Chapter 67: Sepoy Mercenary Members
The hallway was quiet when Raven stepped out of the study. The faint crackle of torches painted rippling shadows across the marble walls, and the distant night wind brushed through the corridor windows. He straightened his coat, the weight of the evening settling on his shoulders.
"My Lord!"
The call came from above.
Emanuel was already descending the split staircase, neat as always, a file tucked under his arm. His quick steps echoed against the polished wood before he stopped a few feet from Raven and bowed.
"Mr. Jacob and his team are waiting in the guest room. I've already confirmed their arrival."
Raven nodded, expression unreadable. "Then let's not keep them waiting."
Emanuel handed him two sheets of parchment. "Their contract, My Lord. I double-checked the seals."
Raven took the papers without slowing, his eyes scanning the fine inkwork as they walked down the long corridor. By the time they reached the guest room, he had already memorized half of its contents.
Emanuel knocked twice.
The door opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with iron-grey hair and calm brown eyes. His presence alone commanded respect.
"Ah, Young Master Thomas," the man greeted warmly. "I thought you'd only come by morning."
"I prefer to end things tonight," Raven replied, stepping past him.
The guest room was modest but well-kept—a pair of beds at the center, a small desk, and a few chairs arranged neatly around a low table. A faint scent of old polish lingered in the air.
Seven people were inside.
The moment Raven entered, they rose from their seats in unison. The woman standing closest to the leader bowed first. "Greetings, Young Master."
Raven returned the nod and let his gaze sweep across them, taking in posture, attire, and subtle tells—their discipline, their strength, their fatigue.
Jacob, the leader, took a step forward. "Allow me to introduce my team."
He pointed to the man beside him.
"This is Marcellus—our Knight."
The burly man inclined his head slightly. He wore a long black overcoat and a bowler hat that didn't quite hide the scars across his jaw. A longsword hung at his waist, worn smooth by years of battle.
"His blade work rivals that of an intermediate-ranked swordsman," Jacob said.
Raven could tell without hearing it. The man's stance spoke for him—steady, balanced, always within reach of his weapon.
"Next, Selene."
Jacob gestured to a tall woman in her thirties. Her raven hair was tied in a tight braid, and sharp green eyes studied Raven like a puzzle. She wore a pale blue gown that looked out of place beside the metallic wand in her hand.
"She's an Acolyte Wizard," Jacob continued. "Not powerful, but clever enough to fight above her rank."
Selene smiled faintly, a quiet confidence in her gaze.
"Reece," Jacob went on. The man who stepped forward adjusted his spectacles, slim and unassuming. Yet the faint scent of beast musk clung to his clothes, betraying his craft.
"Our strategist and Beastmaster. Tracking, infiltration—his expertise lies there."
"Pleasure," Reece said, offering a curt nod.
"Leona."
The woman's auburn hair glinted under the candlelight. She wore a white shirt rolled to her elbows, iron gauntlets over her hands, and the expression of someone who enjoyed breaking things.
"She prefers fists to weapons," Jacob said dryly.
Leona cracked her knuckles with a grin. "And they haven't failed me yet."
The final member was the youngest—a petite woman in her twenties, with a longbow slung casually over her shoulder. Her gaze was sharp and unflinching.
"Felicity," Jacob said. "Ranger. Her aim is… unpleasantly precise."
Felicity gave a small smile. "I try."
Raven set the parchment on the table and sat. "Let's discuss your contract."
He began to read aloud, his voice calm but measured. The flames from the nearby lamp flickered against the parchment.
Contract of Employment
Contractee: Thomas Holmes
Contractors: Sepoy Mercenary Group
Members: Jacob (Leader), Quincy, Felicity, Leona, Reece, Selene, Marcellus
Duration: 10 years (Starting from 8th September, Year 1420)
Payment:
– 58 Platinum Coins (upfront)
– One Uncommon Spirit Technique (complete)
– One Uncommon Knight Technique (complete)
Obligations:
– Protect Thomas Holmes.
– Assist in reclaiming Azmar Town.
– No interference in noble or imperial conflicts unless in direct protection of the employer.
When he finished, Raven looked up. "I'll provide the complete Spirit Technique only after Azmar is reclaimed. For now—" he reached into his inventory and drew out a small notebook, its cover bound in enchanted leather "—you'll receive an incomplete version."
