Chapter 5

A cool waft of air hit Gerald's face as the steel door opened. Gerald's legs had become sore from the prolonged kneeling ritual he had gone through in front of the statue of the Great Ancestor. Having respect for your ancestors was good, he believed, but self-torture wasn't the best way to show it.

The good news, however, was that he could now enter the inheritance hall. After he pushed the steel door open, he saw the dark hall. It was mostly empty except for a stone table in the middle.

Gerald stepped in then looked behind him, only to find that both Arthur and Uncle Rudolf were standing outside instead of stepping through the door. He stopped and threw Uncle Rudolf a questioning glance.

"The lord's subordinates aren't allowed to enter the inheritance hall without permission," Uncle Rudolf said. "And they rarely ever get such permission."

Gerald sighed. "You two can come in. My father has trusted you with more, I'm sure."

"Thank you, my lord," they spoke in unison.

Gerald smiled and moved towards the stone table. On it, there were three items accompanied by three slabs of white stone. Those three slabs had words carved onto them, which Gerald assumed were the descriptions of the three items.

The first item to attract his attention was the sword on the far left. He stepped closer, and wondered at the magnificent golden hilt and the glaring sharp blade. "Is this…"

"Your seventh ancestor's sword. Made of Highsteel," Uncle Rudolf remarked with reverence.

Gerald's eyes widened in surprised. "So it's true Highsteel. I didn't know we had something so valuable." He picked the sword up with both his hands carefully then he observed its every angle. The blade was as sharp as newly crafted steel swords if not sharper, in spite of its age. Then he proceeded to do the one thing you couldn't do with normal steel. He placed it on his knee and pushed on its two ends, as if to break it. The blade bent to his will like the rod of a bow, though it didn't show any signs of weakening. It was said that Highsteel was unbreakable due its hardiness and malleability. The edge of its blade wouldn't need to be sharpened after it was forged, and it would never dull no matter how many battles it went through. He had only heard about it. Even House Malfi only had two of these. One with the Guardian Knight of their family, the Battlemaster. And the other with the Duke himself.

After admiring the sword, he carefully placed it back down. Then he looked down to its white slab. Written there were simple but clear words: Highsteel sword of the seventh head of House Tellus. To be passed down to the next Battlemaster of the family.

"I see. That's why it was left here for all this time," Gerald chuckled. "I suppose I won't be using it either."

"Perhaps you will become a Battlemaster yourself in the future, my lord," Arthur said with apparent optimism. "Then you'd be the first to use it after the Seventh."

"Quite the dream there, Arthur," Gerald said. "But I don't think it's going to be soon even if it happens. What a pity. It has to sit here unused."

Geralt moved over to the next item which was a bluish silver plate. It had a few carvings on its edges, but nothing special. It looked like a common silver plate except for the tinge of blue that reflected off its surface. He looked down at its white slab to read the carved words: Blue Meteorite. To be passed down to those who recognize it.

"Well, I certainly don’t," Gerald snorted. "I suppose I will see what this Blue Meteorite metal is later."

Then he moved on to the next item. This one was quite peculiar. It was a cube of black metal that looked impure but strong. Written under it were the words: He who knows what's inside may take it.

"And how am I supposed to know that?" Gerald said sarcastically. Then he shook his head. "I suppose it's all about knowing here. Let's leave. There is nothing for me to inherit here, unfortunately." He eyed the Highsteel sword with longing.

Arthur smiled as Gerald turned towards him. "In due time, my lord. I'm sure there is something for you to have one day. And although this isn't a good time to inherit something, it is a good time to be named Viscount of the territory."

Gerald smiled back. "Good. I can't wait to bear all the weight. Let's go."

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The rough wood rubbed against Gasper's ragged leather armor as the wagon rocked back and forth. The wagon was heading towards the forest in the east of the Tellus basin, carrying Gasper and his unsightly companions to their poor targets.

Most of his companions glared at him menacingly from time to time. Nothing had changed. He was still the new boy. Or that's what they called him anyway, though he had seen his twenty first winter already. They, however, didn't care. For them, he was the new recruit that looked too delicate to be a bandit. He was a good one to push around for fun or for what little coin he had.

