A disaster. That was the conclusion Joel reached after hearing the fragmented news coming from the southeastern border between Dirmistan and Migozyria. It wasn't a word he used lightly. In fact, he usually distrusted simplistic diagnoses. But this time, the more he analyzed the situation, the more obvious it became.

  For weeks, the only news coming out of that region was of clashes between mercenary groups from both sides. Not mere isolated skirmishes to keep the tension alive. These were real battles. Entire companies were being decimated, camps razed, trade routes disrupted for days. And, almost without exception, the Dirmistan forces were coming out badly worse.

  At first, Joel didn't pay much attention. Like most of the local population, he was already used to hearing about both victories and defeats on that pseudo-warfront. The border was always a little hot, always full of dead and ambiguous news. It was part of the daily landscape.

  However, this latest news contained a peculiar detail. Despite the continuous defeats, Dirmistan had not lost control of any province. Not a single governor had fled in disgrace.

  That fact alone broke the logical pattern of the ongoing war. If mercenary companies were being annihilated so frequently, the enemy would normally consolidate their positions, deploy their agents, and put pressure on the provincial capitals. But that wasn't happening.

  Detailed information was slow to arrive. Unlike victories, defeats are rarely publicized. Official reports spoke of "isolated incidents" and "tactical movements," far from the truth.

  It was trade—as is so often the case—that ultimately revealed the truth. Merchants crossing the nation transporting their goods also carried the news, often more quickly and effectively than the official channels themselves.

  Everyone said that Migozyria, or at least the southern rebel faction, was actively provoking clashes with Dirmistan's mercenaries. In what appeared to be an elaborate plan to outright annihilate those who had been opposing them.

  Most of the clashes were elaborate ambushes. Mercenary companies were lured into unfavorable terrain through manipulated intelligence or staged attacks. At other times, the rebels launched direct assaults on camps or small villages where the mercenaries were spending the night, feeling confident after days without incident.

  Swift strikes and immediate retreat were the norm in these attacks. Sowing chaos and not even taking prisoners. And, according to the most persistent rumors, the central authorities didn't really know how to respond. No major city was under threat, so the army didn't know where to send its reinforcements.

  Joel observed the phenomenon with a cold fascination. He was far from developing any kind of patriotism for Dirmistan. His connection to that nation was circumstantial. But he understood the symbolic weight of what was happening.

  The mercenary companies were the invisible buffer between the war and the civilian population. They absorbed the violence in the gray areas and maintained a flexible line without compromising the regular army. Watching them fall one after another, without the map changing, generated something more dangerous than fear. It generated uncertainty.

  Morale was beginning to suffer. Not from the loss of territory, but from the feeling of powerlessness. If the mercenary forces were being destroyed so easily, what was really happening on the border?

  Joel knew the central authorities would do everything possible to avoid escalating the conflict with their neighbors. They couldn't afford a formal war at this time. Many of the nation's best forces had been deployed in support of other free states, officially threatened by the armies of Fullgorth. That strategic decision had stretched Dirmistan's military capabilities too far. Opening a new official front would be madness.

  But that didn't mean the nation was undefended, as dozens of regular regiments had already been moved to the border to guard the main cities. Provincial capitals were reinforced, and even in those provinces where enemy influence had taken hold, the capitals were surrounded by military forces, using one pretext or another.

  But the countryside… the countryside was another story. There, only a spark was needed to ignite a full-blown war.

  And yet, everything indicated that the rebels knew exactly what they were doing. The frontier was vast, rugged, and riddled with secondary roads, forests, and hills that offered natural cover. Their mercenaries carefully avoided any direct confrontation with the regular army. They only engaged other mercenary companies, in what seemed like a war waged in the shadows.

  Furthermore, Dirmistan's mercenaries could not abandon the frontier. If they withdrew for any reason, they would leave vast rural areas exposed. It would only take the enemy consolidating a presence in those areas to eventually seize control of the provinces.

  For Joel, the conflict between mercenary companies was always an enigma. From the outside, it all seemed like utter chaos. However, the more he observed, the more evident it became that this apparent disorder obeyed very precise rules. Invisible to the average citizen and only useful to those who knew how to use them. In the end, it was Basil who managed to explain it to him clearly.

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  In the absence of an official state of war, mercenaries enjoyed freedoms that the regular army would never have. They could move through practically any national or allied territory without being considered a direct threat. They were, in legal terms, private forces under contract.

  There was, however, a key condition. As long as a company did not exceed one hundred members, it could cross borders between states without needing special permits. If it exceeded that number, then it had to request formal authorization from the corresponding nation. A mere technicality. One that, in the case of the Free States, was respected by all its members.

  The principle was clear: small companies were acceptable. Large contingents were suspicious, at least on paper. In practice, this was an open door. Mercenaries from Migozyria, properly registered in one of its cities, could enter Dirmistan without much trouble. This was especially true since many held official contracts with nobles, influential merchants, or landowners within Dirmistan itself.

  What few knew—or pretended not to know—was that many of these “bosses” were actually agents financed by the empire or the rebel faction.

  Once inside Dirmistan, nothing prevented these small companies from regrouping. And when the time was right… they reformed. They became what they had always been: companies that easily numbered over a thousand.

