Raisa Vangrit could still feel the texture of his hand as she walked back toward the rear garden.
Vain Razgrim’s hands were strangely callused for a noble. They weren't the hands of a man who only gripped a sword, nor were they the hands of someone who spent his life exclusively over ledgers and paperwork. There were distinct hard spots at the base of his fingers. She didn't know exactly what the young head of House Razgrim had done to earn them, but he clearly wasn't a man who merely sat in a high chair and barked orders without understanding the world.
"How about I hire your entire group?"
Recalling those words, Raisa let out a short, dry laugh.
His way of putting it had been terrible. He hadn't even tried to hide the fact that he intended to use them as cheap labor. In exchange for providing food, a bed, and medical expenses, he expected them to secure the highway, watch the villages, and supervise former bandits. Under normal circumstances, a mercenary would be well within their rights to laugh and walk away from such an absurdly demanding proposal.
And yet, she didn't feel like refusing.
The members of the Black Claw Mercenaries were waiting in the rear garden. None of them looked particularly presentable. They wore mud-stained leather armor, chipped spaulders, and carried old swords; several had arms wrapped in grimy bandages. If the pristine soldiers of the Kingdom Knights saw them, they would undoubtedly curl their lips in disgust. They’d be dismissed as tavern bouncers or the dregs of a battlefield.
But to Raisa, they were her people.
"Captain!"
A man with a bandaged arm called out to her, his voice laced with anxiety.
"How did it go? Does the boss have another extra request for us?"
"Yeah... though it's more than just an 'extra' one."
Raisa crossed her arms and looked around at her subordinates.
"Black Claw is going to be under House Razgrim for a while. Guarding the highway, keeping watch over the villages, and disciplining the former bandits. We've been hired to handle all of it."
The mercenaries didn't celebrate.
To Raisa, their reaction was somewhat amusing. Usually, they were the type of lot to make a racket the moment they heard their next meal was secured. However, the employer was a noble. For a mercenary, the prospect of serving a noble was never a purely sweet deal.
"...Does that mean we're becoming a noble's private soldiers?"
"If he wants us to put on fancy armor and stand in rows in front of a banner, I'm out!"
"What if we get thrown away the moment we're injured...?"
A wave of unease rippled through the group.
Raisa didn't silence them immediately. It was only natural for them to be wary. The members of Black Claw had almost no good memories of the nobility. They had seen it happen far too often—being pushed to the front lines and worked to the bone, where a victory became the noble's personal achievement and a defeat became the mercenaries' failure.
Raisa had lived that reality herself.
Back when she was in the Kingdom Knights, she had been told to win "beautifully." She was expected to line up head-on, raise the banners, and announce her name to the enemy before engaging. Such pageantry was fine for a ceremonial courtyard, but on a real battlefield, the enemy struck at night. They targeted supply lines. They feigned retreat to lure you into a trap. They led you into marshes to kill your mobility and took down your horses with arrows.
So, Raisa used the mud. She used the dark. She crushed escape routes and did whatever it took to bring as many of her people back alive as possible.
As a result, her superiors had despised her.
We have no need for a woman who only knows how to win dirty.
Raisa had heard those words until she was sick of them.
"Relax! That boss didn't tell us to become 'pretty' soldiers."
When Raisa spoke, the murmurs died down.
"In fact, it was the opposite. Protect the highway. Discipline the bandits. Set up village watches. He wants it done so he doesn't have to listen to bandit reports every single time himself. He really is a foul-mouthed employer."
"So, we can keep doing things our way?"
"As long as it gets results. That’s the only thing the boss cares about."
Raisa looked across the garden.
Gash and the other former bandits were restacking logs. They were still tied with ropes, and guards stood over them, but their faces no longer looked like men awaiting the gallows. They were focused on meal times, memorizing work procedures, and trying to move before Raisa even had to shout a command.
Watching them, Raisa realized something.
Vain wasn't being soft.
He hadn't forgiven the bandits. Not truly. He hadn't wiped away the crime of them attacking the villages. He simply believed that killing them wasn't profitable, so he would put them to work instead. Keeping them in a cell cost money for food; letting them go meant they’d just become bandits again. His solution was to use them cheaply.
It was cold, ruthless logic.
But it was honest.
And within that logic, there was a strange, inclusive opening.
"Whether you're a former bandit, a former soldier, or a starving peasant, if you're useful, I'll use you."
Those words hadn't just been for the bandits. They had reached Raisa and the rest of Black Claw as well.
"Captain, do you actually trust the man?"
A young mercenary asked. He was still green, having joined Black Claw only recently. Since he had suffered through a few miserable stints guarding other nobles, his skepticism was well-founded.
Raisa thought for a moment.
"I don't trust him yet," she admitted.
The young man's face stiffened.
"But he has an eye for the work. He paid for the reconnaissance. He paid extra when we finished early. He told us not to discard the injured. He told the former bandits to prove their worth. He didn't dismiss my methods as 'dirty'; he said they were sufficient."
