Ersi Wakes from the Shock of the Slap
Ersi jolted awake from the shock of the slap across his cheek. The moment his eyes opened, he locked gazes with Marhal's face right in front of him and froze in terror.
“I-I didn't do anything wrong! It was all them—they told me to do it!”
“That doesn't matter right now, Ersi. What does matter is that in broad daylight, on my land, you tried to kill one of my people.”
“L-Land? You're the landlord here?”
Ersi recoiled in astonishment. The only ones who knew Marhal was a landlord were those who'd settled in the village, the ones who'd tied their fates to it. To everyone else, he was just a friendly mercenary with real skill.
“Surprised? That's valuable info—worth a pretty penny if you could sell it.”
Marhal drew a dagger. Its blade was dulled from slicing horse meat and hides time and again. But for carving human flesh, it was more than enough.
He gripped it reverse-handed and raised his arm high. Ersi screamed.
“Sp-Spare me! I was wrong! I'll do anything!”
Thud. The dagger halted just before his thigh. A trickle of blood seeped from where the tip had barely pierced the skin.
“Do you really think you were wrong?”
“Y-Yes! I was wrong! I'll do whatever you say!”
Smoke rose from Ersi's body. He hadn't tapped any special power—he'd simply pissed himself in fear. Yellow liquid trickled down the chair legs to the floor.
Marhal stepped back, touching his chin with a troubled expression.
It was Karian who'd sensed something off. Just moments ago, Marhal had been dead set on killing Ersi. A chill had emanated from his profile, his face promising he'd kill without blinking. But now, he looked genuinely perplexed.
“Tell me first. Who gave the order?”
“The Black Mask at the gambling den!”
“And who the hell is that?”
“The gambling den owner. Always covers half his face with a mask.”
Ersi trembled violently but answered every question. Any hesitation, and Marhal's hand might rise again.
“What exactly did he tell you to do?”
“Kill Ena, and he'd wipe my debts clean.”
“Didn't it occur to you that the villagers might catch you first and string you up? Running away in the night would've been smarter.”
“The Black Mask has pull in every village around! You can't just run from that!”
“So killing Ena and bolting seemed more feasible than escaping the Black Mask?”
Ersi looked up at Marhal's calm tone, but their eyes met, and he quickly bowed his head again. Flames seemed to flicker in Marhal's gaze. It was just a look, yet staring into it felt like your body might actually ignite.
“Answer me.”
“Y-Yeah. Those guys are real dangerous! You saw—their swords, their crossbows!”
“Stuff you can buy at Ena's general store. And they didn't seem like much themselves.”
They might've killed a few people before, but they were ordinary otherwise. Ena's brute strength was legendary in the village. If you wanted her dead, you didn't send small fry like that.
If it's just poor judgment, that's fine. But if not... this could get annoying.
Anyway, he'd been away from the village too long. Strange mushrooms had sprouted in his absence.
Marhal unbound the chains holding Ersi's limbs. Freed, Ersi stared in disbelief.
“Now get out.”
“For real?”
“You think I'd lie? You begged for mercy—why doubt it when I give it? Want a do-over?”
“N-No! I'll never forget this kindness, Marhal!”
Ersi bolted from the warehouse. He nearly slipped in his own piss climbing off the chair but caught himself with his hands.
One other person was as stunned as Ersi: Karian.
“You weren't really gonna kill him?”
“He begged for forgiveness. What could I do?”
“He begs, and you just forgive? That's obvious bullshit under pressure!”
Karian's words carried layers: bafflement at Marhal's actions, relief at dodging a gruesome scene, and... a twinge of disappointment. He'd secretly hoped to see how Marhal handled traitors. He yearned to learn from a man superior in every way. But letting him go after a plea? Not what he'd expected. Not the Marhal who'd casually ordered a crossbow shot at an approaching figure.
“His desire to escape this mess was genuine, at least. Still, he showed us nothing worth seeing. We'll save that thrill for the next warehouse pest.”
Marhal exited. And that was it? So anticlimactic?
Karian lingered in a daze before trudging out. A voice from beside him nearly made him jump out of his skin.
“One thing to remember: Marhal didn't actually forgive that scum.”
“Wh-Who said that?”
“His acquaintance.”
Strekl was already gazing down the alley where Marhal had vanished. He found it odd too. Marhal knew when to strike and when to hold back. If the woman's claim of a murder threat was true, she was a key village figure. Letting her attacker go hurt the landlord's dignity.
Only he knows the answer.
