As one hunter party set forth on a journey to answer a muster call, they were not alone. Many others heard the plea too and set out to aid. Many more did not.
Ah, hunters.
Those slayers of monsters, heroes from stories, and saviors of the innocent. Who were they really?
Marguerite thought she had a bit of an idea. It came with dealing with the lot as her job, being one of the two [Receptionists] employed at Coursan’s guild.
It was just another day in the quiet seaside town, and she was, as always, on time for her job.
“Good morning Margie.”
“Morning Clara.”
She gave her coworker a curt nod as she stepped inside the quaint wooden building, then took a quick look at the usual suspects.
Despite the early hour, and despite the fact that the place would only officially open in an hour, there was already one party of hunters loitering at the tables—a few of them looking her way. The Golden Shields, a newer local team.
The first type of hunter.
See, Marguerite had a classification system of sorts. Broadly speaking, all hunters could be categorized into three types, and the system had never failed her so far. The first type of hunter was the type who was in the job more-so for the aesthetic. Big weapons, always visible. Muscled bodies, always proudly displayed.
But precious few scars.
The type who tended to spend suspiciously much time loitering at the guild and local taverns. If you really ran the numbers… they couldn’t be spending more than one day a week on missions. Marguerite measured the group’s tall leader with a side-eye as she walked past them.
Guess keeping that stomach toned requires a lot of work.
She didn’t mind the lot that much—they were polite, mannerly enough, and decent to look at. And they also put quite a bit of coin in their guild’s coffers. More than they really should be able to, considering their earnings…
Marguerite paused at the backroom door and took another look at the lot. Especially their blond-haired [Swordman] of a leader who was always sneaking glances at her. Could that [Gossip] have been right? Is he actually a runaway Noble of some sort?
Of course, she didn’t generally accept any advances this sort made. She was only 19 years of age and level 10, so her prospects were decent, and marriage to a hunter… She shuddered. I’ve seen that disaster play out one too many times. But a maybe-noble though…
She caught him looking again, and decided to risk it, answering him with a wink. Then she stepped into the backroom and closed the door behind her, feeling rather pleased with that. Let him stew on that for a while.
Distractions like that could be fun… but Marguerite looked at the pile of papers arrayed on her work desk. She rolled back her sleeves. Distractions could wait.
Work could not.
She activated her [Receptionist Vision] and saw last night’s work highlighted around the room. Time to sort through some reports.
—
Marguerite finished the last lines of her town-hall report just a few minutes before her shift at the reception table. It was the standard weekly report, a collection of all monster and beast sightings in the past week, with information on what hunter parties had cleared what threats. Routine work, but quite fun.
Almost like reading stories, except these were real. She always found it a bit thrilling.
But summarizing poorly-told stories into a simpler and more efficient format only provided so much entertainment, so when she sat down at the reception table and saw that affairs in the guild remained calm with the usual suspects loitering out, Marguerite opened up a cupboard and took out more papers, getting back to her real work.
Her thesis. She had already leveled up thrice while writing it.
You didn’t usually have to do that much at the reception table, so she always had plenty of time to spend on her own projects here, and this would be a culmination of a year’s work. She felt quite a bit of pride as she ran through her findings, the result of combing through dusty archives for many sleepless nights.
The bundles of papers and notebooks were nearing completion, and she was sure that it would net her an uncommon class upgrade. Because… this work would be important.
It was a study on trends in monster appearances. And they were on the rise, steadily.
She had started the project on a whim, after realizing how different the reports from 50 years back were—she had always liked combing through forgotten back shelves for anything of interest. No treasure maps or forgotten inheritances yet, but information like this was a treasure of its own.
So, as she began, Marguerite looked over her report with pride. It had taken a lot of effort, but the conclusion she had come to was unsettling, but also thrilling. A steady, continuing upward trend.
Marguerite’s heart beat faster as she ran through the next batch of old notebooks, and the new additions again matched with the trend. When I show this to the [Guildmaster]… my promotion will be guaranteed!
Just as she was really getting into a good flow, a thump at the table jolted her awake.
The auburn-haired [Receptionist] looked up from her desk and met the calm eyes of another local hunter group, but one of a different type than the previous.
The second type—the professionals. Hunters in it for the money, and little else. Few sword-swinging jobs gave such freedom as this career.
This group were the Ironhounds, a party of five former [Soldiers] in thick amour with growling hound faces painted on. They took few risks, and mainly hunted smaller monsters with the aid of their hunting dogs.
“Hate to interrupt you miss, but time is running. Any new jobs come in today?”
Marguerite put her thesis papers away into a lower cupboard, then quickly looked over the notes left behind by Clara from the previous shift. Missions… nothing new has come in after yesterday, just the same bits… Except the plague muster call, but nobody here is taking that one… Which one would suit them best, I wonder?
She took another look at the group and activated [Get Their Measure] while she was at it. Perhaps this mission? They didn’t take it yesterday, but maybe today…
She reached out into a folder, took a mission slip out and held it out. “This job is still here. Sludge-type mole monsters infesting a farm after a mishap with the monster wards. Still reluctant?”
The men grimaced, and their leader snatched the paper from her hand, taking another look at it. “The pay is still the same. Don’t you have another bigger contract like yesterday?”
Marguerite maintained a pleasant smile and nodded towards the Golden Shields, still seated at their usual table. “If you really feel that reluctant, I might go have a word with that lot and see if I can persuade them to take it.”
The armored man snorted. “We both know that lot is useless.”
Marguerite winked. “I can be persuasive. They do one job a week, usually. Time is coming up, and this is the best job we have right now…”
After thinking for a moment, the gruff man grimaced. “…Fine, I’ll take it.”
The [Receptionist] smiled. “Thank you—now do make haste, that mission has been rolling around for a week already and if you don’t hurry—”
The guild’s door suddenly opened with a slam, and Marguerite interrupted her talk. Doors being slammed open… usually meant trouble, or boisterous new hunters. Usually both. Fearing the worst, she hesitantly looked over at the new arrivals.
But still, as she took in the four figures that strutted into the guild, she had to stop for a moment, and stare. For this… did not look like a hunter party.
Four women, all in clothing much finer than hers. Two more unassuming sorts, maybe young [Merchants]? But then the other two… She rubbed her eyes and looked again. No, she wasn’t seeing wrong.
Definitely a [Maid] uniform. A broom and a bucket? And the woman next to her…
There was no mistaking that fine bearing, refined face, and sheer presence. She instantly revised her opinion of the Golden Shields and their leader—that [Gossip] had really been all talk.
Now this was a true noble.
She was still blinking her eyes when she noticed that the four women were marching right at her, past the Ironhounds, to her receptionist’s desk. The Ironhounds almost began to say something, outraged at being cut in line, but one look from the [Maid] silenced them.
The gloomy woman dressed in black slammed her fist on the table, and Marguerite almost jumped up in her chair. She had been so focused on the pretty [Lady], that she had missed the dark-clad woman rushing the desk.
“Sorry, we’re hunters, and we’re in a hurry. Is there news on the muster call?”
Marguerite blinked her eyes. “M-muster call?”
