Charimier's sleep was anything but restful tonight. For so reason, an unsettling feeling clung to him, a constant presence in his mind. Was it a fear of the Duchess's wrath? Or an uprising from his n? Charimier couldn't say. He just felt an odd sensation.
He tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Resigned, he got up. His armor clattered—a habit he had developed over the years of never taking it off, even when sleeping. Charimier sighed deeply. Since he couldn't settle his mind, he might as well go for a walk.
He climbed out of his tent. The cold air hit his face, and his cluttered thoughts cleared a little. His mind sharpened instantly. It felt so quiet. Not a sound from the insects or the birds, and not a single human voice.
Wait… Charimier broke out in a cold sweat. The silence was too absolute. Even if he hadn't allowed his n to light fires, the sentries he had posted should have been making so noise. The patrols should have been creating the clatter of armor and the sound of footsteps. But now, the camp was as silent as a tomb.
Just then, a faint snap ca from behind him. It was the sound of a fallen branch being stepped on. In the dayti, no one would have noticed it. But in the dead of night, it was too clear, too jarring.
Years of training kicked in. Charimier instinctively drew his longsword and swung it behind him. But his sword didn't find its target. Instead, blood blossod in the air. A severed arm, still gripping the sword, flew through the air and landed in the grass. Then, the intense pain hit him. A kick to the stomach sent Charimier sprawling backward. His remaining arm was pinned, and a sword tip pressed against his throat.
In the faint moonlight, Charimier finally saw the person standing before him. He had a pair of luminous cat-like eyes.
Lynn didn't kill Charimier imdiately. Instead, he bound him and bandaged his wounds to stop the bleeding. The man couldn't die—at least not yet. Lynn didn't know who he was, but based on the location of his tent and his extravagant armor, he was clearly the leader of this group of soldiers. As their leader, he surely held valuable information. He had to stay alive until Lynn got what he wanted.
Charimier seed to understand this. In this world, war was usually rciful to nobles. Unless they were unlucky enough to die on the battlefield, captured nobles could usually ransom their lives. Even the lowest-ranking nobles—knights—could scrape together the funds from their lands to pay a ransom. Thus, captured nobles rarely tried to anger their captors.
But Charimier was different. As Lynn bandaged his wounds, he couldn't fight back, but his mouth was certainly busy. He never stopped cursing. At first, Lynn ignored him, but after a while, he got fed up and backhanded the man. He put so force into it. The blow knocked a few of Charimier's teeth loose, filling his mouth with blood and leaving him stunned.
After he finished bandaging him, Lynn stood up and glared down at the man with a cold smirk. "If you truly want to die, bite your tongue. If you don't, shut up. Don't try to goad into killing you. If you really anger , I'll carve you up so slowly it'll take you a full day to die."
anwhile, Gerd had dragged the bodies of the dead soldiers into a pile, ready to burn them. As Lynn's commotion drew his attention, Gerd noticed one of the "corpses" in the pile trying to sneak away. Without a second thought, Gerd drew a dagger and flung it.
Thunk!
The dagger slamd into the ground just in front of the man, scaring him into kneeling. "Don't kill ! Please, have rcy, my lord!"
Gerd heard the distinct islander accent in his common tongue. He frowned. "You're a Skellige man? What are you doing with this lot?"
"My lord, they forced ! If I didn't obey, I would have died at their hands a long ti ago!"
"How much money did they give you?"
The guide's eyes shifted nervously. He stamred, "They didn't…"
Gerd's gaze swept over the guide, his expression hardening. "Don't lie. We're not fools. You say the knights of the Arcane Coast forced you, but where are the rope burns on your neck and wrists?"
The guide's face went white. "I… I…"
"If you tell the truth, I might let you live. But if you try to deceive again, you'll end up like these bodies here!" Gerd took a step forward, grabbing the man by the collar and lifting him from the ground.
"My lord, please don't kill ! I'll… I'll tell you everything…" The guide swallowed hard and stamred out his story. "I… I owed a lot of money at a tavern in Blaviken. Then they found and said they could clear my debts and give more money… if I just led them here."
"But, my lords, I never killed anyone. I swear it on the goddess Freya."
Gerd let him go, and the man fell back to the ground. "Were you there when the tavern owner and his n were killed at the country tavern on Ard Skellig?"
"I…"
"You're a Skellige man. The blood of Hemdall flows in your veins. You saw your countryn die, and you did nothing?"
The guide looked down, unable to et Gerd's gaze or answer.
Snikt!
The guide didn't even make a sound. He just fell face forward to the ground. The deep wound from his shoulder to his chest almost cleaved him in two. In his final monts, the guide couldn't understand why Gerd had killed him. In the bards' songs, wasn't the hero supposed to give a chance for redemption to a lowly pawn like him?
How could this be…
Gerd tossed the guide's body onto the pile of corpses and set it ablaze. He then returned to where Lynn was. Lynn's earlier threat had worked. Charimier was still refusing to cooperate, but he wasn't spouting insults anymore.
(End of Chapter)
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