Golden Fang (1)
After wiping out the Viper Guild, Balun knew rumors about him were circulating in Milford. But he had no idea he'd earned the brutal moniker of Axe Slaughterer.
That made sense, though. He'd spent the last two weeks holed up at Kalente's place. The old mage's house sat alone on a remote hilltop that nobody visited, and Balun hadn't set foot down the slope even once in that time.
His days had been a monotonous loop of eating, shitting, studying, and training. No way he could've known what was going down in Milford.
Damn, Axe Slaughterer is a bit...
Way too villainous, right? Still, it didn't feel half bad. Hey, at least you're famous now.
"What're you staring at? Got nothing better to do?"
Balun bellowed. He felt the mercenaries flinch.
"Got something to say? Spit it out. Balun'll deal with you."
"......"
"Nothing?"
Balun glared around the room, brows furrowed. The mercenaries who'd met his eyes quickly looked away.
Am I coming on too strong?
The thought flickered through his mind, but he shook it off. This was right. He was already facing racial discrimination as a barbarian—if he acted weak, they'd walk all over him even more.
"Nothing? Then get back to your business. Balun's got his own."
With that announcement to the room, Balun strode to the counter. The guild clerk greeted him with a stiff expression.
"What can I do for you?"
"Hey. Remember me?"
"Pardon?"
"Don't know me?"
"I-I do, sir. You came for the bounty last time. H-ha..."
The clerk stammered, forcing an awkward laugh from nerves.
"Good. Since we're buddies now, treat me right. Try any guild bullshit, and Balun splits your skull."
The clerk broke out in a cold sweat. It felt like Balun had read his mind.
"N-no way I'd do that, sir. Perish the thought. So, uh, what brings you here? Catch another bounty target?"
"Here to register as a mercenary. How much?"
"Pardon? Oh, are you new to this...?"
"First time. I'll pay the fee. How much?"
The clerk hesitated, meeting Balun's intense downward gaze. Should he jack up the fee like usual? Normal registration was 5 silvers, but he always charged rookies 10 or more. It was a classic scam that worked like a charm on greenhorns who didn't know the mercenary biz.
This barbarian looked like a total newbie, but something told the clerk not to try it today.
"It's 5 silvers."
"Pricey."
"Can't argue that."
Balun slapped down five silver coins. The clerk snatched them up and stashed them in the safe.
"Paying money to make money. Ain't that stupid?"
"W-well, yeah, but you get perks. Guild services, and..."
"Here. A gift."
Balun added ten more silvers. The clerk's eyes bulged.
"Why the sudden generosity...?"
"You're honest. That's why."
"Honest? What do you—"
The clerk froze. He got it now. Balun meant he'd charged the fair price.
No doubt about it.
Good call on my part!
The clerk sighed in relief. Trusting his gut had saved him—greed would've gotten his head cleaved.
This was the Axe Slaughterer from the rumors. No guild backing would help against him.
"Th-thank you, sir! Truly!"
"When's my wooden mercenary tag ready?"
He knew. Balun had been testing him. Looks could be deceiving—this guy was sharp as hell.
"Normally it'd take a week, but for you, Balun sir, I'll notify the carpenters' guild for top priority."
"Top priority means today?"
"Yes, definitely possible."
"Nice!"
Balun was impressed inwardly. Cutting a week to a day? Pure magic. Bribery was the best.
Praise makes whales dance, but cash works better.
"One more favor."
"Of course. Name it."
"Call Balun for any escort quests to Pordel in the Corinth Kingdom. Nearby cities too."
"Not hard at all. I'll come straight to you the moment one pops up."
"Nice!"
Balun nodded, pleased. Money talked—now he even got express service.
The guild clerk returned in under half a day. Balun had rented a room at an inn and was circulating his mana breathing technique when the knock came. Totally baffling.
He hadn't even told the guy which inn.
"How'd you find me?"
"I've worked Milford guilds for 10 years. I know every corner."
"Impressive!"
"Shall I take you now, or come back later for you to handle?"
"Take me now."
No time like the present, as they say. Balun didn't hesitate.
The clerk led him to a spacious lot. A three-story building loomed at the far end, with wagons lined up in the center.
The merchant Balun met there was named Marco, head of the Marco Merchant Group.
"John. This the mercenary you vouched for? A barbarian?"
"Yes, sir. Top-notch skills."
"Disappointing. You expect me to trust a savage? Is that it?"
