Teenage Mercenary Novels & Stories

Now, stripped of their weapons, armor, and authority, they huddle together in the freezing dark, shivering in their soiled uniforms as they realize they were never meant to survive this campaign. Mercer didn't just abandon his frontline camp; he locked his own failing forces down here to rot once they outlived their tactical usefulness, sealing them away like garbage to hide the evidence of his crumbling empire. The sheer callousness of his betrayal sickens me, proving once again that the syndicate values its foot soldiers even less than we value our pack animals.

In a natural limestone bowl sheltered from the worst of the wind, the council's hired mercenary camp buzzed with cold, calculating efficiency. Roughly twenty mercenaries—hardened veterans of the southern border wars, clad in mismatched tactical gear and heavy leather dusters—sat around a series of low-burning campfires. They weren't high council enforcers bound by protocol or uniform; they were apex predators-for-hire, answerable only to whoever paid the highest bounty in silver and gold.

With that in mind, he was prompted to growl, “Who the hell are you guys? What’s your objective? Let her and my son go, and I’ll meet any of your conditions!” Smirking in response, the blond, blue-eyed man simply walked over to Zivon before scoffing, “We’re just part of a mercenary organization, and someone’s offered us a massive paycheck to deal with you. Regardless, I’m sure you know that we mercenaries always finish our jobs, and that we don’t ever reveal who our customers are, correct? We’re only doing business here, so please don’t make things difficult for us, Young Master Burton.”

His grip tightens with his frustration. “The soldier was Gary Samuel and he was a mercenary that didn’t belong to any pack. He was trained to infiltrate a location and take out whatever his target was. His target was Kemira. But he was supposed to simply capture her. At the most wound her. He got greedy. And it cost him his like.” Theron speaks. “Why is this man so obsessed with me. Why won’t he just leave me alone!” I yell in frustration as Takoa holds me close.

“The guy with the tattoos on his arms,” I say. “He was here yesterday. Where is he?” “Martell?” Stefan asks. He looks over his shoulder. “He’s here somewhere, he never misses training.” “He’s not here,” Piper says, her voice grave. “Who is he?” I ask. “What are those tattoos?” “He’s a mercenary,” Piper explains. “Doesn’t belong to any particular pack. Hires out his skills in fighting, scouting, whatever.”

He seemed like the youngest, probably still a teen. “Why did you step into my pack, young one?” He trembled, but managed to keep a brave face. “I've moved on.” H– how could she move on? How could she move on this easily?! Within a blink of an eye, I grabbed the teen mercenary, slit his throat, blood splashing on my face. His body thudded to the ground, blood escaping through his mouth. I dropped the dagger, picking up a sword. “Who sent you to Blackthorn?” I asked the other three, who were staring in disbelief and fear.

"We were paid! It was just a job!" "So is this," I say. I throw the axe. It spins through the air, end over end, and buries itself in his chest. He topples backward with a wet gurgle. That leaves one. The last mercenary. He’s young, maybe twenty. He’s backed against the cave wall, holding a dagger with a shaking hand and he’s pissing himself. I can smell the ammonia over the scent of blood. I walk toward him slowly. "Stay back!" he shrieks. "I'll kill you! Stay back!"

Charles, a German soldier patted Aiden's shoulder lightly when he saw Aiden was loading some of his things into his black backpack inside the tent. “Hmm, I hope so too. But not in an atmosphere of war like this, once in a while I want to see you relaxing on the beach." Charles hit Aiden's shoulder lightly while laughing ridiculously at Aiden's joke. Indeed being a mercenary or sniper like them could never dream of a vacation. Even to meet family members is very difficult. So most of the mercenaries or snipers assigned to conflict areas are single people, who have broken personalities without a soul, because they are required to lose their humanity while on duty.

Anyone who offended him would be tortured to death through various means. Although the Chasez family tried to hide it, it was eventually exposed and attracted the attention of Special Task Force—the soul of Somerland. Joseph sent Justin out of Somerland at a great cost. Unexpectedly, Justin was like a duck in water when he went abroad. With his outstanding talent and strength, he quickly established a mercenary regiment amongst the chaos called Bloodthirsty. Over the past 20 years, Bloodthirsty Mercenary became the third-largest mercenary in the global underworld.

came me. “Kill them all!” The voices called out. I enjoyed the strength that was flowing through me, even though I had no understanding what was occurring. He coughed up blood and was panting for air. His black-stained lips and tongue were visible to me. He belonged to a small group of lethal mercenaries known as the Children of Shanahara. I once read about them in an old passage, but why was one attempting to murder me now when they were thought to have been exterminated long ago? His heart escaped his chest as I balled my fist. Someone was trying to assassinate me by employing a group of extinct assassins, so I had to find Dimitri and we had to leave immediately. Two additional black-clad