...Wait, what?...

War had a tendency to change everything.

Not just the lives of the soldiers who participated in the conflict, not just the land that would inevitably be ruined by the scars of conflict, but even the civilians who weren’t active participants.

Why?

Because the resources that they would normally use to maintain everyday life would be rerouted into maintaining an active war front.

However, that sort of change was only the tip of the iceberg and only applied to nations and groups that had relatively large armies to maintain.

Groups that had to rely on mercenaries had their own set of problems to deal with.

It sounded nice on paper, exchanging money for an army of veteran warriors that have survived multiple conflicts up until the moment of hiring. Ideally, this meant that a wealthy nation could easily purchase a bunch of disciplined warriors without needing to actually invest in any real military structure themselves. However, like how a certain divine fragment was learning in real time, the only reason some of these mercenaries managed to live that long wasn’t always due to them being skillful.

More often than not, many of these mercenaries were simply opportunistic bastards willing to bail out if they were certain that their employer wouldn’t be living long enough to punish them or even fully pay them.

On top of that, due to the mercenary lifestyle being relatively do-or-die at any given moment, many warriors who take up this particular job mantle have a tendency to be...tactless morons.

There were technically less polite and more accurate ways to describe these fellows, but "tactless morons" was a nice middle ground.

Mercenaries work for coin, so they were technically okay with working with anybody that could afford their prices. However, when the hirer and the hiree have very different lifestyles and different levels of discipline when it comes to life both on and off the battlefield, friction has a tendency to occur.

And when that friction reaches a breaking point, all hell can break loose.

...Which brings us to the present...

On the outskirts of Emberona was a slum-like settlement colloquially referred to as "Mercenary Town." This area was where all of the mercenaries that were hired by the Theocracy, or are in the process of trying to earn a contract with the religious institute, were living in due to some deals they made with the city authorities.

The long and short of this agreement was that while they weren’t allowed into the city itself, unless in small groups, they were free to do whatever the fuck they wanted out there.

In a word, it was a place where sinners could congregate and avoid prosecution or judgment. However, it should be noted that this also meant that the authority figures could also act with impunity.

...

"What the hell do you mean we’re getting a pay cut?!"

"You broke the rules in regards to looting. Therefore, under the contractual clauses..."

"Oh, excuse me! Last I checked, we’re soldiers-for-hire! Meaning that we’re not subjected to your little army’s silly little rules!"

"Yeah!"

"The pay is so shit anyways that we need to loot in order to supplement it!"

"Fuck off, church man!"

"..."

When the war first broke out between the Erupting Dawn Empire and the Sacred Flame Theocracy, both sides had armies that were filled with eager yet disciplined warriors who were ready to fight for their country and beliefs. On top of that, both sides had allies that were more than willing to commit their respective armies for the cause of friendship.

However, war was a meat grinder that cared little for things such as ethics, morality, or honor, and both sides had begun to lose men and luster as the battle dragged on.

Eventually, this led to both sides having to employ additional outside forces to keep up the fight in a more consistent manner.

Unfortunately, the quality of these outside forces...varied.

Take, for example, this lovely group of argumentative bastards known as the Dragon Rats Mercenary Troop.

The Dragon Rats were one of the newer hires of the Sacred Flame Theocracy, and they were absolutely fucking awful.

In terms of fighting prowess, they were led by an Aether Lord who went by the name of Donovan Drakrat and were more than capable of making a name for themselves on the battlefield against the Erupting Dawn Empire’s forces.

However, Donovan Drakrat was someone who prioritized short-term gains and immediate pleasure over things such as long-term investments or honorable reputation. In other words, he was an opportunistic coward, and his mercenary troop reflected that sentiment.

And to those who were wondering how someone so cowardly could become an Aether Lord, it was actually a surprisingly common practice for those from well-to-do walks of life to partake of increasingly potent aether medicines to forcefully break through stage to stage. These types of warriors were usually weaker than their peers, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous.

If anything, such artificial gains made them more cruel due to the well-perceived signs of inferiority. Hence, why this guy who had the look and body reminiscent of a fat rodent, was currently aiming all of his killing intent at a small cleric who was only an Aether Novice at most.

A novice that was close to tears.

"Now listen here, cleric," Donovan snarled as he got up in the man’s face, purposefully circulating his aether to make himself bigger than he actually was. "If me and my boys don’t get their fair share, we might as well just cancel our contracts early and—"

"You will do no such thing," a powerful voice interjected.

"Eh?"

"Abbot Feroxa!"

From the right of Donovan and the cleric, whose face immediately lit up at the sight, entered Abbot Feroxa.

Abbot Feroxa was a stern man with a stern spine and an even sterner face. The man had been a veteran of several dozen wars at this point in his life and could easily determine the mettle of a man by simply smelling them for a brief moment.

Needless to say, he didn’t enjoy the smell of Donovan Drakrat in the slightest.

It should also be noted that Donovan didn’t recognize Abbot Feroxa in the slightest and just thought the man was like every other priest he had met up to this point. This was going to be a mistake that was about to cost him dearly.

"Abbot?" Donovan repeated with distaste. "From what I remember, that’s one of them fancy church titles. Meaning that you’re probably the man in charge of this little shit, right?"

Feroxa’s eye twitched at this casual insult to not only himself but also his congregation, but he wasn’t going to lash out at the mouthy mercenary.

Not yet, at least.

"That is correct," Feroxa answered. "And before you even try to negotiate, you should know that all of our contracts are ironclad. Any attempts to break it will result in immediate retaliation."

"Is that right?" Donovan sneered while he sniffed the man. "You’re telling me that you cutting our wages like this is fair, then? That the almighty church is righteous for stiffing me?"

"It is when you clearly violated the clauses in the contract about looting occupied villages," Feroxa fired back with zero hesitation. "We have reports and eyewitness accounts of you and your men performing prohibitive looting behavior in the last three assaults."

"Hey! We weren’t the only ones to do so," Donovan argued in an attempt to deflect blame. "The Sun Wolves and the Blaster Caps did the same thing, and from what I’ve heard, their wages haven’t been cut. On the battlefield, might makes right!"

"Yeah!"

"That’s right!"

At the mention of these two names, Feroxa clicked his tongue in disbelief.

"Oh, I recognize those two troops...yes, they did receive full payment despite looting..."

"See?!"

"After I had personally removed the heads of their respective leaders in front of them."

"Say what?"

Without saying anything else, Abbot Ferroxa produced from his person a pair of circular objects that he simply tossed to the ground and allow to roll towards Donovan and his crew.

Once the objects came to a stop, Donovan and the rest of his troop immediately recognized what they were.

"W-whose heads are those?!"

"Holy fuck! They’re the leaders of the Sun Wolves and the Blaster Caps!"

The two heads looked remarkably fresh, indicating that these two proud warriors were alive only just moments ago.

Around the part where the head was separated from the torso, Donovan could see tear mark wounds. Indicating that their decapitation was anything but clean.

Then again, the look of agonizing terror on their faces was also a good indicator.

"They had weighed that as warriors at the Aether Lord rank, that they were entitled to do whatever they wanted during battle, as is the law of might makes right" Ferroxa explained to the staring Donovan. "As such, I decided to honor their warrior pride and offered to give them their wages if they could take three of my attacks."

After making this clear, Ferroxa asked Donovan the same question he had asked the recently deceased.

"Do you wish to take three blows then?"

With his stance now clear, Ferroxa began to circulate his aether.