The Mercenary Captain's Hunch
The sharp-eyed mercenary piped up amid the raucous crowd tearing into beer and chicken legs.
"What's wrong, Captain Aik? Weren't you dying for a drink?"
He dumped the dregs of his mug into his mouth and voiced his confusion.
"We said we'd hole up in this village for a few days, drink ourselves silly, and have some fun before hitting Drakanscale—no time to relax once we get there. So why the long face?!"
The men huddled at the dim corner table were all grizzled veterans. The loudmouth kept pressing, but the man in question stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the wooden sign listing warnings. He nursed his fresh beer with distracted sips, face etched with worry.
He was Aik, leader of this band of six mercenaries.
"Quit yapping and wait. I'm thinking."
"What the hell's there to think about now? We're pros—no one's gonna weed us out. Wait, you aren't thinking of bailing on this big score after hyping it up, are ya? There's a limit to jokes—"
Aik didn't reply. Actions spoke louder. He hurled his half-full mug straight at the guy's face.
"Gah?!"
The man toppled backward, soaked by the cold beer. The tavern fell deathly silent, all eyes from the laughing, drinking crowd snapping to Aik.
"...The punk spouts bullshit and flops over."
Aik sighed, straightening up. He waved off his subordinates' stares.
"Nothing to see here. Get back to your fun. Don't hassle me."
As if this was just another day, the others hauled the drenched man back to his seat and resumed their rowdy drinking.
Orphanage, huh...
The warning on the wooden sign lingered in his mind.
Come to think of it, the inn had a similar sign.
He hadn't seen it himself. While chatting with his crew in the inn's hall, he'd overheard two out-of-towners eyeing a like sign: "Don't go near the orphanage? Why post this here?"
It's weird.
Normally, he'd brush it off as nonsense, but it nagged at him.
No matter how I turn it over, it's an odd warning for a backwater village.
Wooden signs in inns and tavens—places packed with travelers—spelling out cautions. Placed deliberately for outsiders, a stark warning aimed at them.
What's worth warning about?
Probably just full of grubby orphans. Standard "don't mess with the kids" stuff. Maybe the orphanage sells them off for the orphanage's backers. That'd be the obvious take—but Aik saw it as amateur thinking.
He pictured the large stone building on the village outskirts, temple-like in its grandeur. When the young guard at the entrance mentioned the inn and tavern, he'd tossed in the temple and orphanage locations too.
That big building in the distance must be it. I wondered why mention the orphanage alongside the temple—turns out it's "stay away unless you have business."
Something was up. And it screamed money.
His instincts—unfailing guide to victory—told him so.
Might be a bust... but worth sticking around a day to scout.
Aik finally knocked back his beer in earnest. The mood lightened; the mug-victim sneaked a refill, and the energy bubbled up again.
The familiar burn brought a pleasant buzz.
"Hey, you lot."
In all his years, his gut had never steered him wrong.
"Got work tomorrow morning. Finish up, then we'll talk."
Luck was always on his side. This time too.
"Play it right, and we score big before we leave."
It always had been. Always would be.
The next morning, after a night of heavy boozing, Aik was convinced his instincts had struck gold again.
A demonkin at the orphanage?
He'd tipped his men about the orphanage, sent them out at dawn to sniff around. Barely two hours later, one returned with the goods.
Aik leaned against a quiet alley wall, arms crossed, grilling his subordinate.
"For real? A demonkin in some rural orphanage?"
"Yes, boss. Overheard the villagers whispering. One demonkin girl comes down to the village often."
The wiry, respectful man continued.
"Saw her yesterday too, apparently. More chatter says pretty much everyone knows. She struts around with her horns out, and no one bats an eye. She's been around a while."
Demonkin mingling freely wasn't that shocking. Average imperial views ran like this:
— Ugh, why wander around here? Kinda awkward to say anything.
— Keep those eyes lowered, horn-head. Should ship you all back where you belong. Slaves fit you best—head down.
— The only good horn-head's a dead one. Old sayings nail it.
Not every imperialite thought that way, but it summed up the vibe. Given the war ended just recently, it was practically enlightened.
The war wasn't some united demonkin crusade—just the Demon King's solo act. His faction held sway in the demon realms, but not total control. Roughly: 40% loyalists under his banner, 30% self-servers, 30% peace advocates wanting human treaties.
Some opportunists and pacifists even aided the empire against the Demon King. That let the hero party infiltrate, behead him after a year and nine months, and clinch victory.
Despite the stakes, most imperials barely knew of the hero party— just that not all demonkin were Demon King goons.
The young emperor, fresh on the throne and war-winner, publicly honored demonkin allies. That nudged public opinion this far.
Aik couldn't fathom a future where a Demon King unified the realms with undead hordes and invaded... but that was irrelevant now.
One key fact burned in his mind:
Demonkin fetch top coin.
And a cute young girl? Jackpot.
Young, pretty demonkin women? Slave markets paid out the nose.
Legal demonkin residents are rare. Empire's no picnic for them post-war.
War ended barely over a year ago. Imperials still saw demonkin as threats or chained slaves—not neighbors strolling in sunlight.
Hence the premium prices. Perfect rage-outlet. Males sold high for superior physiques, dwarfing even buff human slaves. Females skyrocketed with youth and looks—leagues beyond males.
That thought alone soured Aik's mouth with greed.
A demonkin at an orphanage? A gem rolling in the dirt.
Who'd notice if she vanished quietly?
Bonus: the mug-victim from last night piped up.
"Captain Aik, I dug up something too!"
Taking a faceful of beer like it was nothing, he pressed on.
"Orphanage runs a main building and annex."
The big stone one on the outskirts was main. Annex deep in the forest past the village.
"Shopkeep spilled easy. Warned hard to steer clear of the annex especially."
"Yeah? Interesting."
A grand main building, yet a separate annex? Suspicious as hell.
Orphans overflowed the empire, but this scale didn't fit a podunk village. Feeding, housing, training for adoption cost a fortune. Even if it was a front for trafficking, rural spots sucked for business efficiency.
Why not bribe city guards for discreet urban ops?
By then, other subordinates trickled back with reports. Aik sifted the chatter and nailed it:
Annex in the woods hides the high-value kids. Or something profitable.
One choice now:
Go for it? Or bail?
If they were law-abiding saints doting on orphans, no dilemma. Truth was, they were outlaws who'd kill or enslave for profit—no qualms.
Past scores fattened wallets nicely. Tempting.
Decision was swift.
"My gut's screaming. You feel it too, boys."
Aik addressed his crew.
"Drakanscale gig's off. Was just pocket change anyway. Can't ignore treasure at our feet."
"Captain, you mean...?"
"...We raid the orphanage."
Eyes lit with greed. Some licked lips, sensing the haul.
"One demon girl, plus whatever pampered brats in the annex? We'll eat good."
Lust for gold gleamed in every gaze.
Village security? Laughable—local yokel level. Orphanage matched. Main building that weak? Annex wouldn't be Fort Knox.
Out-of-towners at the inn? They'd duck involvement.
Aik was a powerhouse—fought in ogre culls, parried its massive axes with dual blades. Gut-luck miracle, but he owned it as skill, bragging to his vets.
Stealthy vets like his? Escape was cake.
Love the sticks. Real scores drop sometimes.
Imagining bulging pockets, Aik grinned with his men—utterly blind to what awaited.