Leon stepped out of the train and into a sea of people, his bulky backpack slamming into whoever stood too close to him whenever he turned. Whatever they said about him, he wouldn't care; their little cusses wouldn't make it through the noisy Ratava Train Station and into his ears.

Stepping onto the crowded escalator, Leon scowled at the idle people who clogged up the walking lane. Escalator etiquette didn't exist, did it? These people sure deserved a quick smack by his backpack.

After a few moments of standing still, Leon arrived on the top. As he approached the fare gates in the distance, someone bumped into him. Leon's pants pocket now felt empty, and he turned to stare at the culprit: a skinny man with messy blond hair and distended pants pockets.

"Excuse me." He seized the culprit by the back of his collar and pulled him back; Leon's nose wrinkled at the stench of cigarette smoke from the man. "Mind showing me what's in your pockets?" At this, the crowd looked at him and the man and formed a circle around them. Like a pack of wolves ready to bring down a big prey, Leon would say.

The blond man turned, beads of sweat trickling down his face. "L-let me go. I'm in a hurry."

"Sure." Leon's free hand went to pull everything out of the crook's pants pockets. "But not with my stuff! I can't leave the station without my public transport card!"

"Our wallets!" Two men and a woman dashed out of the crowd and approached the heap of leather wallets on the ground.

Once Leon loosened his grip, the quivering blond guy stood still and watched as the crowd crept closer to him. Murderous intent brimmed in their eyes.

"H-help..." The man took a few steps back, at which Leon shoved him towards the approaching crowd. And like rabid beasts, the mob roared, yanked the crying man towards them, and barraged him with fists and feet.

Leon hunched over to pick up his wallet. Before heading towards the fare gates, he gave the commotion one last look and sighed. Such was life in the country of Rechel; mess around with a mercenary, and you'd subject yourself to a world of hurt. It depended on the mercenary, though; a few would help the pickpocket escape and dissuade the mob after scolding the crook and retrieving their goods.

No good mercenary would do that, Leon thought as he tapped the gate's scanner with his wallet. Stealing from a mercenary was a crime, and the culprit deserved a punishment. Luckily for the crook, the mercenaries' code of conduct forbade them from using their weapons and magic against criminals unless punishing them was part of the contract.

Leon looked at the green screen on the gate's scanner. The train ride had cost 12 Bits and left him with 183 Bits in his card. Good. If he didn't receive many tasks at distant places, he probably wouldn't need any top-ups this week.

Walking past the gate, he returned his wallet to his pants pocket. With the crowd busy beating up the pickpocket, the area outside the gates barely had anyone wandering about. Leon could now feel the chilling air from the ceiling aircons; although the wind couldn't get past his black leather jacket, something was better than nothing.

It's not the time to enjoy this. Leon headed towards the sliding glass doors ahead of him. My contract comes first.

Gusts of hot wind blew against Leon's face as he stepped out of the station. The sun shone like a gleaming medallion in the cerulean sky, showering the earth beneath with golden rays of light. Although sticky and burning sensation plagued Leon's skin, he ventured across the clusters of people with his jacket on. A mercenary should never let his guard down just for comfort.

In the distance, in front of the restroom, a man in a black hooded robe and a bronze domino mask stood with a brown mobile phone in his hand. His robe made it hard to see his type of build, but he looked quite stocky and was at least a head taller than most people around.

Wallet in hand, Leon approached the man. "Good day, Sir. Please tell me more about the Raging Bull."

The man smiled. "Ah, so you wanna try your luck?"

More like, "I wanna kick his ass," Leon replied in his mind, his face an impassive mask.

"May I look at your ID card?"

Leon unfolded his wallet to show the card. "Hunter Leonhardt. A mercenary from Kraindr Academy."

The man gasped. "A mercenary?"

"Got a problem with that?"

"Of course not. The Raging Bull has fought a few mercenaries before you."

And erased them from existence, Leon continued in his mind. Great. All the more reason to slaughter this bull.

The man smiled. "Pay me 50 Bits, and I'll take you to him."

That's about the price of an above average lunch set. Leon pulled a blue banknote - the fake money the academy had given him to prove whether or not the Raging Bull asked for payment - out of his wallet and handed it to the man. "Take me there."

"All right." The man kept the money in a pocket on his robe.

Wow, what a smart fellow, Leon thought with a poker face. He accepted the money without double-checking its authenticity.

The man tapped the buttons on the touch screen keyboard of his phone. A glowing hexagram emerged underneath their feet, and a pillar of light burst out of the ground. Everything went white, but only for a moment.

