Chapter 2 - Between Two Rivers
Loriana lay cradled in a lush green valley, perched at the confluence of two great rivers: the River Arden and its tributary, Elyn. From the peak of Lorian Hill, where an ancient oak tree stood tall like a sentinel, the town spread out like a painted map. Stretches of green and golden fields, neatly parceled by low stone walls and hedgerows, extended along the riverbanks. The current of the River Arden hugged the southern side of the town like a protective arm, its waters wide and calm, while the smaller, swifter Elyn cut directly through the heart of the settlement, its flow marked by a series of sturdy stone bridges.
Clusters of houses with terracotta tile roofs and whitewashed limestone walls gathered around the central market square. The warm colors of the buildings created a captivating contrast against the dominant green of the surrounding landscape. On a gentle slope at the town's northernmost point, overlooking the confluence of the rivers, stood a manor—a grand red-brick edifice with a soaring tower. Its presence hinted at local importance, perhaps the residence of the regional lord or the main guildhall. The scene truly depicted rural tranquility, a pocket of civilization thriving amidst the untouched wilds of the Ardenian countryside.
It took nearly the entire afternoon for them to journey from the still-smoldering ruins of the old man's hut in Erja to the bustling, lively streets of Loriana. The trip was silent, even gloomy. Stark, still carrying the damp canvas sack—now wrapped in an extra layer of oilcloth to contain the stench—walked sluggishly at the front of the group with a gloomy, solemn expression. Karl and Bob followed a few steps behind. Asep brought up the rear, both hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the rolling hills and dense forests they passed.
"Loriana… looks nice," Asep finally said, breaking the long silence as the town came into full view. "Much… bigger than Erja. At least it's livelier."
"It's a trade hub," Stark explained without turning around. "Strategically located. Frankly, the rivers make it a prime spot for commerce. And… it's home to the Registered Bounty Hunters' Guild and the headquarters of the Castalia Mercenary Company." He pointed toward the red-brick manor with its distinctive tower. "That's our destination. Zachary will probably welcome us with a wide smile."
"Zachary?" Asep raised an eyebrow.
"Our old boss. Though calling him 'old' isn't quite right, since he's our age. He runs the Guild and his Private Military Company now," Stark added.
"I see… So he's kind of… the town's protector?"
"You could say that. Zachary's a pragmatist; he'll do whatever it takes to ensure the town's safety. As for bounties… he's our handler. But we only take jobs related to this town's safety. Rogue witches are one of them," Karl chimed in from the side. "Well, we go way back, to the Ardenian Civil War a decade ago."
"Hoh… Civil War?" Asep's interest was piqued. That sounded like a rich piece of local history, and likely trouble, too. "What happened in that war?"
"A long, bloody story, friend," Bob grumbled, adjusting the crossbow on his shoulder. "Though I was just a kid when it broke out, I still remember…" His voice trailed off, a shadow crossing his face. "Best not to bring it up again."
They descended the hill, Loriana's rustic charm gradually shifting into the more tangible details of daily life. Although now, refugees from Merlesia also crowded the streets. Some were just passing through seeking shelter, while others sought a new life in this town. The murmur of the market grew louder, a symphony of life from merchants hawking their wares, smiths forging in their workshops, and the general hubbub of a town filled with people on the move. They stopped at the town square where a fountain stood at its center. Up close, it felt even more refreshing.
"Well… Since we're here, I'm off to the tavern. See you later, Stark," Karl said, starting to walk away from the group. "Don't forget my share!"
"Fool…" Bob sighed.
"Well, I think I'll join him for a bit. My stomach needs filling, and my throat's parched," Asep said. "Find me at the tavern if you need me."
"Suit yourself. Loriana has some of the best breweries in the region. But don't go looking for trouble, Asep. This town… isn't like Erja," Stark warned, his tone serious. "Zachary doesn't tolerate troublemakers."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. No trouble." Asep waved his hand dismissively and sauntered off toward Karl.
Stark and Bob continued on their way. On the other side, Asep walked alone now, observing the busy streets. The town might seem calm, but the presence of the refugees was a bit worrying. It felt like the town was on the verge of a major change. He couldn't explain it in words, but the feeling itself was… nostalgic. The same feeling he'd had back in his school days before chaos broke out. But he brushed the thought aside.
