POV: Bash
Location: Southern Empire
The three ladies walked to the sword garden receptionist and then handed over a cream paper to her through a window opening.
My body turned forty-five degrees to follow their movement, the emblem of the Southern Empire tattooed on their necks caught my attention.
The lady in the center has blonde hair long enough to cover her back, collecting the now stamped paper from the receptionist, she walked to the center of the eatery, the two other girls standing behind her.
"We are from the white army," she said, her voice soft yet loud enough to cover the entire hall.
"We are looking for a swordsman rank Gozaimon or above to accompany us on a mission."
Silence, the hall went silent you could not even hear any movement of teeth eating whatever was inside the mouths of people present.
"Descendants of witches," a guy wearing silver earrings grumbled.
The blonde lady standing at the center of the eatery frowned her face, her vision narrowing to the person who spoke. "We are heading to the castle ruins on the outskirts of this village, anyone care to join us."
All the swordsmen present united in loud laughter, "Descendant of witches, fourth-generation scumbags enslave to the Empire," Donald hissed.
He then stood up and walked to the center of the room, standing face to face with the blonde-haired lady, he groaned, "I don't take others from slaves like you, people tented by the curse blood of the witches."
My motto is to always let scumbags be scumbags, no need to do anything unless it's really necessary.
Reflecting on my memories, I remembered now, the battalion in the white army made of people called descendants.
Their great-grandparents were witches captured during the unholy war, after the memory barrier appeared separating the Southern Empire from the Northern Empire, their great-grandparents were turned to slaves, with the emblem of the Northern Empire burnt on their necks.
The three ladies standing in the center of the room are somehow connected to witches, although they lost the art of spells, mana still flows in their veins.
Donald moved his face in an arc, taking a long view of all the people sitting, "does anyone wants to join this piece of shit on their mission?" he yelled.
His face came back to the blonde Lady standing in front of him, he placed his fingers behind his two ears making them widen out, "hmm," he let out a sound, slowly turning his head in a circle again.
All the people present watched him without saying a word, returning only silence to his question. "It seems like nobody wants to work with you, witches, now get lost or risk your head rolling on the ground."
The blonde lady stood her ground with a determined face, her blue eyes extending out of her face. "First we are not witches," she said, "second, I don't know whose head would be rolling on the ground."
"Bad move," I whispered to myself, watching Donald adjusting his right arm to get a firm grip on his long axe.