"H-he's reliable despite being a barbarian! Incredible skills—he wiped out a rogue guild single-handed!"
Things were going sideways fast. Marco looked thoroughly displeased.
Balun watched the two bicker blankly.
"Doesn't matter. I don't trust barbarians. Brains full of shit, no flexibility—just stubborn idiots. I won't stake my caravan on morons like that."
"For the branch's sake, please. We've cut you plenty of slack before."
Marco pondered, then nodded reluctantly.
"...Fine, since you insist. Just this once."
"Thank you! The boss is so generous!"
Balun had worried about a blowup, but clerk John bowed so low it all smoothed over.
"John. You're dismissed. Can't leave the guild empty too long."
"Right. Farewell. Safe travels, and good luck, Balun sir!"
John pumped his fist theatrically and left. Now it was just Marco and Balun.
Marco approached with a frosty face.
"Savage. Can I trust you? Trust you with my caravan's safety?"
"If I say trust me, will you? If I say don't, won't you?"
Marco had no reply. Balun continued.
"Deal's done anyway. Like it or not, we're traveling together. So trust me."
"I could break the contract now. Ditch you."
"Break it, pay penalty. Hits your rep hard. Merchants live on trust."
Marco's expression shifted oddly. A barbarian spouting that? Wild.
Barbarians barely understood merchants—saw them as greedy scum, despised them.
Every one he'd met. But this guy? Different. Obvious from his words.
One more question.
"True. Trust is a merchant's lifeblood. You get it."
"Common sense."
"What do you think merchants are?"
"Merchants are amazing."
"What?"
Marco's jaw dropped.
"Balun respects merchants. They risk life and limb on trade routes. Best of the best."
"F-for real?"
"Dead serious."
Balun was capitalism incarnate to his bones. Of course he meant it.
"Plains warriors always speak true."
Balun thumped his left chest with a fist.
(For the record, Balun didn't see himself as a plains warrior. He was a proud top citizen of South Korea.)
"Impressive."
Marco's eyes changed. Narrowed gaze widened, cold demeanor warmed a touch.
"Seen over a hundred barbarians in 15 years of trading. All trash. Chasing strength, scorning money. Take our coin but look down on us. Pathetic."
True. Barbarians can be hopeless.
Balun pitied Marco. How many times had he been screwed over?
Damn barbarians.
"But you're different. You respect us. Don't know about the rest, but that I like."
"Trust me now?"
"Somewhat. I'll try. Don't disappoint."
Marco extended a hand. Balun shook it lightly.
"Pordel's far. Keep us safe till then."
"You too."
"Heard you're the Axe Slaughterer. Skills worth the hype?"
"Of course. Don't worry. Balun'll chop 'em all."
Balun swung an imaginary hand-chop with bravado, but inwardly:
Please, no trouble. Please.
The Marco caravan departed early next morning. Big operation—eight wagons, over fifty people.
Twenty-five mercenaries: twenty-four from the Golden Fang company, and Balun solo.
Balun was the odd man out.
This vibe? Like starting high school with zero friends from middle school.
But he wasn't sulking like a total loner. Mercenaries approached him on their own.
"Fate brought us together—names? I'm Charlie. You?"
"Balun."
"Balun. Unique name."
"Means wolf's fang."
"Oh ho. Destiny, then. We're Golden Fang."
Casual intros flowed. Chat was friendly till it abruptly halted.
Someone approached from the front. Morris, Golden Fang's captain.
Whoa, what an aura.
Balun admired the palpable presence as Morris neared.
"Curious since Marco approved you. Built like a proper warrior."
Morris grinned, offering a hand. Balun shook.
"Pleased. Morris, Golden Fang captain."
"Balun."
"Right. Let's get along, Balun. Need your cooperation to finish this escort safe."
"Obviously."
"A gift, then. Accept?"
"Gift?"
"Here."
Morris handed something. Balun took it reflexively.
"What's this?"
"A talisman. Holds the great spirit of the earth."
"Great spirit of the earth...?"
"Yeah. Barbarians love this stuff, right? Like it?"
"Uh, sure. It's fine."
It wasn't. A skull-like bone shard? Gross. But he played it cool—can't diss a gift.
"Haha! Great! You'll be a fine companion!"
Morris headed back upfront. Balun eyed his back, head tilted.
Something off about the guy. Skin prickled. Alarm bells in his head.
Despite the friendliness.
Something fishy.
Balun gripped his belt axe tight. Instinct screamed to.