One would think in a large town there would be no need for sellswords. There should plenty of militiamen, soldiers and other such men at arms, right? Well, there are some things one cannot ask men who value themselves to do.

  —Later that night, at the tavern—

  “Hahaha! And then I grabbed him by the nape, and threw him out of the bar!” Thorvald talks way too loudly, as drunk men tend to do. He is retelling a story of some barfight in a distant land that the people around him could not even imagine since most of them had not left this town their entire lives.

  As he finishes his story, he looks up at the plump woman balancing on his biceps. “I would do the same for you, my dear lady.”

  She blushes at him and plays with his hair longingly. “You’re such a kind-” She gasps as Thorvald’s bicep suddenly flexes and throws her up into the air. Thorvald then catches her into a loving embrace and delivers a passionate kiss.

  “Ya think Viper’s doing shit like this right now too?” Rabbit asks Eagle Eye and Kale. The three of them are at the same table as Thorvald, but while there are three women flocking around the giant, around the three men even the barmaids want to spend as little time as possible. Their mean faces and overall ugly features do not attract much positive attention.

  “Nah, Viper ain’t got arms big enough for that.” Kale retorts sarcastically.

  If the men were to be honest, none of them can really imagine what Viper would be like around women. Even though he went drinking with them before, and the wenches did flock to him, he always seemed uninterested. He said he doesn’t need women ‘like that’ whatever that means.

  Landyn was sitting right at the end of the long table. On the table in front of him he had set down his helmet, a beer for himself, and a beer for Jon. Only he knew it was for Jon, he had told the others it was in case Jack wants to come out of his room and join them. It does not bode well for a leader to look so down after a battle they technically won.

  A man, clearly a merchant denoted by the cap worn only by members of the merchant’s guild, approached Landyn and sat down across from him, in front of the beer set out for Jon. He was a thin man, yet still it seemed like the simple act of walking across the tavern had exhausted him. A constitution as poor as his meant he was a pencil pusher, not a travelling peddler. His kind rarely had use for sellswords, for they did not need escorts to walk from their homes to their office unlike the peddlers who very much needed hired muscle to protect caravans of goods.

  “I saw your men about town earlier, and recognised the banner. You’re the Knight Flayers, yes?” He asked rhetorically while reaching for the mug of ale.

  “Don’t touch that. It isn’t for you.” Landyn’s voice was sharp. The merchant let go of the mug, cowering a little under the sellsword’s piercing glare. His eyes then eased into a simple appraising glance and his voice softened into a more business-like tone, though it remained cold. “Now, get to the point. What does a man like you need sellswords for?”

  “I… ran into a spot of bother. I need to be escorted to Duke Iselbaum’s and away from this county. I have no faith in the allegiances of my men, and all other sellswords have long left to join the war for better pay.”

  Landyn thinks to himself: ‘Wow. This guy’s a merchant? And he just made it that obvious he’s desperate? Ha! Might as well shake him down for all he’s worth.’

  “Do I look cheap?”

  “N-No! Of course not! I would never imply such a thing. I- I am willing to offer 500 crowns even!” There is clear desperation painted across his face. Landyn can’t help but sketch a mean smirk at the thought of extorting this man of all his savings using this opportunity.

  “A man such as you values his safety at only 500 crowns …? For that much, I guess we might fend off a beast of the woods, but bandits…”

  “Th-Then 600!”

  “Hmmm…”

  “700!”

  “I guess that would be enough for bandits… but not really enough for trained men-at-arms. It would be a shame if we ran into such a group.”

  “Fine! 750, but no more! We leave tomorrow at noon, come get me from the western gate.” The man, who never even introduced himself, then stormed off… or tried to but ran out of breath after the first few steps. He coughed and wheezed pitifully the rest of the way to the door while Landyn smirked with satisfaction.

  —A while later, a couple more beers down—

  Even from the outside, it was clear he was the leader of the unruly bunch sitting at his table. Perhaps that is why when Felix the bailiff came, he went straight to Landyn and ignored the rest. Felix was a large man, puffed up further by his expensive clothes layered in frills and gilded linings of kashmir with buttons undone to show off as many layers of wealth as possible when he went about his day. But more than his gilded clothes of kashmir, Landyn noticed the ceremonial winged mace of black iron at his hip, a mark of his station as bailiff.

  “You the leader of these men?”

  “Yes.”

  “You looking for work?”

  “Depends. I want more details.”

