The central square of the Sanctum of Solaris was usually a place of commerce and petty thievery. It was surrounded by the massive stone halls of the Adventurer's Guild, blacksmith forges, and crowded taverns.
Today, the square was packed with thousands of heavily armed men and women. They were mercenaries, rogue mages, and veteran adventurers drawn to the capital by the rumors of war.
They were the "Awakened"- individuals who had unlocked low-tier Classes but lacked the noble blood or Church backing to afford elite gear or formal training. They fought for coin, glory, and survival.
They were loud, chaotic, and disorganized.
Until Lucifer arrived.
A deafening, rhythmic crash echoed down the main thoroughfare. The sound of four hundred Aether-Steel Dragoons marching in perfect unison shook the cobblestones.
The crowd in the square went dead silent. The sea of hardened mercenaries parted nervously, shoving each other out of the way to create a wide path.
Lucifer rode his Nightmare Steed through the center of the crowd. The black smoke trailing from the beast's hooves smelled of brimstone.
The Dragoons hovered behind him, their blue visors scanning the thousands of faces.
Elara rode beside him. Lyra, the Dawn Saintess, walked a few paces behind them, protected by a legion of five hundred golden Arch-Seraphs.
The sheer display of military and holy power was overwhelming. The mercenaries stared in absolute awe.
They had never seen a private army like this. They had never seen the Saintess walk freely outside the Cathedral.
Lucifer rode up to the steps of the Adventurer's Guild hall. He halted his steed and turned to face the massive crowd.
"I am High Inquisitor Lucifer of Obsidian. Supreme Commander of the Scourgelands Expedition," Lucifer announced.
His Warlord aura bled into his words, forcing the unruly mercenaries to stand perfectly still. "The Crown and the Church are mobilizing for war against the Lich Lords.
They are drafting peasant militias to hold static walls. They plan to die slowly."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. The mercenaries knew the Crown's standard tactics. They were usually hired to plug the holes in the royal lines. It was a meat grinder.
Lucifer raised his hand. The murmur instantly ceased.
"I do not fight defensive wars," Lucifer stated coldly. "I am marching directly into the Scourgelands. I am going to tear the undead strongholds down to the bedrock.
I have the supply lines. I have the Cathedral's entire stock of healing potions and resurrection scrolls. I have the heavy cavalry."
He looked out over the sea of faces. He saw greed and desperation.
"I am issuing a kingdom-wide Crusade Quest," Lucifer declared. "I am opening my ranks to the Awakened. You will not fight as conscripts for the Crown. You will fight as free lances under my banner."
The crowd shifted nervously. The offer sounded too good. There was always a catch with noble lords.
A heavily scarred mercenary captain stepped forward from the front row. He wore battered steel plate and carried a massive executioner's axe resting on his shoulder. He looked Lucifer in the eye.
"What is the pay, Commander?" the captain yelled, his voice rough and cynical. "We bleed for gold, not for holy titles."
"The pay is exactly what you kill," Lucifer replied smoothly. "You keep eighty percent of all gold, gear, and raw mana crystals dropped by the undead you slay.
The expedition takes twenty percent to cover your resupply from my wagons. No taxes to the Crown. No tithes to the Church."
The square erupted into a deafening roar of disbelief and excitement.
Eighty percent was unheard of. The Royal Army usually took ninety percent of all battlefield spoils, leaving the mercenaries with copper scraps.
The Church demanded mandatory tithes for healing. Lucifer was offering them a fortune.
"Are you serious?!" a rogue mage shouted from the back. "Eighty percent of a Scourgelands drop table? That's enough to buy a lordship!"
"I am absolute," Lucifer said. "But there is a condition."
The cheering died down immediately. The scarred captain gripped his axe tighter. "And what is the catch, Warlord?"
Lucifer opened his Dimensional Vault.
He reached into the dark spatial rift and pulled out a massive, glowing scroll made of refined aether-parchment. The magical contract hovered in the air above the steps of the Guild hall.
"To fight under my banner, you must sign the Awakened Contract," Lucifer explained. He pointed at the glowing text. "You will receive the full benefits of my command aura. You will have access to my healing supplies. You will be protected by my angels."
He paused, letting the weight of the offer settle.
"In exchange, you swear loyalty to the expedition for the duration of the campaign," Lucifer said. His voice was perfectly level. "If you break rank, if you steal from an ally, or if you run when ordered to hold, the contract will execute you instantly. And the final clause: twenty percent of your Fate Energy is permanently taxed to the Commander."