Jacob took the notebook carefully. The others leaned closer as he flipped it open.
The room grew quiet. The faint hum of mana leaked from the pages, silver runes glowing faintly against the parchment. For thirty minutes, the only sound was the steady turn of pages.
Finally, Jacob closed the notebook and exhaled, his expression one of awe.
"This… is superior to the one we've used for decades," he said slowly. "Even incomplete, it could let us reach the peak Radiant rank within ten years."
"You're confident, then?" Raven asked.
Jacob's lips curved into a rare smile. "More than ever."
"Then let's sign."
Emanuel stepped forward, setting down ink, pens, and two fresh parchments. One by one, the mercenaries signed, their names written in firm, practiced strokes. Jacob signed last.
When Raven pressed his own name beside theirs, the ink shimmered briefly—magic sealing the agreement.
"Emanuel," Raven said, looking up. "Do you have the servant contracts ready?"
"Yes, My Lord." Emanuel produced another stack of papers.
"Bring them in."
Within minutes, the household staff entered—Emanuel's recruits from earlier that day. Each stepped forward nervously, signing under Raven's calm gaze. The night stretched on in quiet efficiency, pen scratches filling the air.
When the last paper was sealed, Raven slid the contracts toward Jacob. "Keep these. I prefer trust over chains."
Jacob accepted with a respectful nod. "We'll honor it."
Before they could disperse, Quincy raised her voice. "My Lord, about accommodations…"
Raven turned toward her. "You prefer to stay outside the mansion?"
Jacob nodded. "We have families, and rotating shifts would serve us better. Half of us will guard during the day, half at night."
Raven tapped the table lightly, thinking. "Reasonable. But when I leave for the capital, I can take only one person. The rest may rest or remain here."
"Then take our leader," Quincy suggested. "We'll guard the mansion. Safer that way—your servants have been… unfortunate in the past."
Raven paused, faint surprise crossing his features. "True. I hadn't considered that."
He handed Jacob a pouch heavy with coins. "Fifty-eight platinum, as agreed. I'll deliver the Knight Technique tomorrow evening."
Jacob accepted it with a bow. "We'll hold you to your word, My Lord."
Raven smiled faintly. "You'll find I keep my promises."
After discussing patrol schedules and perimeters, Raven dismissed them. The group left quietly, boots thudding against the polished floor.
"Arrange their quarters," he told Emanuel as they walked out. "And check the locks before dawn."
"Yes, My Lord."
The two ascended the staircase together. The soft amber glow of the sconces illuminated their path.
"Is the master bedroom ready?" Raven asked.
"It is. We repaired the terrace pump and finished cleaning."
The door opened with a soft click. Warmth spilled out from the fireplace, filling the room with the scent of burning cedar. The four-poster bed stood in the center, sheets crisp and clean. Everything gleamed—newly polished, newly prepared.
Emanuel placed a leather pouch on the desk. "I spent sixteen gold coins on materials and repairs. The rest is inside."
"Keep it," Raven said. "Record everything in the ledger. I'll review it monthly."
"Yes, My Lord." He bowed and stepped back toward the door. "Sleep well."
When the door closed, silence settled.
Raven exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed. From his inventory, he drew out a Gladstone bag and opened it, pulling out a thick file.
Inside was a document stamped with the royal crest—the Will.
"If I want to transfer Thomas's father's assets," Raven murmured, flipping through the pages, "I'll need the executors' signatures."
Two names stood out. Sara Wills. Edward Amell.
He frowned. "Sara runs the Book Emporium. The Amells manage the Velvet Millenary and Dorthey's Confectionery. Yet neither visited Thomas at the hospital…"
He leaned back, the realization tightening in his chest. "Anyone with influence could've learned about this Will."
[Then it's likely the Council of Nobles already reached them,] Zera's voice whispered in his mind. [Without the executors' letters, you can't claim the inheritance.]
Raven's jaw clenched. "And I don't even know who's pulling the strings."
[Then stop brooding and get stronger,] she replied flatly.
He chuckled under his breath. "Easier said than done."
Reaching into his inventory again, Raven drew out a small vial filled with shimmering blue liquid. It caught the firelight, glowing like frozen lightning.
He rolled it once between his fingers, eyes hardening.
"Then let's begin."