Chapter 5 - Rolling Excursion
Prawm smirks. "Looks like you needed a mercenary group after all."
"Well, apparently I can't trust my fellow knights to at least allow me a good night's sleep. Let's see how you fare." Zarracen thumbs the pommel of her sword.
Prawm pales, glancing at the bodies of the knights who recently fell to Zarracen's blade.
"Uh—why don't I introduce you to the members of my squad."
She steps beside a Fealt male with blazing orange hair and wide protruding fox‑like ears. He carries a mace—surprising, since Zarracen is used to Fealts being mages, archers, or swordsmen. Interesting.
"This is Aias Glyncale—our primary frontliner. Next to him is Jack, our scout." Jack gives a wave while Aias tilts his head in a nod. "And beside Jack is Malia Jones—our jack‑of‑all‑trades. She can practically do anything the rest of us can, so she subs in when we're in a pinch."
Three humans and a Fealt. An interesting group.
"Where's the rest of you?" Zarracen asks.
"Uh—we're it," Prawm says.
"There were more when you trailed behind me."
"Yeah, that's true, but that job was finished. The others already started their next contract after we dropped off the Fen in a town near Arthwa."
"So you weren't headed to Arthwa."
"Um—yeah, see, we sorta were, but I kinda had to come here because I'm the leader… wait, why does that matter? Are you hiring us or not?"
"Can you handle a bunch of Cognifiends—or Fierce Cognifiends—who'll want to gorge on this dragon?"
"Yes."
Zarracen shrugs. "You're hired. Your pay will be decided on your performance and how difficult this gets. We leave in an hour."
"Wait—an hour? We need supplies! We're traveling on foot to the capital, right? We can't take that thing through a portal?"
"Yes."
"Then we need food!"
"Eat what you kill. Enough food will come to us when we leave." Zarracen shrugs, not understanding why this is complicated. Buying food is an unnecessary expense.
"But—"
"Listen. I have to make up for lost time thanks to these shitty corpses being carried out of here. I would've run it myself, but I can't do three more days without sleep so soon after fighting this bastard. Yeah? So get the dragon hooked to the carriage and get whatever supplies you need within the next hour."
"You need us, don't you? Shouldn't you wait for us?" Jack argues, stepping forward.
Zarracen snorts. "No, I don't. I literally ran this from the edge of Arcus to here on my bare two feet. Dragging you all with me will slow me down. The carriage is for convenience. I need to get back to Illuvia before the week's up. If it wasn't for that, I wouldn't waste money on you."
"Hey!" Prawm clamps a hand over Jack's mouth.
"Why not have an entourage of knights then?" Prawm asks.
Peace, Zarracen. Peace.
"Clearly, they can't be trusted. But I trust you like money more than they liked their lives."
"Right… yeah. Can you give us at least thirty extra minutes? Food shopping won't take long if we split up, but we need supplies for injuries."
"For what? Doesn't your jack‑of‑all know healing spells?" Zarracen mocks.
"Doesn't mean she's trained in it. She's no good with poisons, so we need antidotes that cover a variety of toxins—and stamina boosters."
Zarracen exhales in frustration. She knows Illuvia isn't far when using carriage transport with Panteras pulling it. But she also shouldn't purposely get them killed by rushing. She concedes, allowing them to go. She wouldn't want to travel unrested with the chance that other knights—or Masters—might try to steal the dragon.
The squad departs, leaving Zarracen to deal with the carriage. It arrives with a young coachman. She speaks to him briefly, informing him what to hook up. Zarracen checks her equipment—borrowed from the barracks.
The coachman alternates between admiring the dragon and tending to the Panteras, who eye Zarracen warily. Animals sense power. Panteras aren't Cognifiends, but they're close—fought for glory depending on the season. Their physical prowess is legendary.
Zarracen admires them, but boredom creeps in as she waits for the squad to return. She wonders what she could do. She could train—test what being Tier 1 feels like.
She draws her blade and gives it a rough test swing. A patch of ground erupts beneath the light motion. She freezes—then grins. More power. But she can't destroy the barracks, so she limits herself and moves through her personal sword style.
It is brutal. Hacking, quick movements. Her feet dance, her blade thrusts and swipes, sliding around imaginary foes like a carrion bird. Many knights dislike her bladework. She doesn't fight straightforwardly. She pecks, slides, undercuts—any means necessary to win.