***
Asep found the tavern Karl had entered without much difficulty. It was a cozy two-story building named the "Water Lilies' Embrace," a name that sounded a bit too poetic for a place primarily serving hard liquor. The building itself was in a classic timber-frame style, with sturdy oak beams and a foundation of strong-looking stone. A carved wooden sign depicting a stylized water lily hung above the entrance.
He pushed through the saloon-style swinging doors and was greeted by a wave of warmth and the low hum of conversation. The interior turned out to be spacious. Large wooden beams crossed the high ceiling, where several banners hung. Flickering candles in their sconces cast a warm, inviting light over the polished wooden floor and sturdy tables. Karl was already seated at a table in the center of the main room, a half-empty mug in front of him, chatting amiably with a large-bosomed, red-haired barmaid who was laughing heartily at his words.
On a stage, a beastfolk with fox-like features was dancing to music. Her clothing was quite revealing for a dancer. She swayed her hips in a hypnotic rhythm, her pale pink, fennec fox-like ears twitching in time with the beat of a small drum played by a man in the corner. Her green outfit, adorned with tiny bells and shimmering beads, jingled and swayed with her movements, catching the candlelight and creating a mesmerizing spectacle. Several patrons, a mix of rough-looking locals and weary travelers, clapped along, their faces flushed with ale and excitement.
Asep walked towards the bar counter, ignoring Karl's attempt to get his attention. The bartender, a broad-shouldered man with a thick, well-groomed beard and surprisingly gentle eyes, gave him a short nod. "What'll it be, stranger?"
"Whatever's cheapest," Asep replied, hopping onto a tall stool. "And a plate of anything hot. Been walking all day."
"Coming right up," said the bartender, turning to fill a mug from a large barrel. "We've got venison stew today. Hearty."
"Okay. Venison stew, then." Asep nodded, placing a few copper coins on the counter.
While waiting, his eyes scanned the room again. He wasn't looking for trouble, really. But old habits died hard. He noted the exits, marked patrons who looked like they could handle themselves in a fight. Most of the people present, however, were either Castalia members or refugees, enjoying the dancer's afternoon performance. The dancer herself seemed professional at her work.
*This place is lively enough… Could I stay here?* He looked around. *Yeah… I don't really know my purpose either… Damn, I haven't even thought about it.*
He sighed. He'd never really had a purpose, had he? All he knew was to enjoy the moment and go with the flow the gods had laid out for him. Like water, he thought.
"One venison stew and a mug of Lotus Wine." The bartender set the food and drink before him. The stew was richly aromatic and savory, thick with chunks of meat, carrots, turnips, and other tubers he didn't recognize. Asep spooned it up; the flavor exploded in his mouth, chasing away the hunger gnawing at his stomach. The wine was sweet and surprisingly strong, warming him from the inside. He ate in comfortable silence, listening to the chatter around him, the music, and the jingling rhythm of the dancer's bells.
***
Meanwhile, Stark was already in front of the Guild headquarters, having parted ways with Bob, who headed to the training ground to meet the others.
"I'm here to collect the bounty for Borwe's head," he said, placing the canvas sack on the receptionist's desk. The woman at the desk looked unperturbed, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
"Yes. Stark, right? We'll need to assess it briefly; please wait a moment," said the receptionist before taking the sack into the back room.
Stark sighed. He walked toward the small saloon located in the building's left wing. As he opened the door, a loud voice greeted him.
"Hoh, you actually came back alive, didn't you, Kid Stark! Even Bob's here! Oi! Bob!"
But Bob only quickened his pace towards the field, ignoring that his name was called. Maybe because he was scared?
The voice that echoed throughout the room was loud, boisterous, and clearly female. Stark winced slightly, more out of habit than genuine annoyance, as he pushed the swinging door fully open. Leaning against the bar, one booted leg casually resting on a large empty beer keg, was a woman with wild, silver-white hair tied up in a tall, messy ponytail. Her red eyes, sharp and full of mischievous light, scanned Stark from head to toe before a wide, predatory grin spread across her face.
She wore a mix of armor and practical yet striking clothing—a tight leather corset over a loose ivory blouse, dark trousers, and a collection of shoulder guards, arm guards, and leg guards that looked like they'd been picked up from a dozen different sets. A massive sword, more like a butcher's cleaver, was strapped to her back, its hilt protruding over her shoulder. In one hand, she held a comically large wooden mug, which she raised in a mocking toast.
"Sylvanne," Stark grumbled, his voice flat as he walked toward her. "You're still drinking until the guild's supplies run dry. Don't you ever actually work? I'm surprised you're not with the kids you look after."
