The Sound Of Despair

Thirty meters away from Sturm and Reinhardt, a tall silhouette broke through the grass. The figure was around 1.80m tall, with dirty hair flowing down its shoulders and filthy rags hanging down its body. That was no creature. It was a man.

"H...help!" With his last dying breath, the man collapsed on the ground, a puddle of blood forming slowly beneath him.

Before the pair could even approach him, Sturm sensed additional movement approaching. Another person broke through the grass, but this time in a much better condition. The expensive clothes he wore proved the young man was no slave. Apart from some light scratches and a fierce expression, he seemed to be okay. With a grunt, the man approached the dead slave and kicked it.

"What useless pieces of shit. Get some combat slaves, they said. They are worth the investment, they said. Bullshit! Any slave could have done the same. I mean, dying isn't hard, is it?"

Sturm could not believe what he was witnessing. <<You're kicking a corpse? What if I kick you in your rich, smug a** face?>>

As busy as he was by repeatedly kicking the corpse on the ground, the rich man had not noticed the two standing on the road yet. Suddenly the young man felt a shiver run down his spine. When he turned around, a giant of a man and a young commoner in light leather armor were looking at him with sheer disgust in their eyes.

"This dirty thing cost me three silver! Can you believe that? You guys are mercenaries, right? Please escort me to the city. This hunting trip was not as fun as I expected." The rich man had misunderstood who exactly their disgusted looks were dedicated to.

Knuckles cracked as Sturm warmed up his fists. Death was a common occurrence in this world, and it was necessary to learn how to close off one's heart when seeing the atrocities commoners and nobles committed. If one wanted to survive, that was.

While Sturm understood that and the experience in the quarry had hardened his resolve, this sight simply crossed his bottom line. They were out in the fields. Near the increasingly dangerous grassfox territory. With no witnesses close— punishment was due.

Each step brought Sturm a little closer to the merchant, who slowly began to realize that something was wrong. Before the realization could hit him, a strong arm held the infuriated boy back. Shocked, Sturm turned around and looked at Reinhardt in disbelief.

The experienced mercenary just shook his head in response and bowed towards the merchant.

"Esteemed, Sir, of course, we are willing to escort you back, but our fee is not cheap."

Delighted, the man threw a small pouch towards the giant. The comparably heavy weight of the pouch was a testament to its content.

"You will get the other half when I arrive safely at the town," the merchant explained.

After storing the pouch away, Reinhardt once again bowed and positioned himself behind the merchant.

<<Oh, I see, it's all a plot.>> Sturm seemed to understands his teacher's intentions.

The merchant had already dropped his guard and exposed his back. Killing him would be as easy as stealing a toy from a child.

Any moment now, Reinhardt would grab the weaselly merchant and twist his neck, serving justice to the poor slave's soul. Time went by, and they soon arrived at the border of the grass fox territory. This was their chance, but the group crossed the border, and Dagger's Town appeared on the horizon.

Nothing happened. Reinhardt made no move at all, instead just displaying the behavior of a professional mercenary by remaining vigilant and silent.

<<There would have been no witnesses and no trouble at all. The merchant even paid us quite a sum already. I don't understand.>>

Sturm felt disappointed, he was no saint nor an upholder of justice, but he still had his morals. After delivering the merchant to his shop and receiving the other half of their payment, the two left in silence.

Reinhardt had felt his students stare on his back during their whole trip back, but this was something Sturm had to learn. There was no way around it. It was better to let him sulk for now and then explain to him when they were back on the road.

After leaving the city, albeit this time by a few dozen silver coins richer, Reinhardt confronted his student.

"There was no other way around, Sturm. As a mercenary, I learned how to survive. You have to make use of every single opportunity you have. That is why I took that bast***s money. Killing him would have given us satisfaction, but is that worth more than coin? Before you say anything else, do not forget multiple patrols have seen us, and trust me, they can differentiate grassfox wounds and human-made wounds. We had no reason to risk it."

Reinhardt's serious side was something Sturm had never seen before. When the guard captain was beating up Lapi, Sturm had been knocked out and did not witness the sheer brutality his teacher was able to unleash. During the wolf attack, Reinhardt displayed ferociousness and not seriousness.

