Much like the manor the nearest town had no walls. For a moment I even wondered why we paid guards to stand by the entrance. I however quickly saw idiots try to get in, and that was when I realized what they were for.

I explored the cobbled paths for quite a while until I concluded. In terms of earning money, I had a few options: the first was violence. The second was a different flavour of violence. The third was picking plants which was strangely violent. The fourth and final one was making something to peddle.

I could probably manage peddling something along with my chosen flavour of violence but not flower picking. Unfortunately, the two different flavours of violence did not overlap. I would not have the stamina nor the time to do both.

Even with all the information I had gathered from advertisements and the environment it was all useless. I had no idea how much each one earned. Determined to do things right I began to ask around.

It took a while but at the end I decided to pick the second flavour of violence and making accessories. I had no experience with it, but the raw resources were cheap and there was plenty of profit. In terms of the violence, being a mercenary was far better than a soldier. It paid worse but gave me freedom.

I needed freedom far more than money, because without it, mother could find me. If that woman interfered with my plans, then she would either fall by my blade or I would.

Determined to prevent my future self from backing out I looked around. I quickly bought the cheapest mask that covered my entire face. It was the same shade of black as my hair and caused me to look like a shadow. The mask had no details and was just a round blank, but paired with my attire the only colour came from the whites of my eyes.

I was going to sign up immediately after, but a silly feeling emerged. Not wanting to lose it I gave in and bought a pair of black gloves. I had forgotten about my hands, but now I was definitely a shadow.

When I went to the tavern where I could sign up the weird looks, I had been getting all day disappeared. The feeling of understanding definitely seemed like a perk of the job and I took a registration form from the pile. There were plenty of people signing up, but hardly any mercenaries relaxing.

After what happened last night, I expected both of such things when I walked in. a lot of damage would have been caused, and if our region didn’t need help others surely did. The righteous and even those who were damaged by it would sign up in troves to earn money while helping others.

Sadness was still an emotion, and I embraced it, but I also embraced something else. on the name/call name section I wrote SSH. The name was an edgy joke being both a shush and an acronym. If anyone learned that SSH meant Super Silly Helper I felt like I would die of laughter.

The pain in my chest brought me joy. I felt alive, oh so rarely did I have such fun. I knew it would fade, even so I savoured it, the taste of joy.

I presented the form to the bartender that was sitting down due to the lack of customers. I had failed to notice it before, but he was rather muscular, probably either a log splitter or a former mercenary.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

“Are you sure wee one?”

I nodded my head in response not wanting to give away any identifiers.

“Alrighty, I suppose you already have a sword?”

This time I shook my head.

“You listed swordsmanship”

I tried my best to signal that I had left it at home, but the result was sad. I pointed to my side amongst a bunch of other kerfuffle and then also brought my hands to my head to signal a bed.

I had no idea what I was doing but he seemed to understand and gave me a grunt.

“Then I suppose you would want to start by helping out around the area?”

I nodded my head vigorously at his remark. I didn’t intend to face danger yet, and disaster relief was something readily available.

“If I register you, how long are you going to be doing this? This is not just a job you do once, it is a commitment.”

I gave up on gesturing and walked back over to the ink and pens. I took one with a dollop of ink and looked for a bit of spare parchment. Unable to, I walked back over to the form and turned it over.

‘Until I get revenge, or all that I have lost is returned.’ My handwriting was terrible as I wrote it on my leg as I stood, but it was good enough.

“Ah, well we all have our stories don’t we. Well, I suppose I can accept ya.”

The man took the pen from me and scribbled a name at the very bottom. He then looked towards a door near the counter before sighing. The man seemed to have been rather enjoying not moving. This made me confused as to how none of the others in here had bothered him yet. It was only when I noticed one of them drop a pen that I realised the ability to write was uncommon amongst the common folk.

The seat creaked as he got up and he left for the door. Once he returned there was a wax seal next to the signature and he pinned the form on the wall next to a plaque. the mercenary registry was very simple, the guild would keep your form in the village you registered. When you wanted to work in another village or town the guild leader would write you a letter of recommendation along with a copy off your form.

This guilds way of showing the registry was pinning them to a wall beneath a plaque that read ‘registry’.

“Oi”

The man called out to me, and I tilted my head.

“So, ssh, I suppose you want to get a mission too while you are here?”

I nodded my head while containing my amusement at the burly man saying my name.

“Crypton north of here needs someone to help out. it’s just some odd jobs and manual labour. You okay with that?”

I nodded my head once more and the man pulled out a thin strip of parchment. The piece looked tiny in his hands but once he handed to me, I realised it was a detailed request for a labourer.

Without complaining I headed off to make my first few coins.

The journey to crypton was the most annoying as the road was covered in debris. There was no major damage, but the mud and leaves made it slippery and slow.

After I arrived, I was directed to a kind old lady called Miss Shelly. The woman was kind for the first few minutes that I met her until I proved that I had strength. After that I was filling in for the oxen. I found it absurd, but the frustration and dissatisfaction turned into joy. I felt, and that was good enough.

When the sun began to fade and miss shelly deemed my work good enough, I was set free. When the old lady handed over the single silver coin, I took a moment to look around. It was a feeling of clarity after achieving something, a feeling that I had very rarely experienced.

It was in my blissful moment of clarity that I noticed that crypton, was like a crypt town. Most of the residents were aged and ready for the grave. In the effort to contain disease it was a wise choice, but it was still cruel.

I thought isolation was cruel, but I preferred it. I didn’t have to wonder why I liked to be alone; I knew full well why.

With an exhausted body I wandered back to the manor. It may be a small step made of sweat, but it was a step. And each step I took that led somewhere I would take in pride.