In the village it is a typical afternoon. The farmers are hanging their hoes and shovels over their backs and returning home after a long day of preparing the fields for sowing grain. The innkeeper is getting ready for his customers to come for a drink, mostly village folk and one single stranger lodging in a spare room for the night.

  It is only a village of ten households, so small that no one has yet bothered to name it. Nobody complains though; especially since it means that sometimes the taxman forgets about them.

  It is a boring village. Even the most affluent households, the bailiff’s and the innkeeper’s, look unimpressive. Their only distinctive feature being their whitewashed walls for which they had paid the same craftsman from the next village over. The children sometimes like to throw mud balls at the pristine walls.

  Their boredom is finally ended when travelers come from far away and over the hill. First they see a banner: A flail and a mace crossed over one another and dripping blood. Some of the mothers started praying at the sight.

  Then, the first man to come into view was Thorvald. A ginger mountain of a man with long frazzled hair and a crusty beard he looked like a lion. His bare chest made the daughters blush and the sons turn red with envy.

  One by one, the Knight Flayers all come into view. Despite being mostly clad in steel, they seemed even poorer than the villagers. Blood had rusted into their chainmail, their pants were patched in places and heavy with dirt. And most of all: they were dragging along a sled, in the late summer.

  “They couldn’t even afford wheels? ...What kind of men at arms are these?” The bailiff says to a friend of his. Then a realization hits him: “Shit. Get your pitchforks ready!”

  The Knight Flayers return to civilization greeted by a wall of pitchforks pointed at them. Fifteen fathers, sons and brothers, ready to defend themselves from imagined threat.

  Landyn speaks up: “Hold it! We are mercenaries, not brigands or plunderers!”

  The bailiff shouts back from the middle of the spearwall: “What kind of mercenaries drag along a sled instead of a cart with warhorses? You can’t lie to me young man!”

  “I am not lying, goodman. We are merely a little down on our luck right now.” Landyn responds. He then turns to Kale and nods. Kale yanks on the rope he is holding, sending the troll’s head flying forward like a flail. “We have even slain a monster that was prowling these parts! Is that not proof enough of our good intentions?”

  An uneasy silence sets in while the bailiff ponders his response. ‘If they managed to kill the troll… they could probably kill us all, no matter how rusty their armor may be…’ “What do you want?”

  “Just a good night’s rest. Preferably in beds, but if not, then we will settle for a haystack in a barn.”

  “... Two of you may sleep in my house, the rest will sleep in the barn in my yard.”

  “Thank you very much, goodman!”

  As soon as the children see that the tension has eased, they rush out of their hiding places and go poke sticks at the troll’s severed head, much to the dismay and disgust of their mothers who still do not dare leave their houses.

  Knowing full well that there would be no alchemist looking to buy such an item in these parts, the mercenaries simply let the children play with it. At least Kale is happy that he doesn’t have to pull it along anymore.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  They then park their sled in front of the bailiff’s house, make their beds, and immediately flood into the inn’s courtyard where there are benches and tables set out for drinking. They pick up a table and move it against another without asking, so they may all sit together.

  Landyn hasn’t joined his men in drinking yet, instead he stayed behind at the bailiff’s to negotiate a little: “So, as you can see we need a few supplies. We’ve got enough to pay you, but not coin enough to leave a tip, if you know what I mean.”

  The bailiff strokes his clean-shaven chin and motions for his wife to leave the room before answering: “Tell me, sellsword, why exactly should I haggle with a stranger?”

  Landyn answers with nonchalant confidence: “Well, first of all, I believe we made a good first impression.”

  “We don’t care about the troll. It didn’t bother us and we didn’t bother it. And I know what you’ll offer next: We don’t have use for your ilk in these parts. War didn’t bother coming to us.”

  “Hmm? You must’ve been quite lucky then. Did you know the frontline has already moved past your village twice? Are you sure it will pass by you a third time? Are you sure no soldiers will come here to rape and plunder?”

  The bailiff boils: “Shut your mouth, sellsword.”

  “Calm down, goodman. I’d say it’s better to be prepared for such occasions, whether they come to pass or not. …I couldn’t help but notice that no one in this village has even the most basic armor, while we have too much armor in fact.”

  “And what do you propose?”

  “The Knight Flayers most desperately need a cart and a donkey, in exchange for two complete light armor sets and the sled.”

  “I can give you a donkey, but we only have one cart and it is needed during harvest season.”

  “*sigh*...Fine. Now, how much do you want for a barrel of your worst vinegar and a couple ounces of salt?”

  After coming to an agreeable price for both sides, Landyn drags the barrel into the barn where they’ll be sleeping and pours the salt into it. Afterwards he takes the most rusted chainmail shirts and adds them into the barrel.

  Then he takes the donkey by the bridle and forces the stubborn animal over to a sturdy fencepost near the sled and ties it up there. It neighs loudly and attracts the attention of the other Knight Flayers in the tavern across the road.

  “Holy fuck! We don’t need to drag that sled anymore!” Eagle Eye shouts, raising his wooden cup of beer in a quick toast and drinking it down in one go.

  “What? What is happening? Did we get a horse?” Rabbit asks. He was sat facing away from the donkey and since his back still didn’t work he couldn’t turn to look.

  “Even better! We got a stubborn ass! Hahaha!” Thorvald jokes.

  “But we already had a stubborn ass! Did you forget about Kale?” Rabbit laughs loudly at his own joke. “Oh come on! That was a good one! You have no sense of humor, I tell ya!”

  Rabbit then raises his cup of beer up to his lips and sips, but Viper then gives it a good flick upwards, dumping the whole cup onto Rabbit’s face. Like a child, he then moves out of the invalid’s reach and laughs while Rabbit curses at him like a sailor that stubbed his toe.

  Landyn finally sits down at the table. He respectfully gestures for the innkeeper to come over and asks for two beers and a rag to dry Rabbit’s face.

  “Stop making such a ruckus already. I have some things to tell you all.” Landyn says.

  “Then tell this godless whoreson to come ‘ere so I can fuck him up!” Rabbit keeps shouting.

  Landyn just sighs. He’s too tired to deal with this embarrassment.

  Rabbit is mad like a wild dog, Viper is laughing like a child, Anna is giggling under her breath, Kale, Thorvald and Eagle Eye sing dirty songs in awful drunken voices and the merchant is trying his best to not get dragged into any conversation while drinking his beer. Sitting at a table such as this, Landyn can’t help but sketch a smile which he hides from his men behind his mug of beer.

  ‘Finally. Some respite.’