The woman stared, dark eyes growing menacing. “Do I need to repeat myself? Yes, the muster call. The one for the magical plague.”
The [Receptionist] took in a deep breath, looking over the group with new eyes. [Get Their Measure]. She nodded to herself.
Ah, the third and final hunter type. The one she saw most seldom—they didn’t tend to stick around in one place for long.
The ones in it for a cause.
Hands steady, she reached into a drawer, took out a report, and handed it over. “Here’s the latest news. Nothing new has come since the first report.”
The woman cursed, taking the report, and turning to her team. “Damnation. Nothing new here, it’s the same information they published on the first day.”
The [Maid] grimaced. “Are we wasting more time? We could have skipped this town…”
“No, not necessarily,” The woman who had to be a [Lady] said as she scanned the room. All the other hunters froze under her gaze, it just had that sort of weight to it.
“Hunters! Is anyone else here headed toward Biennizze to fight the plague? We could use any movement skills to speed us along, or additional protection on the road!”
“Even horses would be nice,” a messy-haired girl quickly added.
The proclamation sent a shudder through the room, as every single hunter in there looked at the newcomers as if they were insane. Because this sort always was.
“Are you crazy, stupid, or both, miss?” The Ironhounds’ leader growled, taking a step forward. “Work like that will see you infected and dead—or worse! Amateurs like you shouldn’t—”
“Amateurs?” The [Maid] asked, answering his scorn with a piercing glare. She reached back for that bucket, hanging from the broom’s end, which seemed oddly threatening. “Cowards who won’t face one little plague are calling me an amateur?”
The man reached for his blade. “What did you just call me?”
The [Receptionist] paled. Oh no! They’re doing the thing!
Marguerite sprang up from her seat, waving her hands. “Hey! Hey! [Calming Presence]! No fighting! Causing a mess is bad!”
Her words seemed to strike the [Maid] especially hard, and the woman stepped back right away, looking embarrassed. “Oh, sorry miss. Can’t be causing a mess now can I…?”
The [Lady] sighed. “Fayette, let’s just get out. We can make it to the next big town in two days if we really hurry…”
“Alright, alright…”
“…get some food for the road…”
“...I’ve got everything we need…”
Like the whispering of a passing storm, the party’s words gradually faded as they walked out of the guild. Marguerite let out a deep breath, relieved that no disaster had occurred on her shift, and looked back to the Ironhounds.
“You know better than to argue with that sort,” she said, reproving.
The man spat on the floor. “…Whatever. Men, let’s go do this stupid mission.”
Muttering quietly to each other, they too walked out of the guild. Marguerite shook her head.
Hunters. I swear, they’re always causing more and more trouble…
But that last group, four women about her age, headed out to combat a plague… Something in it sparked at her soul. Do I really need to wait around here, in this small town? Maybe with my thesis…
For a moment, she let herself dream of bigger cities, the bustle of a port, and let her mind imagine more figures like that blond [Lady] giving her tasks…
Something tugged at her memory. Wait a minute… wasn’t there that missive from a horserider a few days back…?
[Spark Memory]. She jolted upright, snapping open a cupboard at lightning pace. The letter! Some [Lord] was looking for a [Lady] and the description…
Marguerite felt a skill guide a piece of paper to her hand, and held up the missive with shaking hands, mind in disbelief. Could she really be so fortunate? The descriptions match! It has to be her! What a lucky day, with the reward money I can—
Her thoughts ran to the edge of a cliff as a hint of doubt hit her. Why exactly would a [Lord] be seeking a [Lady], especially one who seemed quite at ease in her current position? One who according to the report was trying to hide away?
Someone brave enough to go face the worst of monsters, a magical plague… Could Marguerite really act against someone like that?
But then… she imagined that pretty face lying dead in a pool of blood, or something even worse…
And she also looked at the monetary reward listed again.
With no further hesitation, she took out a pen and paper, and started to write.
Sorry [Lady], it’s probably better this way.
And so, as hunters set forth on their way, a chase closed in on their trail, very close behind.
But… that was only half of the story.
Hunter—hunted.
Therein lies the pairing. A rule of nature. If there was a hunter, there was also naturally someone hunted. Not just monsters and beasts, the true foes of heroes are those willingly opposing them.
Those on the wrong side. Even if they came from unlikely circumstances.
Jehan certainly had never even dreamed of becoming a [Bandit]. 17 years of age, and a level 7 [Farmhand], he had learned to accept what life gave him. Parents passing away unexpectedly, a brother leaving just as suddenly afterward, and a tiny lonesome farm to tend.
A simple life, certainly one with little violence. Frankly, just the sight of bared weapons shook him. It certainly shook him now.
The young [Farmhand] looked at the intimidating hunters in front of him. Taller, stronger, higher-level. Heavy metal armour, barking dogs, and spears bloody from fighting monsters.
One week late.
“What do you mean you don’t have any additional payment?” The tallest of them asked, looming over him.
Jehan took a trembling breath and steadied his footing. Have to get through this. “S-sir. I’m not lying. I have so little, if I gave what I had…”
“Look kid, hunting monsters is dangerous work, and this sludgemole infestation wasn’t easy to deal with. If you want other hunters to take your requests seriously, you really should—”
One of the men nudged the speaker on the side. “Lay it off Todd, you’re scaring the kid.”
The leader—Todd—glared to the side. “Don’t you start, you know the pay is shite for this!”
The other man sighed, then pointed at Jehan. “Just look at how emaciated the kid is. Can almost see the bones on him.”
Jehan flinched back from the finger, and hastily rolled his sleeves down, cheeks colouring. It can’t be that bad, can it?
Todd took another look at him, then reluctantly turned away. “Well, fine. Have it your way. Can’t have the Ironhounds be known as [Extortioners] can we? Hey kid, spread the good word.”
Jehan nodded in a hurry. “Of course, I won’t forget your generosity.”
"Maybe the leader of this place can scrounge up something extra for this? Let's go and see..."
Muttering, the hunters marched out of the farmstead, and Jehan stood upright and smiling until they were well behind the hill.
Then he looked to the side, at what remained of his meager plot of land, and collapsed to his knees.
Sure, the monsters infesting his fields had been dealt with—but it was just too late. The fields were a ruin. Spoiled.
Just looking at the soil polluted with black sludge made him feel cold and hungry. The monsters had been able to pillage the place for two weeks, nesting themselves deeper and deeper into the soil. Nothing suitable for eating would be growing there.
It had been simply bad luck, wards weakening in one specific spot, leading monsters right to his only field. And it wasn’t like he could just till out a new one—nobody would grant a level 7 kid the right. He only had this one as an inheritance.
Jehan laid there for a good minute, calming down, then slowly got up, trotting over the hill towards the center of town. His plot was right at the edge of the border, so he had to walk past the flourishing fields of others on the way to his small cabin. A lonely house these days.
He started running the numbers again in his mind. The harvest had been done already, his tax paid, but next year… I still have enough to last me over the winter and well into spring, so once the snow melts, I’ll have to head out. Lots of work over in Palogne from what I hear. A class change. Tough—but doable. If I just—
Jehan paused, staring at his cabin, a nondescript shack at the edge of the village. Or… it should have been lonely. Smoke was coming out of the chimney. Could it be?
