2 Silver (2)

Being a nobody had its advantages.

By many people's standards, however, that was not the category into which Silver fit. After all, he was fairly well known in the mercenary world. This time, he had come to Orlain at the request of King Henry of Oridal.

His job was not to get into trouble in a tavern. In his defense, he had to say that it hadn't been his fault. Silver wanted a piece of bread and a glass of ale, but the owner had cleverly deduced that he didn't have the money to pay for the basics. There was a reason he was a tavern keeper and not a government official. Anyway, he had called in his goons to throw Silver out of the place.

The result? Silver had taken down all twenty men, including the saloonkeeper.

"You know, Max. I hate being a mercenary," Silver said. "You know why?"

Stunned, Max stopped and looked at Silver with his mouth ajar.

"Prejudice," Silver continued. "Everyone else works to seeks rewards and is respected for it. Mercenaries don't. We get a bad name just for doing our jobs. How many minstrels get spit on for taking money from the highest bidder? How many bakers feel guilty for selling more pies to one guy than another?" Silver looked at Max. "No. Just the mercenary. Unfair, isn't it?"

"Who...who are you and what have you done with Silver?" managed to ask Max at last. "Actually, you're right. That's the way society works, buddy. You never really cared much about it before, though."

"I guess I just felt like saying something." Silver shrugged as he continued on his way in the direction of the palace. "So, do you have any idea what Henry's assignment is going to be?"

Max shook his head. "I have no idea. Maybe it's going to be a more serious matter this time."

Silver nodded his head. It didn't matter what the job was, as long as it didn't involve kidnapping, that he was going to take it anyway.

Orlain was the capital of Oridal. As such, it was the most famous city in the entire country. The amount of people that gathered in this place far exceeded that of any other region in Oridal. Silver sometimes found himself forced to make his way through a large mass of bodies, which was a complicated task with how weakened he felt. Fortunately, the restaurant was not too far away, and they arrived just when he thought the sheer excess of the place was going to make him give up. The sign at the entrance bore the image of a pig's head pierced diagonally by two swords. If the smells from inside were any indication, the pig represented the restaurant's cuisine: meat. Silver smiled, pleased with Max's choice. The meat was the best source of mana, precisely what he was most in need of.

Max entered, and Silver followed. They gave their name to the attendant, leading them to one of the tables across the room. Silver sat down, leaving Vashra leaning against the wall.

Silver didn't like to draw attention to himself, and did his best to avoid it. Of course, that didn't account for Vashra. Some gazes turned away, fearful of the sword. Others looked at it with covetous eyes. Perhaps it was time to put it back in the pouch.

<Oh, no way> protested the sword. <I've been locked up too long>

<What do you care?>

<I need fresh air. And light.>

<You're a sword> thought Silver, <not a palm tree.>

Vashra kept silent. She understood that she was not a person, but she didn't like to accept that fact. She used to get cranky. Silver didn't care.

The waiter approached the table and noted what the two men wanted to eat. His curious and prejudiced eyes alternated between Silver and Max. He had recognized the latter's uniform and wondered what he was doing with a bum like the former.

Silver hadn't been to Oridal in years. Nor had he been to a large city like Orlain in months. One thing he missed in these places was restaurants. In most towns there were few options for eating. If you intended to stay for a while, you hired a local woman to feed you at her table. If you stayed for a short time, you ate whatever your innkeeper set for you. None of these options included meat, resulting in Silver's weakened condition.

In Orlain, however, the population was large enough, and wealthy enough, to provide specific food. Restaurants were common in cities like this, although Orlain was the only city in the country that had them.

In Uradel, there were restaurants all over the Empire.

The waiter placed two tanks of beer on the table. Vashra had already been stolen before this one arrived. Silver took a drink, wondering why on earth there was a country where beer was served warm. He had forgotten that in Oridal, it was never served cold.

"What time do I have to see Henry?" asked Silver.

Max's eyes widened, and he took a swig of his beer. He was enjoying it. Silver wondered how anyone could enjoy a warm beer. Max turned his attention away and looked at Silver as the waiter arrived with two plates of pork glazed in sweet and sour sauce. The pork was the specialty of this restaurant, which is one of the best in town at its thing. Silver was more than satisfied. The higher the quality of the meat, the more mana the body would retain.

"His Majesty is currently meeting with senior government officials, but I don't think the meeting will take long to finish," Max said. "I sense it's related to the task he's going to give you, though I can't say for sure."

Max took another swig of beer. He seemed to be hesitating to say anything. Silver didn't care. If Max wanted to say something, he was going to say it. He wasn't the kind of guy to beat around the bush.

"Those politicians, they're all useless fools!" Max burst out. "They were against His Majesty's opinion to have your services, saying that army soldiers are much better than any mercenary. They have no idea what they're talking about, you damned ingrates. If it were not for your help two years ago, this country would no longer exist. Their heads would no longer be attached to their bodies, dammit."

Silver nodded. Max was right; no common soldier could be superior to Silver. At least when he was in peak condition. To trust a soldier more than him, he would have to be a dual Elementalist. Or a Mage. Silver didn't know any person in this country who matched either of those terms.

He also understood the politicians' stance. It is frustrating to have to rely on a mercenary to do work for the country. Henry, by hiring him, is stating that his own elite troops are not up to the level required to perform the mission. It was humiliating for them.

Still, Silver didn't care.

"How's the situation with Dolragh going?" Silver asked. "Do you think the mission might be related to a new war?"

Silver felt ingesting the meat renew him. The sages said that all food carried mana, but the human body absorbed better when it came from meat and fish. Above all, from meat. The scholars talk about something called nutrients and protein... useless information for Silver.

"They've been reticent since the peace treaty," Max replied. "I doubt it's about them. Silver, I really have no idea what it's about this time."

Silver shrugged. He had hoped that someone as reliable as Max might know something. That wasn't the case, so it looked like this job would be more of a hassle than he expected.

Silver had already finished eating, so he stood up.

"Pay the waiter on your way out," he said, grabbing the tattered cloak from the hanger to head for the door.

He sensed a strange something to the right. He walked down the street and into an alley, where he found Vashra, still sheathed, protruding from the chest of the thief who had robbed her. Another thief lay dead on the ground.

Silver yanked out the sword, finished slipping it into the scabbard (it was only open a fraction of an inch), and threw the clasp back.

<You were insensitive again. Even though the other person was opening up to you, you paid no attention> Vashra grumbled. <I thought you were working on improving that.>

<I guess it's a relapse>, Silver thought.

The sword wavered. <I don't think you rerelapsed>.

<That word doesn't exist>, Silver repeated, stepping out of the alley.

<So? You care too much about words>.

<Of course, you don't care about them. You'd rather leave corpses all over the place>.

<Well, I'm a sword> grumbled the weapon. <You'd better stick to what you're good at...>