Chapter 34: Those Without a Future
Having roughly finished her meal, Bayola thought she'd step outside for some fresh air. She knew the West's security was generally poor overall, and she had no intention of ignoring Marhal's warnings. She just planned to stay right in front of the inn. What trouble could happen right there?
But when a passing drunk grabbed her arm, Bayola's mind went blank. Her body was superhuman, but her spirit was that of a delicately raised noble... an imperial princess. She'd had rough experiences in the land race, but she'd never been directly exposed to violence herself. So she couldn't react right away to the drunk yanking her arm.
The drunk pulled her arm, and then someone snatched her other arm.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?"
It was Marin. She gripped Bayola's arm and glared at the drunk.
Bayola looked at the face of the man holding her arm. The man's face was flushed with booze, but he said nothing. He just grinned, baring yellowed teeth. Red, yet somehow pale. A pure face. Pure, inscrutable, the face of a madman. She realized for the first time how chilling a smile could be. It was worse than the lecherous smirks of men who'd eyed her body slyly.
As if Marin weren't even there, the drunk yanked her arm again. Bayola was terrified. If she swung her fist now, the drunk would go down in one hit. He might even die. But fear froze her body. There were things in the world you only understood after experiencing them, and the unpredictable actions of a lunatic fell into that category.
On the other hand, some people dealt with lunatics on a daily basis. Marin drew her dagger without hesitation. As a street rat, she always carried weapons beyond her Bachea Empire relic twin daggers. No weapons meant death. That was gospel truth to her.
A man with a dagger lodged in his thigh rolled on the ground. Marin yanked Bayola's arm, pulling her away from the men.
"Hic... you crazy bitch."
"Didn't your mom teach you to sleep it off quietly when you're drunk? Or did you not even have a mom to teach you that?"
"You fucking whore!"
Weapons appeared in the drunks' hands. Hammers, iron pokers, daggers. More than enough to kill one person.
Marin was certain she could kill them. People belonging to the village wouldn't pull weapons out of nowhere. They didn't even carry them to begin with. Those who tried to solve everything with their own strength were outsiders without ties, and killing them caused no trouble.
Marin drew another dagger from her thigh. Three drunken men. Not hard. No need for relics.
Before she could move, the inn's closed door swung open. The bearish man, Havarsan, saw pale-faced Bayola and the armed men, then sighed. He hurled the pot of boiling water he held at the drunks.
The drunks, doused in scalding water, dropped their weapons, then got smacked by the heated pot and rolled on the ground. Three severe casualties at once. Four, including the one with the dagger in his thigh.
People poked their heads out from inside the inn. A man who looked like a villager asked Havarsan,
"What happened?"
"Some laborers were harassing a guest."
"What? Which crazy bastard?"
"Right there. Who do those belong to anyway?"
"Looks like the demolition crew."
"Damn it..."
A rough-looking man scratched his head irritably and stepped out of the inn.
"Anyone wanna help haul 'em? I'll cover the meal costs."
A few volunteered, and they dragged the drunks off into the darkening street corner.
Havarsan approached Bayola and Marin.
"Come on in and finish eating. Or... not in the mood?"
"We'll go in. Right?"
Bayola nodded faintly.
"Guests are coming in!"
The villagers cleared a path, and Bayola shuffled through them.
Rebella had watched the whole thing. If it had been real danger, she'd have intervened, but Marin could handle a few drunks who couldn't even swing properly. She approached Havarsan last, as he was about to enter the inn.
"What happens to them?"
"Miss. If I had to pick the most important thing in Pioneer Village, I'd teach you this: insiders and outsiders. Insiders are people. Outsiders aren't."
Aren't people. Short words, heavy with meaning.
* * *
Marin supported Bayola up to the inn's second floor. The three of them used two rooms. One for Marin, one for Bayola and Rebella.
Bayola muttered gloomily,
"I never thought there were people like that in the world."
"Like what?"
"...Dozens of people right nearby, and they still try that? It's weird. They'd obviously get caught."
She could understand the hyenas drawn to the land race. In the vast wilderness, no one chased or punished them. But a village? Right in front of an inn where people were eating, not some remote corner.
With her limited knowledge, she could guess what happened to criminals in Pioneer Village. Was there any reason to risk death for that?
Bayola genuinely couldn't comprehend.
"Idiots."
"What?"
