An Unusual Pair of Travelers (1)
"Master..."
"What?"
"Let me do it for you..."
I gently placed my hand over hers, fingers interlaced in front of her chest.
"Not tonight."
"Why...? Don't I look like a woman to you?"
"When the act becomes a means to an end instead of the goal itself, that's a hard pass. You don't need to do this to show your gratitude."
My creed of 'if it's edible, eat it' didn't apply here. I had no interest in going through with it when I didn't even know what Marim truly felt. Who knew if she was forcing herself out of obligation, hating every second inside while clueless on how else to express thanks? Maybe much later, if Marim ever approached me with genuine desire in a different moment, that'd be different. But not now.
"Master..."
"Yeah."
Marim fell silent after that, simply wrapping her arms around me. Knowing she wanted nothing more, I stood there with her. The warmth and trembling from her small, fragile body. Her thin, unsteady breaths. She was saying everything through those. But what exactly... I had no idea. Gratitude? Apology? Something else? Still, picking it apart right now didn't seem important.
After a long while, Marim slowly released her grip and walked toward the door. Her footsteps paused at the threshold. Then the door opened, and the sound faded into the distance.
So Marim wasn't okay either. She'd just hidden it well. Poor kid.
That said... no wonder she came from a thief background. She'd been peeking in on me and the others, huh? Guess I needed to ask Ukun to add soundproofing and security to my room in the new staff dorm he's building.
After that night, Marim treated me with her usual bratty, arrogant attitude, as if she'd erased the whole thing from memory. It suited me fine too—I kept things normal, flicking her forehead and giving her noogies like always, enjoying the routine.
Marim and the other half-elves worked like mad, red hair whipping as they buzzed around. Watching them was like seeing hyperactive ants. Rosens citizens were surprisingly tolerant of the half-elves. Our inn's reputation helped, and Hildeva's strong-arming probably played a big part. Outsiders stopping by still gawked or scowled at the girls scurrying through the hall, though.
The inn staff all adored the half-elves. Only Aterugar griped about the "mongrels" getting underfoot. Maybe she was annoyed at kids younger than her stealing the spotlight. But among dragons, she was just a brat—hundreds of years old, technically an adult. Hell, by human years, she'd hit full maturity next year. And there she was, holed up fiddling with some rabbit doll named Pipi or Pufu or whatever. End times, I tell ya.
One day, mercenary captain Hardo dropped by the inn. He'd been gone since before Elua's visit, off handling some major commission. Big enough that he'd dragged every merc we'd dispatched from the hall's corner with him.
"Long time no see, Captain."
"Hope you've been well? I heard—Her Majesty inspected the inn."
"Yeah. Have a seat."
Once Hardo and I sat, Idi brought over two mugs of beer.
"Hehe... want something to eat...?"
"Sure. Whatever you've got. Everything here's delicious anyway."
Idi headed to the kitchen, and Hardo took a swig, sighing in appreciation.
"Ahhh... damn, I've missed this taste."
"Where the hell you been? You vanished for ages."
"Big job down in Tousenne Viscountcy."
He set the mug down with a clunk, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Tousenne? That's way past Bue. They called you all the way up here?"
"Too much for one guild, so they requested backup from nearby merc bands and monster hunters. That's why I went."
"Whoa... that serious? What happened? Another dragon?"
"Not a dragon, but close enough."
Close to a dragon? No clue.
"Here's the rundown."
A while back, a dragon started terrorizing Tousenne— a black dragon from legends, no less. Yeah right. Anyway, it appeared at night, snatching livestock, smashing homes, the works. The baron's guards tried handling it but failed, so he put out simultaneous bounties to mercs and hunters all over.
"So, what happened?"
"Long story short: wyverns."
"Wyverns...?"
"Yep. A pair nesting in a valley nearby. Fast flights at night fooled everyone into thinking dragon."
" anticlimactic. Who took 'em down? Wyverns are tough even solo, let alone a breeding pair full of rage."
"No idea."
Hardo's face was dead serious, no joke.
"No idea? What, they offed themselves?"
"We found them—already dead from severe wounds."
"Huh. Weirdest shit. What kinda wounds?"
"Odd ones. Not blades—blunt force, like smashed to bits. No guess what did it."
Hmm... blunt trauma on adult wyverns? Those things are inn-two-stories tall. Smashing one dead takes insane strength. Ogre comes to mind, but they're too dumb to tangle with wyverns. Beats me. Done deal anyway, none of my business.
"So you came back empty-handed."
"Yeah. Barely covered costs with hazard pay."
Right on cue, Idi arrived with steaming omurice—diamond-shaped omelet over fried rice.
Hardo paused, sliced the omelet lengthwise with his knife. It split, half-cooked yolk oozing out.
"Well, damn... heh..."
He mixed it furiously with rice, shoveling it in.
"Mmm... oh man... this is incredible..."
"Dig in."
He polished off the plate in seconds, wiped his mouth beaming, chugged his beer, then continued.
"Anyway, that's that. Hey, boss—you hear about the aristocracy and palace?"
"What about 'em?"
"They're on the brink of all-out war."
"They've always been at odds. Nothing new."
Hardo shook his head gravely.
"This is different. Dead serious. Remember those nobles refusing loyalty oaths?"
"Yeah. And the legions pressuring them."
"Eighth Legion's already besieging holdouts to force surrender."
"And?"
"Then those lords got assassinated."
I scratched my chin, skeptical. Besiege then assassinate? Why bother—just kill 'em outright. And it'd scream palace anyway. Hardo nodded agreement.
"Same thought. Makes no sense. Chaos everywhere now. Talk of conscription edicts."
Rebellious garrisons everywhere? Legions couldn't cover it—conscription and militia it'd be. But real problem: civil war invites invasion from foes like Bakomor. Verabche legions are tough, but not two-front tough. Serious shit. War means skyrocketing prices, trade halts, sales tank... massive hit.
Fuck, pissing me off already.
A few days later, some strikingly odd guests arrived. A man and woman, travelers by look, both eye-catching enough to turn heads.
The man was huge, ripped and solid. Jet-black hair, deep black eyes. He stood in the courtyard, gazing up at Lurtjog's severed head.
"A blue dragon."
The woman beside him spoke.
"Heard dragons fought here, right? Probably mounted the loser's head as a trophy."
She carried a bag as big as herself—short, but busty as hell. Even in windbreaker gear, the size was obvious. Bluntly, dye Idi's hair brown and brighten her face, she'd look just like that.
The man tilted his head at her words.
"Why mount a corpse's head like decoration, Liana?"
"Souvenir. Historic event for the city."
"Hanging the dead as commemoration... Humans are baffling."
"Please, for the love of—inside the inn, no 'humans are' crap, Ergaduk."
They chatted briefly by Lurtjog's head, then entered.