Background of The Mercs

Bell and Lisa were the leaders of the four, with Case and Lyka just following along. Anna concluded that. There was a brief pause. The four of them exchanged glances. One of them—Case, by the glasses—tilted his head slightly, unsure if she was joking.

Bell was the first to speak. “That depends,” he said, voice calm but measured. “Do they know which end of a rifle to hold?”

“They’ve got muskets,” Anna said flatly. “And bayonets. They’ve been drilled—mostly. Discipline is shaky since morale’s already in pieces.”

Case let out a low whistle. “So, semi-professionals in fancy coats.”

“More or less.”

“How much do we have?” Lisa asked.

“Last I checked, around 3,500,000 EP—whatever that actually means,” Anna replied. “Is that enough to arm some men?”

Bell tapped his chest, then gestured to Lisa. “If the system still works the same way it does for us, then our enemies might actually be our biggest blessing. Every time we kill one, we gain EP. So the sooner they show up, the sooner we can resupply.”

There was something deeply grim about that logic—throwing half-trained men into the meat grinder just to earn points.

How much did she need? Was 3,500,000 EP enough? Probably not for full combat kits, but it would cover the basics: assault rifles, body armor, maybe a sidearm. Enough to turn peasants into passable soldiers. Barely.

“GROM PMC,” Anna asked, shifting the topic. “Who are they? Are we talking Blackwater-level? Or more like Executive Outcomes?”

“EO,” Lisa replied, nodding. “Though Wagner might be a better comparison. That’s what the briefing said.”

Anna sighed. “Great. So not an underfunded private military contractors then.”

They were going to be facing tanks. Real tanks. And not just tanks—attack helicopters, drones, maybe even artillery. Eighteenth-century soldiers with flintlocks and cannons that couldn’t even scratch the paint… standing against steel monsters that could fire from kilometers away. Most wouldn’t survive first contact. If they were lucky, they'd run fast enough to die tired.

“So,” Anna asked, trying to keep her voice steady, “what’s our strategy?”

“Split the force,” Lisa said. “Half and half, ma’am.”

“Explain.”

Lisa stepped forward, speaking clearly. “Trying to train and arm five hundred men in four days is a logistical nightmare—even with contractors. So, we split. Five hundred of our men paired with five hundred summoned by the system—fully-trained, fully-equipped.”

Anna frowned. “Integrated?”

“They’ll train together. One local to one summoned. It'll be rough, sure—the summoned ones will be frustrated, but it’s the only way we’ll get a coherent force ready in time.”

Anna stayed silent, weighing the plan.

“We arm them with basic M16A4s, optics, and standard support gear,” Lisa continued. “Then equip a few specialized teams with missiles for anti-armor support. It’s expensive, sure—but what’s the alternative?”

Anna nodded slowly, tension pulling at her jaw. There were no perfect plans. Only the ones that left someone alive to see the next morning. Would it be enough? Doubt it, to be honest. However, that was all they got at the moment.

She could only sit there and think, the weight of it all pressing on her shoulders.

Lisa broke the silence. “By the way, I checked your system settings. Looks like you’re stuck on hard mode. Bell had it easy back in his last world.”

Bell chuckled. “Yeah, you can summon troops, but you can’t convert locals or demand blind loyalty. No brainwashing, no forced tech leaps. Your population has to progress naturally. So... the smartest people around here? Probably your summoned soldiers.”

Lisa smirked. “But—and here’s the kicker—your system comes with a free apocalypse.” Her grin widened. “Fun, right?”

“If that’s your definition of fun, I don’t know what isn't,” Anna muttered, rolling her eyes. “Wait—hold on. All of you had systems too? Or still do?”

Lisa grinned, brushing a lock of silver-blonde hair behind her ear. “You’ll find out soon enough, ma’am. But yes, the four of us are interdimensional mercenaries. I’ve been through two worlds myself. Case is the veteran—he’s been through three. Think of us as your personal consultants… with guns.”

“Yup,” Bell added with a smirk. “My kingdom—sorry, Federation—is doing just fine. I served twenty years as president before getting reassigned here. We went through hell—superviruses, winters, even a full-blown human invasion. But we made it. The Demonic Kingdom became the Northern Federation. Rebuilt everything from the ashes.”

He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the unseen weight of a past life. “Now we’re here, tailored to suit the needs of the one we’re assisting. You could say we came pre-optimized.”

Anna exhaled sharply. “Ish… Let’s hope it’s as easy as you make it sound, Bell.”

Case, the quiet one leaning against the doorway, finally spoke. His voice was calm, low, and unamused. “It won’t be. But that’s fine. Easy missions are boring.”

Anna glanced at him, then turned back to Lisa. “So… these ‘systems.’ You all had them too?”

Lisa nodded. “Oh yeah. Bell had a kingdom-building system—fully optimized for administration, logistics, diplomacy, infrastructure. Basically a walking bureaucracy with guns. Mine was more of a portable armory—geared for urban mercenary work. Guns, gadgets, gear-on-demand. Case had something similar to mine, but an older build. Less polish, more kill.”

She smirked. “And for the record, ‘Case’ isn’t even his real name.”

Anna looked at the man in the doorway. He said nothing, only gave a slight tilt of his head, unreadable.

“And Lyka?” she asked.

Lyka stepped forward with a grin. “Bastard daughter of a duke. Kicked off a revolution, toppled the monarchy, turned the whole kingdom into a stratocratic democracy. Equal rights, full integration, the works.” She gave a theatrical shrug. “Lots of speeches. Lots of blood. My system specialized in political movement-building, mass mobilization, social uplift—and warfare, when needed.”

