Cain stood still, not blinking, watching their eyes more than their bodies.
The three men hadn't moved much since the deal was proposed.
The one in sleek orange armor Ricky shifted his gaze toward the quiet one beside him, whose gear was too customized to be off-the-shelf.
"You in?"
Tol held his palm up, clearly thinking about how good those vague words meant.
The third, the one built like a mobile bunker Pumbo, remained still, his gaze buried behind tinted optics, unreadable, yet unmistakably heavy.
All three looked at Cain with the kind of wariness you didn't express with words.
It wasn't distrust of skill. It was something more personal, more systemic.
They weren't asking if he can he lead, the idea of ageism had been purge centuries ago — the only thing that matters are results and how fast to get to that result.
They eyes were discretely asking if it was really the trip.
Cain understood it immediately.
In the current era, failure wasn't just death or injury — it was market reputation.
Transaction records, open contract scores, and digital footprint logs didn't forget.
Every scam, every lie, every shady deal left permanent scars in your financial ecosystem.
Burn a team once and you'd spend the rest of your life with your name locked out of any serious job.
No blacklists, no tribunals — just silence.
No team, no support, and worst of all — no retry for a second chance.
'Let them think my words for what it was, my goal is just to get to the city after all.'
Beanie didn't speak.
Instead, she extended her hand, mana swirling outward, soft and cyan.
Demon, like humans could wield myriads of energies but they'd prefer mana due to extreme compatibility and versatility.
Her mana was clean, organized, and controlled. Cain almost smiled.
'At least she wasn't as green as she looked.'
It shimmered in slow tendrils like fog, carrying the contract seal encoded with parameters — profit division, kill rules, loot prioritization, revivification clauses, and escape contingencies.
The tigress stepped forward first, without hesitation, she pressed her palm into the flow and let out her primal ki.
Cain didn't miss the message. She wasn't the kind to waste time wondering. If she joined, it meant she'd already judged the rest of them and found it good enough.
She wasn't out here to play games or roll dice on drama.
"Let's get this over with, what are you guys waiting for?"
Then came the men.
One after another, their magicules shimmered like distorted glass before pushing through the binding contract.
'Even this half-beastman preferred magicules... Interesting...'
Cain stood a few meters ahead, scanning each of them with silent precision as they fell into a loose semicircle.
There was no barked order, no dramatic countdown — just his voice, low and firm, threading through the humid morning haze.
"Check your gear. Don't assume it's fine. Assume it's faulty."
The click of metals, the hum of activators, and the soft pulse of magicules flowing into weapons followed immediately.
The two with battle magician were already at it — drawing their blades in near-perfect arcs.
Battle aura blades weren't just cosmetic. They vibrated at frequencies that cut more than flesh.
One shimmered blue, the a touch neon lavender — subtle signs of their personal tuning.
Cain made note of it.
Battle magician weaponry required nerves trained for tactile resonance and reflexive flow, meaning both of them leaned into high-speed, close-quarters combat.
The third, the trooper magician, remained on one knee, securing extra cartridges into his belt.
The shotgun across his back hissed as he loaded the internal seals, and the riot shield, now fully deployed, glowed faintly with impact-dampening runes.
Built for defensive response, he was the kind of person who outlasted waves.
If there was a breach, he'd be the last line before bodies started dropping.
Cain didn't draw anything.
His class wasn't visible — not like theirs.
He wielded a sword, but without aura. He could take hits, but not like a frontline tanker-class magicians.
And his traps? Only useful if they were set up before the fight even began.
His choice had always been none of the above.
It wasn't a matter of talent, but of patience — he had none for half-formed lessons from instructors desperate to box him into a role.
Even his grandfather and Uncle Julius, both ranked among the elite, refrained from passing down their specialized skills.
Only the 205 true schools of Fracturion, forged through centuries of disciplined combat tradition, held the right to offer that.
But entrance took money, grades, and lineage doesn't count for jack shit.
For nearly a millennium, his family had served with distinction.
Yet even he could be cast aside — for this was the very system that raised mankind from the gutters to the arena of gods.
In the end of all this there was only one result.
Cain's nerves weren't specialized.
The energy flow in his body didn't surge in bursts of strength, speed, or casting affinity.
It just… grew. Evenly. Incrementally.
That meant no glaring weaknesses — but also no glaring strengths.
Cain reached up and tapped his wrist terminal, watching the team lock their weapons into holsters and scabbards.
After the final checks were done.
Blades pulsed steady. Ammunition was sealed tight.
Contracts bound them all to the mission, and no one had said a word they didn't mean.
Cain could feel it — the moment just before the wheels started turning, the brief stillness between knowing and doing.
He drew his two pistol and casted Swiftness enchantments on his companions.
Beany wasn't idle, with demonic chat, her spell spread all around.
"Tlakvu Kami Lahh. Veil the flesh, deny the scent."
A ripple passed through the group like a whisper of wind brushed their skin.
Mist unfurled low at their feet, a conjured veil that blurred outlines and quieted presence.
Visibility wasn't fully blocked, but they'd vanish in the periphery, distorted like heat above stone.
But spells weren't just for other humans.
Cain's eyes drifted beyond the trees, toward the hills and unnatural ridges carved by older battles.
Not all threats here walked upright.
Magical beasts ruled this terrain — territorial, intelligent, and aggressive.
They weren't mindless predators but apex competitors.
It wasn't the demons or beastmen he worried about.