Chapter 8: Road to a Change

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…Creatures of darkness sprung from the forest and from within the very earth.

They took lives as a farmer reaps wheat. Thousands had died by the time the Orders’ Knights had organized and began to notice that they could only kill the creatures by beheading them. Anything else wouldn’t work….

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Kancil leaned his back on a tree and sat down, gasping for air. Nearby, Otis laid sprawled on the ground next to his bulging backpack, his chest heaving up and down furiously and his face swollen and covered with dry blood.

They fled from Lenore at evening and now the moon and the Olympian Rings were high up in the sky already.

They had been running nonstop for around five hours, fearing that even the slightest delay would let any pursuer catch up to them. It was not until they arrived at a forest that Kancil said ‘Stop’ and immediately he and Otis collapsed. Kancil knew that the town wouldn’t send a pursuit squad only for the murder of two stult thugs—at most they’ll tell the guards to keep an eye out for them—but as he’d learned the hard way ‘better safe than sorry’.

At that moment of rest, Kancil began to think about how things turned out. He had been thinking on leaving Lenore, but not like that. He would have gathered information about the Dark World and only when he had a clear idea of what to do after he gets there would he leave. Now he had already left, with no more knowledge of the Dark World than it has millions of demons and mana beasts and that humans settle in colonies in the conquered territory.

Though there was not helping it. It was already done.

What truly troubled him was what he had done before leaving. He had killed before—several times—but only goblins. It was his first time killing a person—two, for that matter. He’d heard that one must be prepared mentally to kill a person, that it was a shock the first time, even for trained legionnaires. But he felt… nothing. It was just like when he had to kill a goblin, a matter of survival.

He tried to make himself feel bad about killing those two men thinking about their situation, their families, but it caused him feel pity for them at most. Nothing like the heart-wrenching regret and guilt others talked about. It might be because of his opinion of goblins and the likes—he spent a year living around the critters, time in which he got to see how similar they were to humans, just a little dumber—and he had killed them without thinking too much about it. He did remember feeling a little of that regret and guilt, but it might had been his inexperience. Maybe he was too well acquainted with death already. Maybe he was just numb to killing people.

“I’m-” Otis said, pausing to gasp for breath. “Sorry lad. I screwed you over.”

“Don’t mind it. It was a stupid accident.” Kancil shrugged. “But thanks for not snitching on me.”

“Snitching on you?” Otis picked himself up and sat on the ground, looking at Kancil, a few leaves got stuck to his grizzled hair. “It was my fault that you had the wine in the first place, boy. What kind of person would it make me if I did something so dirty?”

“A normal one? People do tend to betray people. Like a second nature.”

Otis’ gaze softened. “Come now, boy. There are fellows like that, but not every person is like that. In fact, most people aren’t.”

“I’ve heard that before, but, well…experience says otherwise. People show their true faces in dire situations, like the one earlier today. It is good to know that you’re not one more of the lot.” Kancil’s lips stretched in a small smile.

Otis wanted to say something more, but refrained from doing so. He couldn’t change the boy’s mind with a few words. “It’s good to not be one.” He said. “But I still must apologize for involving you in my problems. Now you can’t return to Lenore.”

“Screw Lenore.” Kancil snorted. “I was planning to leave anyway. Not like this, but it still works.”

Otis raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? What about your friends, the wide-nosed and the jumpy one?”

“They…” He paused. “They will be fine without me. In fact, they’ll be better. I don’t doubt the Quaestors will go asking them questions about me, but they joined the local garrison, they won’t make too much troubles for them. Furthermore, I… I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

“Right…” Otis nodded and then began rubbing his chin, looking intently at Kancil but staying silent.

Kancil furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head. “What is it?”

“Um… Are you okay? I mean, about the thugs you… defeated.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m traumatized for killing them.”

Otis shifted uncomfortably and nodded. “Right….”

They sat quietly, letting the sounds of the night surround them and regaining their breath. Though Kancil let an ear open. It had only been eight months since the sewers and he was still not that rusty to let his guard down.

“So,” Kancil broke the silence after a while. “How did you get your hands on that wine anyway?”

Otis’ face picked up, relieved to discuss a non-somber topic. “You see, I’m a bit of a wine… fan.” He said, avoiding the use of the word ‘addict’. “The other day I was doing some work for Godric when I heard him flaunting his new acquisition: the wine. It was an aged wine—not many years of course, a man of Godric’s standing wouldn’t be able to afford something of more than three or four years—and he filled his mouth saying that it was a decade wine, imported from the mother of wines itself, Junia. I know my wines, so I couldn’t believe that a paltry thug like him could get his hands on something like that.