She has fought like this since youth. It's why her crest is a jackal. Survivors.
She senses their approach but says nothing, finishing her routine.
"Loaded up?" she asks, re‑sheathing her blade.
"Yes," Prawm answers.
"Good. Load up. We're departing now."
No other words. Zarracen hops into the carriage while the others take positions Prawm and Aias beside the coachman, Jack on the rear riser. The wheels jolt as they leave the city walls.
A spell washes over them. Zarracen detects nothing harmful, so she relaxes as the carriage rocks down the cobbled highway. The motion is almost a lullaby, but she's too tense around strangers to sleep.
There's only one person she can relax around and he's off fighting his own dragon. Knowing him, he's probably already killed it and returned to His Majesty. Just to show off. She hopes she beats him for once. Though beating his time means nothing he got the harder dragon.
Knock. Knock.
Two powerful knocks hit her door. She turns and sees Prawm peering through the window. Zarracen gestures her inside. Prawm clambers along the moving carriage and slips in, slamming the door shut.
"What?"
"For a former commoner, you're ruder than I'd expect to your own kind."
Zarracen scoffs. Half her "own kind" are still stuck in the gutter where she left them. Some dead. Some gone. She and Prawm are nothing alike. Prawm is a regular commoner with regular parents, dreaming of something better. She probably went to a magic academy, failed to pass fifth tier, and became a mercenary.
Her eyes and smell are nothing like Zarracen's. Prawm speaks like a privileged commoner.
"An' yer just a reg'lar respectful merc? Outta here with the nonsense," Zarracen grunts.
"You still talk like it though."
"What do you want?"
"Want you to tell me what we're doing. I need details. Can't lead my squad without them."
"I'm the client. I'm not part of your squad. I won't join any fighting unless the corpse is in danger. You get money for protecting me and the dragon. Good on you for the protection spell you cast on the way out. Good start."
"You knew I cast that?"
"I'm a Tier 2 sword master. I can feel magic and aura like a bird feels wind on its wings."
Prawm looks confused. To a magician, yes—you can feel when something is cast, but unless the effect is obvious, you'd need magical study to know what it is. She files this away.
"So you'll only interfere if the cargo is in trouble?"
"That's exactly what I said," Zarracen snaps.
Prawm stiffens, sighs, then looks out the window. Her detection spell signals enemies closing in.
"We're about to be attacked. I'll leave you here."
Zarracen watches her go. The enemy is a group of canine Cognifiends: Mimic Vuls. They mimic low‑level aura and magical techniques. Difficult to defeat with magic, but Prawm is more skilled than Zarracen expected.
Prawm casts a Tier 3 spell golden arrows volley toward the Vuls. They dodge, but the arrows track, tagging their legs. Malia and Aias dispatch them quickly.
Zarracen steps out of the carriage, sensing for more life.
"Wowy, you got a good crew there," the coachman remarks.
"It appears that way."
"Geez, what were Mimic Vuls doing out here? They normally stay in the forest," Malia sighs.
Zarracen walks toward them, listening.
"They were more erratic than normal. They usually fight smarter," Aias murmurs.
"Jack can scout ahead for more Cognifiends," Prawm says.
"That's unnecessary," Zarracen interjects.
"I'm sorry, but making sure more Cognifiends are nearby is part of our job—the one you paid for."
"There's no need. The Cognifiends are coming for the dragon's corpse. Its flesh holds Videle that can empower even the weakest insects."
"Wait so swarms of Cognifiends will attack us constantly?" Prawm asks.
"Yes. That's why I hired you. I got tired of stopping to kill them every time a bunch appeared that I couldn't outrun."
"We're definitely not prepared for constant Cognifiend attacks."
"I gave you an hour and a half to prepare. If you couldn't handle a dragon‑corpse transport job, you shouldn't have taken it."
"And if we refuse to continue?"
"That's your choice."
"We're not stuck here."
"True. But you're not staying with me if you refuse to work."
"You should've disclosed this before we took the job."
"You should've asked. But I'll give you that point. There's little to worry about. Like I said I'll interfere when necessary."
"And if one of us is about to die?"
"It wouldn't get to that point."
And that is that. Zarracen ends the conversation by walking back to the carriage. She hears curses thrown her way, but the squad returns to their positions—except Jack, who scouts ahead.