"These people are going to die," Connor said as he looked down the rails.
It was night, but people still drank and ate without any knowledge of what is coming. Some brown skinned entered, their faces grim and dark.
Osmond looked down. It was the fair-skinned who were jolly.
"They think they can take them. But when they see the sea of monsters, they will run south with their tails between their legs," Connor spat
Osmond was still peering, he saw the grim looks and despaired faces of the Deimians and didn't know why they were like that when they were so close to safety.
"Why are the brown-skinned folk so sad?" He asked.
"Because they will be blocked at the border," Connor replied.
"What!" Osmond exclaimed.
"They are not people of Pemphredo and they will not care for them. The fair-skinned ones will cross the border to safety." Connor replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
"We have to help them," Osmond shouted.
Connor clicked his tongue.
"You and the price for the woman are both under my debt now. Don't think you can add more to that boy," Connor sneered at him.
"You will rather let them be food for the monsters. Won't they be more useful as servants?" Osmond countered. He wanted to save them in whatever way possible.
Connor's eyes widened. He was right. The Deimians were useful for labour.
"Stay here boy," Connor said and went downstairs.
Connor went to the middle, in between the tables. Few eyes glanced at him. Connor cleared his throat and shouted.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
The eyes that were glancing at him now became fixed.
"To the ones going north, I say this. You are going to your deaths."
The cheerful and jolly sounds were now silenced. A Centurian's word held that much strength.
"Go south and cross the border. Pray that the monsters will not be able to cross it. I am coming from the north and their numbers are truly overwhelming. There is no point in you lot staying."
The fair-skinned were muttering to each other now.
"To the Deimians that are despairing, to the ones that will not be able to enjoy the safety of the border, I give you all an offer. Become slaves for the Ward family and I promise you life."
The Deimians now looked up. They did not like what they heard but it was still better than death.
Connor went to the accommodation counter and asked.
"Will you be able to make slave contracts?"
"Ye...yes," The receptionist stumbled, shocked by the scene.
Connor stood at the counter, waiting. Twenty-something people came, walking one after another.
"Tell your names to the counter," Connor ordered.
"Cristian."
"Jeronimo."
"Ximen."
The people told their names and the receptionist wrote them, sheet after sheet. Connor looked upward towards Kira.
"You, women. Come down, " He called her out.
Kira came down to the reception. Mutters again rose about the Demihuman woman.
"Say your name," Connor ordered.
"Kira, " She said to the reception.
Connor looked around and amid all the people, he saw a man standing.
His hair was grassy green, he had kept it short on the sides but kept it long in the middle. He was clean-shaved. His eyes shone like emeralds. He wore a golden-plated armour. He wore red shirt and black pants underneath. On his shoulders, he carried a heavy sword, too large for his size. A green gem of will glowed on its hilt. He looked as if he was in his mid-twenties. Everything about him smelled flashy. He was the type Connor disliked the most.
"Mind if I join you?" The man asked.
"A Samrann," Connor muttered.
"What is the need for you to come with us? You are from Pemphredo," Connor shouted.
"Because you lot seems interesting," The man said and grinned.
Connor didn't like that answer.
"Did you come here because you thought what is in the north was interesting?"
"Yes," The man replied.
Connor had started to hate him even more.
"You cannot come with us," Connor said.
"Come on sir, I am good with a sword." The man pleaded.
"We have someone for that, me," Connor said condescendingly.
"Really?" The man's eyes were now serious, they changed to a stare.
"Why don't we have a spar?." The man said.
"I don't have time to play with a child's rambles."
"Come on, you scared."
That caught the attention of Connor. He wanted to put the man in his place.
"Go get the sword from my bag, boy," Connor ordered Osmond.
Osmond went inside the room, dragged the sword through the ground and tossed it across the rails. Connor glared at the boy's clumsiness.
"Fight outside!" The receptionists screamed.
They went outside, and a ring of people gathered to watch the fight. Osmond squeezed into the front.
"A handicap for you, I am not wearing my armour," Connor grinned.
"You are going to wish you didn't give me that," the man took the sword from his shoulder.
The man took a stance with both his hands on the heavy sword. Connor held the long sword similarly, but his weapon was lighter.
The man did a downward slash, Connor parried and went to his back. He kicked behind and Connor stumbled. He steadied himself, but the man was coming with a horizontal slash, Connor ducked down and did a sweeping kick, but the man dodged it and went a few paces back.
"This man is good," They both thought.
The man came again with a downward slash, Connor dodged it and threw some dirt into the man's eyes. The sword slammed to the ground and the man rubbed his eyes to clear the dirt away.
Connor held his sword tip out and announced.
"I win."
The man opened his eyes and looked.
"That doesn't count," The man shouted.
"You made a kick. What I did was similar."
The man sat there his, mouth wide open. He slowly stood up and dusted himself.
" You are strong for a Samrann," Connor said.
"So you will let me come?" The man sounded excited.
"I suppose so," Connor said uninterested.
"What is your name?" Connor asked the man.
"Riley... Riley Locke," He replied.