Case finally chimed in, voice calm and even. “Bell’s system is for infrastructure and post-war rebuilding. Lisa’s ideal for mercenary ops—tactical superiority, logistics, supply on demand. Mine’s a stripped-down field version of hers. Bare-bones autonomy.”

He glanced toward Lyka. “Hers is for dragging entire populations into the tech age, whether they like it or not.”

Anna blinked. “So I’m... what, the nerfed version?”

Lisa grinned. “Not nerfed. Just... hard-mode.”

Bell added, voice low and precise, “Your system doesn’t allow forced loyalty or mass tech uplift. You can summon soldiers—but they remain individuals. Keep them happy, and you'll be alright. If not, well...”

“BUT,” Lisa said, suddenly alight with excitement, “your trial—especially yours—with probably many more to come? That’s a massive buff.”

Anna stared at her. “How??”

It felt like being crushed from both sides—one threat political, the other... inhuman. Both looming. Both urgent.

Lisa leaned in, voice dropping. “Peace and the system don’t go hand-in-hand. Trials, war, chaos? That’s what fuels it. More bodies mean more EP. More EP means faster upgrades. And don’t forget—every corpse is loot. Gear, rations, scrap, sometimes even blueprints.”

She gestured as if laying it all out on a battlefield map. “The more EP you have, the better you can arm your men. Pay them. Equip them. Sustain them. Scale them.”

She tilted her head, smile sharp. “Need me to go on?”

“No, I think I get the point.”

“So, ma’am—shall we get started?” Bell asked, gesturing toward the interface. “First, open your summoning menu. We should bring in at least six more contractors. Preferably experienced ones.”

With Bell guiding her, Anna tapped through the system. A new window opened, displaying the necessary resources.

[Specialized Personnel Sub-Menu] [3,500,000 EP]

Standard Equipment: M16A4; IOTV + Level IV Plates, PASGT, Basic Comms

New Personnel Cost: 2,000 EP Equipment + 1,000 Training Cost

Training Level: Basic Soldier

[Summon ◄6► Soldiers] [18,000 EP]

She hit the summon button.

In a flash of white light, six soldiers materialized in front of her. They stood at attention, saluting sharply. Their uniforms were more stripped-down compared to the original four—no night vision goggles, lighter comms—but still formidable, especially through 18th-century eyes. Their presence alone radiated discipline and lethality.

[Items & Logistics Department Interface] [Search:______ ] [Open Sell Menu] [EP: 3,482,000]

• 6 x [M16A4] = 3,000 EP

[Total: 3,000 EP] [Purchase?]

Anna confirmed the purchase. A wooden crate appeared with a soft thud, solid and unmarked. She knelt, pried it open, and there they were. Six M16A4 rifles, pristine and cold, resting snugly in sterile foam. Sleek polymer, matte-black metal—clean lines, unblemished surfaces. They looked nothing like the rusted, soot-caked muskets her men used to shoulder.

Lisa whistled low under her breath, then grinned.

“Alright,” she said, eyeing the new arrivals and the uniformed soldiers. “Let’s wait for the rest of your officers—then we can start acting like salesmen.”

Anna gathered all her officers—every last one. For now, that meant one major and two captains. They were the core of her army, the ones she’d rely on to turn 500 barely organized bodies into something that resembled a fighting force.

She briefed them quickly. Anja stood beside her, filling in the gaps when needed.

“This is preposterous,” Major Nigel muttered, his eyes narrowing. “You expect us to believe this? Foreign men in foreign gear. How do we know this isn’t some elaborate bluff—or worse, a coup?”

Anna didn’t flinch. Her voice came out cold and steady.

“I’m not asking for your belief,” she said. “I’m giving you an order—as a colonel commissioned under ducal authority and acting sovereign in Oberstein. My father may be disgraced, but he is still Duke William Gunther. And I am still his heir.”

The room fell silent.

Nigel glanced at the contractors flanking her—silent, sharp-eyed, their strange green armor glinting under the light. Rifles slung low. Professional. Unfamiliar. Dangerous. Even Lisa’s gaze held nothing but steel.

“They convinced me more than your title did,” he admitted, voice low. “Still... if you’re serious—new weapons for our rusted muskets, and double pay?” He gave a slow nod. “Good enough for now.”

“Good,” Anna said. She turned to the door. “Bring them in.”

A team of contractors entered, carrying heavy crates. Not a word spoken. They moved like clockwork, dropped the box.

Captain Elric blinked. “What in God’s name is that?”

“M16A4,” Anna said. “Thirty-round magazine. Semi-automatic. Iron sights for now, optics later. Accurate past 500 meters.”

Captain Rieka looked uneasy. “So... black powder rifles are obsolete?”

“They’re antiques,” Lyka replied, tapping her datapad. “This is basic infantry kit—where we’re headed.”

More crates opened: modular armor, ceramic plates, helmets, gloves, tactical belts, kneepads, and hearing protection. All modern. All lethal.

“Training starts now,” Anna continued. “Two platoons per day. The contractors will lead.”

Nigel picked up a rifle, testing the weight. “And what about supplies? Ammunition? Repairs? Logistics? You’re not giving us the full picture, Anna.”

Anja stepped in before Anna could answer.

“Each soldier will be paired one-to-one with a contractor. They’ll train side by side. For now, those contractors are embedded directly into our ranks.”

She gave them a hard look.

Anna then added, “I expect everyone to fall in line. Understood?”

They said nothing. But the message was clear.

Either follow Anna, or be dead.