21. Walking Expense Report

Chapter 21: The Walking Expense Report

The cool evening air slapped against my face as I was escorted out of the mansion yard by two guards who looked like they couldn't wait to wash their hands of me. Their armor clinked with every step, and I couldn't help but notice how their expressions screamed "just get out already." Good. The feeling was fucking mutual.

The mansion itself loomed behind me, its towering spires and marble exterior practically screaming wealth and nobility. A reminder of the kind of mess I'd just gotten myself into. I tugged at the straps of my tunic, the rough material rubbing against my skin as I adjusted it. My boots crunched against the gravel as we made our way to the wrought-iron gates.

Standing there waiting was Captain Alaric, his hulking frame leaning casually against a stone pillar like he didn't have a care in the world. The guards gave me a final glare before disappearing back toward the mansion, leaving me alone with the guy.

Alaric pushed off the pillar, crossing his arms as he gave me a once-over. "So," he said, his voice carrying that same gruff tone, "what the hell are you up to now?"

I shrugged, brushing off some dirt from my pants. "What does it look like? I need supplies. Dried meat, some potions, the usual survival shit."

He raised an eyebrow, not buying my casual tone. "You mean like that fancy leather armor and that black blade of yours?" His eyes flicked down to the pouch of cash tied at my belt, then back up to meet mine.

For a second, I paused, looking down at my hands. They were calloused, scarred, and currently empty. But my mind wandered to the spatial ring on my finger, hidden under the guise of a plain silver band. The leather armor and black blade weren't at some inn or being maintained at a blacksmith—they were right fucking here, sitting in a pocket dimension, neat and pristine. But there was no way in hell I was telling Alaric that. Let him think what he wanted.

"Yeah, something like that," I said, my voice dripping with nonchalance as I adjusted the pouch on my belt.

Just as Alaric opened his mouth to say something else, a voice cut through the quiet.

"Captain Alaric," the tone was smooth but firm, with a layer of authority that demanded attention.

I turned to see Freya Mikaelson approaching, her plate armor gleaming in the fading sunlight. The red and white of her outfit practically screamed "look at me, I'm important." Her black hair fell over her shoulders in perfect waves, contrasting sharply with her pale, sharp features. She looked every bit the cold, calculating woman I remembered—except now she seemed a little too focused on me.

"Sergeant Mikaelson," Alaric greeted, straightening up. "What can I do for you?"

She didn't spare him much of a glance, her piercing eyes locked onto me like I was the only person in the damn world. "I need to speak with Kaizen alone."

Alaric hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing, but eventually, he nodded. "As you wish, sergeant" He turned to me, a knowing smirk creeping onto his face. "Try not to piss her off too much, Vale."

I rolled my eyes as he left, muttering something about nobles under my breath. When he was out of earshot, Freya stepped closer, her expression serious, almost grim.

"We need to talk," she said, her tone as icy as her gaze.

But I wasn't in the mood for this shit—not now, not ever. Instead of responding, I simply turned on my heel and started walking, heading straight for the gate.

I could feel her confusion like a slap in the back of my head as she called after me. "Kaizen?"

I didn't stop. Didn't even look back. Supplies first, drama later.

Freya Mikaelson following me through the streets of Torak was about as weird as having a wolf on a leash. I mean, sure, she looked calm and composed in her shiny plate armor, but I could practically feel her silent judgment searing into the back of my head as I made my way to the first stop: Vado's General Goods.

This wasn't my first time in Torak. Hell, after over a month in this place, I knew these streets better than most locals. I knew where to find the best potions, where to get the tastiest dried meats, and even which shopkeepers were worth talking to and which ones deserved to choke on their overinflated egos.

Freya walked a few steps behind me, her silence unnerving. Finally, I turned to her. "So, are you just going to shadow me all day like some overqualified bodyguard, or are you here to bless me with your infinite wisdom?"

She didn't answer, her lips pursed into a thin line, but her glare said everything.

"Right," I muttered, stepping into the general goods store.

