Vis was completely bewildered when he was called over.
He hadn’t even finished tallying the leftover fragments of Willpower Points on his phone before being summoned out of the camp.
He followed the soldier sent to fetch him all the way until they entered the command tent, where the familiar figure of the blonde girl came into view, finally easing his nerves somewhat.
However, when he caught the look in Lortisa’s eyes as she glanced back at him, it was more indifferent than usual, and seemed to subtly hint at something.
Of course, even if Vis was attentive, he couldn’t immediately grasp what she was implying.
He stole a glance around the tent.
(What kind of setup is this? So many people?)
The crystal lamps quietly illuminated the interior, filled entirely with high-ranking generals and officers—clearly a top-level, full-scale pre-battle meeting.
“Report to the Count, the man has been brought as ordered.”
“You may step back now.”
A hoarse voice dismissed the soldiers who had come with him, and after their responsive “Yes,” Vis found himself alone by the meeting table.
The generals and officers seated around the table all cast appraising gazes toward him.
But this wasn’t the first time he’d been sized up like an object, so Vis was somewhat accustomed to it.
“So late at night to summon you here, my apologies for the disturbance, but I still don’t know how to address you?”
Following the voice, he looked toward the old general seated at the head of the table.
Though aged, the man’s spirit was vigorous, his tone gentle yet commanding.
“Count, you are too kind. I am Vis, a mere mercenary without allegiance.”
Vis slightly bowed, neither servile nor arrogant.
Though the occasion was grand and he was facing important figures, two and a half years as a mercenary had not been wasted—he was far from flustered.
Still, even a reasonable attitude like this earned him cold looks from others.
What background did he have? Just a lowly mercenary daring to address the Count so formally? He ought to be bowing his head and kneeling.
Leicester himself paid no mind to such petty concerns and focused on the key question:
“I hear you are a survivor of the Cataclysm in Quietday Town. Please, could you explain the specific circumstances?”
“Ah…”
Though the Count’s words were polite, there was an invisible pressure beneath them.
Vis considered, casting a glance at Sergeant Lortisa.
Since she was here, the situation should have been mostly explained already.
This extra inquiry was likely just to confirm details—after all, it concerned a lord-class calamity spirit, crucial intelligence for the border forces preparing a purge operation.
Understanding that, he carefully recounted the night’s events: how he came to Quietday Town on commission, encountered the Soul-Devouring Sovereign, was rescued by Sergeant Lortisa, and brought back to camp, relaying everything exactly as it happened.
Of course, some trivial details were omitted.
After hearing his account, the officers’ looks of appraisal gradually turned to disbelief.
It was understandable that he survived thanks to Sergeant Lortisa’s rescue.
But to have held off a lord-class calamity spirit—especially one as fearsome as the Soul-Devouring Sovereign—for so long…
Unless he possessed extraordinary mental resilience, he should have lost consciousness upon seeing it, let alone fought back and escaped.
From this, it seemed this mercenary not only had the skill to contend with Holy Patrol Knights but also possessed a tenacious will…
In the camp, such a man could easily rise to centurion rank among the elite.
And he came from the common folk?
Ignoring the murmurs around the table, the Count maintained his steady posture, hands resting on the table, his gaze unwavering:
“So, you did indeed come into close contact with the calamity spirit and were directly gravely injured by the Soul-Devouring Sovereign.”
“Yes, you could say that.”
“And how are your injuries now?”
“Thank you for your concern. With the help of Sergeant Lortisa and your army’s healers, my external wounds have mostly healed.”
Vis answered honestly.
Having said all that, he thought there shouldn’t be any problems and quietly surveyed the situation.
“Is that so…”
Leicester’s voice suddenly faltered, and he raised his chin.
An aide immediately approached Vis, quietly uttering, “Please forgive the intrusion,” before placing a hand on his shoulder.
The refined young secretary exuded ripples of magic.
From the surface of his body to his soul, a sense of exposure as if nothing could be hidden overwhelmed Vis’s thoughts.
In just a few seconds, the secretary withdrew his magic and turned to report:
“Count, while somewhat alleviated, there is still a clear presence of calamity aura on him.”
The conclusion of the magical examination sparked a stifled murmur inside the tent.
The officers’ gazes toward Vis shifted once more, tinged now with a secret excitement.
Count Leicester nodded slowly, speaking with decisive authority:
“As expected… Mr. Vis, you’ve heard the situation. The calamity aura lingering in you, though a troublesome remnant of the Soul-Devouring Sovereign’s attack, is also the key to finding and locking onto the source of the disaster.
So—let me be frank—with your cooperation, we need to use the aura within you to draw out the Soul-Devouring Sovereign.”
The clear purpose was far more reassuring than any vague concealment.
Hearing the straightforward request, Vis felt not a trace of tension but rather relaxed slightly, breathing a quiet sigh of relief.
However, considering the situation, this didn’t seem like an easy matter.
Reflecting now on Lortisa’s glance, he thought he understood.
She was probably warning him that this was trouble and to be cautious in his answers.
But despite the Count’s imposing and composed demeanor, he was no unreasonable noble.
Vis cautiously asked:
“Excuse me, before I respond, may I presumptuously ask… do I have the option to refuse?”
No sooner had he spoken than the tent filled with dissatisfaction.
The soldiers’ sharp gazes pierced him like silent interrogations.
A mere mercenary speaking so boldly? Given the opportunity to serve the Count, he should be grateful, not utter such words.
Did he realize how many were hoping for such a chance, scheming connections just to enlist at the command tent? It was a privilege hard to come by.
More importantly, everyone present wanted the calamity tide resolved by dawn and to return victorious.
Whether from the noble cause of saving people and removing disaster, or personal gain and loss, the operation couldn’t proceed if he alone caused it to fall through—refusal was not permitted.
The atmosphere in the tent suddenly became as grave as an execution ground.
Lortisa’s eyes twitched slightly.
She cared little for what others thought.
But if Vis was unwilling to take the risk, no matter who interfered, she was determined to defend him to the end.
Yet regardless of opinions inside, they had to hear the Count’s reply first.
Before Leicester could respond, Nortern suddenly stood up beside him, smiling as he spoke:
“Count, please allow me to interrupt. Before you answer, I have a few words to say to Mr. Vis—just some small advice. May I?”