Colors slowly filled the vast whiteness. Leon looked around. Spacious rectangular room, walls with peeling white paint, metal doors, wooden crates, high ceiling made of rusty metal sheets; well, which abandoned warehouse had they ended up at?

More importantly, where the heck did the masked man get this teleportation device? Only a mercenary, particularly the one with profound knowledge in gadgetry, could craft such a thing. Also, he saw nobody other than the masked man...

"That's quite an interesting device you've got there," Leon deadpanned, taking off his backpack and tossing it away. It landed on a crate with a thud. "Where did you get it? And where's the Raging Bull? Or should I say, the Raging Chicken? Did he chicken out-"

"Say what? Chicken?" The man took off his robe and threw it away, revealing a stocky bald man in a brown t-shirt and jeans. "I'm the Raging Bull! A freakin' bull! You won't get outta here alive!"

Leon dashed away from the man, calling out to Beast King's Claws in his mind. A metallic spear materialized in his hand, light glinting off its claw-like head.

A crude club made of rocks and hardened dirt appeared in the man's hands. Ah, so he had a personal weapon hammerspace.

You, a mercenary, sure have the audacity to use your powers to con money from civilians and other mercenaries.

As the man rushed to him, Leon reached out his hand and clenched it. Tiny portals of swirling light emerged behind the bald man, and metal chains shot out of them. They wrapped around the man and sent him crashing to the cement floor. He roared and rolled from side to side, but the restraints remained firm.

Staring down at the Raging Bull, Leon pulled back a fist.

Just as intense heat gathered around his knuckles, the man's roar turned into a loud bellow. The chains and the mask shattered, and he sprang to his feet with enlarging muscles. A pair of sturdy horns erupted from his head as his face transformed into that of a bull and his bulging thews shredded his shirt.

The Raging Bull had unleashed the mercenaries' greatest power: transforming into a beast person. Now, Leon could imagine what had happened to the missing civilians and mercenaries.

Well? You're lucky that we'll need your body for further investigation. Otherwise, I'll be more than happy to rip you to shreds.

Club in hand, the Raging Bull charged. His eyes glowed like a pair of crimson headlights. Threads of black smoke gushed out of his nostrils.

Leon punched and launched an energy bolt in the shape of a lion's head. However, the Raging Bull rammed through the blast and slammed his club into Leon's chest. The impact knocked the air out of Leon's lungs and sent him smashing into the wooden crates.

Despite the dull aches across his body, Leon rose to a sitting position. Then blood rushed up his throat and escaped from his mouth. Damn. Whenever he breathed, it'd feel like having hundreds of glass shards in his lungs. And his spear... Oh, well, he'd just call it back later.

Another bellow echoed across the warehouse and rattled the wooden crates. The Raging Bull had come again with his club raised overhead; this time, rivulets of lava trickled down the rugged, smoldering slab of igneous rock.

So, the Raging Bull had Fire and Earth as his elements. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest and the metallic taste in his mouth, Leon stood up. The Raging Bull's fire might melt Leon's metal, but he had just left a big chink in his defense. Also, he probably wouldn't bother to think that blood contained iron.

Leon spat blood at the advancing beast person. The red droplets merged and turned into an iron knife. It plunged into the Raging Bull's eye, forcing a loud scream out of his mouth. His volcanic club slipped out of his grip.

Now's our chance, Beast King's Claws! At this, Leon's spear bolted over the man's head and landed in his hand. Holding the weapon with both of his hands, he charged.

Just as the Raging Bull regained his composure, Leon's spear shot everywhere like bullets out of a minigun in the hands of a madman. Not even the Raging Bull's brawny arms could shield his torso from the wild claws; they drilled through them as though they were hollow logs. A layer of rocks and hardened dirt coated the Raging Bull's body, but the metallic claws punched through the earthen mantle as though it was weathered wood.

An agonized moo reverberated as the flurry of strikes carved gaping holes across the beast person's torso and limbs. A moment later, the bellow died out. The Raging Bull stood still, his wrecked earthen mantle crumbling to dust and his eye wide open.

A fist to the face was all it took to knock him down. And he remained still on the ground, his blood puddling on the cement floor.

The beast person soon reverted to a human, at which Leon spun his spear and before tossing it into the air. Mission accomplished. Back to the hammerspace, Beast King's Claws, he commanded in his mind, and the weapon vanished.

Leon walked towards the black hooded robe that lay beside a row of wooden crates, his eyes fixated on the brown mobile phone within its pocket. That thing should give him a lot of valuable info.

Searching, killing, investigating... Just another day in Hunter Leonhardt's life.