The Necromancer's Servant

This is a common type of establishment in Bracada, a hybrid of an inn, bar, and brothel. The unique hall is filled with mercenaries, merchants, and prostitutes, their half-drunk chatter and the bargaining of the women blending together to create a distinctive atmosphere in the town.

Suddenly, the door of the tavern burst open with a bang. A young man walked in, dressed in a filthy robe that covered half of his face, while the exposed lower part was caked with dirt. Although this attire was quite common in the city, it managed to draw the attention of everyone in the tavern, particularly the mercenaries, whose gazes were filled with hostility. The alcohol in their veins heightened their innate brutality, making them particularly sensitive to such a brazen demeanor.

A 'ding' echoed through the tavern, causing the lively atmosphere to come to a halt. The sound came from a shiny, golden coin that rolled through the air and landed in the young man's palm. Everyone immediately recognized the captivating gleam of the coin—it was not the dull shine of copper, nor could any other metal replicate its enchanting hue; almost everyone had seen that color in their dreams.

"I want to hire someone." The intruder sat down at a table, his tone impatient, but his boldness no longer seemed outrageous. The coin he toyed with in his fingers was essentially a universal pass for any situation. "You choose your strongest person among you. If he can withstand my hand, I'll hire him. One day, one gold coin."

Just one day, yet at a pay rate one hundred times the usual salary. About half of the patrons stood up instantly, each gripping their weapons and eyeing their competitors with a lethal glare. After assessing one another, some of them begrudgingly sat back down.

"Put down your weapons; I don't want to add trouble for the local officials. Just come unarmed." The young man ordered a drink and started sipping it, not even glancing at the group.

The merchants and prostitutes hurriedly fled upstairs, while the bartender and owner watched helplessly, wanting to intervene but lacking the courage.

The remaining job seekers began clearing away tables and chairs, creating an open space. It was hard to tell who started it first, but chaos erupted into a massive brawl.

The sounds of flesh colliding echoed through the tavern, punctuated by the occasional crack of bones and cries of pain. Yells of encouragement mixed with the cacophony. Fists, feet, fingers, elbows, knees, heads, and teeth flew around as every possible weapon was utilized to leave an imprint on the bodies of the opponents. It was a rare spectacle, yet the instigator seemed uninterested, continuing to sit by the door, sipping his drink and occasionally glancing up, his brow furrowing in dissatisfaction.

This was already the thirteenth tavern he had visited, each one repeating the same routine. Since the fourth tavern, he had started ordering a beer, and now he was feeling a bit tipsy himself. He began to worry whether his actions might lead to the collapse of the mercenary industry in Bracada. Just as he pondered this, he suddenly noticed something rather interesting.

The sounds of conflict gradually began to diminish, and, just like in the previous twelve establishments, only one battered champion stood awkwardly among the fallen bodies.

"I am the strongest!" he declared, wiping the incessant blood from his nose, clearly proud of his achievement.

"Why are you the strongest?" The coin continued to twirl between the young man's fingers, which had begun to feel a bit tipsy.

"Because I'm the last one standing; all my opponents have fallen, so of course I am the strongest." The champion boasted, blood still streaming from his face, serving as a testament to his glory.

"Is that so?" The young man's voice lingered on the last word.

"Yes!" The champion's final affirmation was cut short by the 'crack' of his jaw as a powerful punch shattered it, sending five teeth flying—three into his stomach and two elsewhere—before the pain knocked him unconscious.

"Looks like you are indeed the strongest?" The drunken judge said, having observed the champion throughout the bout, noticing how he had been knocked down by a single punch at the beginning. He had fallen in such a way that he was not trampled by others, allowing him to quickly rise and deliver a powerful blow.

"Of course, I was the strongest! If I hadn't been so hungry and weak, I wouldn't have had to resort to such despicable tactics." The new victor said weakly, as he leaned against a nearby table for support. He was thin and scraggly, with unkempt hair obscuring half his face, and he wore tattered clothes that exposed his well-defined physique.

"Does that mean if I defeat you again, I can get the job?" The newly crowned champion asked, closing in on his target.

"Why not use such means? At least the outcome seems to confirm you are indeed the strongest," the drunken man chuckled, watching the victor approach.

The victor remained silent, taking steady steps toward him, accumulating strength and determination with each movement.

