A round of drinks bought for my squadmates somehow morphed into two, which was the point at which I decided to stop being generous as I was nowhere near wealthy enough to sustain such spending. The others also had some disposable income on hand, seeing as how we were all paid simultaneously, and as such about half of the squad was carried lifelessly by the more sober half back to the camp. Everyone else went out like a light as soon as they took off their armor and climbed into bed, if they weren’t already sweetly asleep that is.
My drowsy state was being fought off however, by the thoughts of my name on the wanted list in the mercenary guild. I didn’t worry about anyone I knew turning me in though, as within the mercenary band I went by Lev, and my hair didn’t match the brown hair stated on the wanted poster. The thing that was scary was that my bounty was the largest: a whole 400 gold crowns! It was even larger than bandit leaders’ and those who offended nobles in one way or another.
The notice also stated that I was to be captured, and that my corpse would net exactly zero reward if brought in. That was at least one good thing about the revelation that the wanted notice for me had made it all the way to Targis, which while not bordering Jenusia directly, was only one country away. Not having to worry about being killed was not much of a relief, as a nagging suspicion told me that whatever fate would await me should I be returned alive might be worse than the more ‘final’ alternative.
Now that I was aware there was a real effort being made to locate me, I decided to change some of my behavior and also find out where I could purchase some more hair dye, one that was as similar to my current blond hair as possible. I also began wishing that Backhand Blow would move away further East, to put some more distance between me and the empire.
Thoughts of running away on my own came to me at first, but then I realized that without a horse and adequate supplies a journey alone would have little chance of success. It might even arouse even more suspicion from others, and being declared a ‘persona non-grata’ by the mercenary guild would make it even more difficult for me to make money.
So I would stay in the band, hopefully being able to pass as just yet another young man trying to make his fortune in life through such work. Going to the taverns with my squadmates would be one thing that I would continue doing, as a mercenary who doesn’t drink wasn’t a sight I had seen yet, and would stick out like a sore thumb. Other visits I would cut down on though, with the exception of getting a proper set of armor I’d try to stick as much as possible within the camp, and the wilderness that surrounded it.
Worst case scenario, I’d just stop restraining my magical abilities and make a break for it, which might at least get me a short head start to the west. It might even be prudent to do some training similar to what I had to do when Des’ was stolen, in running long distances with the aid of wind sorcery. Since Gorkas hadn’t told us about any upcoming work we would be doing, if I just told him that I was going out to a more secluded place to train and that I’d return by sundown he wouldn’t take any issue with it. My mind having processed what I had seen that day after a solid hour of thinking in bed, I let myself fall asleep, feeling a little better.
In the morning Cameron remembered me drunkenly asking Fisk to show me a place where to buy some armor while we were drinking, and asked to tag along with us as he needed to have his mail repaired, showing a large area where the links had broken off and disconnected. Fisk replied that he didn’t mind, which is how all three of us ended up walking through the streets of Verorum about an hour after dawn.
The trade district wasn’t exactly separate from the rest of the city clearly like it was in Krilos, with there being a lot more random blocks of buildings on the way there from which I could see black smoke rising through the chimneys, and distant sounds of hammering reaching us all the way on the main street.
I asked Fisk about the shop he was leading us to, and he replied that it was one that he had known about even before becoming a mercenary. Cameron was startled by the reply, joking that this was the closest Fisk had ever gotten to revealing anything about his past. That actually startled Fisk even more, as he clearly just divulged something he was trying to keep secret. He then changed the subject and explained that this blacksmith had a good reputation, and that he had personally purchased his current mail hauberk from him, saying that I should be able to remember how it saved him a lot of trouble.
His thigh wasn’t entirely healed from the wound, but he no longer had a pained expression on his face whenever he walked, which was in his words, due to the remarkable defensive ability of the armor. The place he led us to was at least a few dozens of meters away from the main street, and as we were turning I questioned whether the shops that were so far away would have a good reputation.
“So you think that the prettier the store front, and the better the location, the more reputable a blacksmithing shop would be?” Asked Cameron, looking at me like a comedian about to say his punchline.
“Well that is what my common sense tells me, although I’m eager to be proven wrong” I responded, intrigued by what Cameron was about to explain to me.
“So you think that shop we just passed by, the one with the very clean white-painted wood, and open shutters is the kind of place you’d like to buy from instead?” He turned, and gestured with his eyes towards the much-better looking shop a few meters behind us.
“...well yeah, I mean even the blades that I could see all the way from here look much better polished, so they clearly care about the appearance of the things they’re selling” I reasoned, still waiting for the hole in my deductions.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, appearances can be deceiving Lev. That place isn’t exactly the most ‘clean’” He chided, before ending his words with a cryptic statement.
“You mean they’re dirty? Looks clean enough from the outside thou-” I started to respond, before Fisk interrupted me.
“That’s not what he means, a ‘clean’ smithy or shop is one that unequivocally refuses to conduct business with bandits and such, and well the opposite is one that does. How do you know that though Cameron?” Fisk questioned, not entirely convinced by his words.
