The final wisp of smoke drifted from charred orc tent frames, acrid burning scents and heavy blood stench mingling in the oppressive night winds of The Orlandian Mountains. The valley encampment lay in ruins, littered with devastation. Orc corpses sprawled in twisted heaps, their postures frozen in rage and despair. Mercenaries moved silently among them with practiced, numbed efficiency—stripping salvageable leather armor, prying metal ornaments from weapons, even severing parts deemed valuable. Worthless remains were dragged roughly into piles awaiting cremation. Occasionally, some not-yet-expired form released a weak groan, immediately met by cold blade points precisely ending that lingering life.
No mercy, no hesitation. Ten thousand years of blood feuds had saturated Eldendor's soil, carving slaughter into near-instinctive reaction.
"Angus, our brothers' casualties?" Kaines' voice broke the silence as he cleaned his great sword's nicks with blood-soaked cloth.
Angus was gritting his teeth, using teeth and his other hand to wrench bloodied bandages tight around a bone-deep claw mark on his arm. "Lucky enough," he rasped hoarsely, cold sweat beading his temples. "One serious injury with broken bones, four flesh wounds. Pity... that panther bitch escaped." His gaze swept the camp edge's dark forest with predatory malice.
Kaines grunted, thick fingers unconsciously tracing deep dents in his breastplate where the mad lioness's final fury had left marks. "No dead brothers means the gods smiled on us." He recalled those dying lion-kin eyes burning with soul-searing hatred, a chill he wouldn't admit crossing his heart.
"Hey, Boss!" Tony emerged from somewhere, wearing his characteristic slightly lecherous grin as if they'd just finished a picnic rather than slaughter. "That panther bitch was quite the treat! That waist, those legs... if we'd captured her alive, tsk tsk, the whores at Nightingale Tavern couldn't hold her sandals!" He rubbed his hands, eyes gleaming.
Angus paused his bandaging, snorting with laughter: "Tony? With your skills? Nightingale's whores could drain you dry—and you want to target female beastkin? Careful she doesn't roll over and grind your pathetic little gear to paste!" The crude jest immediately drew roaring laughter from surrounding mercenaries, briefly loosening the tense atmosphere.
Tony shrugged carelessly, his smug smile broadening: "Laugh all you want. Boss, we caught ourselves a big fish this time!" He whistled loudly.
Several mercenaries immediately shoved forward a string of young beastkin bound with coarse hemp rope. These half-grown children—some stubbornly growling with exposed juvenile fangs, others cowering with terror-filled eyes. A wolfkin youth attempting resistance had barely bared teeth before a guard's whip lashed viciously across his back, the flesh-tearing agony making him scream and curl up.
Kaines' eyes immediately blazed like a miner discovering gold veins. "Gentle! Morons!" he barked harshly, striding forward with greedy gaze sweeping these "living coins." "These are jingling money bags! Kill one and dozens of gold pieces fly away!"
In the human world, keeping beastkin guards served as a badge of power. In certain nobles' private chambers, beastkin slaves became objects of curiosity and desire—their certain "natural gifts" privately whispered about with relish. Adult beastkin warriors would die before surrendering, but these cubs differed—they could be tamed, molded into the most loyal (or rather, most numb) slaves. Nobles coveted them desperately, driving young beast-slave prices ever higher in markets, second only to legendary elven maidens. Rare species like lion-kin commanded astronomical values.
"Boss, look at this one!" Tony roughly dragged Leon to Kaines' front like displaying a priceless treasure. "Purebred lion cub! Worth at least a thousand gold pieces, right?"
"Oh?" Kaines crouched with interest, using one blood-stained finger to forcibly lift Leon's chin.
Leon's amber pupils inherited from his mother now burned with blood-red flames, locked deadly on Kaines' face. This face! This scar-covered face! His mother's killer!
"Roar—!" Pale golden light suddenly exploded from Leon's wrists! Tough hemp rope snapped instantly! Like a thoroughly enraged lion cub, he threw himself with reckless madness, sharp claws slashing viciously toward Kaines' throat!
Yet his movements seemed laughably slow to Kaines. One massive hand shot out like lightning, gripping Leon's neck with iron-pincer precision, lifting his entire body from the ground. No matter how Leon kicked and struggled, that hand remained unmoved, knuckles whitening with pressure. Only when Leon's small face turned blue-purple and his eyes rolled back did Kaines drop him like discarded garbage onto muddy earth.
Kaines stood, dusting off his hands, his casual demeanor sobering slightly with warning undertones: "Tony, for such valuable 'merchandise,' remember iron chains next time."
"Yes, Captain!" Tony answered with embarrassed laughter.
