The Sound Of Despair

The twenty-nine grassfoxes filled a huge bag to the brim, but Reinhardt lifted it without any difficulty at all. Before they left, Reinhardt stopped and looked towards the tall grass. The merchant had stumbled onto the road in panic and fright. There was a high chance he had dropped a few things during his escape.

Reinhardt put the giant bag down and turned towards Sturm. "We still have some time before dusk, and the area around us should be clear of grassfoxes. Let's check if the merchant dropped a few things. Even if it should be safe, keep your senses up for just a few more minutes, okay?"

Sturm had no problem with that. Even if he felt mentally exhausted, keeping the [Black Room] up for a few more minutes would not be a problem. They searched through high grass, and he kept mapping out the surrounding ten meters in his mind. After fifteen minutes of searching, the only thing they found was some loose cloth tatters and a single silver ring.

Just before Reinhardt decided it was enough, Sturm detected something a lot bigger.

<<Another combat slave, maybe?>>

Oh, how much Sturm wished he had been wrong when he saw what his senses had picked up. His guess had been spot on, it was a combat slave, and one Sturm could recognize.

<<One Ear? How did this happen?>>

The blabbermouth would never blabber again. Sturm did not know how he instantly recognized him, as the body was in a much worse state than the one they had returned to on the street, but he simply knew it was Haktruk. The sight hit him thousand times harder than anything he had ever witnessed before.

It was one thing to see strangers die in front of you, but if it was someone you knew, then it simply felt a lot more… real. They had only spent two years together, but One Ear had worked hard and gave it his all, accomplishing his dream of fighting in the town and leaving the quarry behind. Just a year after reaching his goal and with a much brighter future ahead, he had lost his life in vain.

Life was cruel and fleeting. Sturm realized it could be his turn at any point in time. Like One Ear, he could be abandoned, with his remains rotting at some remote place. There had not even been a chance for Sturm to visit the combat slave during his stay in Dagger's Rock Town. He had planned to do it at some point during the next two weeks. There had been no reason to rush, and his priority had been to settle down first.

While Sturm was still staring at his long-gone friend in disbelief, Reinhardt stepped next to him and quickly realized why his student looked so lost. There were not many people that could cause such a reaction in Sturm. It was not hard to guess who exactly the body had belonged to. This was a disaster.

The merchant responsible for Sturm's friend had been escorted to safety by them. What would Sturm think now? Even if he had known before, he stood by his decision of prioritizing gains over everything, and Sturm seemed at least somewhat inclined towards accepting that. There was no way it would remain the same after this.

Sturm still stood lost in front of One Ear's remains.<< I helped your killer. Forgive me. I promise you; I will avenge you and make him suffer.>>

Never had Sturm been this determined. Even Smiling Diego's whipping did not make him as mad as he was now. If they did something to him, that was one thing, but if they hurt someone he cared about, then nothing could stop him. Nonetheless, he was not suicidal. His revenge had to be carried out in a smart way, without implicating anyone else.

What would be the logic if he managed to kill the merchant scum but ended up causing either Reinhardt's or Edgar's death? Trading the act of honoring a friend with the life of a friend who was still alive would be stupid beyond measure.

"Sturm, this…"

"I understand your logic, and there was no way you could have known, but I also hope you will help me get justice. He was your student too, after all." Sturm interrupted Reinhardt.

"Don't worry, I am not that heartless, Sturm," Reinhardt reassured. "Let us first bury them and go back to Dagger's Rock to sell our harvest. Then we can meet up with Edgar and decide how we will approach this."

The trip back went without incidence, with only a few patrols staring at them in surprise. A tail hung out of the giant bloodied bag, hinting at its contents. Surviving against grassfoxes was not hard for soldiers and mercenaries, but killing so many of them was exceptionally hard due to their nimbleness and camouflage.