"No, Zachary gave me the day off," Sylvanne took a long gulp from her mug, a bit of foam clinging to her upper lip. "Besides, watching those brats is more exhausting than hunting crazy gnolls, you know? They never stop asking questions. 'Sis Sylvie, what's this?' 'Sis Sylvie, what's that?' 'Sis Sylvie, why is your sword bigger than my body?'" She mimicked a high-pitched child's voice, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Enough to drive a person to drink, I tell ya. So, what's in the bag? A goblin king's crown again? Or did you finally catch that legendary horned rabbit messing up the fields?"
"Rogue witch. Borwe," Stark said, placing the bag on the polished wooden bar surface, the damp canvas making a soft, wet sound.
Sylvanne's grin faltered for a fraction of a second, her red eyes narrowing. "Borwe? The Face Stealer? Damn, Starky. I didn't think you had it in you. That bastard's been on the wanted board for months. I heard he turned a squad of Radiant Inquisitors into charred heaps last year," she said, leaning in for a better look.
"That's just a myth. He wasn't that strong. Just an ordinary fire witch." Stark signaled the bartender to pour him a drink. "We had a little… outside help. He wasn't working alone."
"Outside help?" Sylvanne's curiosity was clearly piqued. Her gaze shifted from Stark to the saloon entrance, as if expecting someone else to walk in. "Don't tell me you finally convinced that stiff elf to join your circus troupe."
"Nope. Not Lisa, she's heavily pregnant. This is… a bit complicated, actually," Stark sighed, taking the mug the bartender slid over and downing a third of it in one gulp. "A stranger. Just a guy we happened to meet in Erja. Though at first, we mistook him for Borwe, and we ended up in a fight…"
Sylvanne burst out laughing, slapping her thigh. "You picked a fight with the wrong person *again*? Oh my god, Starky, you never learn, do you? What happened? Did he beat you and your Cheer Squad to a pulp?"
"He… turned out to be very skilled," Stark admitted, a reluctant glint of respect in his eyes. "No weapons at all, just hands and feet. Took down Karl and Bob before I could blink, then he had me yield. Said he'd help hunt the real Borwe for a share of the reward."
Now Sylvanne was genuinely interested. She took her foot off the keg and leaned forward, her elbows on the bar. "No weapons, you say? Barehanded? Took down your whole team? Now *that's* a story I want to hear. Where is this mysterious tough guy now? Don't tell me you let him wander off. I want to see the man who could shut you up with just his bare hands, Stark-boy. Maybe I'll even buy him a drink."
"He's probably at the *Water Lilies' Embrace* with Karl. And don't call me Stark-boy, I've been married and have kids!" Stark grumbled, finishing his drink. He slammed the empty mug down. "I need to go see Zachary. Try not to cause too much trouble while I'm gone, Sylvanne. The last thing this town needs is you starting another bar fight over spilled ale."
"No promises!" she chirped, her grin widening as Stark pushed himself away from the bar and headed for the stairs at the back of the room. Her red eyes glittered with a new purpose. A skilled unarmed fighter who could handle Stark's crew single-handedly? And he was in town? This sounded far more interesting than babysitting and drinking alone. She grabbed her large mug, tossed a few coins on the counter, and hitched her massive sword strap tighter on her shoulder.
"I think I'll go visit our new friend for a bit," she murmured to herself, a mischievous, anticipatory smile gracing her lips. "This is bound to be fun."
***
Stark climbed the narrow, winding stairs, his footsteps echoing softly on the worn stone. The air grew cooler and quieter as he left the raucous saloon below. The stairs opened into a spacious, circular room at the top of the tower, a room that served as Zachary's office and command center. Unlike the rustic warmth of the guild hall below, this room was simple and functional. A large circular table dominated the center, its surface covered with a sprawling map of Ardenia and the surrounding territories, dotted with carved wooden pieces representing troop movements, resources, and strategic points.
Bookshelves crammed with leather-bound volumes and parchment scrolls lined the curved walls, their spines bearing titles on military strategy, history, and economics. Tall, arched windows offered a panoramic view of Loriana and the valley beyond, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the landscape. Standing by one of the windows, facing away from the entrance, was a man wearing form-fitting armor of dark blue-black and gold, a pristine white cloak draped over his shoulders, fastened with an ornate, wing-shaped clasp. He was observing the town below with quiet, focused intensity. Lost in thought.
