“Now there are no outsiders. Carve these faces into your memory—one day, they’ll be the companions you live and die with.” Medith pointed to Sais, Melia, Rita, and Lina, her words falling like seals on wet clay.

Everyone nodded, firm as stakes driven into earth.

“Then, introductions first.” Medith glanced at the five unfamiliar figures, eyes steady like a calm lake.

Nora sat upright, resolve hard as steel. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Drop that Southern Kingdom routine,” Medith said, smile light as a breeze. “Off duty, there’s no rank between us. If you like, call me Medith.

Oh—and don’t call me that on the battlefield.”

The warmth reached Nora; she tested the waters like a toe to a cold stream. “Then… Commander?”

“Commander.” The woman with short gold hair spoke, frosted cool, like ice on porcelain.

Medith smiled and nodded, a lantern glow in dusk.

“I’ll go first. I’m Nora, from the Northern [Black Plain] of the Southern Kingdom.” Her smile showed quiet sunrise light.

She wasn’t exactly stunning, but she was the kind who grew on you. About twenty-three, sapphire-blue eyes under long lashes, a high bridge of nose, and a long chestnut ponytail, tied neat like a bowstring, hanging at her willow-slim waist.

“Peggy. [Buried Shadow Knoll], Western Southern Kingdom.” The golden-haired woman spoke, voice crisp as winter air.

Peggy was delicate and beautiful, a dream-doll face, porcelain-smooth—your hand wanted to reach out, then hesitated in the chill. Her gold hair spilled down her pale nape; lips fresh as a peach after rain; golden eyes swirled like whirlpools, mesmerizing and dangerous. She looked no more than nineteen.

She’d grown early; her curves, brazen as summer hills, even surpassed Medith’s. Against the Elf Clan’s natural grace, she held her own, like ivy outgrowing old stone.

Yet that doll’s face wore frost. Her eyes were empty, like lamps with no oil. Lips pressed tight, hands laid flat on thighs clad in legion garb—obedient posture, but a cold distance like snow on a bridge.

“Commander, Peggy… she’s been through things.” Nora caught the frowns and spoke, worry a shadow behind her words. “Her heart’s locked up. Please don’t hold it against her.”

Medith’s gaze dipped, a soft ache like rain on paper. “It’s not that… forget it. Go on.”

“Name’s Martina, same village as Nora.” The girl with deep brown hair to the shoulders flashed two rows of bright teeth, her tone sunny as noon. A neat fringe touched her brow; her face was cute and playful; brown eyes gleamed like polished glass, circling Medith with impish curiosity. “Commander, does our guild have any perks—like scheduled cake, pork chops, that kind of bliss?”

She glowed, a little firecracker of joy, smile popping like ripe fruit.

“I’m Okam, from the Sorsen Arena in the west of the Southern Kingdom.” The big man’s voice tore through the air like a drumbeat.

He was bald, with an ugly scar slashed across his cheek—like a blade had almost split his skull.

“Kroft. From a branch force of the Hunting Corps in the east.” The silver buzz-cut man spoke, steady as a millstone. He looked about twenty-seven, arms thick as tree trunks, palms wide and callused. A broad brow, heavy nose, full lips, and an X-shaped scar cut across his forehead.

All of them shared one thing: a deep-red hexagram brand on the right cheek, sharp as a winter star.

“Mm… you all come from scattered lands,” Medith said, satisfaction warm as tea, “different trades, different winds. Yet you’ve converged here—there’s fate in that.”

She leaned in, tone gentle but weighty, like a hand on a shoulder. “Next is my request, not an order. Why did you join under me, in the Crimson Sunset Legion?”

“…” Peggy’s hand clenched, knuckles pale as bone.

The other three went taut, like bows drawn. Only Nora stayed calm, her choice a stone already set.

“I hope this won’t be a wall between us,” Nora said, voice low, honest as a night confession. “What we say now is our truth.

As I said, we’re from all over the Southern Kingdom. Back then, the Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps was recruiting. They promised that those who passed would become official members.

Monthly pay was generous, fame like banners in wind. The rumors were just gossip, not facts.

I joined to make money—passed, and got in.