  The bailiff had been leaning in towards the sellsword looking down on him, but with this last retort he found some respect for the man across from him. He leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands, now at the same eye level as him. “I need you to hunt goblins, sellsword. I would have normally had my soldiers go and hunt them down, but dying to a dagger to the bollocks seems to not be a noble enough death for them. I can’t hang them all and it would be little use to me either way… Anyway, I’ll give you their wages for the week if you go and get rid of our towns nasty little problem.”

  “How much?”

  “Six hundred crowns.”

  Landyn takes a few large gulps of ale and mulls over the offer for a few long seconds. “...In my profession we learn to respect goblins early on; or else we don’t live long. Tell me, you must’ve sent scouts to find the goblins, no?”

  “Yes. I have. Their den is a little ways east of here, I’ll send one of them to guide you.” His voice is steady and sharp, he seems confident. ‘Too sure of himself. He is hiding something.’

  “What else did they find? If you don’t mind telling me.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “The den was in a cave, a small stream sprouts from it too. They said the goblins had reinforced the area, making battlements of sorts out of branches. They’ve made effigies as well… Horrid things.” The bailiff turns and spits on the floor of the tavern to ward off evil as is custom in this region.

  “The scouts are dead.” He mimicks the bailiff’s curt tone.

  “W-What? How did you?” Surprise can be clearly read on his face. It is rather comical how wide his eyes can open. Then, realisation. “…Oh, you didn’t know.”

  “Yup. I guessed. If the goblins reinforced their den, it means they were attacked once before. It was either your scouts that died, or some other men you sent their way. Now, be honest with me: How many of the tiny pricks are we expecting?”

  The bailiff drops the poker face entirely. He displays seriousness and worry as he speaks now: “At minimum… thirty.”

  Landyn slams his mug on the table and sighs in exasperation. “Haaa… Gonna be a week at least.”

  The bailiff cannot believe his ears. His head bows and rises alone as his shoulders still point across the table. “But you can do it?”

  “Yeah, just have to thin them out a bit before we attack the den.”

  “Oh! Thank you sellsword! I thought I was done for! The count’s second son was coming for inspection next month and I’d have been done for!” He thanks Landyn like he’s thanking the gods themselves, but he does not notice the malicious grin spreading across his saviour’s face.

  “Oh, but I didn’t agree to our fee, did I?”

  “Ah… A sellsword through and through, eh?”

  “One thousand.”

  “Fine. Kill the goblins, get your coin and fuck off out of my town!” The bailiff storms off without waiting for a reply.

  ‘Quite a temperamental bailiff, huh? Good thing we don’t care about anyone in this town, otherwise we might pity them.’ Landyn grins and thinks to himself while drinking down the last of his ale.

  He turns to his men and shouts: “We’re going shopping tomorrow morning! You’d better not be hungover!”

  Eagle Eye: “Fuck yeah! Gonna get me the gnarliest codpiece in town!” He is clearly drunk already.

  Kale: “I don’t think they make ‘em wrinkled, old man!” He buts in, also drunk.

  Eagle Eye: “And I don’t think they make ‘em crooked either! Is that why you’re not wearing one?”

  Thorvald, voice booming like a wardrum: “HAHAHA! LOOK AT KALE! HALF HIS FACE IS RED AND THE OTHER IS WHITE! HE LOOKS LIKE A BACKGAMMON TABLE! HAHAHAHA!” Indeed, the half of his face that had previously been torn off the bone by the warhammer was white as a sheet of paper, but the other half burned with rage.

  Kale, seeing that the whole tavern was now sneaking glances at him and snickering, did what he did best. Started a fight. By the time Landyn and Rabbit, the two most sober Knight Flayers present, broke it up, Eagle Eye’s nose was just as crooked as Kale’s jewels and the chair the old man had been sitting on had broken into quite a few pieces.

  Landyn walks over to the bar behind which stands a furious tavern owner and slaps down a handful of coins: “For the chair, and another round of ale.”

  —On campaign, the army of Treblin, tent of Count Treblin—

  “Sire, the scouts have reported Duke Iselbaum and his army have set up camp across the river, at the top of an incline. No doubt they are fortifying said position.” The advisor points out, his figure cowering and his eyes studying the floor with much interest.

  “Good. It means they fear us.” Count Treblin takes a drag from his pipe and bares bored eyes at the advisor. “I guess those sellswords were useful for something at least… Still doesn’t earn them a paycheck though.”