“I had to confirm it, so when he left it in his ‘office’ I couldn’t resist my curiosity and… took it. I was planning on returning it after tasting it, but I couldn’t. The thing was not nearly as good as Godric said, but it was still a decent wine. I couldn’t bear to part with it. It’s been years now since I last tasted a decent wine.” He hung his head down in shame. “So I kept it.”

“Then gave it to me?”

“Well, you don’t become a man every day. I saw you dejected and thought having something good for a change would help. Since it had been a few days since I took it I thought it wouldn’t cause any troubles. I was wrong. It seems that Godric really liked that wine.”

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“I appreciate it.” Kancil smiled. “But just so you don’t waste any more wine in the future. I didn’t like it. I’m not a wine fan.”

“You serious?” Otis gaped. “Everyone likes wine.”

“Not me apparently.” Kancil shrugged.

“What’s there to not like? That fulfilling fleshy flavor, its flamboyancy, its subtle angular taste…” Otis’ tried to display a dramatic expression, but with his swollen face what he managed was the face of a suffering man.

“Not my thing…” Kancil smiled apologetically.

Otis hung his head and sighed. “Whatever.” He shook his head. “So, what are you going to do now? You said you’ve been planning to leave. Where to?”

“Well, I wanted to leave because of the miserable lifestyle. So there’s truly only one option for a stult like myself to get a better life…”

“You're going to the war front then? To the Dark World?”

Kancil nodded. “And you? Have anything in mind?”

“I guess I could settle in any town and keep doing my work. It wouldn’t be that hard. But I’m also getting tired of this ‘bowing-to-everyone’ lifestyle. I might as well stake it all and go to the Dark World as well. Who knows, maybe my work will be more useful there.”

“What do you do? By the way.”

“I’m glad you asked.” Otis’ bruised face brightened and he puffed out his chest. “I’m a Scribe.” He said, looking at Kancil expectantly.

“So… you write?”

“I don’t just ‘write’,” Otis’ eyebrows twitched. “I compose runes, and carve them.”

“So you can make orbs and enhanced equipment? Nice.”

“Well, I could if I had enough mana crystals. My own mana can’t keep up with such strenuous carving. I focus more on utility runes. Like heat runes or sound runes or… light runes—though those are harder to make.”

“Nothing too spectacular then?” Kancil raised a mocking eyebrow.

“I could if I had the appropriate crystals and materials, but those are expensive. I spend most of my earnings buying paper and ink.”

“Oh.” Kancil nodded.

“And what do you plan to do there? No more carrying things I guess?”

“Hell no.” Kancil said. “I plan on becoming a slayer.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I guess.” Kancil shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the most dangerous thing I’ve done in my life.”

“Maybe we could work this out.” Otis muttered. “You get the crystals and I compose runes. The good ones. We can easily sell runes for ten times the crystals’ worth. Of course, other materials are also expensive, but not so much for medium grade runes like the ones I make.”

“You mean we should go together to the Dark World?”

“Of course, why not? It’s a win-win deal.”

“Well, surely it would be a hard journey to the Dark World for a… scholar like you. I know my way around demons and I think I can trust you to not betray me.” Kancil nodded. “It’s a good idea.”

“It’s settled then. To the Dark World.” Otis said enthusiastically. Kancil didn’t know how a man looking ten years older could act like one ten younger. “Wait, why did you say ‘scholar’ like that? I’ll have you know that I served two years in the legions. I’m no pushover.” Otis scowled.

“Isn’t a citizen’s mandatory service four years?”

“I was too great to handle.” Otis said and began browsing through his things, terminating the conversation.

They kept quiet the rest of the night. Otis slept nonchalantly, even allowing himself to snore—thought it’s not like it was a choice. Kancil managed to drift to sleep from time to time, but the slightest sound made him jump awake prepared for an attack. That would be one of the few things he’d miss from Lenore: sleeping without fearing a sudden attack. Attacks at night were frequent enough in the shack-town, but not for him. He was inconspicuous enough that no one would have a reason to attack him. At least before he killed two thugs and beat up their leader.

Now he was back to the sleepless nights surrounded by enemies. A well-received burden. Now he knew he was doing something to get stronger instead of biding his time to leave Lenore. In a way, he was grateful for what happened. It was the push he needed to take the reins of his life and shake Tellus’ wicked society. He began grinning, hugging his little luggage. He had the means to begin working on that.

