The commission slip the barkeep pushed over had only a few lines on it, but after reading them, Wis'adel's brow lifted slightly.
"Escort a shipment across the wasteland. Once it reaches the destination, the payment will be doubled."
Reading the contents in her mind, You Yi gave a derisive snort. "That description is shady as hell. It tells you nothing. Who knows how many traps are buried in there?"
"Taking it or not?" the barkeep asked.
Wis'adel tapped her fingers against the table. "Who's the client?"
"Anonymous."
"What's in the shipment?"
"Not specified."
"The route?"
"You'll know when you get there."
Wis'adel smiled, a hint of amusement in it. "You want me to take a job where I know absolutely nothing?"
The barkeep raised his head, looked at her once, and said evenly, "The pay is this much."
He made a gesture over the counter.
Wis'adel's eyes shifted.
That amount was enough for her to go half a year without taking another job. It was also enough to buy a fair amount of high-purity Originium to replenish the energy cannon's consumption.
Commissions priced that high were rare.
"I'll take it," she said.
Three days later, at the rendezvous point—
By the time Wis'adel arrived, the others were already there.
Five people in total.
One was a middle-aged Sarkaz mercenary with a gray-white beard, a modified heavy gun strapped to his back, and the steady eyes of a seasoned veteran.
One was a masked female Sarkaz, lean and spare, with two short blades at her waist. Standing in the shadows, she was almost impossible to notice.
One was a young Sarkaz man, dressed in fairly decent mercenary gear, with a smug cast to his face. Whenever he looked at others, his chin was always tilted slightly upward.
And then there was the last one.
Wis'adel's gaze lingered on him for a moment.
He was a tall Sarkaz, standing silently at the edge of the group, wrapped head to toe in an old cloak, only half his face showing. Several vicious old scars crossed his features, and his eyes were sharp.
"Well, look at that. A little girl showed up."
The young mercenary looked her up and down, his tone frivolous. "What, are you here to make up the numbers? Or are you supposed to be the team mascot?"
Wis'adel ignored him and withdrew her gaze from the cloaked man.
She walked to the edge of the group, leaned against a rock, and said nothing.
The young mercenary got no reaction out of her, clicked his tongue, then turned and started chatting up the masked Sarkaz woman instead.
Not long after, the client arrived.
He wore an elegant long robe and a half mask, revealing only a pair of narrow eyes.
Behind him were four fully armed guards escorting a transport wagon covered with a black tarp.
"Everyone," the client said. His voice wasn't loud, yet it quieted the whole group.
"Your task is simple. Escort this wagon across the wasteland and deliver it to its destination. Any obstacles encountered along the way are for you to deal with."
The old mercenary spoke up, his voice hoarse. "And where exactly is the destination?"
The client's expression remained calm. "You'll know when we arrive. All you need to know is that the trip will take no longer than five days."
"And if it does?"
"Then I'll settle your payment in advance."
The client swept his gaze over the group, pausing briefly on Wis'adel, seemingly puzzled by why someone so young was here. But he said nothing.
"Move out."
The Wasteland, Day Three.
Things were worse than expected.
On the first day, they ran into a small band of roaming raiders, only to have them driven off after the old mercenary dropped a few precise shots and scared them senseless.
On the second day, they encountered a pack of Originium beasts. All five of them had to work together just to barely drive them away, while the client and his guards never once stepped out of the wagon.
By the third day—
Wis'adel leaned against a huge rock and lowered her head to look at the symbiotic suit on her arm.
Several new gouges marked the black surface. Though they were already healing, it was obvious that the claws of the Originium beast from earlier had nearly torn straight through that layer of protection.
Wis'adel asked quietly, "You okay?"
"What do you think? If you'd kept your distance a little better, I'd be a lot less stressed."
"I'll be more careful next time."
"That's what you said last time too. More careful, my ass."
She said nothing and lifted her head toward the rest of the group.
The old mercenary was wrapping a bandage around his wound. The masked woman crouched in the shadows, wiping down her blades. The young mercenary sat nearby with a foul expression, a huge tear ripped through his clothes.
And the cloaked man—
He stood farther away, with his back to the others, completely motionless.
Night.
The campfire had gone out, and the campsite was swallowed by darkness.
Wis'adel sat with her back against a rock, eyes half-closed, but fully awake.
With You Yi's senses spread wide open, nothing within fifty meters could escape her notice.
Footsteps.
Very light.
But not light enough to fool the symbiotic suit.
Wis'adel didn't move, only cracked her eyes open by the slightest amount.
A figure stepped out of the darkness.
It was the cloaked man.
He stopped five steps away from her and said nothing, merely looking down at her.
Moonlight spilled across his face, and those sharp eyes were fixed on her without blinking.
Wis'adel didn't move. Her breathing remained so steady it sounded like deep sleep.
He stared at her for several seconds, then turned and vanished back into the dark.
You Yi's voice sounded in her mind. "He's gone."
"Mm."
"Looks like he really does have something in mind."
"Probably."
"Then why didn't he make his move?"
Wis'adel was silent for a moment. "He's waiting."
"For what?"
"For an opportunity."
Late on the fourth day—
The convoy entered a canyon.
Towering rock walls rose on both sides, leaving only a narrow path through the middle. Wind blew from deep within the gorge, carrying with it a foul, hard-to-describe stench.
Wis'adel's steps slowed.
You Yi's voice turned grave. "Something's wrong."
But the others had already entered the canyon.
Seeing her lag behind, the young mercenary glanced back and sneered. "What, scared?"
Over the past few days, Wis'adel had kept a relatively low profile. She didn't stand out as much as the old mercenary with his heavy firepower, or the cloaked man, whose attacks had torn through the beast pack like a storm.
The young mercenary, unable to measure up to either of them, seemed to be trying to recover some sense of superiority by comparing himself to Wis'adel instead.
Both You Yi and Wis'adel had reached the same conclusion about him:
Stupid.
Even with a decent grasp of flame-based Originium Arts, he wasn't the sort who'd live long.
Wis'adel ignored his provocation and simply stood where she was, looking deeper into the gorge.
Then—
Boom!
A deafening crash erupted from behind them.
She spun around and saw the path they had come from completely sealed off by a massive boulder.
At the same time, countless figures rose up along both canyon walls.
Arrows and bullets rained down from every direction.
"Ambush!"
The old mercenary had barely shouted the warning before an arrow punched through his throat.
His eyes flew wide open. He clutched at his neck and slowly toppled over.
The masked woman reacted the fastest, vanishing into the shadows in an instant—only to be blasted back out of them the next second by an Originium Art. She hit the ground and was immediately riddled by concentrated arrows and gunfire.
The young mercenary's legs went weak with terror. He turned to run, only to be struck by several arrows at once and pitch forward onto the ground.
Wis'adel moved at once. With the symbiotic suit's perception pushed to the limit, she darted through the gorge like a black phantom, weaving past the torrent of incoming attacks.
But there were too many.
All around her, from every direction.
No way out.
An arrow wrapped in Originium Arts skimmed past her shoulder, ripping open a slash in the symbiotic suit before it began repairing itself at once.
She used the cover of a rock to avoid the next volley, but before she could even catch her breath, a figure lunged out from the side.
It was the cloaked man.
A short blade gleamed in his hand, the edge lit by a sinister red glow as he thrust straight for her heart.
Wis'adel twisted aside, narrowly evading a fatal hit, but the blade still carved through the symbiotic suit beneath her ribs and left a wound behind.
She fired back immediately—
A dark-red beam lanced straight at his face.
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