Chapter 62

Orion

Day 47, Day 7 on the Road

Kronfeldt

The Hog’s Hollow buzzed with a rough crowd, a shadowed tavern where less-than-reputable souls mingled. A rabbit barmaid wove through the throngs of rowdy men, her cheer tested by a band of ottermen in blue sailor outfits at the bar. Tension crackled like flint, and fights erupted at the slightest provocation. Fresh from grueling shifts, hard dock workers and miners filled the air with raucous songs echoing their daily struggles.

In a dim corner, my targets sat across the room, laughter bubbling from their lips and tankards of ale in hand—paid with gold pilfered from my stand.

Three figures held my attention: two frogs in striking hues: a towering purple one, muscled and imposing, and a smaller red one, a crossbow resting casually by his side. A boar clad in leather armor completed the trio, a cudgel on the table next to a steaming bowl of curried fish chowder, his back turned to me.

With my hood pulled low, I pretended to sip from a mug of ale while watching them closely. Hours slipped by before they finally stood to leave, and I trailed them through the side door.

JD circled the trio from high above as they staggered drunkenly down alleys that twisted between dockside shanties. Their uneven steps echoed against the creaking wood of the pier. Homeless souls huddled beneath looming cranes, wrapped in tattered hemp tarps, finding warmth in shared misery. The scents of salt air and decay clung to the night, a heavy blanket that muffled my quarry's raucous laughter as it faded into darkness.

I melted into the shadows, avoiding the main street where lamplights flickered softly against the cobblestones. I kept a cautious distance, letting them slip from sight before picking them up again with my Tracking skill. The trio ventured into a woodshed nestled behind a weathered stone wall belonging to a rendering plant. A latch clicked, and two of them descended a ladder into the depths below, leaving the purple frog lingering outside as he urinated against the wall.

Moving with Stealth and Shadow Walk, I glided forward, pressing the tip of my stiletto into his back, drawing blood but stopping short of a fatal wound. He stiffened, his stream faltering before it erupted in a final, uncontrolled release.

“Listen carefully,” I whispered, showing him my Flamewielder card and flashing it near his face. “I have an ability that can tell when you lie. If you speak anything but the truth, my knife will dig deeper into your back. Nod if you understand.”

The dagger pressed a bit further, making him flinch and push against the wall. He nodded vigorously, his bare legs trembling as his trousers slipped down to the ground, soaking into the wet earth.

“Speak softly now, or my knife gets restless. How many men are down in that hatch?”

“T-two guards, and then beyond the first gate... at least t-thirty men. Haven’t been back to the hideout since morning—there could be more,” he whispered urgently. “Listen, I... I just joined up recently, alright? I’m not with ’em. Just needed some coin.”

“Is a man named Hadrelian down there?”

“Hadrelian and his lot? Nah, they’re out of town. I was hired by an Eldrin named Ovidus—he might be down there,” he stuttered, glancing nervously toward the hatch.

“What are you guys, some kind of thieves’ guild? Organized crime?”

“Nah, mate. The Red Scythe are crusaders. Ya don’t know?”

Crusaders? I didn’t like the sound of that.

“What does that mean? Speak like I’ve been living under a rock my whole life.”

“They’re reapers. They reap the harvest. Huntin’ for free Chattel, bringin’ ’em back to Auriel,” the frog stuttered, his voice trembling.

Those words sent a chill through my spine. I had to stay focused; time was running out, and someone would spot us soon enough. His friends below might even come back up the hatch.

“Listen carefully. You’re going to follow me, and we’ll continue this chat somewhere more private. Understand? Any impulse to run or scream, and you die.” I dragged him forward as he hastily pulled up his sopped trousers.

With my knife guiding him, we made our way to an open drain pipe leading into the sewers. The tunnel opened into a dim chamber, barely lit. I tossed aside his holstered knife, then grabbed a piece of rope from my pack to bind his hands, turning him against a rusty metal grate. Thick air hung with rot; silence was broken only by the scurrying of rats and the flow of sewage.

“Why doesn’t anyone stop these raiders?” I asked, steady as I reached down and took his sack of gold coins.

“They do… t-the mayor hire mercenaries to handle ’em, but most of the C-tier and B-tier companies are stuck on the coast or near the capital. We bribe the guards to leave us alone in town,” he stammered, his body shaking as my stiletto hovered close to his eye.

“How do they find Chattel?”

“Wherever Chattel go, they leave a mark. They build villages, help farms grow. Look, I could get you in with the Red Scythe—it’s a lucrative gig. A knave like you could rake in some serious coin.” Desperation glinted in his eyes, a last-ditch effort to bargain for his life.

"Any rumors of… Chattel villages? Recently?"

"They were planning to raid a small farm southeast of here. Just a small job, but rumor has it at least four Chattel were hiding there."

Southeast. It wasn’t Thornhill.

"Any other whispers?"

"Look, I’m new here, alright? They only told me because they didn’t need more recruits for that job."

His screams echoed in the sewers as I sliced off a sliver of his pinky.

"I told you no lies. You say you’re new, but why are you trusted with the collection money?" I said, holding the bag of ill-gotten gains in his face.

