like you're a father looking at his ch–"
"I believe you'll be able to learn a lot from Jeriq," Maxwell smiled. "But you'll have to prove you're talented enough for him to personally teach you. And if that man teaches you personally, I'm sure you can challenge the tenth lance for his title… if you get to the 7th-core at least."
Eithan's confusion doubled, and he growled.
"Hey! Ho–" he paused, chewing Maxwell's words for a second. Then, he breathed out, "Ya know what? Fuck it. I like this weirder version of you better. Has more spice. More exotic, too. And," Eithan nodded, "thank you for the advice. I'll be sure to stick to your words."
"Good luck."
Maxwell began heading towards the receptionist's direction.
"Are you coming with me?"
Eithan shook his head and lightly tapped Max's shoulder
"I'm guessing you wanna take your rewards from yesterday's hunt. I have no business there, so I'm gonna go check out some tasks at the task board."
Maxwell nodded, shrugging.
"Suit yourself."
Eithan then turned, waving as he walked toward the task board.
"See ya later, noble boy~"
Maxwell shook his head, chuckling.
'That kid, I swear.'
A faint, buzzing sound that only Maxwell heard rang through the air, and wisps of warm azure energy trailed around Maxwell.
It was Frilo.
'Finally back. Enjoyed your little nap?'
Frilo, floating next to Maxwell's eyes as he walked, let out a squeal.
'Yes, yes, Eithan's a pretty interesting guy.'
The young mage turned, gazing at the spearman's retreating figure as he walked toward the task board with a spear hanging over his back.
Maxwell faced forward, and Frilo merrily found its way to Max's own hair.
'Truly interesting.'