The town was lit up with bright lights, laughter echoing from every corner. Men surrounded by women drank and played games, each clutching a weapon.

"Haha, that last job was too easy! All that village had was women and children; the insurgents were already gone," a man with a scar on his arm talked about the most recent job the celebrating group did.

"Indeed! I know Pyke and Jones had fun while we had to slaughter the bunch. But it will all be worth it when we get our pay, right lads?"

"Yeah!" Cheers echoed as the mercenary group got drunk on the town's booze.

Gareth smashed his tankard onto the table, sloshing ale onto the already stained wood.

"One more village, one more sack of silver, and I can finally go home," he announced to the other mercenaries.

They stared at him in disbelief. Gareth was known for his ruthless brutality. What was this talk of home?

"Home? You mean that shack in the woods?" Varrick scoffed. "The one with the crippled sister and hungry brats?"

Gareth clenched his fist. After six long months of ravaging villages in this war-ravaged land, all he wanted was to see his family again. Just one more raid...

The uneasy mercs exchanged glances. In recent months, Gareth had burned down countless homes on the Church's coin. But they now glimpsed the man beneath the mercenary façade.

Six months ago, the Church and the Federation ended their truce. With the Empire no longer between them, tensions erupted. Open war could cripple both, so they turned to proxies - mercenaries for hire to strike villages in the other's name.

Gareth knew his hands dripped red with innocent blood. But if killing a few more towns meant his family would survive the winter, so be it. In these bleak times, most men had a shred of humanity left to lose.

These groups were paid handsomely by the side they worked for and acted as proxies. Since there were two sides, it became normal to only work for one side and hate those who worked for the other.

Much to this mercenary group's disappointment, the village they attacked was said to house a mercenary group working for the Federation. They were paid to exterminate the village and, in turn, receive a bag of silver.

Varrick drank deeply from his tankard. "Aye, that last raid went faster than a rabbit with its tail on fire," he said in his usual gruff, lumbering voice.

Everything reeked of stale beer, smoke, and body odor. Gareth breathed deep the sour miasma, almost choking on the stench. His hands felt sticky from spilt ale coating the table's scarred surface.

"You said it, Var," replied Pyke. He leaned back and kicked his feet up on the table, shuffling a deck of cards in his scarred hands.

Pyke always had a deck ready, nimble fingers dancing as he fleeced men at dice or cards. "Those Federation fools ran off and left the village ripe for plunder."

"I just hope there's some fun next time," said Jones, running a whetstone down his sword's edge. "My blade's been thirsty." The youngest of the group, Jones still sought the thrill of combat.

Lost in thought, Gareth stared into the flickering hearthfire as he drank, the dancing light etching deep shadows on his pockmarked face. Though the most ruthless among the mercs, on this night his mind wandered far from the celebration.

Well into the night, the drunken mercenaries boasted and cackled about the massacre, their lips wet with ale.

The raucous celebration quieted as drunk mercenaries passed out, tankards slipping from their slack hands. Moonlight filtering through dingy windows cast a silvery shroud over the men. Shadows crept in, swallowing the light.

Figures moved with the silence of specters, weapons glinting in the darkness like steel fangs ready to rend flesh.

Slowly approaching the sleeping mercenaries, the figures spread out and took out their weapons. Silently, one by one, each of the sleeping men was killed. In a nearby house, one of the figures clenched his fist as he stared at a sleeping mercenary, scratching his belly and snoring.

He turned to his companion and pleaded, "Erick, please let me kill this bastard. I had to watch as he... he... did those things to Linda."

Erick placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder. Patrick flinched, rage still pulsing hot in his veins.

"Steady yourself," Erick said. "Focus."

Patrick turned away, jaw clenched. He pictured Linda as she was before - smiling, eyes shining with joy. His fingers curled around the hilt of his dagger, leather creaking in his tightening grip.

After a long breath, Patrick met Erick's gaze and gave a terse nod. He would follow his friend's lead until their task was complete. Only then could he slake his fury and avenge Linda's stolen innocence.

Patrick trembled, his hands shaking. Searing memories flashed before his eyes - Linda's screams, her blood. Patrick saw only the butcher who defiled her. As his vision narrowed on his target, instincts screamed to lunge, to avenge...

Patrick neared the man waiting for the time to strike as he forgot his comrade who turned to leave. He stood over the man, waiting.

Erick exited the house, stepping in blood, and looked down to see a surprised corpse with flies already sipping the blood leaking from its neck. Looking up, the man could see the entire square dyed red and smiled.

"Poor Church bastards should have picked the other side. We should wrap up and leave by morning."

......

Inside the mayor's office in Carc, a trainee under Cassian heard about the recent changes in the world and was brimming with questions.

"Master, I'm confused. You say Netherane suffers proxy wars, but why? To finalize borders and station mercenaries? For population control? Or just to shield our own men?"

Cassian sighed to himself as his fist landed on his trainee's head.

"Hah, I can't believe I trained someone so brain-dead. Our lord is the one who commanded us to start this; in no way, it's for something as simple as population control!"

