Chapter 3
Chapter 3
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 003
Chapter Title: Journey (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Paulina propped her chin up with her index finger, her expression deep in thought.
"Refusing more would seem rude, wouldn't it."
"Thought about what you want?"
"Add one trade cart in my name."
"...!"
Brad's face twisted as if he'd been struck on the head.
"Too much to ask?"
"No, it's not that. Just caught me off guard."
Paulina tilted her head.
"I was born into a good family and have enjoyed plenty. I'm at the age where I should be marrying soon, but if I could, I'd love to strike out on my own and live free."
"Material wealth is the foundation of freedom."
"Oh, exactly."
"A formal deal might burden us both, so let's do this instead."
Brad extended his index finger.
"I have close contacts. I'll arrange a deal in your name. Whether that gets you one cart or more depends on the Paulina Merchant Company's abilities."
"Wow. Paulina Merchant Company!"
She clapped her hands in delight, and the man felt a weight lift from his heart.
'The chief must know. What a twisted hobby.'
Every outcome has its causes. Whether he'd used his clan or turned a blind eye, there had to be intent behind it.
She planted a kiss on Brad's cheek.
"Thank you so much. Not sure how to take this."
"What meaning is there? Just returning kindness with kindness."
Intent aside, he'd opened a path to independence for the chief's granddaughter—a favor and revenge in one.
As Brad finished eating and prepared to leave, the chief stopped him.
"So heartless? Folks might think the talks fell through. Stay a few more days."
"Fair enough."
He'd spent his life pioneering the frontier, so he understood politics. When people gathered, they became conscious of each other's gazes—that was politics.
The chief added unnecessarily.
"Shame outsiders practice monogamy."
"One's more than enough once you've lived a bit."
"Hm."
The chief fell silent. He almost looked sympathetic.
"Then I'll impose on you a few more days."
"Rest well. Look around the village too."
Following the chief's urging, he slept soundly, ate well, and spent pleasant time with Paulina.
He didn't neglect training his body, which he'd let slide for a while.
He sparred with the warriors without refusal and even enjoyed childish games counting scars on each other's bodies.
If the prison had been an uncomfortable rest, his time in the Mad Tribe village sorted his tangled thoughts and restored his stiffened body.
After three more days, Brad bid Paulina farewell.
"Contact me if you're ever in Westguard."
"I'll remember that."
As Paulina personally tied his boot laces, Brad stomped his foot to test them. The repaired sole hugged perfectly.
"Safe travels."
"Hahaha. If you're so attached, why not stay longer?"
Brad's feelings were conflicted as he eyed the chief teasing like it was someone else's business.
'Was it all a misunderstanding? They're just free spirits.'
He tucked away the wooden tally the chief had given him.
"As fellow allies, let's keep building trust. Until next time."
"Safe journey, outsider chief."
"See you again."
Not just the elders—even nearby villagers waved goodbye, suggesting the whole tribe knew of the Westguard pact.
'An unexpected harvest, regardless.'
It was like clearing a small mountain in northern pioneering.
The warriors from days ago fell in beside him.
"We'll escort you out of the village."
"Appreciated."
They exited in reverse order of arrival, and the plains opened up again.
After several kilometers, the warriors pointed north.
"You'll reach the traveler's shelter by sunset."
"... ."
Brad's gaze followed their pointing fingers.
Even with milder weather, nature remained perilous. Crossing plains teeming with monsters was for the strong alone. The warriors watched with awe.
Brad adjusted his backpack and extended a hand.
"It was fun."
"May your journey be safe."
The farewell group turned away.
It encapsulated the past days. Wariness had turned to respect, interests shared—the outcome everyone wanted.
The journey resumed.
The spring sun grew hotter in just a few days.
"This damn weather's just two flavors: freezing or scorching."
Like his habitual mutter, the shimmering heat haze distorted the ground.
Brad pulled his hood low.
The path vanished without a trace. Leaving the plains brought rolling hills, then wasteland, then plains again.
He walked half a day seeking shade.
A stream from melting glacier, fringed by a few trees—enough for rest.
Gulp, gulp.
Quenching his thirst, he refilled his waterskin from his belt.
Leaning against a tree, drowsiness hit. But he shook it off.
An ominous presence prickled his senses.
"Hm?"
Scanning around, he spotted the wolves from days ago.
'Brought the pack. About ten.'
Four days from scouting to mobilizing meant they'd been watching for an opening. Persistent beasts.
'Starving wolves won't be easy.'
Dry spring stayed barren.
New sprouts heralded a short summer, far from abundance. Scarce prey went to beasts and monsters rousing from winter sleep.
Yet with food in sight, the wolves didn't rush.
Wolves weren't mere savage dogs. House-sized ones circled slowly like a whirlwind.
Grrrr.
Yap, yap.
'The weak bark.'
The strong don't. They rip throats in one go.
"It's you."
One hung back from the pack, tail swishing leisurely.
Shing.
Aim at the leader, and a massive shadow loomed behind—but he ignored it, moving first.
Brad charged, swinging down.
Grrrr.
The leader wouldn't fall easily, of course.
Yap, yap.