“A gentleman never reveals his secrets…” Cameron answered, before he got hit in the shoulder by Fisk.
“That’s not what those words mean and you know it!” Fisk complained, but Cameron wouldn’t elaborate any further on his words.
It was a good example of how different the members of my squad were, with some of them having certain traits that became more apparent after spending time with them for a while. Cameron specifically surprised me with the fact that he could remember what I had told Fisk last evening in hushed tones, trying to not attract the attention of the others while they were either already too drunk to care or distracted by a passing serving girl.
And how does a mercenary who has only been in Verorum for a month or two figure out that a shop is ‘dirty’ as he put it. Cameron’s head did not turn as he walked ahead of both myself and Fisk, towards a shop he already knew the location of. This meant that he wouldn’t become bothered by me boring a hole through the back of his head, trying to come up with logical explanations on how he would be able to come by such information, or if he was just talking out of his ass.
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Fisk on the other hand was walking to my left, his eyes not staying in one place in particular for too long and instead he was observing the different shops and stalls set up on the side streets of Verorum, looking for something. When I asked he just said he was looking for anything unusual, as every now and then there would be things sold by ignorant peddlers for pennies that were in fact very expensive, and he had always kept an eye out for such things.
My companions on this shopping trip both had their own quirks it seems, although this was a preferable alternative to them being dull people I supposed. Fisk was on a first-name basis with the blacksmith shop owner that was a quarter of the size of the ‘dirty’ one, and haggled with him much like Goer did when I purchased my longsword, his image briefly appearing on Fisks face as I stood on the side, already donning my chosen armor.
That thing was heavy, at least four-five times the weight of the leather cuirass which I had left in the camp, intending to turn it into the supply team for safe keeping. It would take weeks if not months for me to become accustomed to such a thing, and even though we weren’t running or anything I already felt slightly out of breath after we returned to the camp. The purchase was agreed upon for the price of seven silvers of local origin, something I had no qualms about since my crowns were all gone now.
I dedicated the rest of my free time that day to practicing the basic Warthog forms while wearing the mail hauberk, something that required frequent breaks to catch my breath in between. I ate three whole portions of the gruel at dinner, my appetite ravenous due to burning so much energy with my training. While my stomach appreciated the increased consumption, my tongue protested fiercely and it was a miracle that I didn’t throw up before falling asleep in the tent.
I had intended to continue my training the following day but the spring season in Western Euphelia brought with it an undesired effect, rain. I woke up the next morning, not due to one of my squadmates waking up, but due to the sound of rain falling on top of the tent before dawn even broke.
I was not the only one as a few of us were light-sleepers in our squad, and us rising to try and see what was the cause of the ‘thumps’ on the tent awoke everyone else as well. Gorkas was the first to rush out of the tent, and he returned shortly afterwards and began ordering us to store all of our things under the cloth we usually slept under, the others obeying his orders unquestioningly.
I did as the rest did, not entirely sure if it would help much in keeping our things dry, but I was proven wrong over the next hour or so. The rain didn’t stop, and while the tent wasn’t waterproof in its entirety, Gorkas arranged for something that functioned like a tarp to be placed over one half of it, where we moved all of our things while the other half began getting wet as water seeped through. I had used something similar when I bought my camping supplies, although mine was much smaller so I was relieved to see how large the one Gorkas procured was.
We were told to stay put while Gorkas went and consulted with his superiors, and he came back about an hour later announcing that we would not be moving camp, the captain having decided we would tough it out here until the rains end. The winds weren’t that strong so the tent managed to stay in one piece, as I spent the next five days mostly within the tent.
I had gone out for occasional strolls in order to get a breath of fresh air, but I wasn’t too fond of returning entirely drenched and having to wait for my clothes to dry afterwards for hours so I kept those to a minimum while doing what I could within the confines of the tent.
Those things were meditation, and some basic exercises from my old exercise routine in the compound, which became a spectator sport for my squadmates who were bored out of their minds, tired even of the gambling they did with dice they ‘dug up’ somewhere. On the first day it was just me going through the circuit while people like Cameron and Dorian would laugh at my struggles near the end, but on the second day Edmund surprised me by asking to join in, and I explained what I was doing without bothering to ask what brought it on.
The weather was truly horrid, and although I had always liked rain it was an altogether different experience without modern comforts. First of all, it was extremely cold when you got wet, which was doubly true when the sun had already set behind the horizon. This was a common consequence of us leaving our tents for meals, which were still being served in the open although the cooking area was covered with a tarp.
The monotonous days were broken when the rains stopped on the sixth day, and Gorkas moved like a man possessed to the mercenary guild to find us a commission to do. We didn’t stay idle either, as we had to disassemble our whole camp, otherwise the wet ground wouldn’t dry as fast without the sunlight. When Gorkas came back with a content expression on his face, I understood that he had managed to find another commission, and that we would be moving out in the morning.