"Zachary," Stark announced his presence with a single word, his voice devoid of the usual military respect. Their relationship was long and complicated, forged in the fire of the civil war a decade ago, a bond that transcended mere rank.
The man by the window turned. Zachary was still young, likely no older than Stark himself, yet he carried himself with an authority that seemed ingrained in his soul. His black hair was cut short and neat, and his sharp, intelligent eyes held a burden that belied his years. There were no scars on his handsome face, no visible marks of the battles he'd fought, yet his gaze alone was enough to convey a history of hard-won victories and bitter defeats. He offered Stark a small, wry smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. His hands rested lightly on the hilt of an elegant longsword at his hip, a weapon that looked more ceremonial than practical, though Stark knew full well how deadly it was.
"Stark. I hear you're back," Zachary's voice was calm and measured, a quiet contrast to Sylvanne's boisterousness. "I trust the hunt was successful? The receptionist tells me you brought back… a package." He gestured toward the map-covered table. "Come. Report."
Stark walked to the table, his armored boots making a soft *click* on the polished stone floor. "Borwe is dead. We engaged him in the village of Erja. He was disguised as a priest for a doomsday cult, preying on the village elders." He moved one of the pieces on the map, a small black-painted pawn representing the enemy witch, and flicked it off the board. "It's done."
"Good. One less troublemaker to worry about," Zachary said, his gaze fixed on the map. His finger traced the course of the River Arden. "But 'we'? As I recall, you, Karl, and Bob were the only ones assigned to this bounty. Did you need backup?" The question was casual, but the underlying sharpness was unmistakable. Zachary never missed anything.
Stark hesitated for a moment, recalling the chaotic fight in the marsh and the subsequent fire at the hut. "We ran into… a slight complication. And an opportunity. A fourth party got involved. A stranger. We mistook him for the target at first." He decided to be forthright; Zachary valued brevity and honesty. "He subdued the three of us without weapons. Knocked out the other two, disarmed me. Then he offered to help track down the real Borwe for a quarter of the reward. His… unorthodox approach was instrumental in cornering and killing the witch."
Zachary's posture didn't change, but Stark could see a glimmer of genuine interest in his eyes. It was rare for anything to surprise the leader of the Castalia Mercenary Company. "Without weapons, you say? Against three trained, armed mercenaries? That's… unusual. What's his name? Where's he from?"
"He calls himself Asep. As for where he's from… I don't know," Stark admitted. "He's a strange guy. Speaks with a foreign accent I've never heard before. But he's strong. Physically very strong. I've never seen anyone move like him. He's in town now. At the *Water Lilies' Embrace*."
Zachary was silent for a moment, his gaze returning to the window, observing the stream of refugees flowing through his town's streets. Loriana was a sanctuary, a bastion of stability in a kingdom teetering on the brink of chaos, and he was its self-appointed guardian. Every new piece on the board, every unknown variable, was a potential threat or a potential asset.
"This Eclipse Cult you mentioned…" Zachary said, his voice dropping slightly. "That's the third cell we've uncovered in this region. They're getting bolder. I'm worried they've been growing more active in the past few months due to the instability in this region."
"Should we stop them before they start a new cell, Zachary?" Stark asked, his hands clenching into fists.
Zachary sighed before shaking his head. "…For now, I'm afraid we can't," he said, turning to Stark. "We're preoccupied with other matters, Stark. The Princess… She's alive. She was here a few days ago, among the refugees. She escaped the riots by blending into the crowd."
"What?? Princess Adreana? But—wasn't there a big State Funeral a few weeks ago?"
"Just a decoy. Her older brother, Finlay… He's using his sister's apparent death to stir up Ardenian nationalism against the Albion invaders and to reclaim the port city."
"That means we're one step closer to full-blown war? Zachary, we have to do something. We'll be leveled if Albion declares war on us!" Stark raised his voice.
"I know, Stark. I know. I'm just…" Zachary closed his eyes for a moment, a rare crack in his mask of composure. "I'm just waiting for her to return here with a plan. I just hope Lord Finlay is willing to cooperate with us." Zachary placed a hand on Stark's shoulder, his grip firm. "Your bounty reward has been confirmed. The funds will be transferred to your account tomorrow morning. But there's one thing I ask of you, Stark… Will you work for me again?"
"Again? What do you mean?"
"Here's the thing… We need more people to support the Princess. I have a feeling these events might be leading us to another war. Another Civil War. Finlay might not be very cooperative with the Royalist faction. This isn't just a mercenary gig anymore, Stark, this is a patriotic duty for us to help the Royal Family and this Kingdom."