Attack from behind, but he trusted his leather armor and ignored it. Even as his cloak tore, he pursued only the leader.
Then, at some point, he reversed his grip and spun.
Slash.
Yelp, whine.
The gray wolf targeting his back sprayed blood. The second-largest staggered, throat gushing.
The fight paused.
Awooooo.
At the leader's howl, the pack slunk back.
"Huff, huff."
Steadying his breath, his heaving shoulders settled.
Rinsing roughly at the water's edge and tending his blade, the afternoon sun dipped west.
"Lost time."
Grunting, he rose and resumed walking.
Hurrying, he reached the shelter at sunset.
Under blue moonlight, yellow lantern light flickered. A sign reading 'Food and Drink' swayed like a landmark.
He glared briefly at the cart in the front yard, then pushed the creaky door.
Creeeak.
Warmth rushed in.
The fireplace kettle steamed; folks with drinks and food chatted softly. Some raised voices.
All bore scars on faces and arms as standard.
Thud, thud.
Thump.
At the counter, he sat. An aproned man approached.
"What'll it be?"
"Whatever you've got."
"... ."
Some spoke casually; others scowled.
"Cash upfront, as you know."
"Forgot."
As he rummaged his pack, the owner served food.
Thud.
With dark beer, a bowl steamed—neither soup nor stew, some mystery.
A sip of beer first, then spoon.
"Terman's soup—how long's it been?"
"Said upfront."
"Right, here."
Ting.
A gleaming gold coin arced through air. Its shine drew eyes, sparking greed.
"Damn it."
A rough curse from the owner.
One gold equaled ten silvers, hundred coppers. A skilled hunter's monthly take.
It shattered the peace.
"Heh, sobers you up quick."
"Yeah. But mood's getting better."
Kekeke.
Five rose: one gray elder, owner seemingly harmless.
"Sigh, really doing this?"
The owner untied his apron, rolled sleeves. Meanwhile, Brad—who'd taken a spoonful—stood, unbuttoning his shirt.
"Relax. Consider it me loosening up. I'll help."
"This is clear business interference."
"Establishing order."
"Shut your yapping."
A bald man threw a hasty straight punch.
Brad stepped back wordlessly, disrupting aim, then stomped the knee.
Crack.
"Argh."
Short, efficient. Ignoring the scream of the oddly bent knee, he lunged, landing a hook on the unprepared, then kneed the doubled-over man's face.
Thud.
Teeth mangled, he passed out without a cry.
The owner traded blows with the largest; the other two scrambled for weapons. But Brad was faster. He swung his sheathed sword.
Thud.
"Argh."
"Eek. M-mercy."
The quick grabber bled from head; the slow one unscathed—survival wasn't skill-based.
"Huff, huff."
"Hah, hah. Still got it."
The owner, having floored the big one, caught breath.
"You too."
"I'm still young, but Captain, you're not."
"...We're both aging together."
"Pass."
Serious, the owner gestured at the kneeling man.
"Rope behind counter. Tie 'em up."
"Y-yes."
"Kitchen knife there too. Grab that if you wanna die."
But the deflated man complied meekly.
The owner splinted the broken knee, then slumped in a chair. Old knight Brad Cahill resumed his meal.
Shelter owner Terman asked curiously.
"How'd you know?"
"Saw the merchant cart outside. No merchants inside, just strangers boozing. You've let your guard down."
Retired soldier and innkeeper Terman licked dry lips.
"Spiked the drinks with greenpetal. Tried buying time to handle it."
Greenpetal: sedative or sleep herb.
"That so? I lost my edge."
"Not sure it'd work, and they outnumbered anyway."
"Got it."
Their talk was neither warm nor long.
Short exchange ended; silence let the fight's aftertaste linger.
Then faces peeked out: cute boy and sturdy woman with man's arms.
The boy toddled to the owner.
"Daddy."
"Whoa, Alfonso. Hid well?"
"Yeah. Listened to Mom."
"Honey, all done? Hurt?"
"Yeah. Just tired from moving in ages."
Her face brightened, relief washing over. She greeted Brad.
"Hello, Captain. Thanks for helping."
"Help? Anyway, tab paid at your feet."
"Oh!"
She beamed at the shining gold.
Soon the room tidied; Brad ordered another beer. Terman cleared dishes opposite.
"One gold plus bounties—too much for a tab."
"Business booming. Time to expand, hire help?"
"...?"
"Thinking of sending you some discharged soldiers."
"Sudden much?"
"Conscripts all dream of discharge. But after? You know. They think it'll work out leaving barracks—no such luck. Only a few have skills or old jobs."
Terman just washed plates, no reply.
"You're a good example. Use that to expand, take in vets. Improve local security too."
"That many... ."
"Hahaha. No."
Old knight Brad Cahill waved it off.
"Some'll branch out. Others haul supplies into merchants. Their lives are theirs to forge."
Thud.
He set down his mug, stood.
"Time to crash."
Suddenly, little Alfonso stuck close.
"View room or quiet? Which?"
"Quiet, please."
"Follow me. Oh, Mom said no tips. Oops, shouldn't. But keep secret... ."
"Hahaha."
Alfonso's chatter and Brad's hearty laugh faded.
Thus, the day ended.