Moving back to the red camp was not a problem. I moved, with Zolast following me. He didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, and I didn't prompt him, letting him process his impromptu recruitment. However, my reputation didn't extend to the rest of the people, at least not yet, as people ignored our presence until I put on my armband once again.
Once I put my band on, things changed, and people started putting some distance, even if it meant creating some traffic for other carts, showing that the unaligned were getting restless at the situation. But, no one tried to talk to us, so we just walked.
Then, we approached the red group's section, where the carts stood much closer, with some sentries vigilantly observing.
Sentries who made sure to step away to avoid even looking like they were blocking my path. Considering that the earlier troupe had clearly identified me as a warrior, their tenseness was not a surprise. I wondered whether Jertann spilled something about my class, or people made some assumptions after my display — which, I had to admit, was a tad ill-advised — during the fight.
Either way, I didn't show any visible reaction and treated it as completely normal. I moved to join the camp, and Zolast followed, no one daring to question our presence.
I wanted to test the limits of my reputation. "You, come here," I said, gesturing to the nearest sentry, a young boy of barely sixteen.
"M-me," he stammered.
"Yes, you, go and bring me an armband," I said.
"But—" he began, but that was all he could say under my expectant gaze before he dashed off. I had no right to give orders, but that was not a problem as long as he didn't dare to challenge me on that.
"Wait," I called before he could move too far away. "Jertann went back to the advance line, right?" I asked.
He nodded before continuing his run.
"You don't seem to be well-liked," Zolast muttered as he took a place toward the back of the moving caravan. Nobody said anything against it, but I noticed more than more cart changing speed to create a small empty ring around us.
"I don't like crowds," I answered, smiling slightly. He looked at me expectantly, but seeing that I had no intention of spilling my guts at his light prodding, he took the position.
I enjoyed the silence — well, relatively, as a moving caravan and thousands of people were loud even without the constant fighting — for a fleeting moment, confident that soon someone would come to flex their authority.
I didn't expect that to be a familiar face. Gert. "What the hell do you think you're doing, old man," he said as he walked toward me,swaggering with confidence.
Though, his confidence might be about eight people that were following him, their weapons already drawn. And it didn't feel like their only target was the flying monsters.
I could see that they expected me to flinch or retreat. I didn't, nor did I smile. "Do you want to rephrase that, boy?" I said as I took a step forward. They shuffled uncomfortably, but to their credit, they held their place.
"I don't think I will, old man," he said, loud, almost shouting. A clear challenge, a way to assert his position without Jertann being here. I had to admit, it was a smart trick. The group still lacked any kind of clear leadership, and creating a small cadre of loyal followers while handling organizational tasks was a good way to establish authority.
It was an unglamorous yet effective way of climbing to power, especially when others either ignored such tricks as inconsequential or decided to look the other way to enjoy the short-term benefits.
I was too old to make such an elementary mistake.
"What are you going to do about that without that of —" he tried to continue when I took a step forward instead of answering, his voice cut short when I lashed forward to grab his throat. He tried to reach for his dagger. He was fast enough to do that as well, but when I easily lifted him, he did the smart thing and stopped grabbing it.
With the clear difference in our stats, it was very easy. Most of his hangers-on froze at the unexpected move, but two attacked. Which was well. I moved my arm to the right to use Gert to block the charge of the first one and used a kick to the chest to throw away the second one, who was too focused on his swing.
Stolen novel; please report.
Such a kick would have killed a man back on Earth. Here, it barely kept him on the ground for a second, and only because my foot hit right at the center of his chest.
It would have been bad if the rest attacked as well, but once again, they seemed to be cowed by the grand display of authority. Gert looked at me in shock, but stayed in place obediently even with my fingers cutting his breath, Vitality making the momentary lack of oxygen less of a problem.
I didn't let him go until I dragged my gaze over every single one of his lackeys, waiting until they avoided it — each taking a second or two — before I turned my gaze back to Gert. "Now, let's try this again," I said as I lowered him. "Where were we?"
Gert took a second before speaking. "My apologies," he said, delivering them smoothly, almost enough to hide his bubbling hatred. Quick to anger, but not quick to react. "I was here to inform you about the rules of our group, about our agreed breakdown of roles, and our responsibilities toward the Lord responsible for our safety," he said.
