Logan slowly walked over to the groups of mercenaries, joining them as they began walking towards the outskirts of the city.
As he joined them, he could feel multiple stares directed at him for a few seconds.
’Most of them seem to be around D-C rank hunters,’ Logan thought, glancing around. ’Around silver or gold core.’
"I haven’t seen your face here before," a thin man in his thirties said, as he walked beside Logan.
The man wore flexible metal armor while he had a shield and a sword on his back.
"I just got here a day ago," Logan replied, giving a small nod.
The man nodded. "I see..." he said, looking down as they followed after the others.
Suddenly looking up, the man smiled as he held his hand out.
"I’m Arnar," he said, shaking Logan’s hand.
"Colin," Logan replied without hesitation, using the name on his fake ID.
Arnar raised an eyebrow. "Colin, huh? Where’re you from, if you don’t mind me asking?"
"America," Logan replied, smiling faintly.
Arnar gave a light chuckle. "No kidding. You don’t hear too many Americans this far north. Most of the ones I’ve met stick to the South Korean or Canada dungeons."
Logan shrugged. He had no idea what Americans were known for in this part of the world, but silence worked just fine.
Turning the corner, they saw dozens of mercenary groups spread out in front of several large mobile vehicles.
"What brought you here, anyway?" Arnar asked, curious. "Just the pay? Or... something else?"
Logan fell silent for a moment, unsure what to say.
"I wanted to test myself," he finally said. "See how I hold up in an actual war."
"I like that," Arnar laughed, patting him on the shoulder a few times. "Most guys pretend they are here to help while hoping to leech money off a real mercenary group."
Then, he pointed at the mobile vehicles up ahead.
"Just make sure you sign yourself in at the support vehicles," he said. "They’ll slot you into a group that won’t get you killed, hopefully, and make sure you report back alive."
Logan smiled. "Thanks."
"No worries," Arnar said, waving as he walked off to rejoin his mercenary group. "I have to join my group now, we should go for beers after this!"
Giving a nod, Logan narrowed his eyes as he looked at the support vehicles.
"Arnar," said a girl in her twenties with a small scar down her neck, nodding as he joined their group. "What were you up to?"
"Just showing a newcomer the ropes, sweetheart," Arnar replied, putting his arm around her.
Letting out a deep sigh, the girl pushed Arnar’s arm away before turning to her group of about six people.
"Is everyone ready?" she asked, her voice firm. "We’ll go in for at least thirty to forty C-rank cores this time."
"Sure thing, Sara," a woman in her fifties with short orange hair said, as the others nodded seriously.
Meanwhile, Logan walked up to one of the support vehicles to register.
Hearing the loud explosions in the distance, he knew that this was the real deal compared to being inside a dungeon.
"Name?" a bored woman inside the black minivan asked, typing rapidly on a floating hologram.
"Colin Forester," Logan replied, showing her his forged ID and mercenary card.
"Skill type?" she asked next.
Logan scratched his head in confusion, unsure what she meant.
The woman sighed, clearly annoyed. "Melee, long-range, or support?"
Understanding flashed through Logan’s eyes, quickly responding. "Melee, polearm specialist, solo hunter."
The woman nodded, tapping on her screen, before she glanced at him again.
"Are you sure you don’t wish to be part of a group?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "It’s a lot safer to tag along the first time."
"I’m fine," Logan smiled politely.
"Suit yourself," the woman said, shaking her head.
Pointing at a group of military trucks in the distance she continued,
"Those are headed for the frontlines any second now," she said, already turning her head to the next person in line.
Logan gave a polite nod as he stepped out of the line.
’I’ll see how this works on my own first,’
Once he climbed onto one of the trucks, his eyes immediately swept across all the mercenaries already seated.
This was the kind of tension Logan had expected to feel in the city itself—tight jaws, clenched fists, and silent stares fixed ahead like they were marching into hell.
A loud metallic bang echoed from the back of the truck as the doors were slammed shut.
No one spoke as the engine started, the tires crunching as they drove through the thick snow towards their destination.
’This is it,’ Logan thought, taking a deep breath in. ’Let’s see what kind of monsters are waiting at the frontlines.’
Suddenly, one of the mercenaries near the front tapped the wall of the cabin twice.
The driver responded with a sharp horn.
"We’re five minutes out!" someone barked. "Gear up!"
Without hesitation, everyone in the back began moving—checking their weapons, adjusting armor, sending out some final messages.
The deeper they went, the louder the explosions roared—each blast shaking the ground harder than the one before.
The stench of smoke and blood started seeping through the vents, mixing in with the smell of sweat from everyone inside the truck.
When the truck finally came to a stop, the doors swung open, sending a wave of even worse smells inside.
Logan was one of the first out, his eyes widening as shouting filled his ears and massive mana turrets fired into the distance.
In the distance, he saw a man in a military suit wave at them to quickly follow.
Dozens of mercenaries from the other trucks were already sprinting towards him with their weapons drawn.
As Logan jogged after them, a different team ran out from a cloud of smoke in the distance, carrying a bloodied man on one of their backs.
His armor was half-melted, his face twisted in pain, and the familiar stench of burned flesh hit Logan like a wall.
Logan let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing as he stared into the chaos ahead.
"So this... is what a real battlefield looks like."