In a dimly lit tavern in one of the towns, mercenaries gathered, drinking and chatting loudly.
âDid you see that bastard begging for his life?â
âSome ex-bandits they turned out to be. Worthless.â
âYeah, calling them ex-bandits is generous. The real tough ones are all dead, and the capable ones got scooped up by the lord.â
âThere were still a few with some fight left in them, but once you bash their heads in, they behave real quick. Hahaha!â
âYeah, maybe they donât care about what happens to their little bandit buddies. Besides, thereâs no proof it was us.â
They chuckled, raising their glasses and laughing again. These mercenaries always masked their faces during ambushes, ensuring they couldnât be identified.
They had already sabotaged several of Julienâs contracts, slowly chipping away at the groupâs reputation.
To them, Julienâs Mercenary Corps was nothing more than a bunch of upstartsâyoung rookies who had suddenly appeared on the scene and even resorted to recruiting ex-bandits to fill their ranks.
âTheyâve got no respect for the code. Arenât mercenaries supposed to share work fairly and team up for big contracts? Thatâs how itâs always been in this industry.â
âExactly. If the baron didnât shield them, theyâd already be wiped out.â
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