Life Of A Mercenary Mga Nobela at Kwento

"You're Jason Leigh, right? Human resources informed me that you're only a high school graduate. Do you really understand all this?" "I used to be a mercenary," I corrected him in a calm but clear voice. Tony was taken aback, but he quickly laughed out loud. His laugh was so loud that it echoed throughout the workshop. The people standing next to him laughed along. "What's a mercenary doing here as a stockkeeper? Who would believe you, Leigh?"

Raising an eyebrow, Austin asked, "Right, you were a mercenary back then. Why did you choose to follow him?" Aldus lit a cigarette and then took a puff. "Back then, I was on a roll on the mercenary market back then. I had more than 100 people under me, and I navigated the battlefield with great ease." "That's not too bad, isn't it?" Austin said, smiling. "Was it nice?" Aldus shook his head. "I had to fear for my life every day, and I also had to endure bullets raining down on me. In reality, I've gotten sick of it a long time ago."

said one of the mercenaries. His words sent chills down everyone’s spine, but they knew it was inevitable. “When are we going to take them out? How much longer?” “Even if we don’t kill them, they will starve to death or die of thirst in a few days.” “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I witnessed cannibalism on my last mission. I don’t know if it will happen again.” They were mercenaries who had experienced many dangers in their lives. Humanity was nothing but a piece of paper to them.

“That’s why I’m still alive.” I walk closer, sizing him up. Broad shoulders, faded tattoos across his arms. His clothes smell of old blood and gunpowder. A mercenary. One of the infamous ones whispered about in packs. Hunters who kill anything supernatural for the right price. “You’re late,” I say, my voice sharp. “And you’re desperate,” he replies, leaning back. “Desperate men pay better.” My claws twitch at my sides, but I force them to retract. I can’t kill him. Not yet. “Do you even know who I am?”

His friend was no longer here, arrogance got the best of him and thus he got himself killed. Such is the life of a mercenary, they’re putting their lives on the line to gain some sum of money for living. He was a South Korean citizen for sure, but due to the financial recession in the past, the man moved to Indonesia. However, he’s not exactly welcomed in Indonesia because of his race.

Instead, I leaned down until the featureless faceplate of my helm was inches from her nose. ​"You misunderstand me, little wolf," I rasped, letting my Lycan aura bleed out just enough to make her knees buckle. "I am a mercenary. I deal in gold and blood. I do not deal in treason. And I certainly do not collect another man's garbage." ​Zara gasped, her face flushing crimson with humiliation and rage. ​"If I wanted this pack," I continued softly, "I wouldn't need a Paper Luna to hand it to me. I would just take it. Now get out of my command center before I throw you out the window."

Yet he crossed the distance within seconds with another human being as added weight. ‘Another human being?’ She’d caught the servants’ idle talk of rumors and prominent figures during the wars—of how some of them had surpassed the realm of humans and were deemed monsters clad in human skin. ‘He’s a monster.’ His other companions were down for the count, but they must be monsters in their own right as well. Sylvia shivered, remembering the name of the mercenaries who stood out in the war—the Mercy Mercenaries—a group of elites on par with the kingdom’s best.

Not yet an animal. A mercenary with a bastard sword suddenly squeezed Vic's shoulder, who never got close to the target, and pushed him back. He moved cautiously towards the prince. He was in no hurry to attack, remembering Vestovoy, where he had recently witnessed how ten Daitra soldiers were killed under the sword of this guy, who decided to irrevocably borrow money from a lone traveler. And now this. The mercenary spat, not knowing whether to believe the prince. In his long career as an assassin, he had never fought the undead. However, it did not matter much, they had to fulfill the order anyway. That is the law.

It might not be his actual death, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t feel real. “Are you okay?” Luka asked, returning to my side after defeating the Golem. “He… I…. He… What…” I stuttered, unable to form a complete sentence, let alone even form a solid thought. “Mercenaries are trained to kill themselves if they are captured. They are insanely loyal to their cause. He was never going to give up who sent him. But I already know.” “Then who?”

In a hushed voice, I try to draw him out. “Hi,” I say. “Martell, right?” He shakes his head. “That’s not my name.” “What?” I’m startled. “Isn’t that how you introduced yourself back at the training in Santa Cruz?” “Martell is my mercenary name,” he says in a flat, sad tone. “So no one could trace me back to my original pack. I’ve killed, kidnapped, and betrayed under that name. I don’t want to be that anymore.” “So what’s your real name?” I ask gently.