Okay. I guess I can understand how I might have made an impression on the village now.
Apparently, the [Guards] and some of the mercenaries have been talking about me a lot. And I can't really tell how much they might have exaggerated. Everyone who lined up to give gifts and wish me well also thanked me for my service to the village. Some of them even said they saw me fight from the barn. The amount of praise has been more than a little—overwhelming.
After an hour, a small mountain of gifts has been laid out on the table. The villagers gave a variety of items they had purchased, including simple jewelry, clothing, books, and baked goods. And the few mercenaries who showed up, other than Ser Ethel, all gave straight-up money. All of its copper, of course, but it certainly adds up. And I'm almost afraid to count it.
Even Thorpe, who managed to drag himself back inside, looked impressed at the amount of stuff I was given.
But after the gifts, the thing I have been longing for all night has finally arrived. People making way for Teovar and Mr. Gordon, who are carrying a massive platter topped with all those cuts of meat. A couple of the older cattle were slaughtered this morning for this, and both [Cooks] did not waste any of them.
While they are setting the platter down at the center in front of me, a few of the villagers follow behind, carrying over smaller platters and pots that they arrange across the rest of the table. Rice, steamed vegetables, bread rolls, and soup. Along with lots of wooden bowls and utensils.
Everyone's eyes are fixated purely on the spread. I'm honestly starting to think they're just using my birthday as an excuse to have a village feast. But I don't really mind that at all if that's the case.
Teovar removes a larger wooden bowl from the stack of smaller ones and stops by all the platters and pots to take a portion for the bowl. Mr. Gordon clears his throat and wipes his somewhat greasy fingers over his apron. "As usual, our birthday girl gets the first bite and the largest portion. No one eats until she does!"
A series of excited nods from the starving attendees, the longhouse now dead quiet with anticipation. Only the sound of the still crackling fire is heard in the background.
Teovar settles the hefty bowl down in front of me, and it takes all my willpower not to drool into it. Papa's dishes always had an artistic sort of layout to them, as if he had painted the food into place. But for Teovar, the bowl isn't specially laid out in a visually pleasing way. It doesn't need to be. It just looks like he piled it all up messily. And there is still a strange beauty to it that is hard to describe. It just looks filling. I can tell without even tasting it that they made something absurd.
I accept the wooden spoon the elderly [Cook] passes to me, my hand almost trembling as I lower it into the bowl. Scooping up a good portion of the hearty mixture. Steam wafting from beneath the spot I scooped from as if I had unearthed a volcanic vent. The crowd is dead quiet as I blow on the spoon to cool it down a smidge, right before sending it straight into my mouth.
And the satisfaction that washes over me is visceral. The flavor is perfect. Something I haven't thought of since Papa was around to cook for us. So I'm trying to enjoy it while I can.
The rest of the partygoers cheer and begin digging in, filling their own bowls and savoring each bite. And for the next hour, everyone is just eating. Very little mingling or chatting to be heard. Just the satisfied sounds of people who don't get to eat this well very often.
Not that our food wasn't good before. Mr. Gordon has kept the entire village fed since before my mother got here with Mr. Thorpe. But it's not easy to feed over two hundred people as just one [Cook]. There is a lot of logistics involved that I can't even begin to understand. And [Cooks] are one of the most in-demand classes on the continent for good reason.
Other classes can certainly mimic cooking, and I've now had the displeasure of tasting what that's like myself. And in a pinch, it can still fill you. The problem is, you need to eat three times more of it to do so. It has so little nutritional value. And it's essentially tasteless. But a [Cook] can make food that uses far fewer resources, satiates faster, and has more than enough nutrition. And they can learn how to preserve those meals in storable forms that can be restored with water, which is how most villages operate. You do lose a little bit of the nutrition, but not enough to be an issue.
So having two [Cooks] in such a small village is really unheard of. The Grandian government assigns a [Cook] to every village, and another can be requested if our population grows enough. But we haven't nearly hit that mark yet. If an official found out we have a second one, they would be trying to reassign him.
Well. I guess an official does know. But I think that's the last thing Lord Felix would be worrying about.
