Chapter 7: End and Beginning

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...The Marshal Maxius could not believe his eyes.

Screams and clashes of metal had woken him up and made him hurry out of his tent with barely enough time to put on his chest plate.

He had expected an enemy ambush, but instead, he found men wearing the same colors killing each other. A great part of his men had black veins showing from their necks, faces, and arms, and their eyes were as black as night save for a blood-red pupil. Those showed no emotion or any sign of intelligence, only a violent need to kill every man that was not like them.

It took the combined effort from three normal men to kill one of those… aberrations. Thankfully the amount of people turned into those things were but a fraction of the Orders entire force and after some time the clashes began to fade throughout the camp.

But it couldn’t be that easy, could it?

The real aberrations appeared when they thought it was over…

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It had been eight months since he arrived at Lenore Town, as Count Durian Lenore himself named the place.

He picked up a big bag and swung it over his shoulder. It was the last one after a whole day of transporting food from a grocery store in the middle of the town to the plantation outside. With that, he would have earned his food for the day. What about tomorrow? It was uncertain, just as every day.

Kancil bowed his head at the guards when he crossed the gate and continued. Since the walls were completed the security on the gates had become really tight for any stult wanting to pass.

How did they distinguish stults? They made them wear a black collar. According to the law, stults had to wear the collars always to help distinguish them without using the status bracelet, but it was something akin to a breakable law. At least in Southwell was.

After the efforts of some altruistic senators, most governors agreed to turn a blind eye to any stult that did not wear the collar, but it seemed that the estimated count Durian Lenore had prejudices against stults—nothing really new in nobles that didn’t care about their ‘good-guy’ image. Furthermore, he was sure that those senators that ‘fought’ for stults rights only wanted to look good and earn the votes of the citizens.

Kancil still remembered Attalus’ words when he parted. ‘Join the local guard’ what a joke. Count Lenore wouldn’t want to taint his ‘Elite Custodians’ with the presence of a stult, even though that most were a bunch of drunkards that couldn’t make the cut to join the legions.

He continued walking, musing about how all nobles were such foul creatures. His thoughts didn’t exclude the good boss Attalus. He had come to accept the man after spending some time watching how he carried himself with discipline and no arrogance, but with time all that remained in his head was the impression he had of him when his legionnaire killed Ravi: that of a petty noble that treated the lives of people without high social status as trash. Deep inside he still felt good will towards the young captain, but it was hard to think about it when surrounded by so many petty nobles and citizens reminding him of his biased thoughts.

Kancil reached the warehouse and dropped the sack on the ground with the others. Finally. He exhaled.

“Kancil, my boy. Good job. That’s why you’re my favorite pack animal, even if you’re disfigured.” A plump man said, looking with a mocking gaze at the bandages covering Kancil’s right eye and left arm.

He was Godric, the man who commissioned him most of his jobs. He was the kind of man to spend all his savings to buy an expensive jacket that made him stand out just wear it covered with grease and stains. The man had no skills to become a craftsman or the intelligence to work as a merchant, that’s why he was already at the balding age and still worked as a leader of thugs overseeing goods’ transportation and collecting money from stults. The only reason he even got that kind of job to begin with was because his cousin was a respected merchant.

Godric unstrapped a leather pouch he hung on his belt and took out a copper coin and two iron coins. “Here’s your pay.” He offered the coins to Kancil.

Kancil looked at the hand with the coins and frowned. “You promised two drachmas.”

“Yes, it was what we agreed, but, you see,” He pointed at one of the sacks.

Kancil immediately realized what was going on. The sack had a small rip on one of its sides. He doubted he caused the rip, as it was big enough to let out some of the vegetables inside. He doubted that not a single one fell while he carried the sack. If that was not enough, the cut was clearly made with a knife. Of course, ‘a stupid stult wouldn’t be able to tell’. He was sure that would be Godric’s excuse.

Anyways, he didn’t want to complain and make Godric start a scene. He’d rather take the loss than attract too much unwanted attention and lose his only source of works.

