Chapter 2 - Coins and Scorn
As the gates creaked open, the grinding of old mechanisms filled the air. The cart rumbled in, and a crowd gathered just inside the gate, eagerly awaiting its arrival. People from all walks of life rushed toward the cart, their faces a mixture of curiosity and grief.
"Stop! The bodies will be lined up later. You may go to the medical ward and claim your kin"
A man shouted.
The voice belonged to a burly figure, walking with the precise steps of someone who had lived a life of fighting. Scars marked his face and arms, but the most notable was a wound stretching across his temple, running down to his lower left eyelid. His beard, unkempt, could have used a trim, and his clothes were still stained with blood. His gauntlets bore visible scratches, as did his armor. He walked with a cautious alertness, he had spent his entire life on the battlefield.
He moved into a cluster of tents. As he entered, two sentries saluted him. He continued along a dirt path, the ground firm from the dry weather, though it would turn to mud when it rained. Nearby, a soldier was cleaning his weapon, still slick with blood. A group of soldiers sang loudly and carelessly, their voices betraying the camaraderie forged in battle. A blacksmith worked on a dented chestplate, likely a casualty of the claws of a beast. A craftsman was at his bench, sewing a leather gambeson. Despite the grim surroundings, life moved on with an unsettling casualness.
It was as if the people here had grown numb to the death that surrounded them. The man let out a long sigh, continuing toward the general's office. Then, he heard a shout. Ah, it was "that" time—after every battle or raid, the independent mercenaries lined up to collect their wages, with bonuses depending on their performance.
A heated exchange seemed imminent as the one handing out the wages was already shouting. The area where the wages were dispensed sprawled out before Aurane. Mercenaries chattered, recounting their exploits from the battle. The noise was almost serene, considering the carnage, until—
"WHAT? You killed 17 of them? That's bullshit! Stop talking crap, you half-breed!"
The man seated behind the table, tasked with distributing the wages, had been calm moments before. Now, his face was red with anger. He stood up, fury evident in his posture. He was a bald man, average height", his belly protruding over his fine clothes. His clean-shaven face was swollen with his fat and lumpy cheeks . He spat on the ground in front of Aurane.
"You lying sack of shit! Tell me the truth now!"
He shouted fuming with anger.
Before him stood a towering figure, about 6'3", with luscious red hair that fell past his shoulders, tied back in a loose ponytail. His face was handsome, typical of his race. He carried a sword on his back, a bow, and a short sword at his side. His cloak was rugged, with cuts, holes, and hastily sewn patches.
Aurane remained calm, his stoic expression a sharp contrast to the man's boiling fury. He had grown used to this kind of treatment. Just as he was about to speak, a voice rang out beside him, it was the boy who had used the crossbow earlier. He, too, was likely a foreigner to this land.
"I believe him. I saw him kill those Beastmen. I can vouch for him"
The boy said, his voice earnest.
Annoyed by the boy's defense, the man shot a glare at him, clearly considering withholding the boy's pay. But then a thick, scarred hand patted the boy's head. It belonged to Hugh, the leader of the Lions of Galliene, a mercenary company that had been stationed here for the past two years, much like Aurane. Hugh had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a massive, muscular frame. His beard was perfectly trimmed, and his armor, while functional, was clearly more expensive than most mercenaries could afford. He was respected here, even by the captains.
"The boy's right. This lad here is telling the truth. I saw it myself. Hell, I should even ask him how he moved that fast"
Hugh said, grinning.
Cornered by this, the man begrudgingly reached for the coins, but instead of handing them to Aurane, he tossed them onto the ground. The coins scattered across the floor with a loud clatter. Hugh sighed deeply and walked away, the boy following closely behind him.
Aurane, ever composed, bent down and began picking up the scattered coins, his fingers deftly gathering them one by one. As he reached for the last coin, the farthest one, a boot suddenly stopped him. Aurane looked up and saw a man with two companions grinning down at him.
The man before him looked disgusted, his eyes narrowing as they locked with Aurane's.
"Sorry, Elf, I found this lost coin. So, it's mine now"
The man said, leaning in close enough that Aurane could feel his hot breath.
Aurane's green eyes hardened, locking onto the man with a sharp, malevolent intensity. The man saw something malicious in Aurane's green eyes, a look that triggered his instincts. He staggered back, his balance faltering, before he finally collapsed. The man's boots kicked the coin free, which Aurane swiftly picked up and tucked into his pocket before turning away.
'What was that? You fall in love with that half-breed or something?'
'Are you like those nobles now, getting a fetish for those pointy ears?'
His companions joked.
The man shot them a dagger-like glare, his gaze sharp and menacing, which quickly silenced them.
"Half-breed freak"
Aurane, unfazed, continued his quiet walk toward his tent. He didn't glance back, though the whispers and curious stares from others didn't escape his notice. They eyed him peculiarly, speaking in hushed tones behind his back.
He eventually reached the farthest corner of the camp, where his tent stood alone, away from the others. The area was desolate, near a ditch. Aurane noticed two men nearby, tossing trash near his tent rather than in the ditch. One of them glanced at him but continued his conversation with the other.
Aurane calmly entered his tent. But just before stepping inside, he overheard one of the men mutter under his breath.
"Pointy-ear bastard."