Morning had already broken when the slave girl entered the room. She placed Edward's cleaned clothes on the table, picked up the empty tray, and slipped quietly outside.
Downstairs, the keeper's sharp voice cut through the air.
"Beatrica—did he ask you to lie with him last night?"
"No, master."
"Useless creature," the keeper snarled. "I told you to make him fuck you, didn't I? I could've charged him extra. Well, it is what it is. I'll deal with you later." His tone grew crueler.
"Well? What are you standing here for? Waiting for a shiny knight to save your miserable hide?" "S–sorry, master. He... he wasn't interested in me," she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept her head low and hurried away before he noticed—before punishment came swift and public.
Upstairs, Edward opened his eyes to the morning sun pouring through the window.
"Fuck," he muttered in a tired voice. "I have to brew some potions today." He got up, dressed, and moved toward his bag. First, he checked his belongings—everything was still there. He pulled out several vials, counting and arranging them neatly on his belt.
"Good. Nothing missing. I need supplies for the road too." He examined his travel bag—leather, medium-sized, not too big to slow him down and not too small to be useless.
"Well... running low on coin. Need to take a few contracts." With that, he packed his things and headed downstairs.
"Ah, sir! Would you care for breakfast? We've got some special offers for you," the keeper said with a forced smile. Edward, always uninterested, replied, "I'm good. Just make sure my horse was fed—your housekeeper said she would."
"Of course it was fed, sir! But you'll need to pay for that. Costs a few coins." Edward threw two silver coins onto the counter and walked out.
He made his way to the stable and checked on his horse—a strong, white beast, clearly bred from a proud line. At the village gate, two guards in chainmail and long spears stopped him.
"Hold up, boy. You got a pass?"
"I thought you needed a pass to enter a town, not leave one."
"Well... times are hard, mate. Monsters in the woods. Orcs, especially." "Do I look like an orc to you?"
"No, not really... but can't be too careful." Edward sighed and showed his pass—a small bronze plate engraved with the image of a knife. The guard inspected it, then eyed Edward again.
"You're a hunter, boy?"
"Last time I checked," Edward replied.
"I see. If you're lookin' for work, you should visit the barony of Morhen. Heard the baron's in deep trouble with some kind of monster. Also heard he hired a few hunters before you... none of 'em came back." "I see. Am I free to go?" "Aye. Off you go."
Edward left the town on horseback, his mind chewing over the guard's words.
"Morhen's on my way to Redin anyway. And I could use the coin."
Redin—once the jewel of the Radan Kingdom, the capital, the proud heart of the realm. Now little more than a battered survivor of civil war between the late king's sons and endless skirmishes with orcs and goblins. Only Redin and a handful of counties remained under the kingdom's broken banner.
Three days later, Edward reached the gates of Morhen. A small city, guarded by only a handful of men—too few, even for a place this size. He entered without trouble. The streets were alive with children playing, men and women working... and, strangely, no slaves in sight. Odd. Especially after the fall of the kingdom.
He approached the castle's inner gate, dismounted, and walked toward one of the armored guards standing watch.
The guard wore plate armor, a helmet, chainmail around his neck, steel knee plates, and leather boots.
"I heard the baron here is having trouble with some sort of monster," Edward said.
The guard examined him closely—Edward's white hair and sharp blue eyes catching his attention. With a rude, dismissive tone, the guard replied, "Aye, the lord's lookin' for brave folk to deal with the beast. You one of 'em?"
"Yeah. Take me to your lord." The guard nodded and led Edward inside. The castle was modest, its walls of stone and wood, not especially tall, a shallow ditch circling its base. From afar, the guard pointed. "There, that's the lord."
The baron stood in the courtyard, speaking with a man who was clearly the commander—broad-shouldered, wearing plate armor and a steel sword, leather jacket beneath, no chainmail. "My lord, commander," the guard called out.
"This ranger claims he's a hunter looking for work." Both men turned. The baron studied Edward for a moment before saying:
"Is that so? Very well. Let's go inside and talk."