The Hunted Regressor: My Heretic Saint System-Chapter 39: A Group Stood

The group went silent.

Mercenaries were a mixed bag; sometimes they were helpful; usually, they were expensive trouble.

"We are approaching a village soon."

Ignotus pointed a thumb over his shoulder.

"River’s End. It’s a dump, but dumps usually have bars, and bars usually have people desperate enough to fight for coin. I say we hire a few and beef up the security detail."

Ulv looked skeptical.

"Bringing strangers into our formation is risky..."

He turned to his Young Lord.

"We don’t know who they are; they could easily turn on us."

Lykos looked at Ulv, then at Ignotus.

He saw the way Ignotus had commanded the scene, the casual way he had saved his life from the bandits. And he saw the strange, unbothered confidence he so easily carried.

The ’Stranger’ was rude, annoying, and possibly insane...

But he was right.

"No. The Stranger is right, our strength is dwindling."

Lykos straightened his back, trying to look taller than he was.

"If we are attacked again with this current strength, we will fall. We need reinforcements."

He looked Ignotus in the eye.

"Do you have a plan for this?"

Ignotus blinked.

He honestly hadn’t expected the kid to agree that fast.

Usually, those he dealt with argued for many minutes, at least long enough to make themselves feel like they’d contributed something.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Plan. I have a great plan."

"Then I trust you."

Lykos nodded, his fluffy ears standing tall.

"Lead the way, Stranger. Get us what we need."

Ulv looked like he wanted to say something, but he sighed and bowed his head.

"As you command, My Lord."

Ignotus smirked.

"Smart choice, Boss. Let’s go shopping."

...

An hour later, the smell hit them before they even entered the town.

It was a pungent mix of stale ale, wet dog, which made the wolves sniff the air confusingly, and unwashed humanity.

"Ah..."

Ignotus took a deep breath.

"It smells like opportunity."

"A sewer more like."

Felix gagged, covering his nose with a handkerchief.

On the way, they passed carriages rumbling along the old stone street they walked on and people wearing cloaks; some of them weren’t ’people,’ at least not in any way that was considered normal by mortal standards.

There were cat-eared girls, tall lizard-headed men, midget-sized men, and even what looked like a walking piece of fur with arms and legs, a creature Ignotus would kill to pet.

Not before long, they crested a small hill and looked down at River’s End.

It wasn’t much of a village, more like a collection of wooden shacks that had huddled together for warmth and then died. The streets were muddy, the roofs were mossy, and the people walking around looked like they would stab their neighbour for a copper coin.

"A charming village...."

Lykos stepped carefully to avoid a puddle of questionable liquid.

"Is this really where we must stop?"

"It’s perfect."

Ignotus strode down the hill.

"Low profile and high desperation. My favorite kind of market."

As the group entered the main street, many heads turned. It wasn’t every day a squad of well-armed wolf-folk guards, a noble wolf-boy in silk, a trembling butler, and a tall human in black walked into town.

So, of course, locals stopped their work to stare, and whispers broke out:

"Look at the fur on that one..."

"Nobles? Here?"

"Think they have gold?"

Ulv’s hand rested on his sword hilt, his eyes scanning the crowd for threats. The other guards formed a tight perimeter around Lykos.

Ignotus, meanwhile, walked with a bounce in his step, waving at a random old lady who spat on the ground as he passed.

"Truly a nice place, what friendly locals~."

"Young Lord."

Felix whispered urgently, pulling at Ignotus’s sleeve.

"We have no money. Even here, mercenaries will cost good coin."

Ignotus patted Felix’s hand.

"Yes, Spoon, yes. We have a rich kid with us, we’re just the consultants."

"But—"

"Hush. Look at the architecture."

Ignotus stopped in front of a building that looked slightly sturdier than the others. It had a sign hanging above the door that depicted a tankard with a crack down the middle.

{The Broken Mug.}

A most classic naming convention.

Loud noises spilled out from inside, shouting, the clatter of wood, and the occasional crash of something breaking.

"This is it."

Ignotus declared.

"In there?..."

Lykos stared at the grimy door.

"It sounds like a riot."

"That’s how you know the decent ones are inside."

Ignotus explained with a smile.

"Strong people break furniture while drinking ale."

He turned to the group.

"Ulv, keep the guards outside. Look menacing, it keeps the riffraff away. Boss, Felix, you’re with me."

"Me?"

Felix squeaked.

"Why me?"

"You’re the bag man, and Lykos is the wallet. Come on."

Ignotus didn’t wait for an answer.

He walked up to the swinging doors and kicked them open.

Bang!

The doors slammed against the walls, and the noise inside the tavern died down instantly.

Dozens of eyes—human, nd Blessed folk—turned to look at the entrance.

Ignotus stood there, framed by the afternoon light, grinning as always.

He glanced at Lykos and Felixand then jerked his head toward the dark interior.

"Let’s get some mercenaries."

The heavy wooden doors were still swinging on their hinges from Ignotus’s entrance as he marched to the center of the room, his boots thumping loudly on the sticky floor.

Felix and Lykos trailed behind him—one looking like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards, brave as ever, while the other was trying to look regal despite holding his nose.

Ignotus climbed onto an empty table, kicked a half-eaten bowl of stew off the edge, and took a deep breath.

"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP, YOU DRUNKEN LOUTS!"

His voice rumbled through the bar, cutting through the murmurs.

"I AM LOOKING FOR MERCENARIES! I NEED PROPER SELL SWORDS! I NEED PEOPLE DUMB ENOUGH TO FIGHT MONSTERS AND SMART ENOUGH NOT TO DIE IMMEDIATELY!"

He spread his arms wide.

"THE PAY IS DECENT! THE GLORY IS MINIMAL! AND THE CHANCE OF DEATH IS SOLIDLY HIGH! WHO WANTS IN?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

Silence.

Absolute, dead silence.

A midget mid-chug lowered his tankard.

A weird green Blessed folk in the corner blinked.

The bard on the small stage dropped his lute.

They all just stared at the lanky man in black clothes standing on a table, screaming about death rates. Before, all of a sudden, from the back of the room—the darkest, smokiest corner where the tables were made of sturdier oak—chairs scraped against the floor.

A laughing group stood up.