The crowd stared at the glowing scroll. They whispered to each other, confused by the final term.
"Fate Energy?" the scarred captain asked, frowning. "You mean our luck? Our experience points from the kills?"
"Exactly," Lucifer confirmed. He did not lie to them. He simply did not explain the magnitude of what they were agreeing to. "You will level up slightly slower.
Your rare drop rates will be slightly reduced. In exchange, you get an eighty percent cut of the physical wealth, and you get to survive the war."
The mercenaries muttered among themselves. It was a strange term, but to men and women desperate for gold and elite gear, a twenty percent reduction in abstract "Fate Energy" seemed like a microscopic price to pay for the massive physical rewards and the protection of Tier 3 Battle Angels. They were used to grinding for experience anyway.
They did not know they were signing away a fraction of their souls to fuel Lucifer's Carnage Core.
"I'll sign it!" the scarred captain yelled. He stepped forward, dropping his axe to the cobblestones. He walked up the steps and pressed his blood-stained thumb against the glowing aether-parchment.
A bright blue sigil flared on the contract, then faded into the captain's skin.
[System: Contract Bound. Target: Level 32 Berserker.]
[Fate Energy Tax: Active (20% routed to Lucifer of Obsidian).]
"I'll sign too!" a rogue mage yelled, pushing through the crowd.
"Me too!"
"Make way!"
The square devolved into absolute chaos. Thousands of mercenaries surged forward, desperate to press their hands against the glowing scroll before Lucifer closed the recruitment window.
They shoved each other aside, eager to secure their place in the most lucrative war campaign in history.
Lucifer sat calmly on his Nightmare Steed. He watched the massive line form. He watched the blue sigils flare one after another, binding thousands of lives to his command structure.
[System: Contract Bound. Target: Level 25 Ranger.]
[System: Contract Bound. Target: Level 28 Knight.]
[System: Contract Bound. Target: Level 30 Elementalist.]
...
[Total Contracts Bound: 8,450 / Capacity Limitless.]
Elara rode up beside him. She looked at the frantic, greedy mercenaries scrambling to sign the glowing scroll. She leaned closer to Lucifer.
"You are taxing their souls," Elara whispered. Her golden eyes narrowed. "Every time they kill an undead, a fraction of that death energy will bypass their own growth and flow directly into your core. You are using them."
"I am giving them exactly what they asked for," Lucifer replied softly. His eyes watched the contract glow brighter with every signature.
"They want gold. I want power. If they fight independently in the Scourgelands, they will die, and their souls will feed the Lich Lords.
Under my command, they will survive, and their excess energy will feed me. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"It is ruthless," Elara observed. She did not sound angry. She sounded impressed. "You are building an army that pays you to fight."
"It is efficient," Lucifer corrected her.
Lyra walked up the steps and stood near the massive, glowing contract. She looked at the thousands of mercenaries signing their lives away.
She could sense the deep, binding magic of the scroll. She looked up at Lucifer.
"They believe you are their savior," Lyra said. Her blue eyes were wide. The Dawn Saintess was beginning to understand the true nature of the man she had followed out of the Cathedral. "They think you are a holy crusader bringing them wealth."
Lucifer looked down at her. He offered a cold, slight smile.
"I am not their savior, Saintess," Lucifer said. "I am their Warlord. They are cannon fodder. I need bodies to hold the line against the endless undead swarms while my elite units strike the high-value targets.
If they survive, they will be rich. If they die, their sacrifice will charge my artifacts."
Lyra took a slow breath. The brutal honesty shocked her. The Church had lied to the people for centuries, wrapping their greed in holy scripture.
Lucifer was completely transparent about his ruthlessness. He offered a transaction. Blood for gold.
"I understand," Lyra said firmly. She turned her blinding holy aura outward, letting it wash over the signing mercenaries. "I will keep them alive as long as I can."
"See that you do," Lucifer ordered.
He pulled back on the reins of his Nightmare Steed. The beast snorted another cloud of dark smoke.
"Elara, oversee the rest of the signings," Lucifer commanded. He turned his mount toward the narrow, twisting streets leading away from the grand square.
"I have one more piece of the war machine to secure before we march."
"Where are you going?" Elara asked, her hand resting on her silver spear.
"To the slums," Lucifer said. "I need a blacksmith who can forge weapons fit for titans, and I know exactly which tavern he is drinking in."
Lucifer spurred his mount. The Nightmare Steed trotted down the cobblestone street, leaving the roaring, chaotic recruitment drive behind.
He had the troops, the magic, and the holy authority. Now, he needed a master of the forge.