"Captain," another mercenary dragged a thin figure from the prisoner pile, voice tinged with obvious disdain, "there's this copper-piece throwaway here. How should we handle him?" He was shoving Arthur.
Compared to those beast-slave cubs, a scrawny human youth held virtually no slave market value.
Kaines' gaze fell on Arthur. That daytime contest had impressed him—this youth actually defeating a near-first-tier warrior lion cub seemed oddly suspicious. He crouched again, this movement unexpectedly gentler as he likewise lifted Arthur's chin.
Arthur raised his head, face blooming with a smile revealing snow-white teeth utterly incongruous with surrounding filth. His hair was disheveled like a bird's nest, body covered in mud and dried blood, yet that face appeared unusually clean. Especially those eyes—clear as mountain spring water, reflecting dancing firelight without the slightest fear or numbness expected from captives.
"What's your name, child? How old?" Kaines asked, voice softening somewhat.
"Captain, I'm called Arthur, twelve years old." The youth's voice rang clear with strange composure.
Kaines raised an eyebrow: "How do you know I'm the captain?"
Arthur's smile deepened, appearing exceptionally sincere: "Don't all the mercenary brothers address you that way?"
Kaines' mouth twitched slightly in acknowledgment. "You're clever. Tell me, how did you end up in an orc camp?"
Arthur's expression immediately dimmed, voice dropping: "Two years ago, orcs raided our village. Mother... they killed her. I was captured, became a slave." He narrated calmly yet conveyed heavy sorrow.
"Lies!" Tony suddenly grabbed Arthur's worn leather collar, lifting him inches off ground while glaring viciously into his eyes. "Orcs wanting human children as slaves? Bullshit! They prefer eating tender meat! And this leather armor—what slave wears this? Speak! What are you really?" His spittle nearly sprayed Arthur's face.
"Tony!" Adeline's voice carried obvious displeasure as she strode forward, brow furrowed. "Put him down! You're frightening this child!" Somehow, Arthur's clean smile and clear eyes made her instinctively inclined to believe the youth.
Arthur was released, stumbling before steadying himself. He looked gratefully at Adeline, bowing slightly: "Thank you, beautiful and respected lady. Don't worry—he can't frighten me. I've seen more vicious orcs." His tone remained peaceful, even carrying comforting undertones.
"Slick talker." Tony sullenly released his grip, knowing his interrogation had failed.
Arthur straightened his wrinkled collar, calmly explaining: "I survived because I still held value for my mistress. She wanted her son to understand his enemies—needed a human opponent." He looked frankly toward Kaines.
"Mistress? That lioness?" Kaines pressed.
Arthur lowered his head, voice gaining genuine grief: "Yes. Actually... she treated me well. Without her, I would have been... by other orcs..." He didn't finish, but the implication was clear.
Sprawled on the ground, just recovering his breath, Leon suddenly raised his head, staring at Arthur with disbelief, complex emotions flashing through blood-red eyes.
Kaines' gaze lingered on Arthur's face for several seconds, seemingly weighing his words' veracity. Moments later, he waved broadly: "Untie his ropes. Here, he's no longer a slave."
"Thank you, Captain! Thank you, respected lady! Thank you, Mr. Tony! And this brother!" Arthur immediately bowed, nimbly offering sincere thanks to Kaines, Adeline, Tony, and even the mercenary untying his ropes—humble yet composed.
Kaines laughed roughly, patting Arthur's thin shoulder before turning away, his booming voice resuming: "Move those hands! Strip everything worth coins clean! Don't leave a single hair!"
"Even these ragged armor pieces and rusty weapons need hauling back?" Adeline followed behind Kaines, watching mercenaries laboriously pack low-value spoils while complaining quietly, the air's thick blood scent churning her stomach.
"Ant legs are still meat!" Kaines retorted without looking back, speaking rapidly. "Dump them at city recyclers for a few coppers at least! My dear deputy, you don't know household costs because you don't manage! How many mouths need feeding? Think running a mercenary company is growing flowers? This time we miscalculated—except for these cubs, this broken noble camp was poor as church mice!" Adeline's single complaint triggered Kaines' machine-gun complaints.
During a lull in Kaines' directing, Adeline approached him, voice dropping lower: "That child... Arthur, how do you plan to handle him?"
Kaines' gaze swept the battlefield edge. Arthur was already working like a helper, voluntarily assisting mercenaries in collecting scattered spoils from corpses—movements efficient, expression natural, as if born to belong here.
"Bring him back to the city first," Kaines stroked his chin stubble, eyes flashing barely detectable intrigue. "Definitely an... interesting little fellow."
He hadn't realized this decision, born from curiosity and an indefinable feeling, was like casting a stone into fate's river—the ripples it would create would eventually shake the seemingly unbreakable banks of Eldendor itself...