Stark looked into his friend's weary eyes. Zachary… He must be exhausted. He'd known the man for a long time, since they were stuck in the midst of the Civil War era, and he knew this man had bright plans for the future. As someone who had always stood by his side, Stark had no reason to refuse.
"I… I'll think about it. But still, what about… this stranger? Asep? What do you want me to do about him?"
"I'll leave him to you. I trust your judgment. If you think he's trustworthy, recruit him. As you well know, we need all the help we can get."
"Alright. I'll ask him later. For now, I want to get back to the tavern and relax a bit. I need a rest."
"That's a good idea. Alright, you may go now. Just make sure your body's in prime condition for the next few days."
"I'll try," Stark said, though they both knew it was a promise he likely couldn't keep.
He turned and left the office, leaving Zachary alone once more with his maps, his plans, and the heavy burden of the town's future resting squarely on his armored shoulders.
_____
Meanwhile, the tavern grew livelier as afternoon turned to evening. Candles had been lit, and more people were arriving, trying to enjoy their time. Amid the crowd, Asep now sat at the same table as Karl. He'd finished his third mug of Lotus Wine, feeling a pleasant, numbing buzz spreading through his limbs. The venison stew had been delicious, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something akin to satisfaction. The fox-eared dancer had finished her set, replaced by a gaunt bard with a lute who was now singing a melancholy ballad of lost love and stormy seas. Karl, on the other hand, was completely drunk, his words slightly slurred as he regaled Asep with a convoluted, barely believable tale of a past hunt involving a grumpy troll and a stolen cheese delivery.
"…and then I said to him, 'Listen here, you green bastard, that cheese is the property of the Loriana Dairy Guild!' but he just snorted and tried to hit me with his club!" Karl gestured wildly with his mug, spilling ale on the table. "Good thing Bob's a crack shot with that crossbow, otherwise I'd be flatter than one of Sylvie's jokes!" He laughed loudly, clearly drunk.
Asep just nodded along, sipping his wine, only half-listening. His attention was more focused on the dynamics of the tavern. He was an outsider, a complete unknown, yet no one was giving him trouble. They were curious, of course—he caught more than a few speculative glances—but it was a relaxed, non-threatening curiosity. Different from the tense, wary stares he usually got on the road. Here, people seemed more concerned with their own drinks and conversations. It felt… nice. Maybe he could get used to a place like this. A place where a man could just sit and drink without having to watch his back every second.
His peaceful reverie was abruptly shattered as the tavern door flew open with enough force to bang against the wall. The chatter in the room died for a moment as all eyes turned to the entrance. Framed in the doorway was a figure that seemed to suck all the relaxed warmth from the room, replacing it with a jolt of raw, untamed energy.
"Good evening, everyone! Barkeep, bring me your finest wine, yeah!"
It was Sylvanne, arriving as a new patron. Her red eyes scanned the room, a predator's gaze sweeping over a herd of unsuspecting deer, before finally landing on her target. Grinning, baring a row of teeth, she sauntered in, her massive sword shifting slightly on her back, walking straight toward their table.
Karl, upon seeing her, suddenly became a bit more sober. His eyes widened slightly, and he nervously straightened his posture. "S-Sylvie! What are you doing here?"
"What? To drink, of course, you idiot. What kind of question is that?" Sylvanne said, ignoring him. Her gaze was fixed squarely on Asep. She pulled a chair from a nearby table, spun it around, and sat down backward, leaning her arms on the backrest. The movement was fluid and confident, suggesting a woman completely comfortable with her own intimidating presence. "So," she began, her voice a low rumble that still carried over the tavern's renewed hum. "You're the guy. The bare-knuckle brawler who beat our dear little Stark and his crew. Gotta say, you look pretty ordinary."
"Hah! You think so, huh? Reaaally?" Asep met the woman's intense stare with a lazy, unperturbed smile. He took another slow sip of his wine, deliberately drawing out the moment before answering. "Looks can be deceiving, miss. You, for example, look like you could snap my body in two with one hand, but maybe you're just good at putting on a tough face. Who knows?" He shrugged, his tone light and teasing, a clear challenge hidden beneath casual words.
Sylvanne's grin widened, a flash of genuine amusement in her eyes. "Oh, I like this one," she said, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's got a mouth on him. Most guys stammer or try to puff out their chests when I talk to them. You're different." She rapped her knuckles on the table, a sharp, impatient sound. "Sylvanne. My friends call me Sylvie."
