The pest stepped forward with a casual confidence, eyes scanning Swift from top to bottom.

  “What’s the matter? Lost?”

  “Oh… Are you actually thinking about signing up in there? Must be your first time. Good ole Rookie curiosity.”

  His eyes lingered on Swift’s green flight suit, and he gave a short laugh.

  “Let me guess. You think that thing looks cool?” he said, gesturing at Swift’s outfit. “Looks like you just got off work from conduit cleaning.”

  Swift didn’t flinch. The man’s tone was venom in a velvet pouch — mocking, but smooth.

  “And what even is that?” the man continued, nodding toward Excalibur. “A pike? A walking stick? Wait… does your gun have a bayonet?”

  He laughed now, a short bark that turned heads nearby.

  “Cute. Let me guess — you plan on asking the corrosion politely before you stab it?”

  Swift’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t bite.

  “Got a name?” Swift asked flatly.

  The man’s grin widened, but he didn’t answer.

  “Try not to embarrass yourself out there, rookie.”

  And just like that, he turned and walked off into the crowd, leaving Swift standing there, hand resting on Excalibur’s sling, his veins heating up.

  I’ll sign up another day.

  The city was darker than usual when Swift stepped out of the coliseum. The streets were damp from a light rain earlier in the evening, and the lanterns cast long shadows over cobbled stones.

  He didn’t rush back to his rented room. He wandered instead — through back streets, past closed shops, listening to the low murmurs of the city winding down.

  The man’s voice stuck in his head.

  His look. The ease of his cruelty.

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  The dismissal.

  Swift eventually made it back to his storage closet, rented with what little he’d saved. His gear hung neatly on pegs, helmet hidden and vest beneath the window.

  He lay back, staring at the ceiling, thoughts swirling.

  Swift reached into the small pouch on his thigh and pulled out the bullet Carlos had given him. It sat in his palm like a weight.

  Keep fighting.

  Swift closed his fingers around the bullet.

  The next week blurred into a series of odd jobs — none of them glorious.

  One morning, he hauled crates for a blacksmith. The next, he fixed a merchant’s cart axle after the guards failed to show. On day four, he accompanied a local courier through the outer wards, barely saying a word.

  Each night he returned to the same stiff cot, coin pouch slightly heavier, back slightly more sore. But not by much. His reinforced body could handle it.

  At the guild’s range, he fired Excalibur at targets lined up thirty steps out. The musket felt smoother. With the rifling and percussion upgrade, he was grouping shots better than ever before.

  But the range was short.

  He couldn’t truly test what the rifle was capable of. Not here.

  Worse — every coin he earned, he spent. Food, rent, maintenance supplies. His savings stayed flat. By the end of the week, Swift stood in the hallway of the mercenary guild, staring at the job board.

  Most of the tasks were just more errands, transport duties, or city-based requests.

  He found a different set.

  Corrosion Zone Recon

  Location: Outer plains, Sector D

  Objective: Confirm spread pattern and identify activity

  Reward: 8 silver + hazard bonus

  Status: Solo Accepted/Group Preferred

  His finger hovered just below the listing.

  He scanned another.

  Localized Sweep Request

  Location: Sector C ruins

  Objective: Eliminate corroded in identified area

  Reward: 12 silver

  Status: Open – Solo/Group Eligible

  He studied the board in silence for a long moment. A week of grinding had taught him one thing:

  If he wanted to evolve Excalibur... he needed to feed it.

  Three dots is close.

  Swift approached the front desk. The same gruff clerk who checked him in when he first arrived glanced up without lifting his head.

  “Solo job request?”

  Swift nodded. “Corrosion zone recon. Sector D.”

  “Dangerous,” the clerk muttered, stamping a few papers. “And they always are. Don’t die.”

  Swift signed his name. Took the papers. Turned.

  As he walked out of the guild, the city seemed quieter than usual.

  He didn’t feel tired. He felt sharp. Focused.

  No more wasting time.

  Swift stepped through the northern gate of the Capital just before sunrise, Excalibur slung over his right shoulder, helmet stowed in his backpack.

  The road ahead was open.

  Excalibur must kill to grow.

  He moved without hurry, breathing steadily. Focused. The city faded behind him step by step.

  As he passed the first milestone on the trade path, a black cat darted out from a pile of crates and stopped directly in front of him.

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  Swift tilted his head.

  “Not ominous at all.”

  The cat blinked. Then it turned and vanished into the brush.

  I’m not waiting for a second one…

  Swift adjusted his pack and kept walking.