Ezra walked down the worn dirt road, the earth compacted over decades of carriage wheels. With each step, the weight of his thoughts seemed to grow heavier. He was twenty now, and he felt like time was slipping through his fingers. He couldn't afford to waste any more of it.
He was tired of drifting, tired of feeling like he was stuck in a pitiful existence. He needed to make something of himself. His plan, for now, was simple: become a mercenary. He'd use the little bit of gold he could scrape together to start his own mercenary company.
What would come after that? Ezra didn't know. But he figured he'd cross that bridge when he got there. For now, the goal was clear enough. It was a start. And that was all he needed to keep moving forward.
Days passed, and the road proved uneventful, save for a few weak monsters that posed no real threat and some desperate farmers who resorted to petty theft. Ezra had little trouble dealing with them, his sword cutting through the air as easily as his thoughts. The journey, though solitary, gave him time to reflect, but it also drove home the fact that he was starting over again.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity on the road, Ezra arrived back in the Capital. The city hadn't changed much since his time spent fighting in another man's rebellion. He could understand the discontent—the people were tired of the old king's rule, his madness growing with age. But in the end, the king's strategic brilliance had crushed the rebellion in just two short years. It left little more than ruin in its wake, but at least Ezra had survived to see it.
He walked into town, paid the toll, and headed straight for the nearest office to register his new mercenary company. It wasn't much of a company yet, not with him as the only member, but it was a start. A name, a paper, and maybe soon, a reputation. For now, that would have to be enough.
Ezra walked into the office and took a seat, waiting his turn. The room was small, and the faint scent of ink and paper lingered in the air. When his name was called, he approached the desk, and the woman behind it looked up with a practiced smile.
"Hello, sir. Are you looking to join a mercenary company? If so, the line is over there," she said, gesturing toward the opposite side of the room.
Ezra returned her smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No, I'm in the right line. I'm here to start a company."
The woman's gaze flickered over him, no doubt noticing his rough, travel-worn clothes. Her smile faltered for a moment, and she glanced at him skeptically. "Uh, it's four silver to register. We don't do any kind of credit."
Ezra kept his expression neutral, dropping the required coin onto the counter with a soft clink. The woman didn't miss a beat, her smile returning, though it was a little less warm now. "Good. Then let me get the paperwork. I can fill it out for you if you're unable to read," she said, her tone barely veiling her condescension.
Ezra let out a small sigh, feeling his patience thin. He hated dealing with city folk. "I can read and write just fine," he said, brushing off the insinuation. "It's no problem."
Ezra filled out the paperwork with steady hands and returned it to the woman at the desk. She took it with a polite smile, her eyes scanning the details quickly.
"Alright, we just need a name for the company. What shall it be?" she asked, looking up from the papers.
Ezra paused, his mind wandering back to his past, to the arena and the fight with the black panther, the fierce battle that had defined him. A flicker of recognition stirred in his chest. "Let's go with The Shadow Panthers. It has a nice ring to it, I think."
The woman nodded approvingly, jotting it down in her ledger. "Very well, Mister Shadow Panther. Your company is officially created. If you ever need to hire workers, return here, and we can provide you with job listings."
Ezra gave a nod, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in a while, things were starting to feel like they might go his way.
Ezra stepped out of the registration office with a renewed sense of purpose. The Shadow Panthers was officially his—though it was just a name for now, it was a start. He adjusted the worn, patched leather armor that had seen better days, but the thought of his next step brought a fresh resolve.
He wandered through the bustling capital streets, the noise of merchants hawking their wares and the clatter of carriage wheels filling the air. After a quick stop by a stall to grab a bite of stale bread, Ezra made his way to a nearby armor shop.
The shop was tucked between two larger buildings, the small wooden sign above the door swaying with the wind: Warren's Arms and Armor. Inside, the smell of oil and leather filled the air, and racks of armor—ranging from cheap leather to more elaborate iron sets—lined the walls.
A balding, middle-aged man with a thick, graying beard looked up from polishing a breastplate. His arms were thick with muscle, his hands steady despite years of hard labor.
"Well, well, what can I do for you, stranger?" he asked, his voice gruff but welcoming.
Ezra glanced at the rows of gear. His current set of armor, a mismatched set of leather and cloth, was more suited for travel than real protection. It had served him well during his days as a wanderer, but now, as a mercenary, he needed something more fitting for the job.
"I need something that'll stand up in a real fight," Ezra said, eyeing a well-crafted set of studded leather armor on a nearby rack.
Warren followed Ezra's gaze and nodded, his face taking on a knowing expression. "Ah, looking for something to last long? That'll run you a bit more. Got a few pieces that'll give you better protection without weighing you down too much."
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "I'll take it. What's the price?"
Warren scratched his beard thoughtfully. "For you, I'll knock it down to 15 silver. It's not the finest work, but it'll hold up."
Ezra hesitated, then placed the silver on the counter, feeling the weight of it in his palm. After a few seconds of thought, he added a few more coins. "And... a decent sword, too."
Warren grinned. "I like your style. For 5 silver more, I can sell you a sword that'll keep sharp."
Ezra nodded, accepting the deal. "Deal."
With his new armor and sword in hand, Ezra left the shop and made his way to the nearest inn. The Golden Crossroads Inn was a well-kept building, with a large sign depicting a golden crossroad on the front. He entered and was greeted by a short, stout woman behind the counter.
"Welcome, sir. What can I do for you today?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.
Ezra placed a small pouch of coins on the counter. "A room for the night."
"Single room, yes?" she asked, taking the coins and counting them quickly.
"Yeah. That'll be fine."
After receiving the key, Ezra made his way upstairs to a small, cozy room. The bed was simple, but the soft mattress was a welcome change from the hard ground he had grown used to during his travels. He unpacked his gear, placing the sword on the table and the armor neatly beside it.
As he sat on the edge of the bed, he couldn't help but reflect on how far he'd come. His new mercenary company was a fresh start, but it wasn't going to be easy.
The next day, Ezra woke early and set off in search of work. The capital was a city of opportunity, but it was also crowded with people just like him—merchants, mercenaries, and soldiers all vying for attention. He made his way to the Mercenary Guild first, a large building with a series of job boards in front.
The boards were filled with postings ranging from monster hunting to escort missions, but none of them seemed to offer the kind of work he was looking for—something that would give him the chance to prove himself and build his company.
Ezra paused in front of one board, scanning the posts. His eyes narrowed when he spotted a job that looked promising: Wanted—A skilled warrior to assist in an operation near the eastern forest. High risk, high reward. Contact Captain Jorin at the Eastern Gate.
"High risk, high reward..." Ezra muttered to himself, his hand hovering over the post. It was exactly the kind of job he needed to get his name out there.
He ripped the paper from the board and walked toward the gate. His first job as the leader of The Shadow Panthers was out there waiting for him.