Kancil sighed and took the coins. It was another day eating dry bread for dinner and breakfast. The money wouldn’t allow him to buy more than three loafs of bread and pay the rent for the shabby room he called home. He’d had plans for those eight pennies the bastard kept. Earlier today he had seen a piece of old meat selling in the market for eight pennies. Meat in that state would cause a serious stomachache for a normal person, but he had been trained by the ‘menu’ of the sewers.

What a great way to spend his fifteenth birthday. He sighed and departed from the warehouse.

“Come early tomorrow and I might have some work for you.” Godric said.

Kancil nodded and kept walking.

A while later he arrived at the ugliest and dirtiest part of the shack-town outside Lenore. He walked with only two loafs of bread in his arms and a lighter pocket. It seemed that there was a shortage of grain after one of the grain fields caught a plague and the price of bread would be higher for a time.

He only had six pennies left and he knew where they were going. Just as he arrived at a building with tens of ragged doors and holes that were supposed to be windows, he saw the landlord waiting in the entrance, arms folded. Kancil sighed and took out the six pennies and gave them to the man.

The landlord tried to bend the coins and only after he was done checking that all six weren’t brass counterfeit, he nodded and turned around, entering the less shabby door in the building.

Kancil sighed and opened the door to his room.

“Why so depressed?” A voice said from his right. Otis walked from his own shabby room in the nearby building. At his 31 years of age, the man had his brown hair grizzled with more white than brown and enough wrinkles to make him pass for a man ten years older. Otis was practically the only kind person he had met in the shack-town, even when he was a man with his own share of problems. It was rare to see a citizen who had fallen so low to live among stults, and he was one.

“Just stuff, you know. At this point, I’m used to shit going wrong all the time, but when it happens on your birthday, it is a new kind of low.” Kancil shrugged.

“Oh, it’s your day?” Otis raised his eyebrows. “How many?”

“Fifteen.”

“By the Aeternum, boy.” He approached and clasped his shoulders. “You’re a man now.” He laughed. “You shouldn’t be spending the day moping around. Wait a minute, I have something for you.” He said and hurried to his room. He came out a moment after carrying a bottle half filled with a red liquid. “For you. To celebrate your coming of age.”

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Kancil took the bottle and inspected it. “This is wine.” He widened his uncovered eye and stared at Otis. “This is expensive; how did you get it?”

“Well, you know, I’m pretty respected in my job. A friend gave it to me after I did him a favor.”

“Are you sure you want to give this to me?”

“Of course boy. At my age, I’ve had a good share of ale and wine, but I’m sure you’ve never had either. Go drink to my health and cheer up. Life’s too short to be depressed.” Otis laughed and turned to his room waving his hand.

“Thanks.” Kancil said. The man’s kindness brought the slightest of smiles to his lips.

He entered his room and put the bread and the bottle on a small table in a corner. He took out his shoes and his shirt and put the at the foot of the ‘bed’, which was nothing but a cloth tended on the floor.

He sat on the chair in front of the table and began eating a loaf of bread. It was harder than usual, apart from being more expensive. He didn’t know if the baker was being like everyone else and taking advantage of him or if he had said the truth. Though it didn’t matter. He had little time left living in that miserable place.

After eight months of saving pennies, he finally had bought a small knife a week ago. It was of bad quality, but it should suffice to kill demons at the level of a goblin. In the sewers, he had killed goblins with hatchets less sharp than his knife.

After spending more time living in the ‘free world’ he had gotten to know better the state of the world.

He knew that at that point his only real options were staying living in the shack-town, bearing the abuses from pretty much everyone for the rest of his life—or until he snapped and hurt badly someone, which would earn him either respect from others or an execution from an enforcer—or depart to the Dark World and try his luck hunting demons. Maybe joining a slayer team. He heard that slayers had become a profitable profession if you could bear the risk of fighting demons. He had done it before, so it was a viable option for him.