Speaking of which, I haven't seen him at all today. I think I heard him shouting earlier this morning, but that was about it. He has been busy with his investigation of our crops and the [Bandit] problem, though. Both of Ethel's [Scouts] were sent out into the forest almost a week ago and haven't come back yet. But she and Steppan don't seem worried about it. Or they're just good at hiding it.
But it's not my problem right now. Thorpe and Mama both made it clear that they want me to relax and let the adults handle it for now. I've been involved in way too much traumatic stuff for my age. And I most certainly do not disagree.
The chatting started back up after a lengthy period of silence across the room as people digested. A good portion of the party said their goodbyes and left for the night. It is rather late anyhow. But some have stayed to mingle.
I'm currently resting in the seat of honor at the table, my large bowl gloriously empty in front of me with barely a scrap left in it. Might have even eaten flecks of wood with how much I was scraping the sides.
At one point, Mama scooted her own chair up to mine and pulled me up against her tightly. And she's been holding me like this for a while. Keeping me grounded, obviously having noticed that I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. And I definitely still do…
Don't get me wrong, everything was great tonight. The people, the gifts, and especially the food.
I guess I just feel strange with how well it went to begin with. I'm not used to how much praise I was getting for things I didn't think were all that impressive. But all things considered, I did do some pretty wild stuff for someone who was just a [Farmer] three years ago.
And since I've spent an inordinate amount of time in those three years believing god has forsaken me, or even more recently, that I'm cursed. Then I suppose I just expected to be treated with more caution or animosity? At least I would have in their position.
Despite the half-truth Thorpe gave the villagers earlier in the year about why I wasn't going into the fields, it's still essentially unheard of for someone to have their class changed suddenly. And at the time, I did feel mortified and scared. The other [Farmers] looked so angry at me. I was getting stares constantly. And I didn't blame them.
But looking back, I don't think they were really that mad at me. When they finally did confront Mama, they all just sounded more concerned for me than anything else. Most of it seemed directed at Mama, as if she were at fault. Which really upset me and still does.
The Jackelope invasion really was the first time they had seen or heard about me fighting in great detail. So I suppose that it finally sold them on it, and they felt comfortable enough to celebrate it.
Leone was definitely pretty popular after he helped fight off the Horned Wolves a few years ago. So it's not like this is exactly new behavior.
It feels—good? At least, I want to say so. But I still can't fight off this underlying feeling of dread. They still don't know the specifics about how my class broke, and I'm sure that would make them a lot more wary.
Although that might be just me searching for something to stress myself out with when there isn't any, I do torture myself like that a lot.
But how can I not?
How can I be proud of myself about anything I've accomplished when part of my Window to the Soul, the thing that connects me to God, is dedicated to reminding me how I wasn't meant for this?
'You have strayed' still flashes through my thoughts almost every day. Every time I use the skills I have now or get new ones. Anytime I feel excited about getting stronger. It always finds a way to work itself in, making it feel dirty and wrong.
As if what I'm doing is only causing me to stray further from God. Using power I shouldn't have.
Cursed—like the [Bandits].
SNAP
I jolt at the sudden sound right in my left ear, a small gasp escaping my lips as my eyes flash over to see Thorpe lowering his hand. A complicated expression on his face that breaks through the fatigue and inebriation.
Mama pulls me against her tighter as she frowns at the man. "What the hell was that for, Auguste?"
Thorpe glances at my mother before locking back onto me, leaning over enough for our eyes to be at the same level. He says nothing, just stares my way knowingly.
My lips curve down into a frown. Wrapping my arms around myself a bit guiltily. "Sorry..." I mutter quietly, only loud enough for Mama, Thorpe, and Ethel across the table. The [Knight] has been in conversation with both of them for a bit now.
Thorpe shakes his head, threading his fingers together as he lets out a long sigh through his nose. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Liore." He states calmly, keeping his attention steady on me as my mother's arm tightens around my midsection. "Have you been thinking about it a lot lately?"