  “S-sire-”

  “Shut it. I would have payed them their due if they still had enough men to be useful later on, but only six men can’t help me with anything. They are useless.” His bored facade cracks a little and reveals subtle frustration with his aide.

  “I understand sire, but if word spreads-”

  “Let them spread word of my cruel ways. I will not part with my coin so easily, understand?”

  “...I understand, sire…” He clearly doesn’t.

  “You grew up wealthy, no? You must not understand then, how precious coins truly are. You see, I once drank milk straight from the cow’s tit for I didn’t have a pot to piss in, nevermind a pot to eat from. I lived in the forest as a kid and looked on at the people in their houses, warm in winter and cool in summer, while I froze and boiled. Their plump rosy cheeks testament to the fact they would never endure the pain of frostbite or the terror of being unable to sleep in the night, for you know if you close your eyes they will never open again. …In time, I learned, the only difference between us was coin. So, I earned it. Took it. I will not give it away to vagabonds waving a banner.” His demeanor remained calm, cold.

  “Yes, sire. If I may, I will excuse myself.”

  The advisor is dismissed by a simple wave of the hand and count Treblin resumes counting the stitches in the roof of his tent beyond the thick swirling smoke of his pipe.

  —Back at the tavern, a few too many beers later—

  “Say girls, wanna see my quaint little room upstairs?” Thorvald says, slurring his words and trying to shoot a seductive glance at the two women in his arms, but all he manages is a drunken droopy-eyed stare.

  “Ya’ ain’t fucking in the fucking bunkbed below me! Last time you shook me off and I bruised my ass so hard I couldn’t sit down for a whole week!” Kale points with his mug of ale, drunk as all hell, but also righteous.

  The girls, realising that their little playtime has gone a little too far, pull back from Thorvald’s arms and excuse themselves. The barbarian had been a simple attraction, like a rollercoaster, and you don’t fuck a rollercoaster.

  After the girls have left, Thorvald pipes up, spitting and shouting: “See what ‘ya fucken did?! Just cause your face now looks like a backgammon table, y- think *hiccup* y- think I shouldn’ ‘ave fun eitha?”

  This time, Landyn is too drunk to stop the fight before it starts. The men start punching and pulling and pushing, knocking over the chairs and pushing the table away with a loud screech.

  A flurry of punches erupts between Thorvald and Kale. A lip is burst, a nose turns crooked, a head cocks back from the recoil of a heavy fist and even poor old Eagle Eye catches an elbow to the teeth for trying to stop the fight. No one else attempts to stop the fight after that. Rabbit hands the old one-eyed mercenary a cold mug of beer to chill his wound.

  Eventually the men fall to the ground and wrestle for a little while until Thorvald manages to get on top of Kale and twist his arm behind his back. They’re both all black and blue and red and shining with sweat.

  “I give up! I give up! Arghhh!” Kale shouts, eyes bulging in pain.

  “Well, almost no teeth went flying this time…” Eagle Eye whistles through a newly formed gap between his teeth, a bloodied canine resting in his palm.

  “Eh, not like you had many left anyway.” Rabbit jokes.

  “And they only broke one chair.” Landyn adds before another fight can start, this time between Rabbit and Eagle Eye.

  Thorvald gets off Kale and helps him up to his feet. He then hugs him too tightly and howls in his ear as the poor man tries to squirm away: “AH! HOW COULD I HIT MY OWN BROTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER!? FORGIVE ME! BROTHERRRR!”

  “Gods’ sakes’ Thorvald! Get off me! I forgive you! Let me go!” Kale says with the little breath left in his lungs and manages to break free from the giant’s bear-hug.

  While Kale apologizes to Eagle Eye for knocking out one of his front teeth, Landyn finally gets up but instead of addressing his men walks over to the bar and faces the man he assumes to be the owner. He pulls out a small pouch of coins and hands it to the owner whose frown turns to an elated smile in an instant. “Get us a round of drinks for the whole tavern, to apologise for my men’s behaviour.”

  “Right away sir! Please, feel free to stay as long as you like!” A greedy smile finds its way to his lips as he starts pouring drinks.

  “The Knight Flayers would like to apologise for disturbing you good folks! Please, come to the bar and grab a drink on us!” Landyn announces.

  The mean glares that had been piercing holes in the backs of their heads instantly turned friendly. All the tired labourers crowding the tavern got up from their seats and went to the bar, thanking Landyn and his men while waiting for their drink. The drinking will go on for much longer into the night.