For his captain, he was the new lad who wasn't trustworthy yet. And Gasper wouldn't really blame the man, considering that he had served the Viscount before being forcefully recruited into this rabble. They didn't know that, though.

Some genius he was. His father had been calling him a genius since he had become an Earth Warrior. His father was an old merchant who had spent his life going through ups and downs, hoping to raise Gasper as best as he could. He couldn't be blamed for entrusting the Viscount with his son so early.

Gasper knew what the old man had wanted. He'd wanted him to become a knight. He had wanted him to move their family's name higher in the world. The Viscount died, though, and all the men he took with him died too. Except Gasper.

Surviving weeks in the mountains while feeding on moss and herbs, Gasper had lived through being hunted down like a dog for a whole month. Those who killed the Viscount didn't want to leave anyone alive, and they did their best to track him down. But he'd never stopped moving. His feet had taken him over rocky ridges and steep mountains. He'd made it as far as the east of the territory before he was spotted by the eastern bandits. 'The Black Dog crew', they called themselves. Well, it was only natural considering that their boss was called Black Dog, and each of their lieutenants were another color of dog. Insane crew is what he called them secretly. Not that it would change that they controlled half of the east of the Tellus basin. They had an iron fist and only one rival in the east of Tellus the territory.

Gasper snorted. Genius, huh, he thought. More of a jinx.

Everyone had died except for him. And it was his first time riding with the Viscount. It was easy to see who had brought the bad luck, even to the blindest of men. A black cloud might as well have floated over him.

It had been a month since he was recruited in the Black Dog crew. They had given him two choices when they found him, join or die. He'd chosen what any sane man would, hoping that he would bring them a black cloud too. If they all died, then he could ride home a free man, or a condemned one. It didn't happen, though. And now he was going to hunt down a bunch the poor sods who failed to pay Black Dog's taxes.

These taxes were the norm around the bandit hegemonies. After each bandit crew had pillaged and burned down enough hamlets and farmsteads in the territory, they would settle down and collect their due taxes from the peasants in their surrounding land. Of course 'taxes' meant all the peasants had except the grass around their home. They'd take women, food, and any coin you had. If you didn't have enough to satisfy them, then you'd be made an example of. And the ones that had run into the forest today didn't want to be made examples of, it seemed.

"We're almost there, lads," Red Dog said. He was one of Black Dog's lieutenants. A shrewd man with a merciless countenance. Gasper had seen him gut a captive because he lied about a few coins before. "Get yourselves ready to hunt those dirty fools down."

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Some grunts of agreement responded to him and the bandits started stretching their arms and legs. Some prepared their bows and ragged spears. Some, who fared better, prepared their short swords.

Gasper, however, prepared his restless heart. Today was the day he would escape and run back to Ard. No matter what, he had to go back. His father probably thought he was dead, but he wasn't. And he wouldn't stay with these rotting bandits any longer. He had to go back.

The fleeing peasants had given him the best opportunity. They had run into the forest. And what better place for him to lose Red Dog and his hated lot. His injuries had healed a few days ago. And his strength as a rank 5 Earth Warrior had come back. But he wouldn't risk going against Red Dog and twenty other bandits on his own, even if he was a Warrior. He was good with a sword but he wasn't a fool.

Their wagon was coming down the north towards the forest. He would lose them within it, then come out of its west and return to Ard. Hopefully, they would think he got lost in the woods. But that would require him to not kill anyone, which was the hard part. Red Dog would never let him move alone through the forest.

I'll handle it when the time comes.

He sighed and passed his hand over the leather chest piece. He'd never seen worse armor in his life. They had taken the iron armor his father had paid good coin for and given him this garbage. Luckily, they hadn't taken his sword. He patted it with his hand for assurance. It was about the only thing he would be bringing back with him to Ard. Nothing—and no one—he left with would return to Ard with him except this sword.

"I hope father is fine," he muttered under his breath.

The wagon came to a stop and brought him out of his thoughts.