My lips press tight for a moment, considering the question seriously. Because, thinking about it, I haven't nearly been as stuck on it this week. "Not as much. I think at least not on the specifics. But still get flashes of…"
My voice catches on that exact thought, my eye twitching at the memory. "When I—You know."
Thorpe taps a finger on his chest where his heart is and nods his understanding. "I figured. Was definitely the most memorable for me, too." He states, then scrunches his nose. "Ahh. Not meaning that in a bad way. Was just really impressed with you." Old Guard chuckles. "And I'm guessing reminding you that I'm alive and well doesn't help."
I shake my head. "Just remembering how it felt to do it bothers me so much. And how they—cheered when I did." A shiver rolls across my body. "I can still hear them sometimes. Had nightmares about rolling you over and you'd just be dead."
Thorpe reaches across to place a hand on my shoulder. "I'm not going to tell you that it goes away eventually. It doesn't." He states honestly, which I can tell upset Mama as her hand twitches on my hip. Old Guard either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "But it does get easier. They get quieter. Stop bothering you as much."
He squeezes my shoulder, his brows furrowing at me. "Do you still want to talk about the one you killed? It looked like it was weighing on you pretty hard."
My frown deepens, and my eyes instinctively angle to the floor. A bit of nausea is building in my stomach. "That's just it. It hasn't. But that almost unsettles me more than if it did."
Ethel grunts from her side of the table. "You're worried that killing another human came too easily to you." She comments knowingly while leaning back in her chair, a little tipsy herself now, but this conversation seems to have sobered her up somewhat.
I slowly nod in response, my hands gripping tightly onto my dress. "Thinking back on it, I didn't feel any sort of guilt about it. No remorse. It felt—almost cathartic in a sickening way." I admit with a slight trembling in my lip. "Even now, I can't say I feel much of anything about it. I know he deserved it. He was trying to kill me. But I've never killed someone before. I would—I would think that I'd feel at least something about it. Other than just being disgusted with myself for it."
Ethel gives me a sympathetic look, but it hardens somewhat. "Fighting other humans is never easy. Especially when you may need to end someone's life. I've had to do so a handful of times in my life, and it never gets easier." She admits, a slight grimace wrinkling her features. "But those few were all regular God-fearing men and women. With [Bandits], things are different. I've served the Guild for three decades, so I've certainly had my ventures down to the line. And I truly could not tell you how many [Bandits] I've killed. Certainly many. But they all just seem to blend together. None of their faces comes to mind. None of them struck me as memorable. They felt like... "
"...monsters," Thorpe finishes as Ethel trails off, nodding his head slowly.
My brows furrow in confusion, a look shared by my mother as well. I sit up straight in my chair, leaving the warm spot I had made against my mother's side. "So, it's normal to feel that way about them? Nothing at all?"
Old Guard reaches up to rub the back of his neck. "I wouldn't say it's normal. It's definitely still strange even if it seems to be the average experience." He brings his tankard up to his lips and sips from the fill of water he had gotten a while ago. "I've had to kill a few Mercs who went Brigand on occasion, and it never felt good. Those were difficult times. But I was on the Red Line for a good five years and stacked up quite the kill count amongst the clans." He shakes his head lightly as he rubs his eyes. "And I still feel a bit unsettled by how leisurely it felt in comparison. They fight much the same way. Same skills, same tactics. They talk big and quip. Have fears and families. But killing a Brigand feels disgusting. And killing a [Bandit] feels like cutting a tree down."
My entire face has scrunched up at this point, that sickening feeling hitting the deepest part of my stomach. "Tarfyr was the only one I felt sad about when he died..."
Thorpe squeezes my shoulder before he lets go. "He was the only one who might have deserved the sympathy."
Ser Ethel leans forward on the table, resting her arms beneath her. "There is a strong theory around the Guild's intelligence office. Some reports that have been passed around from the Red Line the past few years. The higher rank Mercs like myself get access to see some of the more confidential ones. But apparently, they have reason to believe that [Bandits] might have some sort of desensitizing effect attached to them."
Thorpe's face scrunches up a bit. "Yeah. I've heard that pet theory before. But I've had the opportunity to speak to two [Highwayman] amicably, and neither of them had any passive skills like that."
