Chapter 81- Meeting

Rion sat on the sterile bed in the medical bay, his gaze fixed on the ceiling while his thoughts raced. He barely registered the medic's gentle touch as she pressed down on the wound on his shoulder, the familiar sensation of antiseptic stinging his skin.

Overhead, harsh fluorescent lights buzzed, casting the entire room in a cold, clinical glow. The walls were an endless expanse of white, broken only by the occasional monitor displaying vitals or the metallic shimmer of surgical tools. The faint hum of medical equipment punctuated the silence, but Rion's mind was elsewhere—miles away, reliving the chaos of the recent battle.

The medics around him worked swiftly, their movements rehearsed and efficient, like they'd patched up warriors like him a thousand times before. His burns, bruises, and gashes were tended to with practiced care, and though the sharpness of the pain occasionally broke through his focus, it barely registered compared to the whirlwind of thoughts in his head.

The physical discomfort felt almost trivial, background noise to the mental assessment of his performance, his tactics, and, more importantly, his glaring weaknesses.

That could've gone smoother, he mused, his thoughts circling back to the ambush they had narrowly escaped.

A clink of metal tools brought him back to the present moment, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. "Stay still," one of the medics muttered, applying pressure to a deep gash on his side. Rion complied, though his thoughts remained far from the medbay.

The fight had been brutal, no question about it, but there were lessons buried in the chaos, lessons that Rion had begun picking apart as soon as the dust settled. The Sentinel Mark-1 had performed exceptionally well, perhaps even better than he'd anticipated.

Its precision and ability to lay down suppressive fire had given him critical openings during the ambush. But even as he acknowledged the bot's success, he couldn't ignore the unsettling realization that his own combat style had shown cracks—cracks he needed to address before they became fatal flaws.

His reliance on long range warfare had left him vulnerable, especially when the attackers closed in faster than anticipated. He had prided himself on his ability to control the battlefield from a distance these past few months, but the terrain and their opponents' tactics had left him scrambling when forced into closer quarters.

"You're good to go," a voice broke through his reverie, and Rion blinked, looking up at the medic who was now securing the last of his bandages. She handed him a small packet of painkillers, her eyes showing more concern than he felt necessary.

"Just take it easy for the next few days," she advised, clearly unaware of how little 'taking it easy' fit into his plans.

Rion nodded absently, sliding off the cot and stretching his stiff limbs. His body protested with every movement, soreness radiating from every muscle, but the pain was tolerable, manageable. Far more pressing was the need to improve, to adapt.

He gave the medics a curt nod of thanks and strode out of the bay, his mind already spinning with ideas. The steady crunch of gravel beneath his boots barely registered as he walked toward his tent.

His current combat strategy revolved around his sniping abilities—luring enemies in with precise shots from a distance, picking them off one by one before they even knew what hit them. But as today had shown, it wasn't enough. In close-quarters combat, he was at a disadvantage, forced to rely on his squad or reposition himself too slowly to be effective. His mobility was lacking, and that needed to change.

Speed, he thought. I need to be faster.

As he walked, Rion's mind shifted into problem-solving mode. Although he had the [Dash] origin technique, it only increased his speed at the expense of a large amount of stamina, a resource he had to manage carefully in high intensity battles.

Maybe i should make some kind of mobility enhancing gadget? The idea had merit. If he could design something compact enough to not interfere with his movements, yet powerful enough to give him a significant speed boost, it could solve his issue. Perhaps something that could activate on command, giving him the agility needed to dodge close-range attacks or reposition with lightning speed.

And without drawing too much attention, he added. He didn't want to look like some overdressed superhero out of a comic book—subtlety was key. The last thing he needed was to stand out more than he already did in this mercenary camp.

Then there was the matter of the Sentinel Mark-1. The bot had been a godsend in battle, laying down suppressive fire and sending the attackers packing. It had exceeded his expectations in nearly every way. But it wasn't perfect. Its function was largely limited to stationary combat—great for holding positions or setting ambushes, but less useful when the battle became more dynamic, like today's chaotic chase through the dense undergrowth of Tempest Grove.

And if he wanted to deploy a whole army of them, which was quickly becoming an attractive idea, he'd need to work out the kinks in their mobility. Perhaps integrating a form of hover or tread-based movement could give the Sentinels more versatility.

He could picture it now—an army of mechanized soldiers, each one providing suppressive fire while he moved freely around the battlefield, picking off targets at will.

But there was also the logistics of transportation to think about. Transporting just the one Sentinel through the rugged terrain of Tempest Grove had been a nightmare. Any attempt to transport more would be a monumental challenge.

If only I had access to spatial technology... he sighed, rubbing his covered chin.

The thought lingered. In his old world, he'd heard rumors of advanced tech that allowed for the storing of objects in a personalized pocket space that can be accessed by the user whenever, easily accessible at any time. It would solve so many of his problems in one fell swoop. No more bulky transports, no more worrying about lugging heavy equipment through treacherous terrain.

