Crecyda-2

Lieutenant Varokar didn't see: as soon as Crecyda turned around, she puffed her cheeks slightly, exhaled a breath, and loosened her shoulders. She didn't dislike this man; she just wasn't accustomed to temporarily reverting to the role she excelled at nearly twenty years ago. When she worked as a hostess at the Jewel Blade Tavern, the first principle was to show appropriate ambiguity to potential regulars, while pretending to be unaware, making those jealous customers linger longer. Back then, she had a good handle on her approach, never causing any real trouble, and luckily finding someone she could trust before getting involved in chaotic conflicts. Now, she couldn't do it as well, but making Lieutenant Varokar, who was absurdly conservative and out of touch with reality, momentarily confused, posed no problem.

If there were proper sunlight at the right moment, Refuge Valley would unexpectedly present a leisurely atmosphere; Crecyda thought this might be mainly due to the scattered small commodity stalls and open-air forges creating a casual atmosphere. However, it was just an illusion. She heard a familiar brisk footstep approaching and stepped aside. Two guards carried a stretcher past her; the wounded soldier on the stretcher had a face covered in almost indistinguishable bruises, but his chest still heaved. Having been here for several months, she could easily identify whether a wounded person or corpse suffered an attack from certain enemies. This one had definitely encountered an ogre. These massive, filthy, yet cunning flesh mountains had a fervent passion for bluntly hitting enemies' heads with clubs. If the casualty lacked limbs, it was the result of being eaten by mountain lions. Victims of venomous spiders would be swollen and oozing pus, as if squeezing gray-white mud from a sack punctured with many small holes. Compared to that, death in battles between the Syndicate and ogres might be the easiest. Crecyda thought the soldiers' families in Refuge Valley had good reasons to stay away in Stromgarde.

The Stromgarde is not far from here. Crecyda only needs to stand on slightly higher ground to see it. It's not attractive, not at all, at least not in line with the imagination its name evokes. The former capital of Arathi, now seen from the east, resembles a desolate tomb on a barren highland, broken and solemn. Whenever the strong wind on the plateau passes through the gaps between the crumbling walls and bricks, it's like millions of gloomy, emaciated arms reaching out from the walls, emitting a hopeless wail for help. However, if viewed from the front or the west, the castle feels much better because those parts have undergone some repairs—by the hands of the Arathi people. Perhaps this is why Prince Galin Trollbane and his subjects could gradually and steadily regain partial control: for the Syndicate and ogres, Stromgarde is just a nest, a hovel, no different from any hidden cave. But for the natives of Stromgarde, this is their home.

Unfortunately, this family didn't accept Crecyda, probably mainly due to Prince Galin Trollbane's personal will. Crecyda regretted being too conspicuous in her actions over the past few years, arousing the vigilance of many. Thinking about it, she started to worry: those five gold coins might be wasted. However, since she could only contact someone at the level of Lieutenant Varokar, she had no other choice. However, dealing with one Varokar was enough for her. After all, she was no longer the person she was twenty years ago.

A tall man approached, accompanied by her two-year-long bodyguard, Lumei. His walking posture was always deliberate, as if warning the weeds and stones by his feet that someone who could trample them was coming. She suddenly felt uneasy.

"Madam," Lumei said. "I saw you giving money to that lieutenant. Is that right?"

Crecyda gently pushed Lumei's shoulder, trying to make him move to a less conspicuous rock, but Lumei didn't intend to comply with this request.

"Speak softly," Crecyda said.

"How much did you give?"

"One."

"I think it's more than that."

Crecyda looked to her right without purpose, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Three."

"Three."

"Yes."

They fell silent for a while. Crecyda looked up, gazing at him.

"But you said this morning that you had no more gold coins."

"I thought I didn't, then I found some more. Why does it concern you?"

"You lied to me and my brothers. We're not your servants, and even if we were, you should treat us with honesty, give what should be given, and then they can work for you. This can't go on, madam, it can't. You tossed what should be given to us carelessly to a man who can't do anything for you."

"Do you know I must go to Stromgarde Keep?" Crecyda quickened her pace. "And I've said our contract ends there. You can take my letter to my steward in Elwynn Forest and get your money. So, can't you wait a little longer?"