His heart started racing, and he ran forward, forgetting the ills of the day. He slammed the door open and stared inside with disbelief.
At the man—older than he remembered—seated by the fireplace, eating bread and drinking some of his scarce wine. His brother, who only looked his way for a second, then turned back to the bread. A hallucination?
“Joseph? Is that you?”
Joseph looked back his way, and grinned. “Hey, Jehan. It’s been a while. How are things?”
There was no mistaking that voice, or that grin. But he shouldn’t have been here—because that meant… Jehan took a shaky step inside, closing the door behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the army? For two more years?”
Joseph's face instantly fell, and he spat onto the floor, grimacing. “No. No more. Was a shitshow, pointless all of it, so me and a couple of the boys quit.”
Jehan gulped. “A-are you a deserter?”
He got a glare for an answer. “Not our fault. [Quartermaster] messed up—hard. No real food for weeks. So we strung him up and headed out.”
Jehan eyed the sword at his brother’s side, heart beating furiously. “…and what have you been doing since then?”
Joseph grinned again, but it was a different grin. Not like in the old days. Meaner. “Oh, you know. Just getting what we need.”
The young [Farmhand] shook on his feet. “…. [Bandits].”
His brother grimaced, looking down at his sword. “Not as bad as it sounds. We just… do what we must. Boss knows what he’s doing. Level 19, good lad. Just need one good haul.”
“You’ve killed people.”
“…Not many. A few. Not types that will be missed.”
Jehan took in a deep breath. “So…”
His brother met his eyes, calm. Focused. “So?”
“…are you coming back?”
Joseph got up, taking another gulp of wine. “No—I saw what happened at the field. Was going to just pop in for a visit, see how things are. But…” Those blue eyes focused on him again. “—they’re pretty bad aren’t they? Nothing left here.”
For a long moment, Jehan stood there, silent. Only this shack remained. “…No.”
“So—” his brother stepped forward, extending a hand. “—do you want to come with me? I’ll only ask this once. Heading north next. Could use the food you have left.”
Jehan thought over it. Am I really considering this? But… Joseph was all he had. If his brother left again, he would truly have nothing.
Alone in this world.
Somehow, it felt like all his fears faded. Being near his brother after so long... there was such comfort in it. He closed his eyes and made his decision. “We’re brothers. What do I need to do?”
Joseph nodded, as if he had never doubted for a moment. “Just let go, and take hold of my hand.”
Jehan reached out, to that dreaded voice he had not heard for so long. For that one bit that was always there—waiting. And like an old friend, that clear female voice, like an icy mountain spring, came for him.
[Do you wish to forfeit your class, Farmhand? You are not eligible for an experience bonus.]
[Warning: This action cannot be revoked.]
Yes.
[Removing class...]
Jehan jolted as tiny needles of pain passed through every inch of his body, like a swarm of tiny flies devouring him inch by inch, and he almost fell down.
And then it stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. All the pain was gone. He felt empty. Hollow.
Shaking, Jehan reached for his brother’s hand, and grasped it.
[You have become eligible for class: Bandit!]
[Choose it right now?]
Was he just imagining it, or did the voice almost sound disappointed? Jehan closed his eyes and accepted the prompt.
[Level up: You have reached Bandit level 1! Congratulations!]
[You have gained a new skill: Run Away!]
Jehan shivered. The voice was different. A rich male baritone now—it felt less calming. Not an old friend. Is this the devil they speak of?
But looking into his brother’s eyes, he saw approval. Pride. His feet stopped shaking. His breathing calmed.
Pride. Acceptance. Something he had not seen for so long. He could still remember how those hunters had looked at him—eyes of arrogance and pity.
If it is the will of heaven, then let me be damned.
—
Jehan gulped, and grasped the spear in his hand harder, staring at the merchant caravan on the road. And at the armed men guarding it. 5 of them.
Then he looked at the men around him, hidden amongst the trees—[Bandits] all. 12.
5 on 12. Simple math. But still, he felt nervous.
Joseph nudged him to the side. “Hey, calm down. This one won’t come to a fight.”
Jehan looked to the side, instantly calmed. That was his brother’s skill, he knew it now. [By Your Side]. The reason he always felt so calm these days. With that, maybe even he might be able to fight.
“Are you sure?”
Joseph nodded. “They’re listening to the boss talk, all calm-like. They know the drill. Just have to scare them a bit more, and they’ll fold and give us some. As long as we don’t get greedy.”
Jehan focused back to the front, where the boss—nobody ever got to call him by name—was negotiating. The man had decent armor, decent weapons, a tall frame, and most importantly of all—decent skills.
[Lootsense] and [Rapid March]. Two very valuable skills for a [Bandit] crew. Nobody quite knew what combat skills he had, but the last man to challenge him had apparently lasted five seconds in a fight.
Suddenly, the boss turned around and made the signal, lifting a hand up and all the [Bandits] rose up from the bushes, lifting up their weapons. Jehan made sure his spear was up in sight, clearly visible.
The civilians by the caravan paled, and Jehan felt eyes full of fear look at him. No—not just fear—hate. Disgust.
They’re looking at me like I’m a monster.
But just with that, it was over. The civilians made demands to their guards, and food and weapons were handed over. The caravan continued along the road, and their [Bandit] gang continued on their own way. A [Rapid March], searching for loot.
[A splendid intimidation!]
[Level up: You have reached Bandit level 2! Congratulations!]
[1 skill point gained!]
This new voice… Jehan just couldn’t help it. It didn’t feel comforting. It still sent shivers down his spine.
—
Jehan waited in the quiet night forest, spear held up at the ready. He was level 3 now, a result of sparring with the others, and he had gained [Quick Thrust].
Finally, a weapon skill—something to fight with.
Because tonight might be a fight.
According to the boss, there was a veritable trove of loot ahead, and the [Scouts] were already going ahead. The others, the boss included, were just waiting. Silent—patient. How long do we have to wait here?
The brush rustled, and the [Scouts] came back, smiling. Joseph nudged him on the side—excited. “Get ready, this is going to be a good one.”
Jehan leaned forward, hungering for the [Scouts’] hushed words. He could only make out a bit.
“—not fighter classes—”
“—you sure?”
“—have to be, just four women—”
“—but out here—”
The boss turned to the rest of the group, grinning. He clapped his hands, then spoke quietly, but his words carried. Another skill? “Alright boys, listen up. This is going to require a careful touch. Our target is just as rich as I sensed, and there are only four of them.” He ran his eyes around the group. “Four women.”
Before any of the men could react, the boss clapped his hands again, silencing any talk. “Four women in the middle of a forest… This is no ordinary bunch. Make no mistake. And if they are this rich—most of the money is in having them alive—and well. Understand?”
He waited for the nods, and Jehan felt some relief at that. He looked to the side, feeling a bit off balance. When the boss had made the first proclamation, had his brother been about to cheer? No—must’ve been—
The boss clapped again, and Jehan’s head bolted back his way. “Hey! Knuckleheads! What did I just say to you? Four women, all alone in a forest, only one of them awake as sentry? Rich folks? That means only one thing—there’s a disguised bodyguard.”
