Chapter 3 – politics
“Fuck me,” I curse to myself while trying to climb out of bed. Every part of my body is badly beaten up—my right leg more or less shattered, as well as the fingers on my right hand. The fight with Major Whaanga was two weeks ago and nearly cost me my life. That crazed devil would have killed me then and there had it not been for the intervention of some high-ranking officer.
I woke up yesterday in a completely white room with only a bed, some round swivel stools, an IV pole with a crystal in its container, and a trash can filled with spent whiteish mana crystals. The faded pink and yellowish hue imply that those are not naturally occurring mineral formations but actually harvested from slain monsters – just how much money did these people invest in my recovery already? I run my left hand through my trimmed hair. It’s spotty and scarred in places. All in all, I look like a plucked chicken that’s been hit by a car, my long hair only a memory from the past.
The heavy door to my room opens with a reluctant whiz, and the tall, black nurse walks in. “Hey… Bri…an,” I greet him, struggling to speak with my reconstructed jaw. Brian has been taking care of me ever since I arrived here. He’s probably getting used to seeing me beaten up by now.
“No talking, my dude,” the magnificently warm caretaker replies. “Judging by how crushed your jaw was, I’m surprised you’re able to speak at all,” he says worriedly. While Brian changes the depleted crystal in my IV, the door opens again. But this time, it’s not a nurse or a cleric. Instead, a bald man enters. He’s covered in scars, probably in his late fifties, and wearing an immaculate uniform adorned with medals of all shapes and sizes.
Brian turns around and, upon seeing the military leader, jumps into a frantic salute. “Brigadier General, Sir!”
“At ease, Private Clay,” the base commander replies with a powerful yet calming voice. “I need a moment with Mr. Boletini, Private.”
“Of course, Brigadier General, Sir!” Brian hastily finishes up the new IV and leaves immediately.
Unlike Brian, I can feel the aura emanating from this man the moment he steps inside. He may look rather thin and of average height, but his mana is the very definition of pure, primal power. He practically commands the air in the room.
“So, you are Mr. Boletini, the freelancer unfortunate enough to challenge Hinemoa to a duel,” he says, pulling one of the swivel stools toward him. His lingering stare practically bores a hole in my head. I try to reply, but my body is cramped from head to toe under the weight of his unrelenting aura.
“No need to be this tense, son. I come in peace,” he says while rubbing his perfectly shaved chin. He crosses his arms and seems to think for a moment. “I came here personally to clear up the regrettable event that transpired two weeks ago.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a smartphone and charger. I recognize it as my company-provided smartphone for active SGEs.
“You are a guest here on base, not a prisoner, so if you’d like to call a lawyer, you may do so, and we’ll continue this discussion in the presence of your legal counsel,” he adds, placing my phone and charger on the small table next to me. “But before you make a choice, I’d appreciate it if you’d hear me out—soldier to soldier.”
He pulls his sleeves back, exposing his thoroughly scarred hands and forearms. His head, face, arms, and hands—everything is covered in all sorts of healed wounds. Just what has this man seen? I’m intrigued, to say the least.
“How… many… battles?” I manage to ask with my fragile jaw.
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The bald general snorts a laugh. “I stopped counting many years ago, son. I’m showing you this so you know you’re not talking to a suit but to a soldier—like you. We both know we may have started monster hunting for the promised money and prestige, but we soon realized there’s not enough wealth in this world to make the loss of comrades and the constant danger remotely bearable or worthwhile.”
I nod, thinking of the last four blood-drenched years.
“So, if you’re willing to discuss this matter without involving a lawyer, I promise to give you the courtesy I reserve for my comrades.”
I mull over my options, staring at my phone. I grab the device with my functional hand and stow it in the drawer of my bedside table. “No… lawyer,” I say, surprising the general.
“Very well, then. No lawyer it is,” he says with a radiant smile, pulling out a tablet from his belted satchel. “Let me be frank: the situation is as ugly as it can get. Your fight went quite viral, and Major Whaanga has been painted in a very bad way by the press.”
I stare at him, not even trying to hide my skepticism.
“I know, I know. What she did to you was unacceptable, and I punished her accordingly. But she wasn’t always like this. Like me, she was among the first generation of SGE, long before we had high ranks, fame or wealth.”
The general hands me his tablet – I see a list of mission reports dating back to 2018 – the year after mana appeared on earth. I see the dreaded red stamp on the edge of the screen. Almost every mission ended with a near complete team wipe-out.
“As you can see, Hinemoa was not only among the first to awaken her power but also one of the most active hunters. There a few people in our line of work that come even remotely close to the number of deployments. And as troublesome her anger is, I believe it is simply the consequence of loosing dear friends and family to monster attacks.”
I contemplate his words. Our work is truly ungrateful, because no matter how much we fight, how much we sacrifice – people tend to forget the price of their peace until we either refuse or fail to pay it.
“I will make sure to keep Major Whaanga in line but neither the citizen nor the unit can afford to lose her right now, so I need your help in clearing her name. This is what I can offer you and this is what I need you to do.” he says while showing me a prepared contract.
***
I find myself in a sturdy bus next to Marley, the tall archer with the exotic clothing. His upbeat personality is replaced by a more stoic mood due to the recent loss of two comrades. Next to us is a sorceress named Alica, a stubby brown-haired girl that is barely 20 years old and old man Jacque, a French warrior clad in plate Armor from head to toe. We sit in silence, starring at our tablets while Major Whaanga is briefing us. A week has passed ever since the General and I had our parley. I am almost as good as new thanks to the unyielding healing I received from a top-tier healer. My focus wanders back to the summary.
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-Urgent Mission #3113-
Location: Northern Bouxwiller, France
Target: Goblin Warband
Danger-rating: 6/10
Description: A goblin warband has been spotted near the French city of Bouxwiller. French forces are mostly tied up in the south and are unable to respond to clear the group with the current personnel. Assist them for a fast clean-up.
Reward: None given due to military-contract
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“This is business as usual, people. Let Gjala-Team 1 focus on the warchief while the rest is clearing the small fries – are we clear?” the Major shouts into our direction. She receives a “Yes Ma’am” in return. The bus comes finally to a halt and people start grabbing their weapons, shields, staffs and make their way out. I am still sifting through the tablet, re-reading the monsterpedia-page regarding our upcoming enemy.
“Do you have questions regarding our missiontraget?” Major Whaanga asks me in a neutral tone.
“No Ma’am, all clear. Just feeling still rusty…never mind, I am ready to go.”
“….Stick to the plan, Freelancer and this will be done quick.” she replies, clearly trying to act nice like a bully who was been reprimanded by a teacher. I did give a statement a couple of days ago that took the heat off of her – is this her form of thanking me? I shake these thoughts off, still afraid that she will lose her temper again.
“Copy that, Ma’am!” I reply and join my teammates on the lush greenery of northern France. The weather is impeccable, a perfect golden fall-day. But my peace is interrupted by the expenditure of human and feral mana – seems we are a bit late to the party. Whaanga notices the ongoing fight as well and breaks off in a brisk jog, Alica, Jacque and Marley right on her heals. My heart is starting to pound – there it is, that intoxicating feeling of danger!