"My apologies," I said with a smile that was not a smile. "You see, I'm an old, frail man, and when I saw such a group of young, strapping men rush against me, I felt threatened." While they processed my words, trying to understand whether it was an apology or not, I pondered on his words. Particularly the part about the responsibilities toward the Lord.
It was probably referring to the teenager that I had talked to, with the implication that, technically, the three gangs were more like a sanctioned militia than just random gangs. It made a difference, but not a significant one. Their lack of interest in the growing organization implied that, as long as the caravan moved without too much of a problem, they wouldn't care much about the internal workings.
Good for my ability to stay hidden, bad for the overall safety of the people, not that it surprised me. It wasn't the first time I saw a politician make a horrible decision just because it was easier for them.
"Why don't you give me a brief about what those responsibilities are," I said. I looked at him.
"Our biggest responsibility is the safety of the caravan, both protecting from monsters and making sure the carts continue to move with no internal problems," he said. "Since it's a very dangerous journey, we agreed that everyone would focus on what they do best to maximize our contribution."
"Very succinct, and very brave," I said. I was tempted to ask questions about who exactly was this 'we' that made the critical decisions and assignments, but I avoided it. To push too much would imply that I had the intention to wrest control of the group from him, and it was certainly not my intention.
But I also had no intention of letting him decide what would be my contribution as well. "Let me tell you what my contribution would be, then," I said, my voice sharp.
His gaze showed unwillingness, but he nodded. "I see no problem why such an exalted part of our group couldn't make such a decision," he said. "
"Good," I said with a nod.
"Is that all?" he asked. He looked very enthusiastic about ending the discussion short.
"A few more things, but maybe your friends go and handle their tasks. It's not really right to bore them with such details, right?" I said.
He looked as if he was about to refuse first, but then I noticed the shift in his expression, and he turned. "That's all, guys. You heard our exalted member, you can go," he said.
"Are you —" started the attacker that I hadn't kicked, but was interrupted by Gert.
"Yes, I'm sure," he said, and after a tense standoff, his group dispersed. He turned to me.
"Good, now, what I'm going to offer you," I said, going directly "I'm going to contribute to fight, make sure the other groups don't encroach on our area, even say nothing about the border point," I explained, acting as if it was a great sacrifice to fight against smaller beasts.
The difference in experience gained made their chore my treasure.
"That's … generous," he muttered.
"With one caveat," I continued. "Make sure that another trick like today doesn't happen, or I come to find you for a talk that you'll enjoy even less."
"I don't know what you're —" he started, but shut up once I raised my hand in warning.
"Good. Talk with your friends and make sure it doesn't happen, or I will hold you responsible," I said. I wasn't entirely sure he had enough power to handle that, but it was a good start. This time, he didn't open his mouth, just nodded stiffly, not bothering to claim a lack of awareness.
Maybe he wasn't a lost cause.
"We still need to talk about him," he whispered. "While making the deal to draw the lines, we have promised blacks that he's a part of their … influence."
"Too bad," I answered with a shrug. "I'm peculiar about what I eat in my old age, so I need my private chef." He looked unsure. "Tell them I'm claiming as a part of the emotional distress they inflicted with me earlier.," I declared.
"What if they don't agree," he said.
I smirked. "Then, they can come and talk to me. Though, when I interrupted their recruiting, they didn't seem very enthusiastic," I declared. "For some reason, they are under the impression that I'm not a poor little farmer."
Gert sighed. "It's whatever unarmed skill you have. It's nothing a farmer would bother to have," he explained. "However, it'll be inconvenient to explain that."
"Maybe, but you need to weigh inconveniences. Think about it. Is this the most inconvenient thing that could happen? For example, Greens seems to be very interested in me joining them," I said.
His expression, of relief and panic at the same time, was amusing. He shook his head, though, from the tenseness of his shoulders, I could see that I had pushed him far enough.
"Good, now, I'm going to do you a favor and join the line. And you're going to do me a favor, and make sure no one bothers my friend, and he can sell his wares freely. Understood?"
"Selling —' he started, but his negative response died when I put my hand on his shoulder. I didn't squeeze. I didn't need to, not with the memories still fresh.
"Understood."