His eyes locked onto Jehan. “If it comes down to it—don’t hesitate. Kill.” He smiled. “You’ll level up.”
Jehan shivered. Would he really have to—?
But before he could think on it more, they were marching, sneaking, creeping. Deeper into the forest, past brush and bramble, and ever deeper into the dark. What would these targets look like, and how would they look at him?
He gripped the spear in his hand, visualizing his new skill. His one combat skill. Most of the others had at least two, some even three. And the boss was so near his capstone…
Jehan jolted at a nudge to his side and looked at his brother.
“Hey, Jehan, focus. And stay back.” Joseph whispered.
“…right.”
“I mean it. Just stick by me, when the boss nudges people to go in first, that means trouble. Just be patient and we will be fi—”
Suddenly, something tugged Jehan at the foot, and he felt himself falling down onto his face, caught by a thin thread.
“Fuck! Everyone, go!” Joseph shouted next to him.
Jehan scrambled up, looking around wildly, and for a brief moment, he saw her.
A woman, rather plain in the face really, in a white and black dress, a broom and bucket in hand. But those eyes—so, so cold. But she was moving so fast.
Running right at his brother.
The broom swung back, readying for a hit something in the bucket splashed, and then—
—
Jehan blinked, staring in front of him. How much time had passed? He wasn’t sure. He was still on the ground, peeking up.
At the corpse in front of him. Skull smashed, half the face dissolved by… something.
Joseph. It had happened in an instant, and Jehan had toppled down, frozen.
Suddenly, he jumped up, remembering the spear in his hand. Right—the fight—just have to focus on the skill, I have one skill—
“Great—there’s one more left here!”
He looked around wildly for the voice, but then something pricked his back from behind, and suddenly his clothes were constricting him, and he was back on the ground, tasting the mud. I can’t move!
He tried to activate the skill, but the spear wasn’t in his hand any longer. For a moment more, he struggled, until somebody kicked him on the side—hard. He fell still, reeling at the impact, and then he was being dragged along the rough ground. His face stung as brambles and stones bit into it but struggling was useless. His clothes—they were still constricting him.
No escape.
He didn't feel calm anymore. The constant skill Joseph had been keeping up was gone, and suddenly becoming a [Bandit] felt like a terrible idea.
His brother’s smashed face was burned into his vision. A [Healer], could a [Healer]—? Then he heard voices. An argument. A softer, tired voice, and a snappish, cold one.
“—not doing this again!”
“It would only be for—”
“There are only four of us! And seven—no—eight of them alive! We can’t guard that!”
“And we’re in a hurry,” a third voice added. “I’m not letting us be late to save lives for something like this.”
Jehan struggled in his bindings and managed to roll around, getting his head up. He spat mud and grass from his mouth and looked at the scene. The woman in the black and white dress—no, that had to be a [Maid]—was arguing with the prettiest girl Jehan had ever seen.
Has death taken me? An angel at this hour?
“Fayette, we have to do this right, they have to be judged.”
The [Maid] flinched back at the words and turned away, holding her head. “Judge, no… that…”
Looking to the side, he saw some of his compatriots, bound in cloth, knocked unconscious or buried in earth. Not all of them. Again, he remembered.
Joseph.
That ghastly sight, blood and broken bone, melted face—
He retched. Tears in his eyes. This is a mistake. I never killed anyone—Joseph never…
But he had. His brother had killed. But Joseph was already dead, and now Jehan was the one under judgment.
He heard the voices get calmer and focused on them again.
They were life and death.
“…fine. I’ll do it. But I really do hate this, I wish I could just…” The angel said, soft eyes running past Jehan. Was there sympathy there? Even for someone like him? Will I live?
But then, the [Maid] gently supported the angel, hands on shoulders. “I’ll be here. You don’t have to watch it. Just use the skill.”
“No—the duty is mine. This too is a [Lady’s] job, sadly.”
And then the [Maid’s] eyes ran over him, and Jehan froze. Because there was no hate there. No kindness either. Nothing at all. Because those eyes saw not him.
It was like she wasn’t even looking at a human being, just something to be discarded away.
Like dust.
Jehan shivered, and only was only dimly aware of what was happening. The [Lady] was turning around the clearing, looking at the different captured people, growing grimmer with each one. Soon it was only him in the clearing, and the other [Bandits] had disappeared. Somewhere.
And then it was his turn.
A cold wave passed through him, and he looked up at the angel, fear in his heart. Right—I can talk—
“Please miss, I only—”
“Level 3 [Bandit]. Tell me, have you killed?” The angel said, voice like iron.
“No.”
“Would you have?”
For a long moment, Jehan paused—silent. “I don’t know.”
The angel nodded. “Do you know the law?”
The law? “…No. I don’t.”
“In some cases, at the lower levels, banditry can be forgiven. And I…”
She paused, her eyes darkening. For a moment, she almost looked like she would topple, but then the [Maid] was behind her again, supporting her up. The angel gave a grateful, shaky nod behind, then looked back to Jehan, eyes sad.
“There’s been enough death today. Please—just learn from this. I don’t want to… Do you know what to do?”
Hesitantly, Jehan nodded. He reached for that voice again, that terrible one.
[Do you wish to forfeit your class, Bandit? You are not eligible for an experience bonus.]
[Warning: This action cannot be revoked.]
Yes.
[Removing class...]
He shivered again, as it felt like his skin was being ripped off. It was harsher this time, but faster. In the blink of an eye, it was over. Jehan looked up, up at the angel of judgment.
Her voice was soft, and so, so sad. “There are tales of this, though I do not know them well. Tell me… which voice do you hear now?”
[You have become eligible for class: Prisoner!]
[Choose it right now?]
Like the embrace of an old friend, that same female voice was back. Calm as ever, and clear like a mirror sheen lake. Jehan felt a tear drop from his eye.
The angel nodded, motioning him up with a hand. And Jehan found that he was no longer bound. Shaking, he got up, and noticed that there was a pouch by his feet. The boss’s pouch.
The angel pointed at it. “Take it and go. Do some good. Find your way. Just… please.”
And then she turned away, not looking his way once more. But still, Jehan stood there frozen, unsure. Could he really be forgiven? Wasn’t he a monster now, a [Bandit]?
But then, he felt the eyes on him. The others.
A woman clad in dark who looked at him with disinterest, as if she had seen his sort countless times before. A messy-haired woman with a fox-like face, who was peering at him curiously. Like something new.
And then her.
Those cold eyes, which saw him not. They saw nothing where he was. That face looked at him with a disinterested grimace, like at a stain someone else had not cleaned off their clothes.
And so Jehan ran, away from the angel, thanking her mercy from the bottom of his soul.
For he now knew what the true monster was.
zechamp
NEW COVER WOO
I wanted to do a different sort of travel chapter, and somehow this 2-parter bit became the longest chapter so far. I think it's nice to have something like this every now and then.
Also, Fayette is not sad.