"Sylvanne…" Asep repeated the name, tasting it on his tongue. He extended his hand across the table. "Asep. And I think 'friend' is too strong a word for these guys. I just met them this morning. Tried to kill me, you know. Funny story."
Sylvanne laughed heartily, a loud, genuine sound that made several heads turn. She ignored the offered hand and instead wrapped her large, calloused hand around Asep's, her grip astonishingly strong. "'Tried to kill you' is Stark's version of a friendly greeting! Don't take it to heart."
"Not at all. Turns out, they're just too stupid to read a wanted poster correctly," Asep replied, glancing at Karl. The spearman winced and quickly looked down at his mug, pretending to be deeply interested in its contents.
"That also sounds like something they'd do." Sylvanne chuckled, finally releasing his hand. She leaned back in her chair, appraising him again. "So, Asep. Stark said you wanted a cut of the reward. That means you're looking for work, right? Join us! We need more strong guys like you in Castalia. Especially with a war coming."
"Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean?" Asep asked, confused. He just wanted money to buy smokes.
"Oh, come on, don't tell me you haven't heard the news. The bloody riots in Merlesia, and now war is on the horizon. You're in this town, which means you're under Castalia's protection."
"Ah… that. Yeah, I read about it. 'Regime change' backed by Albion, right?" Asep said, scratching his head.
"Ehh?? You can read? That's great! You're even better than Karl here, who can only read basic sentences." Sylvanne grinned, pointing at Karl. The spearman sitting across from her looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Oi, oi! I can read, you know! Just… not as fancy as folks from the capital," Karl retorted, though he didn't even dare look at Sylvanne.
"Whatever," Sylvanne waved her hand dismissively. "So, are you in or not? We pay well, you know? And you'll get to hang out with fun people like me."
Asep leaned back, swirling the remaining wine in his cup, a thoughtful expression on his face. He'd just wanted to lay low, earn some cash, and figure out what to do with this strange new life that had thrown him here. Joining a mercenary company, especially with a war looming, was the exact opposite of 'laying low.' It was like jumping from a murky puddle straight into a raging river. But then… what other options did he have? Drifting from village to village as a day laborer? Waiting for the next bunch of incompetent bounty hunters to mistake him for a wanted criminal?
*War, huh?* he thought, a familiar bitterness filling his mouth. *I've had my fill of fighting. More than my fill. But… being alone out there is just as dangerous. Maybe worse.* With a group, at least he'd have backup. And a steady salary meant a steady supply of tobacco. That was a powerful motivator.
"Maybe I'll think about it," Asep said finally, setting down his cup. "Right now, I'm more interested if there's a tobacco shop."
"There's one near the apothecary, but…" She sighed. "Since the Merlesia incident, Albion has stopped exporting a lot of commodities to Ardenia, including tobacco from their colonies in the New World."
Asep's relaxed smile vanished. His dark eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine panic within them. "Wait, what? Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Sylvanne confirmed, watching his reaction with amusement. "Tobacco is getting scarce. Prices have nearly tripled in the last few weeks. Soon, it'll be more valuable than gold to some people."
*Oi, oi, oi… This is an emergency situation,* Asep thought. He ran his hand through his hair, a cold dread pooling in his stomach. This changed everything. War, politics, civil unrest… he could ignore all that. But a national tobacco shortage? That was a direct threat to his personal well-being. That was a crisis.
"…If… If we win this war, or maybe restore trade routes… will the tobacco supply go back to normal?" Asep's voice was low, dead serious.
Sylvanne's eyes sparkled. She could see the bait had been taken. "Of course! If we can negotiate with Albion… The fastest way is to win the war, and according to Zachary… the Princess of Ardenia has a plan."
*Damn it! I knew it would come to this eventually!* Asep slammed his fist on the table, not in anger, but in a display of theatrical despair that was only half-feigned. "Alright, you win! I'm in! I'll join your damn mercenary band. I'll fight your stupid war. Just… promise me you'll fix the tobacco supply!"
Sylvanne threw her head back and roared with laughter, a sound of pure, absolute victory. She slammed her own large mug down on the table in a gesture of solidarity.
"Welcome to the Castalia Mercenary Company, Asep!" she declared, her grin wider than ever. "We're going to get along just fine. Now, let's seal the deal. Barkeep! Another round for me and my new comrade! The man who's going to save our Kingdom… and its smokers!"