The shop smelled like wood polish and dried herbs, with shelves packed full of everything from rope to flint and steel. Vado himself was standing behind the counter, a scrawny guy with a balding head and a nose that looked like it had been broken one too many times. He grinned when he saw me.

"Well, well, if it isn't Kaizen Vale! Late as always, you son of a bitch. You owe me 10 silver for those water flasks you never picked up last week."

I smirked, leaning on the counter. "Relax, Vado. I'm here now, aren't I? Got something new for me?"

He rolled his eyes but pulled out a set of collapsible metal rods. "Cooking spits. Lightweight, durable, and perfect for roasting your dinner over a campfire."

Freya, standing a few feet away, chimed in, her tone sharp. "Those could come in handy, Kaizen. You'd be a fool to pass them up."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Sounds interesting," I said, before turning back to Vado. "But I'll stick with the ones I already use. Tried and tested."

Vado shook his head, muttering something about stubborn assholes, but he handed over the water flasks I owed him for and a bundle of rope. With a quick exchange of coins, I was out the door.

Next stop was Greta's, a tiny alchemist's hut that smelled like death and peppermint. Greta herself was a grizzled old woman with gray hair tied in a tight bun and a personality sharp enough to cut steel.

"Kaizen Vale," she barked as I entered. "You're late. Again. Did you come to ruin my day or actually buy something this time?"

I grinned, leaning against the counter. "You know me, Greta. Here to lighten your shelves and your mood."

She snorted, slamming a tray of small vials onto the counter. "Healing potions, strength boosters, and something new I've been working on—a stamina draught. Perfect for someone who thinks they're invincible."

Freya stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the potions. "These could be useful."

"Could be," I said, shrugging. "But I know Greta's prices. She charges like these potions are laced with gold."

Greta slapped the counter. "And yet you keep coming back, don't you?"

She wasn't wrong. After some back-and-forth, I left with a satchel full of potions, Greta cursing me under her breath as I walked out.

The third stop was Turo's, a butcher shop known for its top-notch dried meats. Turo was a burly guy with arms the size of tree trunks and a laugh that could shake walls.

"Kaizen!" he boomed as I walked in. "You're back. And who's the lovely lady?"

Freya looked like she was about to correct him, but I cut her off. "She's just tagging along. Got any of that venison jerky I like?"

Turo chuckled, grabbing a bundle from behind the counter. "Got fresh stock just this morning. And some spiced boar strips you might want to try."

Freya actually seemed interested, leaning over to inspect the meat. "The spiced boar could provide the energy needed for long travel," she said.

"Interesting," I replied, grabbing the venison jerky instead.

Turo laughed, slapping me on the back hard enough to make me stumble. "Still as stubborn as ever."

Next was Rolf's, a weapons and gear shop run by a grumpy old man who hated my guts. Rolf was already glaring at me when I walked in.

"You're not welcome here, Kaizen," he growled.

"Relax, old man," I said, flashing him my best shit-eating grin. "I'm not here for armor. Just need a whetstone and some oil for my blade."

Freya, standing near the door, crossed her arms. "You could at least look at his inventory. You might find something useful."

I shook my head. "Nah. My gear's good enough. No need to waste coin here."

Rolf muttered something about ungrateful brats but handed over the supplies I needed.

The final stop was Mila's Supplies, a quaint little shop run by a bubbly young woman who always greeted me with a smile.

"Kaizen!" she chirped. "It's been a while. What can I get for you?"

"Sleeping gear," I said. "Something lightweight but sturdy."

She nodded, pulling out a compact bedroll and a waterproof tarp. Freya inspected them closely, her expression softening slightly. "These are good quality," she admitted.

"Good quality and overpriced," I said, tossing a few coins onto the counter. Mila laughed, not offended in the slightest.

By the time I left Mila's shop, my pouch was noticeably lighter, but my pack was full. Freya had followed me through every shop, her expression shifting between annoyance and genuine interest.

As we walked back toward the inn, she finally broke the silence. "You're an infuriating man, Kaizen Vale."

I smirked, slinging my pack over my shoulder. "And yet, here you are."