Discord: https://discord.gg/7VAe483QfP
As one hunter party set forth on a journey to answer a muster call, they were not alone. Many others heard the plea too and set out to aid. Many more did not.
Ah, hunters.
Those slayers of monsters, heroes from stories, and saviors of the innocent. Who were they really?
Marguerite thought she had a bit of an idea. It came with dealing with the lot as her job, being one of the two [Receptionists] employed at Coursan’s guild.
It was just another day in the quiet seaside town, and she was, as always, on time for her job.
“Good morning Margie.”
“Morning Clara.”
She gave her coworker a curt nod as she stepped inside the quaint wooden building, then took a quick look at the usual suspects.
Despite the early hour, and despite the fact that the place would only officially open in an hour, there was already one party of hunters loitering at the tables—a few of them looking her way. The Golden Shields, a newer local team.
The first type of hunter.
See, Marguerite had a classification system of sorts. Broadly speaking, all hunters could be categorized into three types, and the system had never failed her so far. The first type of hunter was the type who was in the job more-so for the aesthetic. Big weapons, always visible. Muscled bodies, always proudly displayed.
But precious few scars.
The type who tended to spend suspiciously much time loitering at the guild and local taverns. If you really ran the numbers… they couldn’t be spending more than one day a week on missions. Marguerite measured the group’s tall leader with a side-eye as she walked past them.
Guess keeping that stomach toned requires a lot of work.
She didn’t mind the lot that much—they were polite, mannerly enough, and decent to look at. And they also put quite a bit of coin in their guild’s coffers. More than they really should be able to, considering their earnings…
Marguerite paused at the backroom door and took another look at the lot. Especially their blond-haired [Swordman] of a leader who was always sneaking glances at her. Could that [Gossip] have been right? Is he actually a runaway Noble of some sort?
Of course, she didn’t generally accept any advances this sort made. She was only 19 years of age and level 10, so her prospects were decent, and marriage to a hunter… She shuddered. I’ve seen that disaster play out one too many times. But a maybe-noble though…
She caught him looking again, and decided to risk it, answering him with a wink. Then she stepped into the backroom and closed the door behind her, feeling rather pleased with that. Let him stew on that for a while.
Distractions like that could be fun… but Marguerite looked at the pile of papers arrayed on her work desk. She rolled back her sleeves. Distractions could wait.
Work could not.
She activated her [Receptionist Vision] and saw last night’s work highlighted around the room. Time to sort through some reports.
—
Marguerite finished the last lines of her town-hall report just a few minutes before her shift at the reception table. It was the standard weekly report, a collection of all monster and beast sightings in the past week, with information on what hunter parties had cleared what threats. Routine work, but quite fun.
Almost like reading stories, except these were real. She always found it a bit thrilling.
But summarizing poorly-told stories into a simpler and more efficient format only provided so much entertainment, so when she sat down at the reception table and saw that affairs in the guild remained calm with the usual suspects loitering out, Marguerite opened up a cupboard and took out more papers, getting back to her real work.
Her thesis. She had already leveled up thrice while writing it.
You didn’t usually have to do that much at the reception table, so she always had plenty of time to spend on her own projects here, and this would be a culmination of a year’s work. She felt quite a bit of pride as she ran through her findings, the result of combing through dusty archives for many sleepless nights.
The bundles of papers and notebooks were nearing completion, and she was sure that it would net her an uncommon class upgrade. Because… this work would be important.
It was a study on trends in monster appearances. And they were on the rise, steadily.
She had started the project on a whim, after realizing how different the reports from 50 years back were—she had always liked combing through forgotten back shelves for anything of interest. No treasure maps or forgotten inheritances yet, but information like this was a treasure of its own.
So, as she began, Marguerite looked over her report with pride. It had taken a lot of effort, but the conclusion she had come to was unsettling, but also thrilling. A steady, continuing upward trend.
Marguerite’s heart beat faster as she ran through the next batch of old notebooks, and the new additions again matched with the trend. When I show this to the [Guildmaster]… my promotion will be guaranteed!
Just as she was really getting into a good flow, a thump at the table jolted her awake.
The auburn-haired [Receptionist] looked up from her desk and met the calm eyes of another local hunter group, but one of a different type than the previous.
The second type—the professionals. Hunters in it for the money, and little else. Few sword-swinging jobs gave such freedom as this career.
This group were the Ironhounds, a party of five former [Soldiers] in thick amour with growling hound faces painted on. They took few risks, and mainly hunted smaller monsters with the aid of their hunting dogs.
“Hate to interrupt you miss, but time is running. Any new jobs come in today?”
Marguerite put her thesis papers away into a lower cupboard, then quickly looked over the notes left behind by Clara from the previous shift. Missions… nothing new has come in after yesterday, just the same bits… Except the plague muster call, but nobody here is taking that one… Which one would suit them best, I wonder?
She took another look at the group and activated [Get Their Measure] while she was at it. Perhaps this mission? They didn’t take it yesterday, but maybe today…
She reached out into a folder, took a mission slip out and held it out. “This job is still here. Sludge-type mole monsters infesting a farm after a mishap with the monster wards. Still reluctant?”
The men grimaced, and their leader snatched the paper from her hand, taking another look at it. “The pay is still the same. Don’t you have another bigger contract like yesterday?”
Marguerite maintained a pleasant smile and nodded towards the Golden Shields, still seated at their usual table. “If you really feel that reluctant, I might go have a word with that lot and see if I can persuade them to take it.”
The armored man snorted. “We both know that lot is useless.”
Marguerite winked. “I can be persuasive. They do one job a week, usually. Time is coming up, and this is the best job we have right now…”
After thinking for a moment, the gruff man grimaced. “…Fine, I’ll take it.”
The [Receptionist] smiled. “Thank you—now do make haste, that mission has been rolling around for a week already and if you don’t hurry—”
The guild’s door suddenly opened with a slam, and Marguerite interrupted her talk. Doors being slammed open… usually meant trouble, or boisterous new hunters. Usually both. Fearing the worst, she hesitantly looked over at the new arrivals.
But still, as she took in the four figures that strutted into the guild, she had to stop for a moment, and stare. For this… did not look like a hunter party.
Four women, all in clothing much finer than hers. Two more unassuming sorts, maybe young [Merchants]? But then the other two… She rubbed her eyes and looked again. No, she wasn’t seeing wrong.
Definitely a [Maid] uniform. A broom and a bucket? And the woman next to her…
There was no mistaking that fine bearing, refined face, and sheer presence. She instantly revised her opinion of the Golden Shields and their leader—that [Gossip] had really been all talk.
Now this was a true noble.
She was still blinking her eyes when she noticed that the four women were marching right at her, past the Ironhounds, to her receptionist’s desk. The Ironhounds almost began to say something, outraged at being cut in line, but one look from the [Maid] silenced them.
The gloomy woman dressed in black slammed her fist on the table, and Marguerite almost jumped up in her chair. She had been so focused on the pretty [Lady], that she had missed the dark-clad woman rushing the desk.
“Sorry, we’re hunters, and we’re in a hurry. Is there news on the muster call?”
Marguerite blinked her eyes. “M-muster call?”