"People don't matter to those guys. They do what they want 'cause they want to. That's just how they are."
"That's 'just'?"
"Wouldn't be weird if they died tomorrow, so no need to hold back on urges right in front of them. Patience is a privilege for people like you. People with a future."
Bayola's eyes widened. That perspective was new. People endured irrational reality for a better future. Conversely, no future meant no endurance. All the things she called humanity became unnecessary.
But stripping humanity from a human...
"Can you even call that people?"
"...Get lost."
Marin shoved Bayola into her room. Bayola stumbled in, bewildered.
The second-floor hallway was quiet. Voices from downstairs drifted up the stairs. Too early to sleep. But the inn, with only a few guests, had no signs of life.
Marin stood there alone.
"Can you call them people?"
Then what about me? Am I not people either?
She knew Bayola didn't mean it that way. But to her, it landed differently. She was one of those without a future too. Even now, Marin couldn't picture her tomorrow.
She'd become a landlord, met Marhal. It all felt like a dream—as if she'd wake up tomorrow and it would all vanish like a bubble, leaving her in some dark alley of Pioneer Village.
She couldn't fully shake that fear. Marin twisted her hair around her finger.
The soap scent from her body felt dreamily foreign. Irritated, Marin flung open her room door.
A bed, a small wardrobe. A table with a mirror. Luxurious for a Pioneer Village inn room. Probably thanks to Marhal's name.
Her previous inns had cramped rooms with just a bed. Or straw mats under thin cloths, multiple people sharing. Men and women together, men sneaking in at dawn only to get stabbed dead. Lives without futures.
Cosmetics on the table caught her eye. Bayola and Rebella had taught her how to use them. Today she'd learned soap, washing, makeup.
Marin clutched the cosmetics. Raised her hand high. Gripped hard. Smashing them down would shatter the fragile things.
But in the end, she couldn't.
"What a childish thing to do."
She tossed them back on the table and flopped onto the bed. Not roughly bundled dry grass, but carefully laid sun-dried straw. The blanket even had a bit of cotton.
"Haa..."
Marin sighed deeply. Everything, everything was just uncomfortable.
* * *
The next day, Marin woke at dawn. She'd gone to bed early, but this was her baseline. If you didn't head to the work site early, no jobs. Especially for women.
She had strength surpassing grown men, but strangers wouldn't know. To snag good-paying work, she'd do childish feats of strength.
This morning, following instinct, was different. Plush bed, clothes without itchy seams. Ceiling high enough to stretch.
"Ah."
Marin realized it wasn't a dream and sighed in relief from deep in her chest.
She shed the loose nightclothes and donned her cheap leather armor. Cowhide or horsehide, who knew—barely deflected daggers. Useless against a proper sword slash or stab, but it ate a third of her savings.
Dressed, cloak on, hand on the doorknob. Her gaze drifted to the table. The makeshift vanity and its cosmetics.
"Better if I never knew."
With Bayola and Rebella's help, makeup made her feel like nobility for a moment. But it was a one-night dream. She could never be like Bayola.
Marin opened the door and stepped into the hall. Dawn—workers just rising. The hall, the whole inn, still wrapped in morning silence.
Descending the creaking stairs, opening the inn door, a massive pillar stood where none had been yesterday. A corpse hung limp below the ropes binding it to the pillar. Cause of death unclear from the full-body mutilation.
Marin didn't know the man. But she could guess why he'd died.
Punishment for criminals.
A few steps led to the inn door. Marhal sat beneath them.
"A guy who'd done odd jobs in the village for over a year. Shame."
"What crime?"
"Attempted murder. Heavy crime in most countries and cities—execution-level. But did he deserve that brutality?"
Dawn streets shrouded in light fog. Through it, a large carriage pulled by four horses clopped into view.
Joseph dismounted from the driver's seat.
"Brought the carriage."
"I asked for big, but isn't this too much?"
The carriage behind the horses was house-sized. With food, you could live inside.
"Dagon picked it up. Belonged to some merchant, looks like."
If Dagon found it, land race scrap, owner probably dead. A money-poured carriage meant truly house-like interior.
"Marin. Go wake Bay and Rebella."
Nodding, Marin climbed the inn stairs again. She stood before Bayola and Rebella's room.
Hoo...
Marin took a deep breath. No malice from Bayola. No malice. No malice. Repeating it in her head, she knocked.