Raisa let out a small, quiet breath.
"There aren't many nobles like him."
The mercenaries fell silent.
The members of Black Claw weren't fools. They had done rough work in rough places, and that gave them an eye for people. At the very least, they could tell the difference between someone who would use them until they were broken and someone who would pay fairly for the job done.
"What about the food?" someone asked quietly.
Raisa smirked.
"He'll provide it. There’s a place to sleep, too. He even said he’d cover medical expenses for injuries sustained on the job."
"...Really?"
"It's the truth. However, the pay is low. The boss made it very clear he won't budge on that."
"Even if it's low, if there's food, a bed, and medicine, that's more than enough," the man with the bandaged arm muttered.
Several others nodded.
Seeing their reaction, Raisa felt a slight weight in her chest. Black Claw wasn't a prestigious group. They were the starving, the knightly rejects, the ones who couldn't go home, and those who had no other choice. She had gathered them up and led them this far.
They weren't looking for luxury. They were just looking for a place where they wouldn't be thrown away.
Did that noble understand that? Or was he oblivious?
He probably didn't care. That man was likely still calculating the cost of grain and bandages at this very moment, scowling at his ledgers and trying to figure out how to squeeze more labor out of them for less. He would never play the part of a saint.
But that was exactly why she felt she could rely on him.
Nobles who used pretty words about "salvation" were the first to discard you when things got difficult. Those who shouted about honor and loyalty were the first to cut a soldier's rations. Vain was different. He was honest from the start.
I'll use you cheaply. Work. If you're useful, I'll value you. If you perform well, I'll reward you.
It was a harsh way of speaking, but it was remarkably free of lies.
◇
Shortly before noon, Raisa headed to the area where the former bandits were working.
Gash was holding a log steady while another man lashed it with rope. The binding was a bit loose. As Raisa approached, Gash noticed her and immediately straightened his posture.
"Miss Raisa, we're going to tighten this more. If the load shifts during transport, it'll fall apart."
"If you know that, then get to it. Move your hands instead of your mouth."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Gash hurriedly retightened the rope. The look in his eyes—which had previously been darting around for an escape route—was now focused entirely on the quality of his work. Was it the regular meals? A roof over his head? Or was it the fact that he had been given a purpose?
Raisa watched him, her arms crossed.
"Gash."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"You know the paths along the stream, right?"
"Yes. I know the escape routes and the old charcoal huts, everything."
"Then this afternoon, take two of the younger ones and show them the trails. You'll have a Black Claw guard with you, obviously. If you try to run, they’ll put an arrow in your leg."
Gash went pale, but he bowed his head instantly.
"I won't run. I... I want to work here."
Another heavy sentiment, Raisa thought.
She gave a wry smile. If Vain were here, he’d probably tell the boy to pay him back for the food first. The image of the noble's scowling face came to mind, and her lips curled upward despite herself.
"If you want to work, then make yourself useful. The boss isn't soft enough to keep people who don't pull their weight."
"Yes, ma'am!" Gash replied, sounding strangely happy.
A former bandit getting excited about his employer not being soft. This was a bizarre manor. Everything about it was slightly off.
Just then, Vain’s voice echoed from the direction of the house.
"Raisa! Give me the guard rotations for the afternoon. And recount the people for lunch. Don't you dare let the head count increase without telling me!"
Raisa turned toward the voice.
Vain was standing there with a ledger in one hand, wearing a deep scowl. He was likely looking at the dwindling grain supplies. With that same expression, he appraised the value of every person on his land. He hated wasting gold, yet he maintained that discarding people was a waste in itself.
He was undeniably competent.
She had suspected it since yesterday. Any noble who paid for reconnaissance before a job wasn't just some common villainous noble. But seeing him in action, she realized he truly knew how to manage people. Even though he didn't want to get his own hands dirty, he knew exactly who to place where to keep the work moving and the costs down.
Raisa chuckled.
"Yeah, yeah, Boss! I'll handle the head count. You just go back to glaring at your sacks of wheat!"
"Glaring at them doesn't make them multiply, which is infuriating!"
The members of Black Claw burst out laughing. Even the former bandits managed a small, tentative smile.
Hearing that laughter, Raisa felt a sense of clarity.
The Black Claw Mercenaries had been rootless drifters. They wandered in search of work, left their wounded behind, and carried their bad reputations to the next town. She had assumed that was simply their lot in life.
But for now, things were different.
They had a place to eat. Their injuries were being treated. They had a job. And they had a noble who told them that as long as they were useful, he would use them—rough edges and all.
"He’s more than just an 'interesting' client," Raisa whispered to herself. "This is a boss we can't afford to lose."
She began planning the afternoon rotations. She did it for the sake of Black Claw, for the sake of the bandits, and for the sake of that strange noble who did nothing but count his coins.
It was too early to call it loyalty.
But Vain Razgrim was certainly a man worth working for.