The woman stared, dark eyes growing menacing. “Do I need to repeat myself? Yes, the muster call. The one for the magical plague.”
The [Receptionist] took in a deep breath, looking over the group with new eyes. [Get Their Measure]. She nodded to herself.
Ah, the third and final hunter type. The one she saw most seldom—they didn’t tend to stick around in one place for long.
The ones in it for a cause.
Hands steady, she reached into a drawer, took out a report, and handed it over. “Here’s the latest news. Nothing new has come since the first report.”
The woman cursed, taking the report, and turning to her team. “Damnation. Nothing new here, it’s the same information they published on the first day.”
The [Maid] grimaced. “Are we wasting more time? We could have skipped this town…”
“No, not necessarily,” The woman who had to be a [Lady] said as she scanned the room. All the other hunters froze under her gaze, it just had that sort of weight to it.
“Hunters! Is anyone else here headed toward Biennizze to fight the plague? We could use any movement skills to speed us along, or additional protection on the road!”
“Even horses would be nice,” a messy-haired girl quickly added.
The proclamation sent a shudder through the room, as every single hunter in there looked at the newcomers as if they were insane. Because this sort always was.
“Are you crazy, stupid, or both, miss?” The Ironhounds’ leader growled, taking a step forward. “Work like that will see you infected and dead—or worse! Amateurs like you shouldn’t—”
“Amateurs?” The [Maid] asked, answering his scorn with a piercing glare. She reached back for that bucket, hanging from the broom’s end, which seemed oddly threatening. “Cowards who won’t face one little plague are calling me an amateur?”
The man reached for his blade. “What did you just call me?”
The [Receptionist] paled. Oh no! They’re doing the thing!
Marguerite sprang up from her seat, waving her hands. “Hey! Hey! [Calming Presence]! No fighting! Causing a mess is bad!”
Her words seemed to strike the [Maid] especially hard, and the woman stepped back right away, looking embarrassed. “Oh, sorry miss. Can’t be causing a mess now can I…?”
The [Lady] sighed. “Fayette, let’s just get out. We can make it to the next big town in two days if we really hurry…”
“Alright, alright…”
“…get some food for the road…”
“...I’ve got everything we need…”
Like the whispering of a passing storm, the party’s words gradually faded as they walked out of the guild. Marguerite let out a deep breath, relieved that no disaster had occurred on her shift, and looked back to the Ironhounds.
“You know better than to argue with that sort,” she said, reproving.
The man spat on the floor. “…Whatever. Men, let’s go do this stupid mission.”
Muttering quietly to each other, they too walked out of the guild. Marguerite shook her head.
Hunters. I swear, they’re always causing more and more trouble…
But that last group, four women about her age, headed out to combat a plague… Something in it sparked at her soul. Do I really need to wait around here, in this small town? Maybe with my thesis…
For a moment, she let herself dream of bigger cities, the bustle of a port, and let her mind imagine more figures like that blond [Lady] giving her tasks…
Something tugged at her memory. Wait a minute… wasn’t there that missive from a horserider a few days back…?
[Spark Memory]. She jolted upright, snapping open a cupboard at lightning pace. The letter! Some [Lord] was looking for a [Lady] and the description…
Marguerite felt a skill guide a piece of paper to her hand, and held up the missive with shaking hands, mind in disbelief. Could she really be so fortunate? The descriptions match! It has to be her! What a lucky day, with the reward money I can—
Her thoughts ran to the edge of a cliff as a hint of doubt hit her. Why exactly would a [Lord] be seeking a [Lady], especially one who seemed quite at ease in her current position? One who according to the report was trying to hide away?
Someone brave enough to go face the worst of monsters, a magical plague… Could Marguerite really act against someone like that?
But then… she imagined that pretty face lying dead in a pool of blood, or something even worse…
And she also looked at the monetary reward listed again.
With no further hesitation, she took out a pen and paper, and started to write.
Sorry [Lady], it’s probably better this way.
And so, as hunters set forth on their way, a chase closed in on their trail, very close behind.
But… that was only half of the story.
Hunter—hunted.
Therein lies the pairing. A rule of nature. If there was a hunter, there was also naturally someone hunted. Not just monsters and beasts, the true foes of heroes are those willingly opposing them.
Those on the wrong side. Even if they came from unlikely circumstances.
Jehan certainly had never even dreamed of becoming a [Bandit]. 17 years of age, and a level 7 [Farmhand], he had learned to accept what life gave him. Parents passing away unexpectedly, a brother leaving just as suddenly afterward, and a tiny lonesome farm to tend.
A simple life, certainly one with little violence. Frankly, just the sight of bared weapons shook him. It certainly shook him now.
The young [Farmhand] looked at the intimidating hunters in front of him. Taller, stronger, higher-level. Heavy metal armour, barking dogs, and spears bloody from fighting monsters.
One week late.
“What do you mean you don’t have any additional payment?” The tallest of them asked, looming over him.
Jehan took a trembling breath and steadied his footing. Have to get through this. “S-sir. I’m not lying. I have so little, if I gave what I had…”
“Look kid, hunting monsters is dangerous work, and this sludgemole infestation wasn’t easy to deal with. If you want other hunters to take your requests seriously, you really should—”
One of the men nudged the speaker on the side. “Lay it off Todd, you’re scaring the kid.”
The leader—Todd—glared to the side. “Don’t you start, you know the pay is shite for this!”
The other man sighed, then pointed at Jehan. “Just look at how emaciated the kid is. Can almost see the bones on him.”
Jehan flinched back from the finger, and hastily rolled his sleeves down, cheeks colouring. It can’t be that bad, can it?
Todd took another look at him, then reluctantly turned away. “Well, fine. Have it your way. Can’t have the Ironhounds be known as [Extortioners] can we? Hey kid, spread the good word.”
Jehan nodded in a hurry. “Of course, I won’t forget your generosity.”
"Maybe the leader of this place can scrounge up something extra for this? Let's go and see..."
Muttering, the hunters marched out of the farmstead, and Jehan stood upright and smiling until they were well behind the hill.
Then he looked to the side, at what remained of his meager plot of land, and collapsed to his knees.
Sure, the monsters infesting his fields had been dealt with—but it was just too late. The fields were a ruin. Spoiled.
Just looking at the soil polluted with black sludge made him feel cold and hungry. The monsters had been able to pillage the place for two weeks, nesting themselves deeper and deeper into the soil. Nothing suitable for eating would be growing there.
It had been simply bad luck, wards weakening in one specific spot, leading monsters right to his only field. And it wasn’t like he could just till out a new one—nobody would grant a level 7 kid the right. He only had this one as an inheritance.
Jehan laid there for a good minute, calming down, then slowly got up, trotting over the hill towards the center of town. His plot was right at the edge of the border, so he had to walk past the flourishing fields of others on the way to his small cabin. A lonely house these days.
He started running the numbers again in his mind. The harvest had been done already, his tax paid, but next year… I still have enough to last me over the winter and well into spring, so once the snow melts, I’ll have to head out. Lots of work over in Palogne from what I hear. A class change. Tough—but doable. If I just—
Jehan paused, staring at his cabin, a nondescript shack at the edge of the village. Or… it should have been lonely. Smoke was coming out of the chimney. Could it be?