In the six months since the Empire fell, tensions rose between the Federation and the Church. Neither wanted open war, so they turned to mercenaries as proxies.

Neither side wanted an open war, so they turned to mercenaries as proxies. Coin flowed as each side hired bands of wandering swords for sale. Allegiances arose; villages were raided, claimed for one side or the other under the guise of random mercenary violence.

The common folk suffered the most, their homes and livelihoods becoming pawns in a greater game of empires.

Over the months, mercenaries became prominent, and the Federation scrambled to hire their own while solidifying their position. The Church had the upper hand due to its long-standing foundation.

"If not population control, then what? What's the true purpose?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's about power, about gaining the upper hand. With more mercenaries we can slowly expand our reach, take more villages unofficially."

"Master, if we already have the advantage, why incite these proxy wars?"

Cassian snorted. "Don't be foolish. This isn't about what we already have, but how we can gain more."

"More warriors, you mean?"

"Not just warriors, but territory, resources, influence. War is always about power." Cassian paced the room as he lectured.

The trainee furrowed his brow. "But won't proxy wars weaken both sides? Seems it would hurt the Church too."

Cassian smiled. "Yes, in the short term we lose money and resources. But we control the mercenaries. We can position them where we wish, take more villages under the guise of their raids."

The trainee's eyes lit up with understanding. "So we expand our reach disguise it as the chaotic violence of lawless mercenaries!"

"Now you see the genius of it," Cassian said with an approving nod.

"Wow, did the lord think of all that? He's taking advantage of the Federation's weakness to have more land and warriors! It's like training the local populace for war!"

"Haha! That's not all! I only found this out recently because it's becoming more prevalent, but with the rise of mercenaries, Plague Doctors are fading into obscurity! The Lord has even removed all schools for the art and created a profession called alchemist"

"Really! What do they do?"

"Alchemists rely on tinctures, unlike Plague Doctors. Their draughts cure diseases and heal wounds just as well without having powerful abilities."

Cassian went on to explain that Alchemists relied on tinctures, elixirs, and balms. But the healing draughts alchemists brewed were just as potent, healing flesh and curing diseases more effectively than even Plague Doctors.

They also didn't need to spend as much time studying diseases, making them easy to train in just a few months. They were the perfect role to take over Plague doctors, not only were they not prone to violence but did their job better. With alchemists, why would the people want Plague Doctors?

Cassian's student tilted his head. "But... wouldn't the Federation keep the Plague doctors still? They are more powerful?"

"That's it! They would, but our Church has been spreading rumors, causing discontent with Plague Doctors. It won't be long until the Federation has to train them in secret. And soon, mercenaries will replace Plague doctors as the fighting force"

Cassian's student lit up as he finished his thought. "All the while the Lord's alchemists take over as the people who heal others! We are replacing the current power base!"

"Yes! In short, we will control the majority of the healing and fighting force while restricting our enemy. With alchemists and mercenaries under our influence, we will dominate Netherane."

Silence enveloped the room as the trainee opened his mouth with confusion. "Even so... why do this? We have the majority anyways, why are we lowering the entire pool of strength? It's like we are neutering an animal."

"Don't worry about that, everything is dictated by the Lord. All we do is listen"

.....

Unlike him, Cain sat back in a luxury room overlooking a city block. He wasn't in his laboratory but instead was relaxing and taking in the beautiful scene Carc showed.

In these six months, Carc has become a city of pleasure. It is the home of the mercenaries and a place anyone must travel to. With death consuming the swamp, many men die in battle, in Carc, it has shown.

Many brothels have popped up and received the coins from many mercs; it was another machination of Cain. With Carc housing red-light districts, the Church can reacquire much of what they gave out and lose little compared to what they should.

Mercenaries lived a dangerous life and sought to live in pleasure before their likely demise. The taverns and brothels of Carc provided that escape while allowing the Church to reacquire the coins they had paid the mercs.

Cain still maintained the shrewd mind of a merchant.

He looked out his window to see the new Carc. Raucous laughter and the clinking of tankards spilled into the streets as a dozen mercenaries staggered from a tavern. One stumbled and vomited in the gutter while his comrades jeered.

A drunken roar erupted from the tavern, the doors bursting open as two brawlers tumbled into the muddy street. Onlookers shouted encouragement while placing bets as the men pummeled each other senselessly.

Down an alley, a bruised woman adjusted her dress after being thrown out of a brothel.

Cain sipped his drink, reveling in the beauty and chaos he orchestrated. Power and knowledge were the only things that still thrilled him after all these years.

'A few more months and everything will be ready, the battlefield has already been set. All that is left is time to pass, and I will harvest my crops, hehehe.'

Cain closed his eyes as he took this free time he had to enjoy the peace he would soon destroy. An odd peace that one could experience only through society, gazing upon the people walking in the streets as they lived out their lives doing the same thing each day until they died.

A peaceful cycle that started as the day started and ended. Beauty is only seen by those with eyes beyond the norm.

Note: Let me know If you want me to go into deeper detail on the new professions and such introduced in this chapter. I will may or may not go into further detail so I'm asking for your opinions.

Thanks for reading the story this far :)