"Ain't no lie," he whimpered, voice trembling. "I joined a couple months back. The others were even greener. They made me head of collecting protection money after the last crew got killed in a scuffle."

I needed someone on the inside, but he wouldn't make a good spy. I couldn’t trust him.

"Who’s the strongest Red Scythe around? What’s his class? Level?"

"You think they'd share that? Only a fool gives away his level and class—or someone with a lousy c-class," he chuckled nervously.

"Who do you report to?"

"Ovidus. He’s Hadrelian’s man here. Supplies Hadrelian’s caravan with people and goods."

Using brute force and extortion on local businesses, most likely.

I could track down Ovidus and interrogate him. However, what I needed was intel on these Red Scythe and their movements.

The man knelt before me, shivering in the grime, bound tightly by ropes around his wrists and ankles. There was a flicker of regret in me before it vanished, replaced by the cold knowledge of what needed to be done. I undid his ropes and turned him to face me. He met my gaze, desperation mixed with a faint hope as I reached into my pocket. The weight of a Second fell into his palm. He clutched the coin, his lips forming a trembling smile as though I might spare him.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Leaving him alive would be stupid. I can't risk it.

Like the many animals I had to slaughter to survive, this was no different. It had to be quick. Before he could process it, my knife pierced his heart, his face frozen in surprise and betrayal before going blank. I pried the Second from his slackening fingers and slipped it back into my pocket, then rifled through his purse: two Firsts, five Seconds, and thirteen Thirds.

Staring at the frog’s lifeless form, my breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as reality settled in. An unarmed man, compliant and even pleading. He hadn’t tried to defend himself or fight back. Each time, it was getting harder to excuse my actions, but I clung to the need for it like a buoy in a storm—without it, I’d drown.

He wasn’t innocent, I reminded myself, nausea twisting in my gut. I couldn’t leave him alive to report back to his crew. For now, I needed to stay in the shadows.

After removing his ropes, I left swiftly, the damp stone walls and the stench of decay clinging to me as I vanished into the night, dumping the dead body in the murky water where it was devoured by the rats.

The night wore on as I watched the hatch, chewing dried meat and letting the hours pass. Ahead, the hideout’s entrance lay hidden in shadow. I didn’t move in; the ladder would make me a target, a sitting duck for anyone below with a sword or crossbow ready. I waited, my senses sharp, eyes fixed on the latch.

Eventually, two figures emerged, swaggering with the heavy weight of drink. One was a broad-shouldered brute with a piggish face; the other, wiry with slick red skin, peered around with bulging yellow eyes.

"Where the hell is he?" the boar growled. "He's got our coin."

"Little bastard probably bolted with the pouch," spat the other frog, his tone sharp with malice. "Or he’s off tryin’ to buy himself a girl somewhere. Bossman’ll skin us if he don’t get his cut."

"Dealer’s tits. People keep dropping like flies either falling over dead or running away. Ovidus’ll want ten more for the next raid, easy," the brute muttered. “Spread the word—Tjok-Lok’s dead if he doesn’t turn up. You go search the Hollow and I'll search the docks."

I weighed my options, watching as they split—one heading toward Hog’s Hollow, the other to the docks. Slipping through the shadows, I could take one or both out wiihout much fuss. But I’d already left too many bodies. If I kept this up, they’d start piecing it together—a ghost hunting them down, one by one. I didn’t need that kind of heat. What I needed was to blend in, and find out about this raid without drawing attention.

Every collector sent to shake down the food stall with the angry chef just happening to end up dead? Not a good look.

Leaving the streets, I dragged myself back to the inn, dead tired. When I got in, James was sprawled on his bed, fast asleep. I slipped into mine, hoping to grab a few hours myself. By morning, daylight was spilling into the room. I found James downstairs, tearing into his breakfast—eggs, crusty bread, rashers—completely lost in his own world.

Lowering my voice, I pulled him aside. "Jim, do you know who the Red Scythe and Hadrelian are?"

He paused mid-bite, bread still in hand, brow raised in genuine confusion. "Red Scythe? No clue. What's this about?"

"We’re not here to play puppet shows and flip burgers, Jim. We need to know the dangers around us, the threats in Thornhill’s shadow."

The sharpness in my tone hit harder than I’d meant; he swallowed, his gaze sobering as he set his bread aside. “Alright, I’ll ask around about the Red Scythe,” he said, his tone more serious. “As for Hadrelian… pretty sure I heard that name down at the Hog’s Hollow. Some bloke was saying he’s after rough types for less reputable work.”

"Then that's our angle." I looked at him directly. "Try working for him. We need to know what they’re up to."

James paled. “Orion, you realize I’d make a terrible spy? I’ve got about as much subtlety as a marching band. If anything goes sideways, they’ll see right through me—and I’m not exactly built for ‘questioning,’ if you get what I mean.”

"I’d go myself, but I lack the skin-changing skill you have. They’d want to see under my mask as soon as I join," I held his gaze, resolute. "You've got the chops, Jim. I saw you in the puppet show. You can do this."