“At first, nothing too much. Mostly normal patrols, occasional hunts, small talk under quiet skies. They even took extra care of us female soldiers.

“But slowly, something turned. They began hunting rare beasts—things born once in a century.

And behind closed doors, they trafficked people. We saw underage girls. We saw members of the Elf Clan…

“Since we were already part of them, we didn’t ask too much. We swallowed our questions like bitter herbs.

“Until one day…

“They spotted several female sprites darting through the forest. The man in charge—his eyes were like a hunting leopard, breath hot with stubble.

He brought a slash-scarred man they called Fire Dog, and over three hundred men. They chased through the trees like a wildfire…”

“Wait?! Fire Dog? Slash-scarred?” Rita flinched as if struck by thunder, a blurred face rising from fog.

Medith laughed, bright and sudden, like bells in a storm. “Ha… fate does twist, doesn’t it?”

“You know them, Commander?” Martina’s shock sprang like a startled sparrow.

Medith nodded, firm as a blade in its sheath. “Of course. They were the first Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps to come knocking. Our first direct clash.

If I remember right, that leopard-eyed stubbled man was Cridi. The slash-scarred one was Fire Dog—he loved calling Cridi ‘Boss.’”

“Right! Exactly! He loved making his men say ‘Boss’…” Kroft sounded stunned, memories thrashing like netted fish.

“Looks like fate again…” Nora’s voice dimmed, then lit with a grim smile. “After so many twists, we ran into our ‘creditors.’ It’s absurd.

Anyway, after that, we saw what they were—demons wrapped in armor, waving royal banners. Arrogant, lawless, eyes fixed on a secret, filthy purpose.

They did every evil they could. Using their rank and flag, they trampled civilians like grass.

“So… we agreed to desert.

“We didn’t run long. Fire Dog caught us halfway. He swore he’d hang Kroft and Okam, and sell me, Peggy, and Martina to the dark brothels.

But Cridi said there was no need. Eternal hunting would be better.

So they burned this shame into our faces…”

“That hexagram… a deserter’s mark.” Medith’s sigh was heavy as a winter cloud. If it were up to her, one sword stroke would’ve been mercy and justice.

Faces tightened, stories knotting like thorn vines—hard to tell, harder to hold.

“Because of this,” Nora said, “we were hunted by many from the Southern Kingdom Hunting Corps, and even the Liberty Army—the brand is too easy to spot.

We fled east, hoping to reach the most tolerant region on the continent.

Okam got that brutal scar on the way.

We hid, scraped, spent everything, and finally reached the Free State—Sass City. We’ve lain low there ever since.

“Days passed trembling. I even thought of ending it. At night, staring at my reflection,

I saw what I’d been—hunting innocents and rare beasts, even your kin, Commander…

That cold, cruel face—devil’s work. I’d retch in silence, guilt gnawing me sleepless.

“More than once I tried to cut my own throat. But Peggy was always there, a hand on mine, stopping me at the cliff’s edge…

“So we readied ourselves to rot in this city.

Until you arrived.”

The women listening exhaled long, a shared breath like wind through pines. At least the part about Cridi and Fire Dog—no one could fake that.

After a while, Medith smiled, soft as dawn. “If that’s the case, you can stand down for now. Whatever happens, you’re my legionnaires.”

“Yes… Commander!” Tears came like spring thaw. They’d never expected Medith to trust them without a flicker of doubt.

Medith and her women finally smiled, rose, and turned to leave, steps light like rain tapping eaves.

“Commander… I have one more request.” Nora hesitated, resolve brewing like strong tea.

“Speak.”

“When our strength grows, I want you to march—wipe out that damned Hunting Corps to the last ember.” Nora’s eyes were steel. When she finished, the others’ blank gazes sharpened, blades drawn in their hearts.

“Rest easy. When the time comes, I won’t need you to remind me.”

Medith paused at the door, a thought striking like a flint. “Oh, and Fire Dog’s already dead. Those three hundred Hunting Corps members too—all cut down by Nessos.

Bandits devouring bandits—it fits their karma.

As for Cridi…

“He may be dead, or not. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Nora and the others let their tears fall, rain on dusty stone—whether relief or something else, they couldn’t say.