"It's not just me; the brothers aren't very willing to wait either. I certainly believe in your promise, and I'm here talking to you patiently, but not all brothers think the same. You must understand; I must be loyal to my brothers."

"... What are you doing? Don't forget I'm your employer."

"I'm just saying, everyone has different patience levels."

"Then give it a little patience. You stay here without fighting or taking risks. What's difficult about waiting a few more days? Varokar has already told me—"

"Madam, that man won't do anything for you for a few gold coins. He's insatiable, and I've never been wrong about such people. Besides, what he wants most from you isn't gold coins... or are you planning to use that as a last resort?"

Crecyda waved her left hand, but Lumei grabbed her wrist.

"Never attempt to attack your bodyguard in public, woman. We are servants, but we won't tolerate any insult. Do you understand? Remember this word, respect—"

"I have nothing more to say to you. Leave."

"Fine. Staying around you for too long only makes me feel like I'm wasting time. I just said, everyone has different patience levels, some can wait, and some can't. And Davonut doesn't even have the chance to wait anymore. When calculating rewards, you better not forget his share."

Lumei let go of Crecyda's hand with force, making her feel like she had been hit by a stone on her wrist. He turned and left.

Davonut was the one among the five bodyguards hired by Crecyda who had the best relationship with Lumei. He died in a conflict with adventurers a year ago when they stayed in Western Plaguelands. It was a boring incident with keywords such as drunkenness, gambling, and cheating. Every time Lumei mentioned it, he acted as if it were a heroic death—this made Crecyda somewhat nauseous. However, no matter what, these people had protected her well for two years, so she didn't plan to complain too much. Considering the current tense situation, maybe terminating the contract with them ahead of time was a reasonable choice.

But what should she do afterward? She really had no cash left, and no one would tolerate someone who wasn't a combat unit and had no job lingering in Refuge Valley. Although Captain Niaes and she had a good relationship, Crecyda didn't want, and couldn't, trouble her too much.

She suddenly felt a little itchy under her feet and lightly kicked her foot. This meaningless movement unexpectedly brought about a sudden and intense frustration. She sat down on a nearby rock. The dwarf blacksmith not far away raised a longsword for contemplation, reflecting a strong sunlight into Crecyda's eyes. She pressed the area between her right eyeball and nose with her index finger.

What am I doing?

Things had been out of control for a long time. Efforts made for a simple purpose had turned into a situation far beyond what Crecyda had anticipated.

All of this originated from that Monday three years ago—a Monday that is difficult to recall. Crecyda, as usual, woke up early and spent four hours in the workshop carving small wooden figures, but the results were not good because her mind was unsettled. Before lunch, she went outside to wait for the courier, who arrived as punctually as usual but told her, "Madam, there's no letter for you."

She should have received a reply from Renner on that day. For the courier, this was also unexpected. He spoke this sentence with some embarrassment, biting his lower lip, but his eyes managed to squeeze out a smile, leaving with this strange expression.

The day became very long, but Crecyda told herself it was nothing, as such things had happened in the past. After all, one couldn't expect letters to always return smoothly from the battlefield, and expecting Renner to reply on time every time was too demanding.

The courier came once a week. The next Monday, there was still no letter waiting for Crecyda. Under the influence of her emotions, a somewhat remorseful courier even opened the letter bag on the spot, a futile act. The following Monday, there was none. The Monday after that, the courier deliberately avoided Crecyda's house.

By the fifth week, Crecyda was almost certain that something had happened to Renner. She tried to think positively: perhaps he got injured and could return home early. This unfounded thought brought not comfort but heavier unease. By the eighth week, she attempted to prepare for receiving some military notification. After all, based on Renner's rank, she, as his spouse, should receive various messages relatively promptly. No matter what kind of news it was, at least it would be a relief—but that relief never came.

By the fifteenth week, she thought: Renner disappeared. Not injured, not missing, not—possibly not dead, none of those—

Decaying trees that started rotting a thousand years ago. A wooden house engulfed in flames ten years ago. Dew dropping between sand and stones twenty minutes ago. A light breeze passing over a mountain spring one second ago.

Vanished.