The Regressed SSS-Rank Water Mage Wants To Live a Calm Life-Chapter 10: The Lowest Mercenary

Ignoring the hostile gazes of the mercenaries in the courtyard, Maxwell and Vin stepped inside the building, and Frilo merrily trailed behind them in the air.

The moment they took a few steps into the building, Maxwell’s eyes widened slightly. He halted.

’Oh?’

Despite the cacophony of uncultured noises, murmurs and whispers that trickled into Max’s ears, he felt it.

The concentrated amount of mana in this building was quite high, causing an increase in the temperature. The calm breeze outside that had blown against his skin completely disappeared as he entered the building, replaced by a subtle yet discomforting heat.

The hot waves of mana that currently radiated in the building had no element. Just pure mana.

And it was a known fact to Maxwell that the majority of mercenaries were people who had no elemental affinity, and so they chose the diverse paths of weapons.

But amongst them were the special ones who, even without elemental affinity, could use the pure mana in the atmosphere to build their bodies and enhance their weapons.

Which meant...

’The mercenaries with cores are the ones generating this intense wave of mana, huh?’

He moved his neck, surveying the place.

A large hall with white walls, filled with numerous armed mercenaries going about their activities, seemingly accustomed to the heat. Most of them walked to and fro in the hall, their shoe heels hitting against the marble floor. Some sat on lined-up wooden benches positioned at different corners of the hall, while the others walked out of the inner rooms of the guild building.

Maxwell blinked.

The mercenaries present in the hall numbered up to hundreds. And as far as he could feel, not many of the mercenaries possessed cores, which were the ’special’ weapon users’ version of mages’ circles that revolved around their hearts. At most, one out of every ten people present possessed cores. And fewer possessed more than 1 core. The number of mages in the hall was even less than that.

’I guess it only takes this much mana users in a room to change the atmosphere.’

Maxwell chuckled faintly.

’Almost reminds me of the guardians.’

Vin, already several steps ahead of Maxwell, looked over his shoulder at the blue-eyed youth.

"Max, you coming?"

Maxwell snapped out of his minor daze, blinking. He then stared at Vin with a slight smile as he walked toward him.

"Oh, yeah. I just remembered something."

’Vin has no core. A normal swordsman.’

Vin adjusted the bag on his shoulder, groaning.

"Well, good for you for having something that can make you smile like that in a place like this."

Max frowned, a bit perplexed.

"What do you mean?"

Vin, walking side-by-side with Maxwell toward the large, wooden reception desk, let out a soft sigh.

"I thought you’d hate this place more than I do since you’re a former noble. But are you saying that you didn’t notice the smell?"

Just then, Maxwell’s senses finally woke up from their hibernation, and the smell hit him immediately, causing him to scrunch his nose, his frown deepening as he grimaced.

"Ugh, you’re right."

The air smelled like a mixture of a hundred body odors. And not just any body odor, the body odors of mercenaries!

Just then, Max’s gaze landed on Frilo.

The blue little grandmaster spirit, quietly sitting on top of Vin’s head with its tiny nose scrunched, kept shaking its head in dissatisfaction.

Maxwell groaned.

’Even Frilo hates this place.’

Just then, they reached the front desk of the reception.

Vin kept mumbling incoherent words along the lines of:

"I swear, if it weren’t for my wife and kids at home... I won’t be working in this pla–"

Mercenaries who complained about how much they hated their job, the bad smell, the lack of proper lighting in the building, and the presence of killers who decided to be civil, wearing the proper title of a ’mercenary’...

Yeah, they were at the Gislow Mercenary Guild, alright.

Luckily — or unluckily — for Maxwell, he didn’t remember the nitty-gritty of this place earlier, else he definitely wouldn’t have come here.

"Are you fellas here for a task or commission completion?" One of the female receptionists, with a prim, professional smile on her lips, asked the two... gentlemen standing in front of her line at the desk.

Vin, whose ever-rambling complaint got cut off, immediately sighed and grunted softly as he bulged his biceps, taking the bag of wyvern corpse off his shoulder.

Bam–!

He dropped the bag on the front desk.

The receptionist blinked and flinched slightly, a bit taken aback.

"S-sir?" The young lady stuttered before regaining her composure with a throat clear. "I’ll assume this is the corpse of one of the beasts on the task board?"

At that moment, Vin smirked.

"Yes, it is."

Maxwell, however, raised a brow.

’Task board?’

Frilo, the spirit resting on Vin’s hair, shook its head as it sighed in exasperation. It then flew from Vin’s hair, tiny blue wings flapping as it buzzed to the distance.

Maxwell scowled, eyes tracing the bumbling spirit.

With their soul connection, he spoke to Frilo:

’Where are you going?’

The spirit offered no reply. But as Max watched, it arrived and hovered around a certain area in the hall filled with mercenaries...

It was the western side of the hall, where the majority of the mercenaries gathered, gazing at a large wooden board that hung on the wall, where countless papers were pinned.

Those numerous papers contained the...

Max’s scowl melted.

’Oh. The task board.’

Frilo rolled its blue, adorable eyes, steadily making its way back to Vin’s hair.

Max smiled, gazing at the spirit.

’My bad, buddy.’

Frilo puffed its cheeks, a hint of petty pride surfacing on its tiny face as it relaxed on Vin’s hair. The spirit was quite satisfied having pointed out something obvious to its master. And it smiled faintly. It was happy.

Frilo loved this new, slightly dumber version of Max. The one who didn’t have eight supernatural senses or a divine sense. The one who didn’t know it all.

With the warm feeling in its ethereal heart, the spirit yawned, stretching its tiny limbs, and it napped on Vin’s head.

Maxwell’s smile grew warmer. Through their soul-link, he’d felt every emotion that Frilo felt.

Just then, Vin, who’d been speaking with the receptionist, declared loudly:

"And it’s not just any beast," Vin held his chin with pride. "It’s an A-rank beast. Almost at the level of a monster."

The receptionist’s eyes widened, but narrowed back immediately as she cleared her throat, speaking professionally:

"And what are your ranks?"

The moment she asked this, Vin’s facial expression changed, and a look of apparent nervousness surfaced on his face. A lone sweat slid down his forehead as he scratched his neck. Then, with a low voice, he said:

"I’m... a C-rank. And this guy here is," Vin turned to Maxwell, who was staring at his head with a rather suspiciously warm smile. "What rank are you again, Maxwell?"

Maxwell took his gaze away from the napping Frilo, and his smile faded as he stared at the receptionist with a serious glare.

The young lady flinched a bit, shaken by the intense look in his eyes. What could he possibly be thinking about that made him stare at her like that?

Meanwhile, Maxwell was in a bit of a dilemma.

’Uh, what rank was I at this time again?’

He gulped.

’I think it was somewhere around...’

Vin tapped his shoulder, a knowing look on his face.

"Having trouble recalling?"

Maxwell’s intense glare finally melted as he nodded.

Vin smiled.

"Check your pockets. Your mercenary license must be there."

"Ah," Max exclaimed. "Right."

After searching the pocket of his trousers, he finally found the license card with his name on it.

Vin and the receptionist waited for him to call out his rank.

Maxwell looked at it, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"I’m an E-rank."