As he closed the distance, he understood that to truly become the champion, all hope rested on this one strike; he had no remaining strength or opportunities. A deep sadness washed over him, the kind that comes from desperation in an unfamiliar city after days of wandering and hunger. With all his remaining hope placed on this moment, his limbs began to feel weak, threatening to topple him.

But then he felt the golden coin pressed into his fist. "You passed. Now, I want you to eat well, take a bath, and rest comfortably tonight to regain your strength." Those words sounded like a heavenly melody, filling him with surprise and joy. He turned to look at the speaker.

It was only when they stood so close that they recognized each other's faces, both equally astonished. "It's you?"

That evening, in the best inn in Bracada, Asa lay on the bed, carefully recalling everything he had seen in the lair of the big-eared monsters.

The terrain, the number of big-eared creatures, their wariness and attitude, and the cave where they held Christine. Indeed, as Lord Borugan had said, they seemed to be inexperienced in such dealings, their caution and experience lacking. There should be a good opportunity here.

Just when he had been mired in worry and frustration, he suddenly remembered a phrase from Lord Borugan: "your own methods." Indeed, it was time to do just that; it should have been this way from the start. With clarity of direction, the anger that had previously troubled him transformed into fighting spirit and strength. He looked up at Lord Borugan and said, "Don't worry; I know what to do." He stood up and turned to leave.

"Hey, wait a minute…" Lord Borugan called after him, but by the time he stepped outside the town hall, Asa had vanished.

Of course, this wasn't an easy task. Help was necessary, but it couldn't be too many. So he began to search for suitable candidates in the taverns around the city. After checking nearly every tavern, he finally found an old acquaintance.

Rodhart walked in. Although he looked thinner than he had over a month ago, his bare upper body still showcased perfectly defined muscles and bone structure, demonstrating his good physical condition. He had just eaten a hearty meal—one of the best in Bracada—and then taken a bath in the inn's special large bathhouse, which had revitalized him. With his hair and face cleaned up, he looked as handsome and tall as he had before.

"Get a good night's sleep. I'll call for you when it's time to leave tomorrow," Asa said, bouncing up from the bed and pointing to the clothes and sword he had ordered earlier. "That's for you."

Rodhart remained silent. Since the moment they recognized each other, he hadn't initiated any conversation. However, his eyes darted around as if he didn't know what to say.

"Thank you." Rodhart suddenly bowed to Asa. "For today, and for what happened before. I truly appreciate it."

Seeing him do this caught Asa off guard, and he quickly waved his hand. "No need for that... Are the villagers okay?"

"They're all fine. I managed to get quite a bit of money from Airi, and I took them far away. They've settled in a new place. It's just that none of us can return," Rodhart replied. There was little change in his expression as he spoke about the matter. It seemed he had moved past the immense sorrow and guilt, which was no easy feat.

Asa noticed a scar at the corner of his mouth—likely a result of the kick he had landed on Rodhart's face. The innocence and vitality that once characterized him had been washed away by pain and hardship, leaving behind a look of strength and resolve. This combination with his naturally handsome features created a unique attractiveness that was distinctly masculine.

Asa shook his head. "No, you can go back. No one remembers what you did. They're all dead."

Rodhart shook his head sadly. "Maybe they can, but I can't. I have no courage to see them again. They don't want to see me either. That's why I came here alone, hoping to find some work and make some money for food. But who knew…" He smirked self-deprecatingly. "Turns out that isn't easy as well."

"It's certainly not easy," Asa replied, reflecting on how, just over a month ago, he had been waiting for food in a tavern in Airi, and now their positions had flipped.

Rodhart laughed bitterly. "But now, many people want to catch me for reward. I heard the envoy and local officials from Airi never returned. Was it you…"

"I didn't kill them, but they are indeed all dead." The events in between were too strange for him to explain.

"Now that debt has landed on my shoulders. I returned with the envoy's seal to swindle money, and I've become the only lead in this case. I'm wanted across the country. Fortunately, I was covered in blood at the time, so nobody could recognize me," Rodhart said, looking at Asa sincerely. "I really appreciate you. Thank you."

But Asa felt uneasy about the gratitude being directed toward him. He waved his hands impatiently. "No need for thanks, no need for thanks. I'll need your help tomorrow."

"Okay." Rodhart replied with firm conviction.