The latter was the only option, really. He doubted he could stand living like he was much more time.

He took another bite of bread and downed it with a sip of wine. The thing tasted sweet and sour at the same time, he liked the sweet part, but almost couldn’t stand the sourness. He couldn’t say that he would become a fan of wine after tasting it, but at least it was better than eating the bread dry. He finished the bread and downed all the wine even though he didn’t love the red liquid, after all, he promised Otis he would drink to his health.

He wrapped the other loaf of bread and then went to his bed and laid down. He took out his small pocket clock and stared at it. It was a simple piece of bronze, not worth more than a talent if he sold it for the metal. What held real worth were its insides, easily over ten talents if it worked and a few less as it was right now. That along with the knife be bought and his old status bracelet were his only truly valuable possessions.

He grabbed his knife from below the bed and began looking at it, caressing the edge. That small piece of iron was his ticket out of a miserable life and hopefully the beginning of his plans. It had been almost two years since Southwell’s incident, but he still did not forget the debs some people owed him. He would one day return to collect those debts, doesn’t matter if he has to go against the world or the heavens to do it. It wouldn’t be the-

He heard enraged shouts from outside. He put the clock in his pocket and went to the ‘window’. He took out a plank of wood covering the hole and looked outside.

He saw the back of Godric’s ugly jacket. He, along with two of his thugs were surrounding some poor bastard. Probably someone who couldn’t pay his debt on time. Exactly because of things like that he preferred going a day without eating than asking money from parasites like Godric. He pitied the poor bastard on the other side, but there was nothing he could-

It was Otis.

Kancil caught sight of Otis’ face when Godric kicked him on the ground and moved to one side when he almost tripped. The old man was not of age to go around kicking people, not with his low level.

“Blint said he saw you take it, Otis. You better speak or things might turn violent, Otis.” Godric threatened, even thought things had already gone violent.

“I don’t have no wine, Godric. Blint is a liar.” Otis stood up gasping for air.

Wine? Kancil thought.

“Otis, Otis. Don’t lie to me.” Godric said. “I don’t mind if you took a sip, you can pay me back later, but I want my wine back. I know you wouldn’t drink it all at once, not knowing how expensive it was. Eight talents, Otis, you know it.” He said in a calm tone, though his livid face betrayed his tone. “I want my fucking wine right now, or I’ll rip your head, you understand me? I’ll fucking kill you, Otis. Who would charge me for the death of a fucking trash like you? At worst I’ll have to hand some drachma to a Quaestor and that’s it. That’s what your life’s worth. So stop making a show and bring me my fucking wine, okay?”

“I told you, I have no wine. Bloody Blint is lying. He probably took it and is trying to blame me.” Otis said, holding his stomach where Godric kicked him.

Otis had given him the wine he stole from Godric, Kancil realized. He didn’t know if it was a set up to frame him or an accident, but it was better to be sure. Kancil went to dress and began packing what little he had. If Otis was about to betray him, he better prepares to get out of there.

Godric approached Otis in silence and threw a punch to his gut.

Otis fell to his knees again, breathless.

Godric took out a knife from his belt and held it on Otis’ neck. “This is your last chance, Otis. I want you to think it well. Where. Is. My. Wine?” Godric glared with his eyes bulging, letting the silence stretch.

Kancil returned to the window to watch, dressed up and with a cloth containing his last piece of bread, waterskin and his only other set of clothes tied to his back.

He lifted his left arm, now with his status bracelet on and pointed at Godric and his thugs.

【Level 11】

【Level 12】

【Level 6】

 He held his knife in one hand in case they went to his room looking for him. He should simply get out of the room and flee, but if one of Godric’s thugs see him it would look suspicious and they would overpower him quickly. Those two thugs were Combatants, so if he hoped to win against them, he had to caught them off guard or fight inside his room, where he could pull out some tricks. Godric was no real threat for him.