While Sturm understood the former mercenary's opinion, he could just not find himself agreeing with him. As long as he had the bare minimum to survive, his pride and values would always be more important than some small extra benefits. Nonetheless, Reinhardt's worry and care sipped through his serious expression, causing Sturm to at least take the lesson to heart.

"Even though I do not think I can wholeheartedly agree," Sturm said before adding. "I will make sure always to remember your words."

The guard captain was satisfied with that answer, and soon they arrived once again at the place they had found the merchant.

Reinhardt looked at the bloodied corpse close to the high grass. "Even if we did not avenge him, we can at least bury him properly."

They approached the body casually and discussed where and when they should bury it.

"It should be around afternoon right now. I heard a good time for funerals is around seven or nine o'clock," commented Sturm.

Lights lit up in Reinhardt's eyes. "Oh, but that is just around dinner time. How long do you think we will take to dig a proper grave?"

"About five seconds."

Only two meters stood between them and the high grass, the deceased slave just an arm-length away. The moment Reinhardt reached the slave's body and turned it around, a stomach-turning sight revealed itself to him. There were bite marks and ripped flesh all over. Entrails were spilling out through the shredded stomach.

Sturm did his best to stop himself from gagging and yelled out: "Now!" before promptly throwing himself on the ground.

A green streak barely missed his throat while another one sped towards Reinhardt's neck. With a lightning-quick spinning elbow, the second green streak got knocked onto the ground with a bone-crushing noise. There it laid, a whimpering in pain—a green fox with moss-like fur, about 60cm long and 40cm tall and with long thin ears. The pieces of flesh stuck between its sharp teeth proved it had been one of the grassfox that participated in the mutilation.

Before it could get up, a steel boot crushed its head, ending its suffering and enraging its partner. The first grassfoxes eyes turned crimson red, and it let out an ear-piercing fox cry. The cry was met with dozens of other cries, resonating through the whole area.

Sturm had already expanded his [Black Room] to a full ten meters, double its previous maximum size. <<Five, six, twelve, fifteen, twenty-seven foxes incoming.>>

The grass rattled nonstop, and a symphony of screeches descended upon Reinhardt and Sturm. All hell broke loose. Green streaks kept flashing through the air, leaving Sturm only the smallest windows to dodge the possibly fatal strikes. Sturm danced like he was competing in a b-boy championship, his concentration strained to the max.

Inside his [Black Room], endless trajectories, velocities, and angles were being calculated at an enormous speed. Ever since the overexertion during the wolf attack, Sturm not only expanded the [Black Room] to twice its size but also felt it drain only half of his concentration compared to before.

It was dangerous. It was exhausting. It was a close dance with lady death, but if speed and camouflage were the grassfoxes only strength, then it was nothing Sturm could not handle.

Reinhardt, on the other hand, had it much easier. While he did not have the speed and agility to dodge the foxes' attacks, he did not need to do so. As long as Reinhardt protected his neck and face, then all those bites and paw swipes would do nothing more than scratching his armor. Unlike Sturm, he could wear reinforced armor literally hundreds of kilos heavy.

Even if this were not the case, it was doubtful if pitiful Tier 3 Bronze Beasts, which only received their ranking due to their speed, could ever penetrate his Fifth-Step Commoner skin.

The pair kept massacring the beasts for a whole hour. Not once did Sturm use his Hirschfanger to cut the pesty foxes, only opting to punch them in their snouts instead. Unsurprisingly, he did not inflict too much harm on his foes. After frustratingly realizing he really did no damage, Sturm started kicking and punching them towards Reinhardt, whose double axes made quick work of them.

Killing the foxes only made the beasts go even crazier, and soon even the last of them got cleaved in half. Sturm was sweating all over and panting heavily, but his heart could not stop pumping quickly. The experience was exhilarating. Having claws and teeth graze him, feeling his fist bury deep into the foxes' hide, and experiencing his Art of the Nine Pillars improving in real-time speed gave him satisfaction beyond belief. Not even the torn flesh on his knuckles and the blood dripping down his arms could dam his excitement.

Reinhardt packed away his axes and looked at the small mountain of now red foxes around them. "Let's bag them in and go back. It will get dark soon, and grassfoxes get a lot more dangerous at night. We had a good haul.. I am proud of you, Sturm."