But it was nothing more than a myth in his mind. He'd never seen it in action till he died, no one who could afford such a thing would be anywhere near slums like Moon Shadow, so it remained just that—a fantasy.

Rion sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he continued down the path toward his tent. His boots crunched against the gravel, the steady rhythm grounding him even as his mind spiraled into a tangle of plans and contingencies.

The ambush in Delta-24 had been a wake-up call. There was something important here, something that had drawn in factions like the Normos Family and others willing to risk everything. It couldn't just be the terrain or the rare fauna that called this place home. No, it had to be something deeper.

What are they all looking for?

His musings were abruptly cut short by the sharp crackle of static over the base's speakers. A gruff voice echoed through the corridors.

{All available mercenaries, please gather in the main hall in ten minutes for a special announcement. Repeat, all available mercenaries, gather in the main hall in ten minutes.}

Rion groaned. Great. What now?

He pivoted, changing course and making his way toward the main hall, his curiosity piqued despite his exhaustion. This was the second time they'd been asked to gather at the large hall, the first time being when they'd just arrived and been assigned commanders.

Surely this isn't about the scuffle we had today.... Other teams have also faced ambushes from other factions during their own excursions into the Grove.

As he strode through the dimly lit halls, he noticed the growing sense of urgency around him. Mercenaries and personnel rushed past, their footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor. Tension buzzed in the air, the kind that only came when something important was brewing.

The hall itself was massive, a vast space that had once been used as a hangar before being repurposed for briefings and meetings. As Rion entered, he quickly scanned the room, taking in the rows of chairs already filling with the other mercenaries.

He found a seat near the back, where he had a clear vantage point of the entire hall. From here, he could see the restless crowd, the guards posted at the exits, and, most importantly, any potential threats.

Leaning back in his chair, Rion crossed his arms and waited. The room was a flurry of activity as more people filed in, the noise level steadily rising. He spotted familiar faces—mercenaries he'd fought with, others he'd only seen in passing. Some looked bored, others tense, as if bracing for bad news.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doors at the front of the hall swung open, and Dixie Normos, the family's liaison, entered. The room fell into an immediate hush, the weight of anticipation settling over the crowd like a heavy blanket. Rion straightened in his seat, his sharp eyes locked onto Dixie as the man strode to the center of the platform.

"Thank you for gathering on such short notice," Dixie began, his voice commanding yet strangely calm. "First and foremost, I want to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for your contributions over the past several days."

"The mission was challenging, and there were... complications that we didn't foresee. But you handled yourselves with skill, professionalism, and resilience. For that, I commend you all."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, ensuring that every mercenary felt the weight of his words. Rion could tell that Dixie was laying it on thick, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that caught his attention.

"Now, not many of you know, but the current state of the mission has become... complicated. Due to unforeseen developments, we are officially considering the mission completed."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Rion felt his brows furrow. Complete? That wasn't what he had expected.

"The rewards for your efforts will be processed immediately after this meeting," Dixie continued, his tone firm but diplomatic. "We understand the hardships you all faced out there, and we intend to compensate you accordingly. Trust me when I say that the Normos Family values its allies, and we will make sure you're taken care of."

Rion noticed the shift in the room—a collective sigh of relief from some of the mercenaries. Others, however, were less than satisfied, their expressions suggesting they expected more than just a promise of payment.

"There's also the matter of internal performance." Dixie's voice shifted, becoming more serious. "Certain individuals have stood out during this mission, and we'd like to acknowledge them for their exceptional contributions."

The room grew quiet as Dixie began reading from a list. Rion listened half-heartedly at first, recognizing the names of a few high-ranking operatives—people with teams and significant firepower at their disposal. Typical. But then, his interest piqued as Dixie's list began to include names that hadn't been part of the major groups.

"Forger," Dixie called out, and Rion straightened, his alias sending a ripple through the crowd. This was the first time that he was recognized in such a public manner. He glanced around, catching a few curious stares from his fellow mercenaries. Most didn't know him personally, but his reputation as a very skilled sniper preceded him.

"Vance," Dixie continued, and Rion's head snapped toward his teammate, who was sitting a few rows ahead. Vance flashed him a quick grin, clearly pleased with the recognition.

"And finally, Tanker. Those of you whose names I've called, please stay behind after the meeting. We have further matters to discuss."

With that, Dixie wrapped up his announcement, offering one last nod of appreciation before stepping down from the platform. The murmurs in the crowd resumed, louder this time, as mercenaries began filing out of the hall, some looking relieved, others disgruntled.

Rion stayed in his seat, his mind already racing with the implications. What could Dixie possibly want to discuss with him and the others? Something told him that whatever it was, it was going to pull him even deeper into the tangled web of Tempest Grove's mysteries.

As the hall gradually emptied, Rion stood, exchanging a glance with Vance as they both moved toward the front, where Dixie was waiting. It seemed the mission was far from over after all.