Ethel shakes her head. "They aren't saying it's a passive skill. They think it's innate to their class. And they have good reason to believe it more now. The intelligence office has managed to gain the help of an 'Objector' who is aiding in the research."
Old Guard suddenly looks surprised, albeit somewhat skeptical. "They actually managed to find one? I was beginning to think they were just a myth. The closest thing I've met to one is Mogrin or Karga out in the Alder region. But they definitely still do raids and shit. They're just more likely to leave you tied up somewhere rather than slit your throat."
I remember Thorpe mentioning those two before. Just never got around to actually asking about them. But my brain is focused on a more pressing phrase as I turn my attention to Ethel. "An Objector? Does that mean it's a [Bandit] who doesn't want to be one?"
Ethel nods simply. "More or less. There are actually quite a few villages out in Clanner territory filled with [Bandits] who don't raid anymore for whatever reason. And they essentially just operate like a standard village with the [Bandits] acting in the place of [Guards]. But those villages trade most of their excess food to the more active clans." She explains, smiling lightly. "But there are a few outliers that the Guild refers to as 'objectors'. And they are [Bandits] who seem to be actively working against the other clans. They are very reclusive and, until recently, avoided contact with anyone else."
Thorpe grunts, not looking too pleased. "Not sure if I'd trust them at all, though. I mean, take our situation into account. If this 'objector' has been working with the Guild, don't you think they would have warned us about Whital being invaded?"
The [Knight] frowns but slowly nods in agreement. "I had been thinking about that. It certainly doesn't make them look good. But we must take into account that they keep themselves hidden from the coastal clans for a reason. They might not have known. Or not enough to suspect an invasion."
Thorpe's nose wrinkles. "Agree to disagree..." He trails off before taking a long sip of his water. Ethel gives him quite a hard stare that he sends right back. An exchange that is making me sweat a bit with the awkward silence it ushers in.
But before it goes on any longer, my mother suddenly leans forward a bit over my head to smirk at the Old Man. "Auguste. Clarify for me, will you? Karga is that one who held up our caravan when we were passing through the border, aye?"
The old man takes his attention off of Ethel to glance towards Mama. "Yes, he was. Thought we were goners back then, but he turned out pretty level-headed. Only demanded a pittance from everyone traveling with us, but I'm sure it added up to quite a lot."
Mama's smile sharpens, an expression that I am all too familiar with as I swallow nervously. "Oh yes, he was certainly much more generous after you flirted with him for the better part of an hour."
My eyes widen at that as Old Guard spits out his water and glares daggers at my mother. "It was not flirting! We had an amicable conversation and just so happened to have similar interests."
Ethel's lips suck in, her eyes watering slightly as she seems to be holding back a laugh.
Mama's smirk just gets wider. "Oh, come on, Auguste. Even I'll admit that Karga was quite the looker. Those dulcet tones. The salt and pepper hair. Had a good bit of swag in his step. I vividly remember you watching him sway about while giving us his demands."
"I WAS ANALYZING HIS MOVEMENTS IN CASE I HAD TO FIGHT HIM!" Thorpe truly yells, his face bright red, making it difficult to tell whether he's just mad or if he is actually blushing. My mother grinning at him like a cat watching a struggling mouse.
Ethel's lips blow out as the air she was holding finally escapes, bursting into laughter. Her arms wrap around her midsection when she doubles over and wheezes.
A small smile forms across my lips while watching them. My mother's teasing and Thorpe's insistent deflections. She was always quite good at diffusing tense moments like this. It feels calming to watch.
But what the conversation was before still sits on my mind.
An extra worry is added to the pile. But it's something I was already worried about anyway. But these 'Objectors' at least sound positive on the surface. At least it proves to me somewhat that the [Bandits] might not be entirely lost. Some of them obviously disagree with their lot in life and want to do something about it. And I can definitely relate to that.
But I guess I did get the change I wanted, sort of. And I can't entirely say it's been bad for me. I'm strong now. I can protect myself and what I care about.
I don't feel useless anymore.
A bit overwhelmed. But worth it.