His heart started racing, and he ran forward, forgetting the ills of the day. He slammed the door open and stared inside with disbelief.
At the man—older than he remembered—seated by the fireplace, eating bread and drinking some of his scarce wine. His brother, who only looked his way for a second, then turned back to the bread. A hallucination?
“Joseph? Is that you?”
Joseph looked back his way, and grinned. “Hey, Jehan. It’s been a while. How are things?”
There was no mistaking that voice, or that grin. But he shouldn’t have been here—because that meant… Jehan took a shaky step inside, closing the door behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the army? For two more years?”
Joseph's face instantly fell, and he spat onto the floor, grimacing. “No. No more. Was a shitshow, pointless all of it, so me and a couple of the boys quit.”
Jehan gulped. “A-are you a deserter?”
He got a glare for an answer. “Not our fault. [Quartermaster] messed up—hard. No real food for weeks. So we strung him up and headed out.”
Jehan eyed the sword at his brother’s side, heart beating furiously. “…and what have you been doing since then?”
Joseph grinned again, but it was a different grin. Not like in the old days. Meaner. “Oh, you know. Just getting what we need.”
The young [Farmhand] shook on his feet. “…. [Bandits].”
His brother grimaced, looking down at his sword. “Not as bad as it sounds. We just… do what we must. Boss knows what he’s doing. Level 19, good lad. Just need one good haul.”
“You’ve killed people.”
“…Not many. A few. Not types that will be missed.”
Jehan took in a deep breath. “So…”
His brother met his eyes, calm. Focused. “So?”
“…are you coming back?”
Joseph got up, taking another gulp of wine. “No—I saw what happened at the field. Was going to just pop in for a visit, see how things are. But…” Those blue eyes focused on him again. “—they’re pretty bad aren’t they? Nothing left here.”
For a long moment, Jehan stood there, silent. Only this shack remained. “…No.”
“So—” his brother stepped forward, extending a hand. “—do you want to come with me? I’ll only ask this once. Heading north next. Could use the food you have left.”
Jehan thought over it. Am I really considering this? But… Joseph was all he had. If his brother left again, he would truly have nothing.
Alone in this world.
Somehow, it felt like all his fears faded. Being near his brother after so long... there was such comfort in it. He closed his eyes and made his decision. “We’re brothers. What do I need to do?”
Joseph nodded, as if he had never doubted for a moment. “Just let go, and take hold of my hand.”
Jehan reached out, to that dreaded voice he had not heard for so long. For that one bit that was always there—waiting. And like an old friend, that clear female voice, like an icy mountain spring, came for him.
[Do you wish to forfeit your class, Farmhand? You are not eligible for an experience bonus.]
[Warning: This action cannot be revoked.]
Yes.
[Removing class...]
Jehan jolted as tiny needles of pain passed through every inch of his body, like a swarm of tiny flies devouring him inch by inch, and he almost fell down.
And then it stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. All the pain was gone. He felt empty. Hollow.
Shaking, Jehan reached for his brother’s hand, and grasped it.
[You have become eligible for class: Bandit!]
[Choose it right now?]
Was he just imagining it, or did the voice almost sound disappointed? Jehan closed his eyes and accepted the prompt.
[Level up: You have reached Bandit level 1! Congratulations!]
[You have gained a new skill: Run Away!]
Jehan shivered. The voice was different. A rich male baritone now—it felt less calming. Not an old friend. Is this the devil they speak of?
But looking into his brother’s eyes, he saw approval. Pride. His feet stopped shaking. His breathing calmed.
Pride. Acceptance. Something he had not seen for so long. He could still remember how those hunters had looked at him—eyes of arrogance and pity.
If it is the will of heaven, then let me be damned.
—
Jehan gulped, and grasped the spear in his hand harder, staring at the merchant caravan on the road. And at the armed men guarding it. 5 of them.
Then he looked at the men around him, hidden amongst the trees—[Bandits] all. 12.
5 on 12. Simple math. But still, he felt nervous.
Joseph nudged him to the side. “Hey, calm down. This one won’t come to a fight.”
Jehan looked to the side, instantly calmed. That was his brother’s skill, he knew it now. [By Your Side]. The reason he always felt so calm these days. With that, maybe even he might be able to fight.
“Are you sure?”
Joseph nodded. “They’re listening to the boss talk, all calm-like. They know the drill. Just have to scare them a bit more, and they’ll fold and give us some. As long as we don’t get greedy.”
Jehan focused back to the front, where the boss—nobody ever got to call him by name—was negotiating. The man had decent armor, decent weapons, a tall frame, and most importantly of all—decent skills.
[Lootsense] and [Rapid March]. Two very valuable skills for a [Bandit] crew. Nobody quite knew what combat skills he had, but the last man to challenge him had apparently lasted five seconds in a fight.
Suddenly, the boss turned around and made the signal, lifting a hand up and all the [Bandits] rose up from the bushes, lifting up their weapons. Jehan made sure his spear was up in sight, clearly visible.
The civilians by the caravan paled, and Jehan felt eyes full of fear look at him. No—not just fear—hate. Disgust.
They’re looking at me like I’m a monster.
But just with that, it was over. The civilians made demands to their guards, and food and weapons were handed over. The caravan continued along the road, and their [Bandit] gang continued on their own way. A [Rapid March], searching for loot.
[A splendid intimidation!]
[Level up: You have reached Bandit level 2! Congratulations!]
[1 skill point gained!]
This new voice… Jehan just couldn’t help it. It didn’t feel comforting. It still sent shivers down his spine.
—
Jehan waited in the quiet night forest, spear held up at the ready. He was level 3 now, a result of sparring with the others, and he had gained [Quick Thrust].
Finally, a weapon skill—something to fight with.
Because tonight might be a fight.
According to the boss, there was a veritable trove of loot ahead, and the [Scouts] were already going ahead. The others, the boss included, were just waiting. Silent—patient. How long do we have to wait here?
The brush rustled, and the [Scouts] came back, smiling. Joseph nudged him on the side—excited. “Get ready, this is going to be a good one.”
Jehan leaned forward, hungering for the [Scouts’] hushed words. He could only make out a bit.
“—not fighter classes—”
“—you sure?”
“—have to be, just four women—”
“—but out here—”
The boss turned to the rest of the group, grinning. He clapped his hands, then spoke quietly, but his words carried. Another skill? “Alright boys, listen up. This is going to require a careful touch. Our target is just as rich as I sensed, and there are only four of them.” He ran his eyes around the group. “Four women.”
Before any of the men could react, the boss clapped his hands again, silencing any talk. “Four women in the middle of a forest… This is no ordinary bunch. Make no mistake. And if they are this rich—most of the money is in having them alive—and well. Understand?”
He waited for the nods, and Jehan felt some relief at that. He looked to the side, feeling a bit off balance. When the boss had made the first proclamation, had his brother been about to cheer? No—must’ve been—
The boss clapped again, and Jehan’s head bolted back his way. “Hey! Knuckleheads! What did I just say to you? Four women, all alone in a forest, only one of them awake as sentry? Rich folks? That means only one thing—there’s a disguised bodyguard.”
