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The registrar muttered a curse under his breath, wrapping his coat tight around his body and adding a few more logs to the nearby stove. However, this provided no respite.

Winter was approaching, and the bone-chilling winds foretold the onset of a cold spell. Yet, for the registrar, this was not the worst part. Cold, famine, war – the whole year offered little hope, yet even so, he would rather brave the harsh weather here than go to the front lines to fight those damned Evil God Cultists and monsters.

“Sigh…”

He glanced at the empty roll before him. Up until recently, the place was bustling. Thirsty for adventure, and lured by the promise of both money and power, the mercenaries nearly wore out the doorstep. Back then, some would even bribe him, just for him to scribble their ridiculous names into his registry.

But now?

The place was deserted, almost no one visited. Ever since the initial attempt to regain control had failed, very few had come here.

The root cause of it all was that frightening city.

Thinking about it, the registrar couldn’t help but look through his window at the ominous city at the base of the distant mountains.

The Cursed City, Modheim.

The registrar shuddered. Simply recalling the name sent chills down his spine. Even though his registration office wasn’t anywhere near Modheim, it still made him uneasy – as if even uttering the name would invite some terrible calamity. With that thought, he nervously looked around, half-expecting a Ratman, or some other creature, to suddenly leap out from the darkness…

“Knock! Knock! Knock!”

The sudden knocking nearly made the registrar’s heart leap out of his mouth. He hastily stood up straight, adjusted his outer garment, and then called out.

“Come in.”

Soon, with his words, the door opened, and the registrar saw… a gigantic figure bending over to enter, making a creaking sound as it moved towards him.

What on earth is this thing?

The registrar was utterly bewildered by the towering figure that was nearly as high as the ceiling, he lifted his gaze and saw, under the flickering firelight, a pair of twinkling red eyes….

“Who, who are you?!”

If not for his years of military service that had toughened him up, the registrar would have fainted from fear. As it was, he was shaking as if on thin ice, demanding in a loud voice. At the same time, his mind was racing. What is going on? Has the camp been attacked? But why is there no alarm or call for help? The guy doesn’t look human, an Orc? Or a Northerner? Damn… this is deep inside the Empire!!

As multiple thoughts flashed across the registrar’s mind, the figure thrust out a finger and tapped the desk a few times.

“Sign up.”

“What……what??”

“This is the place, isn’t it? You’re recruiting mercenaries for Modheim.”

“Oh… THAT’S what this is about…”

Upon hearing this, the registrar’s body softened, he almost slipped off his chair right onto the floor.

“Goodness, don’t scare me like that… I thought there was something wrong…”

As he spoke, the registrar glanced towards the door, only to see a couple of guards outside giving him winks and smirks – no doubt their way of getting back at him for enjoying the fire inside the building on such a cold day while they were exposed to the weather outside!

“Ahem, ahem.”

The registrar cleared his throat, returning to his professional demeanor, picked up the quill and turned his attention to the Black Knight standing in front of him.

“Since you’re signing up, I assume you’ve heard about His Majesty The Emperor recruiting mercenaries to explore and cleanse Modheim. But I must make it clear, this is extremely dangerous work. As mercenaries, you’ll be on the front lines, primarily responsible for reconnaissance, assault, and guard duties. In short, if you are called to the battlefield, you will have to fight until reinforcement arrives…. Of course, the pay is settled daily and is quite generous. Anything you find in Modheim has to be handed over to the Church. If the items are particularly valuable, we will offer a reasonable price…. As for supplies, you may negotiate with Sir Taylor who is in charge of logistical support…. Any questions?”

Normally, the registrar wouldn’t bother explaining so much to other mercenaries. But given the terrifying appearance of the one before him, he would rather blabber a bit more than have him come looking for trouble later – mercenaries may have a professional code, but they weren’t necessarily soft-hearted.

“No.”

“Good, then, are you signing up as a band or as an individual?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Of course, there is a difference, if you sign up as a band, then you can operate as a separate unit, but if you sign up individually, we will assign you to another band.”