Regardless, that fleeing rat wouldn't last.
“Rumors will spread in under an hour. And folks desperate to curry favor will come crawling, regardless of intent.”
“You mean... they'll kill over that?”
“We just had a guy here ready to murder for far less.”
“……”
“If you don't want to lose hard-won land to petty nonsense, view humans more cynically, kid.”
Anyone else saying that, Karian would've snapped back. But this was a hulking knight in full plate, exuding presence that parted drunks without a word. Karian clamped his mouth shut as Strekl followed Marhal's footprints into the gap between buildings.
Two corners later, Marhal leaned against the wall, waiting.
“Did I say too much?”
“Nah. Say what you want—it doesn't matter.”
“Still, I'm curious too. Why'd you stop?”
“He begged forgiveness, didn't he?”
“Really, that's it...? No, that's exactly why.”
Marhal had mentioned forgiveness and atonement to Cliff several times too. It hadn't seemed like a joke then either, though the full story might be more complex.
“Whoa. You figured it out that far?”
“Only mages aren't the ones pulling eccentric stunts for power. Some mercenaries and knights too.”
They turned quirks into history, into special might and mystery. Technically mages themselves. But they weren't called that because they didn't grasp the essence of power.
Point was, some wielded strength at the cost of odd behaviors. Marhal's mercy fit that mold.
“A kind of constraint. He must forgive those who beg it.”
“Pretty much.”
A trivial yet deadly bind. As with Cliff, no one of stature knelt begging mercy. They knew words were cheap—true forgiveness rare. But someone like Ersi, pride discarded and ready to grovel anytime? Marhal had to release them, no matter who.
“What happens if you don't forgive a beggar?”
“Never tried, so who knows. If it comes up... won't be pretty.”
Strekl had once seen a mage pay magic's price. Eaten alive by his own summoned insects, hundreds of venomous carnivores nearly overran a fortress from one mage. If Marhal's burden turned inward or outward... nothing good.
“If the Empire's emperor begged forgiveness, you'd grant it too?”
“Dunno... never thought about it.”
Marhal stood motionless against the dim alley wall, arms crossed, tapping his bicep with one finger—his only movement.
“He'd never kneel, but if he did... wouldn't you forgive?”
“You mean that?”
The emperor caused the West's fall, Bachea's ruin, slew Marhal's family. An irreconcilable foe.
“For now. But who knows the world? We'll see when it happens—if I ever meet him.”
“Such words have a way of coming true.”
“Beyond forgiveness, I'd like to meet the emperor someday.”
Just to ask why. Why that atrocity. Was distant Bachea, with no ties to Muet Empire, such a threat?
* * *
The inn even had a full bathtub. Soaking in warm water was a luxury even in so-called upscale places. Marhal's name alone secured the hard-to-get hot water.
“Even knowing you're the landlord, this village's abundance is uncanny.”
“That much?”
“In the farthest pioneer outposts, sourcing this fabric is tough... near impossible. Yet here, fresh clothes await post-bath.”
Their old garments were unwearable. So Rebela and Bayola donned the innkeeper's offerings. Surprisingly comfortable compared to their originals from the capital. Impressive, considering.
“Now, to find Marhal...”
The door before Bayola opened, and Marin emerged. Water dripped from her hair—murky water, oddly.
“Did you... actually wash?”
“Yeah?”
“What about soap?”
“Soap? That's for nobles, right? Was there any?”
Marin tilted her head. Bayola's jaw dropped. Greater shock than learning of her guard's betrayal.
“How the hell did you wash? Details—now.”
“Washing's simple. Wet and scrub. Lumpy ash water if you've got it.”
“Lumpy ash water…?”
Second blow to Bayola's mind. She pleaded with her eyes to Rebela: Tell me I misheard. Deny this reality.
But reality was cruel.
“Soap's a luxury. Most soak in plain water or use dried ash water mixed with bean flour and such. But ignoring it right in front of you... unexpected.”
“This won't do. Back in you go. Rebela, ask downstairs for more hot water.”
“Understood.”
Bayola grabbed Marin's arm. Marin flailed, but raw strength prevailed.
“Let go! What the—?!”
“You need to relearn bathing.”
“It's just washing—what's to learn?!”
“Keep looking like a beggar. Even in front of him.”
“Why bring him into this?!”
Words fierce, but Marin's struggles eased. Bayola dragged her back inside.
Soon after, a dazed Marin emerged from her redo, murmuring:
“Is this... me?”