"Alright," Red Dog yelled as he dismounted his horse. "Everyone form up into groups of four. Those fools ran all the way from the hamlet to the forest. Yellow Dog lost'em here. Let's prove to him and his cunts that we're the best trackers in the crew."

Gasper snorted. None of these imbeciles knew how to track a buffalo down, let alone people in the forest. They were more likely to spend their day trying to find their way out of the woods.

"We'll spread out," Red Dog said as the bandits grouped up into five separate units. "You," he pointed at Gasper. "With me."

Gasper nodded begrudgingly. "Yes, boss." Red Dog had been his worst nightmare since he'd joined the crew. He'd encouraged others to make Gasper's life harder and did it himself too. He'd been one of the few who distrusted him for the imaginary story he'd told the bandits when they first recruited him. His shiny iron armor had stood out, and so they'd questioned him. And he'd said that he was with a caravan that got attacked before he fled.

It was a good story. But some people weren't so easy to fool. Red Dog, however, had taken it upon himself to whip Gasper into shape and interrogate him whenever he had the time. It had been hard. And Gasper wished he had the chance to cut the bastard's head off. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to be today, if ever.

Gasper grouped up with Red Dog's unit and they walked into the forest warily. The runners were just peasants. But you never knew if they had a ranger with them. No one could hunt a ranger in the forest. Rangers weren't the best combatants. But they could kill any man short of a Sky Warrior if he was foolish enough to follow them into a wood. They lived on hunting and spent half their life in the forest.

The sunny sky turned into a shady green as they walked into the numerous trees, and the thick woods barred the bandits' vision. Gasper followed Red Dog with three others and they kept their vigilance while one of them walked ahead, looking for tracks.

It wasn't until they got considerably deeper into the forest that the leading man yelled out. "We've got something," he said.

They ran to him and found him crouching over a puddle of water and mud. "And what the hell is this supposed to be," Red Dog grumbled.

"This is recent," the tracker said while moving the mud around. "Look."

"Ah, is that blood?" Red Dog asked with a grin.

"Yes," the tracker said. "Someone was injured and they washed that person's wounds here."

So this rabble did have someone who knows how to track, Gasper thought. House Tellus has given these bandits too much time to grow.

Trackers weren't common. They were either rare skilled hunters or they worked for someone of high esteem as generously paid trackers. For bandits to recruit one, they had to have too much freedom and reach.

"Good," Red Dog kept his grin. "Can you track them further?"

"Yes," the tracker answered.

"But we've gone too deep into the forest," Red Dog warned. "It's almost been half a day. Let's be careful. South of this forest is the Big Mountain crew's territory. We don't want to come across them. They might get suspicious if they see us this far south."

"I doubt they'd walk into the forest willingly, though. Nobody does," one of the bandits said with snort.

"Just shut your trap and listen to my commands," Red Dog glared at him.

"Aye," the bandit lowered his head.

"Let's go. Lead us to them," Red Dog told the tracker.

The latter nodded and complied.

They spent some more time following the tracker, who would sometimes stop at inconspicuous trees and other times at noticeable remnants of blood that had been hidden by the fleeing peasants. He would observe them and move on.

After a while, though, he stopped. "The tracks have stopped here."

Red Dog looked around then said, "And? How do we find them?"

"We search," the tracker said with a shrug. "Someone has deliberately hidden the tracks here. This took time. It means they have stopped somewhere nearby."

"Good," Red Dog smirked. "Let's split up and find our prey. I've run out of patience. I want to rip them apart myself. If you find them, don't kill them right away."

Gasper ended up with another bandit as the group split up and moved in two directions.

The bandit that accompanied Gasper kept an eye on him most of the time, and always let Gasper lead. It was obvious he didn't trust Gasper with his back.

Damned Red Dog.

Red Dog hadn't only been onto him from the beginning. He'd also told his men to keep a close eye on Gasper. None of them trusted him so far. It was laughable. A bunch of brigands thinking about trust. They'd sooner stab each other in the back than lose some coin.

The two of them crept forward through the trees. Even Gasper was cautious. The last thing he wanted after all he'd been through was to be killed by a farmer. That would be quite the ironic story. One that a minstrel would love to tell.