“The…” Otis gasped for breath. “Wine…”

Here it comes. Kancil thought. Another betrayal for the collection. He tightened the grip on his knife.

“I don’t have your bloody wine.” Otis yelled. “You crazy bastard.” He sprung to his feet, head-butting Godric on the face.

The fat man fell rear-first to the ground, his nose bleeding. “K-kill the fucking bastard. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.” Godric yelled as if a kid throwing a tantrum. A dangerous kid.

The two thugs took out knives and approached Otis.

“Here’s your wine.” Kancil yelled and threw the empty bottle at Godric just as he turned his head. The bottle hit him squarely on the face and shattered.

“Gah.” Godric held his face and rolled on the ground, squealing.

The two thugs turned around and glared at Kancil with murder in their eyes.

Kancil ran towards the thugs, knife in hand. He approached the two men and thrust his knife at the one to the right. “Left.” He yelled, hoping that Otis gets the clue.

He somehow did. Otis pushed the thug to Kancil’s left and made him stumble forward, though he couldn't make the man fall.

Kancil stopped his charge at the man to the right and ignoring the pain on his bandaged left arm, he swung his knife to the left, at the other thug’s face. At the same time, he took the cloth from his back and lashed at the other thug to stop him, sending bread and clothes flying.

His knife connected on the thug’s face and the cloth made the other thug stop to block.

Kancil let out the cloth and opened his palm pointing it at the thug to the right. He infused all his pitiful three points of mana in his arm and released it. A small blast of dirt exploded from his hand to the thug’s face.

The man stepped back covering his eyes and swinging his knife blindly.

Kancil took the chance and plunged at the man he cut on the face and began stabbing him repeatedly on the chest. The man punched and tried to stab Kancil, but soon he lost his strength and dropped dead, only giving Kancil a few bruises on the back of his head and a superficial cut.

“Watch out.” Otis yelled.

Kancil ducked just in time to avoid the other thug’s slash.

He rolled on the ground and turned to see Otis clinging to the thug’s back and the later elbowing him on the ribs and face constantly.

Kancil took a breath and narrowed his eye.

With a flick of his arm, he sent his knife flying right to the thug’s neck.

The man stared at Kancil, anger,and disbelief evident on his face.

“Let’s get the hell out.” Kancil said to the stunned Otis, who let go of the dying man after he plummeted to the ground.

Kancil could see people staring from the hole-windows at the situation. It wouldn’t take too much time for the guards to arrive and Quaestors would follow. They better be far from there by then.

Otis looked around, his face bloodied and swelling. “Wait.” He said and stumbled to his room.

“What the fuck?” Kancil said. “We need to get out.” But Otis kept walking to his room as if deaf.

Kancil clicked his tongue and went to retrieve his knife from the thug’s neck.

He pulled it out and then also took the man’s. Two is always better than one. He began to pat the dead body, looking for anything of value. The crime was done. He couldn't stop to think about what he had just done or what it implicated. His mind was focused on surviving, and the pouch he just found would be useful for that.

He grabbed the pouch and put it inside his shirt.

“Will you hurry-”

He felt a stab of pain from his left shoulder. Same fucking shoulder again. He thought.

He swung his knife behind and cut Godric on the chest.

“B-bastard.” The fat Godric muttered. “You’re dead. You’re fucking dead.” He yelled.

Knowing the kind of influence Godric held, Kancil would have felt genuinely threatened if it wasn’t for how much the man’s legs trembled and a wet stain spreading through his groin.

Kancil dashed forward and kicked Godric on the legs.

Godric stumbled back, grunting and trying to counter with a slash, but Kancil stayed out of reach.

Kancil avoided two more slashes and punched, sending the whimpering fat man to the ground.

“Let’s go.” Otis came back from his room with a big backpack in tow.

Kancil raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything and nodded.

Before going he stood in front of Godric and threw a good kick to his face, letting out the accumulated rage for the man all at once. Then he and Otis began running to the outskirts of the shack-town, to the uncertain future.