The next day began with Kancil’s hard loaf of bread as their breakfast, and their passionate determination to change their lives. The kind of passion common in young boys full of dreams, like Kancil, not the one expected from a man on his thirties that looked on his forties. It was the main reason why Kancil felt comfortable with Otis. The man acted like a boy of his age would, only with a slightly dangerous fixation for wine and wrinklier, and the gaze of an experienced man.

He was like a rogue element in society’s standards. Something he himself believed—or hoped—to be. Maybe he was the kind of man that would join him in his crazy thoughts of breaking society.

Their walk through the forest was more uneventful than they expected. Probably because the legions had cleaned the area to make it inhabitable for Lenore and the blooming villages around.

A few hours into their walk they arrived at one border of the forest and the outskirts of a village. It was a good place to acquire supplies and directions to the frontier, but Otis warned that Lenore might have sent the notice about them to the nearby settlements. It was a fair point, but not one that would get them food anytime soon. They’ll have to wait to bump into a traveling peddler or scavenge something from the woods.

They continued walking on the border of the forest and went to the road coming out of the village when they were far enough. All they could do was follow the road and hope to find soon a sign that told where they were.

Their journey would have been a silent one if it wasn’t for Otis’ predisposition to talk about almost anything. Kancil was not much of a talker, but he appreciated the annoying distraction from his rumbling stomach.

He learned that his assumptions of Otis’ character were real. The man not only had the liveliness of a youngster—more than him, in fact—but also the dreams of one. The main reason why a citizen like him lived in a shack-town of stults was because he currently pursued a dream.

As a Rune Scribe he wanted to compose a new kind of runescript, one that would make his name known to the entire world and even change it—in a way a goal similar to his. Because of that he spent all his money in materials to experiment with new runes and in books of rune and mana theories. So far his research was not going too well, but the man maintained the mindset that he would accomplish his dream—more than a dream, goal.

Though all the goals and dreams—at least not regular dreams—would not fill their stomachs at the moment.

Around late afternoon the solution to their food problems arrived in the shape of a small merchant caravan.

“Finally.” Otis said with excitement.

Kancil nodded, looking with apprehension at the oncoming group.

A small band of mercenaries of around forty men marched at the sides of the road. They distinguished themselves from legionnaires or auxiliaries for their lack of uniforms. Most wore leather armors and a sword, with only a few of them wearing chainmails or one of the weird-looking demon artifacts Attalus’ team had.

In the middle of the road traveled two carts and a carriage and in front of them rode the only two mercenaries with horses.

Otis waved his hand at the caravan and stopped in the middle of the road to not look threatening.

They waited until one of the two mounted mercenaries separated from the group and approached them.

“What’s yer’ business?” The tanned man said, his left arm raised pointing his status bracelet at them.

“Good day, sire.” Otis bowed. “We’re but a pair of lost travelers looking for the next city to try our luck. We’d be most grateful if we could have directions from you.”

The man grunted and looked at them from head to toe, his gaze lingering for a worryingly long time on Otis’ backpack. “Ya’ talk like a scammer.” He grunted.

“I’m a scribe, sire. I live off my words and I procure to maintain all of them active. Though all it has gotten me is a bag full of old paper and watery ink.” Otis hoped the mercenary would not return to his probably well acquainted banditry when under contract.

The man grunted again and pointed with his chin at Kancil. “What’s the deal with the boy?” The man looked with curiosity at Kancil’s bandaged eye and arm.

“He? He is my apprentice sire. He’s a little grumpy and…” He paused when he saw Kancil looking straight down to the ground and shrinking his shoulders as much as he could, totally different from his usual stern—even arrogant—behavior. “Shy? The lad is a handful. He hurt himself working with a blacksmith and now he follows me. I still don’t know how his da’ convinced me to take him. I swear the wounds left the lad messed up in the head.” Otis shook his head.

“You want directions to the next city then?” The man stopped inspecting them and their holdings and turned his gaze to Otis when he deemed that the pair of dirty travelers had nothing of enough value to endanger his contract.

“And to buy some food if your company has some to spare.”

The man’s face brightened at the prospect of making a few more coins and nodded. “Follow me then.” He turned his horse around and rode towards the caravan.

Otis and Kancil hurried behind him.

“If ye’ follow this road ye’ll find a crosspath eventually. From there you can go to the west to Philac or to the east to Dunlac. I suggest avoidin’ the road to Dunlac right now. Demon raiding parties like to sneak through the Wall and go ‘round the villages and roads killin’ and stealin’.” He stopped his horse in front of the caravan and turned his head to them. “So, about that food.” A sinister smile crept up his face.