Sturm and Reinhardt stepped into the Mercenary Association's main building. Inside, there was a giant lobby with around eight counters in the rear. All types of mercenaries either stood in line in front of the counter, before a giant mission board, or at one of the various tables. The Mercenary Association served as both a place for people to post requests and missions, as well as a tavern for the mercenaries to hang out.

While the association members were not responsible for the acts of the mercenaries, they did ban criminals from accepting any job if found guilty of severe crimes. Discussion and fights were common inside the lobby, but disputes were resolved outside.

Reinhardt's giant bag drew a lot of attention. The magic beasts had been going crazy lately, moving out of their common hunting grounds and invading human territory. Only the most experienced and powerful mercenaries were brave enough to hunt far into the forest. The others were satisfied with eliminating beasts near the town, where grassfoxes were one of the more popular targets, as the death rate was low for people with decent armor. Even if they could not kill many and only managed to catch one or two of the green foxes, they would have enough for weeks to survive on cheap beer and bread.

Hundreds of eyes were staring at the giant mercenary. Reinhardt was well known in their profession, so no one dared to desire his rewards. This did not stop them from staring at the bag with shiny eyes. Just like the patrols, they immediately spotted the moss-like tail, typical for grassfoxes, swinging around the bag's opening with every heavy step the guard captain took.

"Damn, how many do you think are in there?" whispered a mercenary to his partner.

The partner started counting with the fingers. "I don't know, a lot. There should be at least ten!"

"Ten… just the association bounty will give them plenty of silver. If they sell the body parts on top of that, how much would that be?"

Once again, the partner opened his hands and started to spread out his fingers one by one. "I'm not sure, but he should get at least ten silver!"

"Ten?! We could buy food for so many weeks with that. With ten silver, how many weeks do you think we can live like kings?"

While a certain mercenary, cursed by the god Al Geb Rah, kept using his fingers for calculations of immense complexity, Reinhardt had already reached one of the counters. The people originally standing in line had stepped aside and observed him with both envious and respectful gazes.

The association employee promptly invited Reinhardt and Sturm to another room. The employee knew Reinhardt could take care of himself, but professionalism dictated that high-value transactions should be carried out away from the public eye. Inside the private room, a long sofa made of magic beast leather made sure the clients would feel comfortable and relaxed.

Even Sturm noticed their treatment was special. It was difficult not to, as the other mercenaries practically stared daggers into his back. If they knew that a slave received such treatment, it would be very unlikely anyone would be able to hold back the angry mob from ripping him apart.

"Please, Mr. Reinhardt and his companion, relax and wait while I get the appraiser to appraise your recent haul." The employee excused himself with a bow and left the room, leaving behind a Reinhardt, sunken into the sofa, and a Sturm, pushed up so far high he was almost at head height with his teacher.

"Did we do something special?" asked Sturm, confused by their treatment.

They butchered a few foxes, so what? The mercenaries, as commoners, were literally superhumans. Get a team of fourth- and fifth-step warriors, and no matter how fast the grassfoxes were, they could simply systematically rout them out.

Reinhardt seemed confused as well. "I'm honestly not sure. Yes, we did in a day what a group of mercenaries would need a whole week for, but that's it. It is not like we went deep into the forest."

*Creak*

An elegant man stepped into the room. Three stars decorated his jacket, the symbol for an expert appraiser. One-star appraisers were known as entry appraisers, while two-star appraisers were called veteran appraisers. It was difficult to find any four or five-star appraisers outside of the twelve capitals of the Empire Seas. A few grassfoxes definitely did not warrant the attention of such high-rank personnel.

"Mr. Reinhardt! I heard you saved my little brother just a few hours ago. I wanted to thank you personally, but the guards informed me you had already left the town, so I told our staff to immediately notify me should you visit our humble branch. Do not worry. I already punished Sebastian for rewarding you with a paltry few silver coins. His life is worth much more, and I will personally compensate you for your efforts!"

The appraiser deeply bowed, and a few teardrops were forming in his eyes.. It seemed like his brother meant more than a lot to him.