His eyes locked onto Jehan. “If it comes down to it—don’t hesitate. Kill.” He smiled. “You’ll level up.”
Jehan shivered. Would he really have to—?
But before he could think on it more, they were marching, sneaking, creeping. Deeper into the forest, past brush and bramble, and ever deeper into the dark. What would these targets look like, and how would they look at him?
He gripped the spear in his hand, visualizing his new skill. His one combat skill. Most of the others had at least two, some even three. And the boss was so near his capstone…
Jehan jolted at a nudge to his side and looked at his brother.
“Hey, Jehan, focus. And stay back.” Joseph whispered.
“…right.”
“I mean it. Just stick by me, when the boss nudges people to go in first, that means trouble. Just be patient and we will be fi—”
Suddenly, something tugged Jehan at the foot, and he felt himself falling down onto his face, caught by a thin thread.
“Fuck! Everyone, go!” Joseph shouted next to him.
Jehan scrambled up, looking around wildly, and for a brief moment, he saw her.
A woman, rather plain in the face really, in a white and black dress, a broom and bucket in hand. But those eyes—so, so cold. But she was moving so fast.
Running right at his brother.
The broom swung back, readying for a hit something in the bucket splashed, and then—
—
Jehan blinked, staring in front of him. How much time had passed? He wasn’t sure. He was still on the ground, peeking up.
At the corpse in front of him. Skull smashed, half the face dissolved by… something.
Joseph. It had happened in an instant, and Jehan had toppled down, frozen.
Suddenly, he jumped up, remembering the spear in his hand. Right—the fight—just have to focus on the skill, I have one skill—
“Great—there’s one more left here!”
He looked around wildly for the voice, but then something pricked his back from behind, and suddenly his clothes were constricting him, and he was back on the ground, tasting the mud. I can’t move!
He tried to activate the skill, but the spear wasn’t in his hand any longer. For a moment more, he struggled, until somebody kicked him on the side—hard. He fell still, reeling at the impact, and then he was being dragged along the rough ground. His face stung as brambles and stones bit into it but struggling was useless. His clothes—they were still constricting him.
No escape.
He didn't feel calm anymore. The constant skill Joseph had been keeping up was gone, and suddenly becoming a [Bandit] felt like a terrible idea.
His brother’s smashed face was burned into his vision. A [Healer], could a [Healer]—? Then he heard voices. An argument. A softer, tired voice, and a snappish, cold one.
“—not doing this again!”
“It would only be for—”
“There are only four of us! And seven—no—eight of them alive! We can’t guard that!”
“And we’re in a hurry,” a third voice added. “I’m not letting us be late to save lives for something like this.”
Jehan struggled in his bindings and managed to roll around, getting his head up. He spat mud and grass from his mouth and looked at the scene. The woman in the black and white dress—no, that had to be a [Maid]—was arguing with the prettiest girl Jehan had ever seen.
Has death taken me? An angel at this hour?
“Fayette, we have to do this right, they have to be judged.”
The [Maid] flinched back at the words and turned away, holding her head. “Judge, no… that…”
Looking to the side, he saw some of his compatriots, bound in cloth, knocked unconscious or buried in earth. Not all of them. Again, he remembered.
Joseph.
That ghastly sight, blood and broken bone, melted face—
He retched. Tears in his eyes. This is a mistake. I never killed anyone—Joseph never…
But he had. His brother had killed. But Joseph was already dead, and now Jehan was the one under judgment.
He heard the voices get calmer and focused on them again.
They were life and death.
“…fine. I’ll do it. But I really do hate this, I wish I could just…” The angel said, soft eyes running past Jehan. Was there sympathy there? Even for someone like him? Will I live?
But then, the [Maid] gently supported the angel, hands on shoulders. “I’ll be here. You don’t have to watch it. Just use the skill.”
“No—the duty is mine. This too is a [Lady’s] job, sadly.”
And then the [Maid’s] eyes ran over him, and Jehan froze. Because there was no hate there. No kindness either. Nothing at all. Because those eyes saw not him.
It was like she wasn’t even looking at a human being, just something to be discarded away.
Like dust.
Jehan shivered, and only was only dimly aware of what was happening. The [Lady] was turning around the clearing, looking at the different captured people, growing grimmer with each one. Soon it was only him in the clearing, and the other [Bandits] had disappeared. Somewhere.
And then it was his turn.
A cold wave passed through him, and he looked up at the angel, fear in his heart. Right—I can talk—
“Please miss, I only—”
“Level 3 [Bandit]. Tell me, have you killed?” The angel said, voice like iron.
“No.”
“Would you have?”
For a long moment, Jehan paused—silent. “I don’t know.”
The angel nodded. “Do you know the law?”
The law? “…No. I don’t.”
“In some cases, at the lower levels, banditry can be forgiven. And I…”
She paused, her eyes darkening. For a moment, she almost looked like she would topple, but then the [Maid] was behind her again, supporting her up. The angel gave a grateful, shaky nod behind, then looked back to Jehan, eyes sad.
“There’s been enough death today. Please—just learn from this. I don’t want to… Do you know what to do?”
Hesitantly, Jehan nodded. He reached for that voice again, that terrible one.
[Do you wish to forfeit your class, Bandit? You are not eligible for an experience bonus.]
[Warning: This action cannot be revoked.]
Yes.
[Removing class...]
He shivered again, as it felt like his skin was being ripped off. It was harsher this time, but faster. In the blink of an eye, it was over. Jehan looked up, up at the angel of judgment.
Her voice was soft, and so, so sad. “There are tales of this, though I do not know them well. Tell me… which voice do you hear now?”
[You have become eligible for class: Prisoner!]
[Choose it right now?]
Like the embrace of an old friend, that same female voice was back. Calm as ever, and clear like a mirror sheen lake. Jehan felt a tear drop from his eye.
The angel nodded, motioning him up with a hand. And Jehan found that he was no longer bound. Shaking, he got up, and noticed that there was a pouch by his feet. The boss’s pouch.
The angel pointed at it. “Take it and go. Do some good. Find your way. Just… please.”
And then she turned away, not looking his way once more. But still, Jehan stood there frozen, unsure. Could he really be forgiven? Wasn’t he a monster now, a [Bandit]?
But then, he felt the eyes on him. The others.
A woman clad in dark who looked at him with disinterest, as if she had seen his sort countless times before. A messy-haired woman with a fox-like face, who was peering at him curiously. Like something new.
And then her.
Those cold eyes, which saw him not. They saw nothing where he was. That face looked at him with a disinterested grimace, like at a stain someone else had not cleaned off their clothes.
And so Jehan ran, away from the angel, thanking her mercy from the bottom of his soul.
For he now knew what the true monster was.
zechamp
NEW COVER WOO
I wanted to do a different sort of travel chapter, and somehow this 2-parter bit became the longest chapter so far. I think it's nice to have something like this every now and then.
Also, Fayette is not sad.
Discord: https://discord.gg/7VAe483QfP
