The Lone Macaw (1) – Chapter 28

Still confused, I left the barracks.

I came for advice, for a justification. But I walked out with even more questions. She was an officer, so why would she even imply disobedience? Why would she gift me equipment for slaughter when my duty was to protect a secluded mine with no direct threat? And why would she send me away without her own thoughts? This felt less like advice and more like a test. As if she was appraising me.

"Well. Let's go," I said to Drew, who stood motionless beside the barracks' gate. He had become my shadow, following me everywhere, and even my endless tirade wouldn't change his mind. I was his commander, and he would follow me. Full stop. And so I had given in and accepted my first adjutant. Or my only loyal soldier. Both worked.

The only downside was his silence. He only talked when spoken to, and his answers were short and neutral, always following the rules. So it came to no surprise that his answer to my struggles was a simple 'your decision'. No 'if I were you', not even a 'but your orders point', just a simple 'you decide and I follow you'.

The sun had long passed its zenith and would soon cover the city with a red blanket. The perfect time to go out in the forest and renew the traps, but I couldn't bring myself to act. So I wandered through the surrounding fields instead. Once more, for the umpteenth time in the last weeks.

Sorrow had gripped the farmers' hearts when more and more troops returned with empty spots. Each day a different funeral, one more mother crying over a coarse wooden casket. The wildflower meadow in front of the forest became bald and desolate, its charm exchanged for small decorations and a dolorous smile.

Meanwhile, Fabien kept selling his linen decorations. But his mood turned more and more sourish with each sale. A merchant who drank in frustration because he made too much money. A merchant who ripped off buyers with his jewelry, but also a merchant who disliked making money with death. Now that would be a song for the bards.

But he still complied, left his stall for long hours, and helped with decorations and other requests. No time for anything but work. And him playing with his macaw became a rare sight. Too much death for this meager city.

Until a messenger arrived and brought news of the missing Vinetar. His group, twenty recruits and the merchants, was found by a hunter. Half-decomposed bodies scattered in the forest. They didn't stand and fight. Too many enemies, the hunter recounted after studying the marks. They ran in the forest, only to get slaughtered from behind. An entire caravan extinguished just like that.

That night, they held a grand funeral for all the victims. Even the Freiherr Houdin attended and spoke a few, tearful words in front of the twenty-nine caskets. Most of them filled with clothes and keepsakes. They didn't find enough intact bodies to bury. Most of them were lacerated, full of bite marks, or beyond recognition.

A Púca's wrath.

This would have been me, were it not for that single successful attack. This would have been me, without my higher level, without the daily stamina training that raised my skill usage limit. Without my game knowledge, this would have been me.

But this wrath wasn't something a farming village could run away from. One for all, and all for one. That village lived together. And it would die as one man. There was nobody who could defend against the Púca's attacks. Just one more person to mourn.

And mourning filled the night with screams and weeping. Old and young, men and women bowed in front of the caskets and said their goodbye. One last gesture of love towards the unruly son.

And afterwards, just like that, Gladford became silent.

No more screams, no more mourning, everything vanished. It accumulated, it overflowed, it broke through the dam, and it drained away.

The farmers returned to their fields and tended to their crops. Laughter and dirty jokes filled the streets once more. And the merchants planned another caravan to the south. The perfect time to buy the villages' remaining harvest for cheap money.

The city returned to its normal self.

And I stood in the middle, confused.

So I ran to Fabien and talked with him, listened to the farmers' talks in the streets, and finally visited Rhoslyn and asked for advice. But I was still confused.

Thea's village lay in the south, so it was one of the prime candidates for an attack. And part of me wanted to run there and help, but what could I do? Even if I hindered the Púca, there was still a force of Leprechauns following him into battle. So at best I could throw myself at them and buy time for an uncertain escape. But what came afterwards?

Let alone the village, just a new sowing would deplete any source of income the village had, leaving them as beggars. If anything, both the village and their harvest had to survive unscathed. A tall order for a single recruit. Too tall for me.

I sighed and watched the farmers in the fields. I recognized a few of them from the latest funeral. They had lost their loved ones, but once more they laughed together and supported each other through the never-ending days of work. Life went on. Life had to go on. No time to hesitate.

I was sure they still cried when they were alone at night. But out here they proudly displayed their mettle and supported each other. One for all, and all for one. They banded together, but ignored Drew and me walking through their fields. A community on its own. And we didn't belong here.

Back in the city, I walked through the small alleys between the taverns and drinking bouts. Insinuating jokes reached my ear, followed by booming laughter. A bar maiden grabbed a hand, dragging its owner into a dark alley. No songs tonight. Instead, a group of energetic men boxed each other for entertainment. Weak punches. Slow punches. Way too obvious.

But the drunken crowd roared in excitement. To them, this was a good fight. A fine display by powerful fighters. Yeah, they wouldn't survive a single second against the leprechauns. They were as vulnerable as the farmers in the villages. Their only defense was a group of underleveled guards and the mercenaries. But those would be gone the moment the mine fell.

Was it right to endanger these residents for an unlikely opportunity? For a gamble?

Fabien's stall still saw business. A bashful man picked jewelry for the woman standing beside him, her face dissatisfied as they worked their way up to the more expensive jewelry.

I chuckled and took my piece out of my pocket, examining it once more. The polished stone looked out of place between all the gold. Or rather, between the gold-plated iron. Such cheap looking stone, nobody would buy without its story. But its surface was smooth, a finer display of craftsmanship compared with the remaining necklace. Still I was sure that woman wouldn't want a simple piece like this.

And as if to prove my thoughts, Fabien turned around and fetched the more expensive pieces from the back. Good luck, young man, you'll need it.

But something felt off as I watched the scene.

The stall looked the same with the cheap display and the boxes full of unique pieces in the back. But a colorful linen sheet decorated the back. And I knew this cloth, it shouldn't be there. It had always covered the... bird cage.

"A caged bird that dies of loneliness," I muttered. The same words Fabien had used to introduce the macaw to me. And now, the empty cage was stowed away, almost concealed by all the boxes and linen. Weeks of death, weeks of work, and weeks of loneliness.

"Hey Drew," I talked to my ever-present shadow. "If I ordered you to die, would you do it?"

"Yes." A brief answer without hesitation.

I laughed. "Just like that?"

"Yes." He nodded. "You already ordered me to fight."

My laughter stopped. So to him each fight was his potential death? Yes, that made sense. He had no game knowledge, no known skills, and no broader view. But he understood that every single enemy might kill him. Without respawn, without a second chance. Every battle a gamble with his own life on the line.

Just like the farmers in the field gambled with their lives, when their future depended on the next harvest. One day of awful weather and they might starve to death. And even in pleasant times they would freeze during the cold months. Everyone hoping that the next year would be better. Or at least good enough.

I looked down at the necklace in my hand. A gamble. One without health bar and displayed experience points. And I was so weak a single strike might change the entire outcome. No safety net, no soft landing, no guarantee.

Well, whatever. I sighed. And ripped the metal chains from the stone. They were gilded, their value insignificant. But they made up my entire savings. Not much to work with.

"Drew, I have a task for you." I pressed the chains into his hands. "Go to Master Ansgot and give these to him. Tell him I'll come by later and ask for his services."

He nodded and ran down the street.

"The right thing or the wise thing," I muttered to myself, stroking my finger over the leather bracers.

The bird cage still reflected in my eyes.