Since I knew that I’d be busy tomorrow I decided to have some time to rest my body and instead spent the time with Opie, Edmund, and Fisk who had similar ideas about resting before the commission. We spent the time having a conversation in Aswang, with the three of them correcting me when I would make mistakes, Fisk being the most helpful when it came to grammar and Opie with the pronunciations.
It seems my decision to humor Edmunds request to train with me in the tent while the rains were hammering down left a positive impression on his elder brother, and he was much more active in his teaching than he was the previous time. Everyone has their limits however, so we didn’t manage to fill up more than just a few hours with just learning the language, and as such I spent the rest of the time talking to Herman who would be my ‘partner’ when it came to putting on the mail.
Although one could put on the heavy mail hauberk oneself, it was much faster to do with the help of another person, and it seems Herman being the odd-one out was paired up with me. There were these steps of leather which would have to be fastened, and before that just throwing it on like a shirt could end quite badly since the thing was so heavy. It was surreal, but the best way to describe it would be like clothing a toddler who would put their hands up, through which the ‘sleeves’ of the hauberk would go before being lowered onto the body.
Herman was a great help with explaining how to do it myself, and it certainly felt much more secure after he did it for me than when I put it on myself before. Late in the evening Gorkas barked at us to get to sleep, before he sent us there himself. It seems his ‘tough love’ was still everpresent, but it was probably our own fault that we were still chattering while he had already lied down to get some rest.
The ‘place of contact’ for this commission was at a different gate this time, the same one I had used when I first arrived in Verorum, the north-western gate. Although there were two gates on the north side of the city, they were actually nowhere near each other as the city wasn’t a ‘perfect circle’ like one would expect from an otherworldly city. I remembered this gate quite clearly as it was the point from which I first saw the city, and instantly a premonition regarding the upcoming commission came to the forefront of my mind.
As we stood there waiting for the employer to arrive, Gorkas explained that we would be doing another escort mission, this time to the west, the final destination being the city of Emesa. As I heard about our destination most of my worries dissipated, as at least we wouldn’t be leaving the borders of Targis, and entering the Tarli Kingdom. The western neighbor of Targis was not very safe, as evidenced by the hole that was still on my leather cuirass from an arrow. Emesa however was relatively alright, as far as I remembered it.
Even if we had to cross the Ras river, as long as we didn’t venture too far out from there then perhaps we would even get paid for being ‘armed scarecrows’. My prediction thankfully came true as we had gone to Emesa and made the return trip with heavier coin purses in the span of 8 days. The wagons of the caravan we were escorting had some hiccups, but they were the kind that required brute strength to fix rather than any fighting, a preferable alternative.
The thing I struggled with most during my second-ever commission in the band, was just moving around with the armor and helmet, which tired me out to no end. At certain points of my journey my whole body felt very similar to how I did when I was still much heavier, and only dipping my toes into the realm of physical exercise.
My squadmates were a great help in that regard, as whenever there was a task that would require extra movement they would graciously volunteer, giving me time to recover my strength. Gorkas didn’t seem to mind it either, his demeanor was now very neutral, and even occasionally I could see a glance of approval out of the corner of my eye.
The most dangerous part of the journey was actually the barge crossing, for which us mercenaries had to pay out of our own pocket. Kurt actually complained to Gorkas about it, but he reprimanded him with a simple “Shut your trap”, ammunition for us to tease him with later. The reason that the crossing was dangerous, was that unlike when I crossed it the first time, I was now heavily weighed down in at least 15 kilograms of armor, and that wasn’t even counting the weapons.
I was confident that I could swim under ordinary circumstances, but what I wasn’t confident about was being able to take off my armor quick enough should I fall off the barge, or even worse, should it capsize. Judging by the nervous glances shot my way by Dorian, I wasn’t the only one having such thoughts and that gave me at least some reassurance.
I didn’t drown in the Ras river this time however, with us making our way back safe and paid, a whole three Targis silvers for just-over a week's work. That wasn’t that great if I still had to purchase my own food and drink, but that responsibility was now not my own. Part of me even felt sullen at the thought that there was no loot to sell, since we weren’t attacked by bandits, but I almost instantly reoriented myself. It was much better to be a little poorer and healthy, than be richer but risk a chance of incurring an injury like Fisk or Dorian did.
The whole squad was eager to go and celebrate in the tavern once more, and the atmosphere this time around was even more jolly as there had been no wounded this time around. We drank the whole evening, and returned to the camp on unsteady feet near the dead of night. The camp seemed to be in the same kind of celebratory mood as us, with people still awake at the time that we returned.
We managed to find our tent, only to be met by a stone-faced Gorkas outside it. He didn’t seem pleased seeing our collective inebriated state but didn’t start going off on us immediately, instead he took a deep breath and made a proclamation.
“The band has secured a contract, we’re moving out in the morning” Gorkas said, before walking off in the direction of the captain’s tent.