Chapter 9 — An Unexpected Stowaway

Shoulders sagging, despair washed over Toren.

Was the test rigged? Was it all for nothing?

“As expected,” Surlin gleefully gloated, somehow sounding both relieved and vindicated.

Officer Emeril rolled his eyes. “Your gloves. The trait-rarity detector requires direct contact.”

Ah-!

A noise quivered from his throat as he was suddenly dragged back from the pits of despair and thrown back into the tenuous embrace of fleeting hope. Desperately and painfully removing his stubborn glove, he tried again.

Mana was drawn from him into the crystal, and he couldn’t help a sob of relief when the crystal lit up.

Green.

“I-impossible!” a dismayed Surlin choked out.

“A viridium trait!” one of the guards exclaimed in a whisper of surprise that received a reprimanding look from Officer Emeril.

“At least now we know that this is a crown matter,” the lord’s son ruled and turned his attention to Surlin. “[Debt Collector], you have interfered with the execution of a royal decree. You are hereby fined 10 silver rods, and the cost of the debtor’s injuries will be subtracted from his debt. Do not allow your zeal to your employer to cloud your judgment again.”

Terror showed in Surlin’s eyes for a moment before he collected himself and gracefully acknowledged the punishment with a deep bow, “This humbled [Debt Collector] is grateful for the crown’s leniency and will remember to be less zealous in the future.”

There was just enough stiffness to the bow and the man’s voice that Toren was sure Surlin was internally fuming and grinding his teeth.

“If I may, honored officer, while I was mistaken in the matter of the debtor’s eligibility, I would be doing a disservice to my employer to not give voice to his concerns,” Surlin slimed, not ready to give up just yet. “As I am sure the honored officer is aware, my employer stands to lose a significant investment should the debtor die during his enlistment and the burden of collecting payment from a resident of the colonies is not insignificant. There is also the remaining matter of whether the debtor’s pending debt-slavery allows the debtor the right to enlist.”

This again?!

Toren’s head snapped back toward the [Official] who held his fate. The noble’s expression was clearly annoyed, but Toren barely dared to breathe as the finely-dressed man rubbed the bridge of his nose and appeared to give Surlin’s argument serious consideration.

“The debtor has yet to suffer a finding of insolvency by the [Magistrate] and is at this moment a free subject of the crown, so your claim of right over the debtor does not have merit. However, I am not unsympathetic to Gazam’s potential for considerable losses and collection difficulties.” Officer Emeril leaned back in his chair and motioned to an open ledger on the table. “If [Money Lender] Gazam would like to register a claim on this debt, it is allowed that the signing bonus, the original collateral, and any contribution credits earned by our young [Berserker] here will be held in trust until the debt is repaid and may be claimed by any registered debtors upon his death.”

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Toren allowed himself to breathe again. The [Official] had denied Surlin’s attempt to keep him from leaving. There was even the possibility that Surlin would take it poorly and further irritate Officer Emeril…

But no such luck.

The gritting of Surlin’s teeth could be heard in his words, but the man accepted the offer provided, “On behalf of [Money Lender] Gazam, this [Debt Collector] would register a claim.”

The [Official] turned to Toren with serious eyes. “Do you still wish to enlist?”

Feeling relief beyond words, Toren hardly needed to think about it and firmly nodded. “Yes, I wish to enlist.”

Once Toren’s name was signed into the ledger for indentured enlistment and his wrist magically branded with a second contract seal, his club was returned to him and the [Guards] ushered him to steps leading up onto the platform where his fellow enlistees awaited transport. Surlin impotently growled “Don’t think this is over, orphan!” in Toren’s direction before leaving with his goons, having finished his own paperwork.

Toren ignored the man. Chances were that he would never see him again. It was annoying that he had lost his knife to the goons, but with brandishing a blade being a crime, he wasn’t going to press the issue. At least he still had the bandolier with Yana’s throwing knives, his skinning knives in the pack, too. Those would be more expensive to replace.

A fair number of people had been gathered on the platform. The men, women, and children waiting were a disparate lot, some rugged, some ragged. Most of the families had a downcast look to them with worried mothers holding tight to their children, distinctly uncomfortable to be around the rougher sort they were forced to share the platform with.

There was an exception that drew Toren’s eyes. Standing apart from the others, a trio of boisterous and excited teens dressed in fancy clothes were laughing between themselves and making bets about who among them would kill the highest level monster in the first week and what level it would be.

Sighting a familiar ratty hooded cloak and its occupant lifting something from one of the teens caused Toren to freeze in place—before his anger and revived burning in his blood drove him to follow the unnoticed boy around a family seated with their luggage and grab him by the front of his shirt.

“Bro! You and Surlin were a great distraction!” Vim cheerfully greeted and patted him on the shoulder as if they were the best of friends.

“You!” Toren growled, but seeing the attention his actions were drawing, he pushed down his justified rage and let go Vim’s shirt. He wasn’t like Vim. He wasn’t going to cause a scene here and bring unwelcome attention to the boy, no matter how much the boy deserved it. “You owe me.”

Vim raised an eyebrow and made a put out expression. “Who do you think sent the [Knight] your way? Are you sure you don’t owe me?”

Toren could only gape.

“No worries, big bro. I remember my friends.”

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

“What are you doing here, Vim?” Toren managed to whisper without raising his voice too much.

Vim shrugged. “’Bout worn out my welcome in Greenvale. Figured was time to move on; try my luck in the colonies. Not like you can’t say the same.”

The kid wasn’t wrong. But the real question was whether he was owed his 3 silver rods back or not—and whether the boy was expecting to room with him.

Toren sighed. Maybe it was better to give up on the silver after all...