He fumbled for an excuse but found none, sighing in resignation. "Fine. But if this goes south and I end up in a slave collar, you’d better be ready to bust me out.”

"Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on you through JD. Signal, and I’ll find a way to get you out. For now, I have a few stops to make. I’ll check in with Sophie after." I handed him a piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil. "Take notes—whatever you can."

My first stop was the food stall, where I handed Slink a few coins to keep his stand afloat, securing a reliable source of supplies. Then, I headed to the Crafter’s Guild to pick up the modified lute before making my way to The Rustic Thread.

The Cloak of Shadow was worth every coin—six Firsts and eight Seconds, a good deal considering the rate was nine Seconds to a First last time I checked. The cloak's velvet texture slipped over my shoulders, ending just above my knees. It had a plush fur lining for warmth, while the sleek, waterproof outer layer balanced elegance and practicality.

Fitted and ready, I continued down the main street to the White Fox Exchange and Loans. The newly furnished building stood out, polished wood and glass glinting in the sunlight. Inside, a white fox was in calm conversation with an aristocrat, while teamsters, massive badgers, maneuvered a massive iron chest into the backroom, muscles straining under its weight. Two identical chests stood nearby ready for the third to be placed between them. A blacksmith paused his work on a thick iron door to watch them secure the chest.

A broad-shouldered boar guard stood by a stairway leading down—likely where the real White Fox was working.

“I need to see Lois,” I said in Lokan, looking up at the boar guard.

He furrowed his brow, struggling to shape his words in English. “Wot… are… de biggest… teem in basu… ball?”

I hesitated, then said, “The New York Yankees.” Sophie and I were from New York, so it felt like the safest answer, even though my knowledge of baseball wasn't great—it might have been a team from Chicago or Los Angeles.

The guard grunted, waving me through after a moment.

Inside, a woman, I suspect Edith, in a cat mask, sat on the edge of a desk, her hands clasped, posture casual but alert. Behind her, a woman in a rabbit mask scrawled on parchment, candlelight flickering across her steady hand. An old man, I suspect Ulf, in a cat mask before her was organizing her shelves with parchments and books.

Ignoring the woman in the cat mask, I focused on the rabbit. “Sophie,” I said, stepping forward. “I need to stash this guitar in your wagon. And we need to start planning our trip back to Thornhill—soon.”

“Just leave it here. I’ll put it away when I have time,” she replied without looking up, her voice oddly flat and almost robotic—nothing like the chirpy, bright tone she usually puts on. It made me wonder if this was her true voice.

“What are you packing for Thornhill?”

“Ingots, paper, ink, glass bottles for Anika, clothing, socks, lots of hemp, blankets, yada yada yada,” she listed, licking her fingers to grab another sheet of parchment.

“Can you make sure you pack crossbows, bows, arrows, and bolts?”

She paused. “Something going on?”

“I have a bad feeling.”

Her voice dropped. “I can slip in a few weapons and ammunition, but bulk buys of arms will draw too much attention. We’ll have to use the ingots and let the blacksmiths back at Thornhill make the rest.”

“Thanks, Sophie… You... got a lot done, huh?”

She let out a sigh before turning on her usual bright voice. “Naturally. Need anything else? A kiss? Maybe a little afternoon delight? I could always send Edith and Ulf on a—don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye! That’s just rude!”

Leaving the guitar with her, I pulled up my hood and stepped back outside to shop for ingredients. The rain had started to fall—light but steady. JD, my jackdaw, swooped down to land on my shoulder as I approached the vendor stalls. I scanned the offerings laid out by the vendors, searching for pieces that would provide the buffs I needed. I passed over the usual dead sparrows and pigeons hung upside down on hooks until I spotted some goose offal and swift carcasses.

After picking up a few supplies, I returned to my stall. Slink was cooking burgers at a steady pace, the white bandages wrapped around his face contrasting with his skin. The rain had thinned the usual crowd, giving the workers a brief respite. Nax nodded at me from his usual spot, and Fleetpaw flicked his tail in greeting, but I kept my focus on my task.

I butchered the meat, carefully separating the swift’s meat from the bones. I glazed the goose heart in honey and fish sauce, the glaze balancing its richness. I seasoned the swift’s breast lightly, threading both onto skewers with diced onions before placing them over the coals. The smell of roasting meat danced with the rain’s dampness.

Goose Heart and Swift Breast Kabob - D

Migration of the Goose - Stamina recovery increased by 20% for 3 hours.

Flight of the Swift - Air movement speed increased by 20% for 3 hours.

JD, sensing the dish’s effect, snatched up a finished skewer as his “delivery fee.” After eating, I saw his wings stretching and fluttering—a good sign. "Soul Food" worked as a buff for both of us, so I checked my Familiar: Jackdaw card, where the Migration of the Goose and Flight of the Swift cards now appeared alongside it.

If things went south, JD would need these buffs to return to Thornhill and alert Bianca. I spent the next hour refining the kabob to increase the effect. I was ready when I achieved a C-tier version, extending the buffs to six hours.

With no word from James, I slipped into the town’s alleys, keeping an eye out for any sign of the Red Scythe and a message from my spy in their company.