  Technically illegal, of course. But when the regrouping took place in rural areas, far from administrative centers, the law became a flexible concept. By the time anyone began to suspect anything, it was too late. From then on, they only had to do their job. Ambushes, arson, eliminating specific targets, destroying warehouses or caravans. Criminal or not, that depended on which side of the contract.

  Then those companies dispersed again. They split into smaller factions, returned to the status of “legal” companies, and continued their journey. And if the regular army discovered them ahead of time, there were always the irregular border crossings to escape through: mountain trails, secondary river routes, barely guarded gorges.

  The border was vast and impossible to fully patrol. For Dirmistan's forces, effectively patrolling it was a constant headache. They were too visible and predictable. Moreover, their movements were constantly monitored by informants and spies. A contingent of a thousand soldiers advancing along a main route could not remain hidden. And splitting into smaller patrols was not an option, as in such small groups, they risked being surrounded and annihilated by mercenary companies that could outnumber them several times over.

  The army was designed for open warfare. What they faced now was something else entirely. Therefore, the only viable way to combat the enemy mercenaries without escalating the conflict was through… other mercenaries. Local companies hired to hunt foreign companies. Ambushes against ambush predators. Swords against swords, far from the official banners.

  If the army intervened openly, the situation would change in nature. It would transform into a formal war. And that was precisely what Dirmistan, and seemingly everyone else, wanted to avoid. Perhaps out of fear of an unexpected demonic invasion or an intervention by the Fullgorth Empire.

  The empire didn't need grand excuses, just justifiable ones. An open escalation between Dirmistan and Migozyria could be presented as regional instability, a legitimate reason to intervene "as a mediator." They had used this strategy before, long before the demonic invasions. It was a convoluted way to start conflicts, which almost always ended with them seizing control of many of the affected territories.

  The growing desperation of the authorities finally pushed them toward an inevitable decision: throwing more people into the fray. Without resorting to forced conscription or threats—at least not yet—but to something equally effective in times of crisis: patriotism… and money. Rumors even surfaced of companies being formed from active-duty soldiers.

  Official messengers began to scour towns and villages, seeking out every available mercenary. The call was clear: Collaborate in the defense of the border. In return, the government offered rewards far exceeding the usual rates, special bonuses for combat, and, for the first time, guaranteed compensation for the families of those who died in service. An unmistakable sign that the situation was becoming critical.

  Joel could sense the change almost immediately among the civilian population. Conversations in markets and taverns ceased to revolve around ordinary topics and transformed into impassioned discussions about national defense. A fighting spirit emerged that he had never seen before: wounded pride, suppressed fear, and a collective determination not to yield to the threat.

  Many citizens, driven more by emotion than experience, even began to form small makeshift companies with the intention of marching towards the border.

  But Joel knew the truth. Good intentions were useless on that front. What was needed were experienced, high-level mystic warriors, as well as large, disciplined companies. Exactly the kind of force he had been building for months.

  The official message arrived fairly quickly. An envoy directly from the capital, Illsarius, appeared at Basil's farm escorted by several soldiers. Joel wasn't there at the time, but Basil told him what had happened.

  The official wasted no time on formalities and, from the outset, pushed as hard as possible for the company to begin operations immediately. As he explained, the government was actively mobilizing all large companies toward the border, trying to stabilize the situation before the attrition of the forces already present forced a complete withdrawal.

  The conditions offered were extraordinary: almost double the usual pay for contracts of this type, as well as priority access to military supplies and official compensation for the fallen. The authorities made no attempt to downplay the gravity of the situation; On the contrary, they openly presented it as a way to urge quick decisions.

  Basil, in Joel's absence—who remained the owner and official commander—refused to accept any final agreement. Nevertheless, the envoy delivered the message… and decided to do more. He gathered all the company members present and gave a speech. One of those carefully crafted speeches designed to ignite passions: tales of threatened cities, countrymen fighting to exhaustion, families dependent on the sacrifices of those who wielded a sword. He spoke of honor, responsibility, and the danger of allowing the conflict to advance even one step further into the nation.

  When Joel returned and heard what had transpired, he immediately understood the effect those words had had. Many of the mercenaries were restless, worried, and motivated. Even Basil—normally extremely cautious—and several of the other leaders had begun to lean toward the idea of ??intervening as soon as possible.

  Joel was not keen on the idea of ??rushing the company into action. He would have preferred to carefully choose the right moment, as well as further consolidate the hierarchical structure and discipline. But he also understood that the situation was no longer normal.

  It was an extraordinary moment. And, silently, he couldn't help but acknowledge that the circumstances were also… convenient. For there was no better stage to test the true capabilities of his mercenaries than one in which they possessed the initiative and a remarkably high morale. External pressure had achieved something no amount of training could guarantee: a shared purpose.

  Furthermore, Basil had recently reached a new threshold of power, finally establishing himself as a true mystic grand master. Something that completely altered the company's military standing.

  Perhaps the time had come for Joel to prove his leadership on the battlefield. Not as that young man who had once improvised everything he could on that battlefield in Velthara, but as a true commander, leading warriors trained in his own way.