Suddenly, a yell came from ahead of them, "Kill the fuckers!"

Then Gasper saw over a dozen peasants running towards him and his companion. The peasants were holding pitchforks, knives, sharpened shafts, and anything that could be used to kill a man.

"Damn it," Gasper swore. Then he froze, enlightened. This is it.

It had been only a moment but the bandit to his side already looked panicked. "By the fucking seven seas. What do we do now, run?"

"We won't make it," Gasper wove his next lie. Fear made men susceptible to lies. He had to use this chance. "We have to split up. I'll run to the west. You to the east."

The bandit looked at him dubiously. But Gasper could still see the panic in his eyes. "Fine," the bandit finally yielded. But then he pushed Gasper towards the charging peasants and ran in the opposite direction.

Gasper stumbled and struggled to balance himself. "Cursed bastard," he growled. Then he started running west as fast as he could.

Being an Earth Warrior, he could outrun the peasants and outbreath them. Soon he'd increased the distance between his pursuers and himself until their voices drowned in the silence of the woods. But he hadn't expected a group of them to have circled around before charging him and the other bandit before. When he'd run a considerable distance he found his way blocked by an old man with a sword. Beside the man was a young, sturdy boy who held a shaft sharpened into a spear. Gasper could hear the yells of other peasants coming from different directions. They'd be upon him soon. And he'd noticed the ones in front of him too late. The old man had leapt towards him and closed the distance already.

Gasper stared at the old man for a moment. "You know how to handle your sword and feet," Gasper said. "And you have a slight limp. A former soldier?"

The old man spat at his feet. "And what has that got to do with you? You just have to die here, you rotten bastard."

"I'm a soldier too," gasper said, panting. "I served under the late Viscount."

"Late Viscount? The Viscount never died, you lying shit," the old man said, stepping closer and delivering a strike.

Gasper deflected it and chose not to return it with a strike of his own. "I'm not a bandit. Truly."

The old man followed with a flurry of slashes and thrusts while talking. "You think I don't recognize your rotten smell and your ugly mugs when I see you? Go fuck a pig."

Gasper blocked most of the strikes and evaded the rest. Before he could speak again, he found the boy with the wooden spear closing in on his side. Damn it. Can't reason with them now.

He stepped to the side, away from the old man. Then he kicked the boy who used the shaft to block. The improvised spear broke in half and the boy flew a yard back and fell down. The old man crossed the step between them and tried to stab him while he was distracted. But Gasper turned unexpectedly and parried his strike. He followed it with a riposte towards the old man's gut which the old man stumbled to block only to find that it had changed direction and struck his hand. The strike connected and the old man dropped his sword and fell on his ass, his hand bleeding.

Gasper stepped closer and put the sword to the fallen man's neck. "You will believe me now." Then he moved the sword away and sheathed it.

The old man gasped for breath. "You don't look like a soldier of the Viscount, even if Ard hasn't been doing well recently," the old man said, looking him up and down. His tone was much better than the beginning, though.

Gasper looked down at his ragged leathers. It was a shirt of leather patched together and could hardly stop a decent sword strike before breaking down. "This is what the bandits gave me when I joined. They asked me to join or die. I joined. And now I'm escaping."

The old man groaned. "Not the most honorable choice, but I wouldn't blame you. No one wants to die. That's why we're here," the old man snorted.

"Do you have a ranger among you?" Gasper asked hopefully. As he spoke, more peasants arrived, brandishing their improvised weapons.

"Hold it," the old man yelled at his people. Then he turned to Gasper. "No. Where in the hells would we find a ranger? We came here seeking our luck. If we live, we live. If we don't, we don't."

Gasper stretched his hand and helped the man up. Then he handed him his dropped sword. "Come with me," he said. "To Ard. You can survive there." He knew Ard was already crowded. But leaving them to die here wasn't a choice. He'd already lost enough honor letting his lord die and spending a month as a brigand.

The old man nodded. "Might as well. We have no place here anymore," he said, eyeing the other villagers. "Go get the others," he told the armed peasants. "We move west before dark."