"Here you go, this is your number plate." The skinny old man, his hands trembling slightly, pressed an iron plate into James's palm. He pointed at James's masked face, his voice rasping with age. "In this camp, this plate is your new identity. You'll need it for just about everything."
James, clad in leather gloves, noticed the old man didn't seem to recognize anything unusual about him. After all, it was common to see newcomers wrapped tightly in layers, hiding their features.
"Just a heads-up, newbie," the old man continued, adjusting his glasses and glancing back at his newspaper. "Watch your step. Cause trouble here, and you might find yourself dead before you even know what happened."
With that, the old man returned to his reading, leaving James standing there, number plate in hand. He examined the engraved letters: '3206'.
After tucking the number plate safely away, James stepped through the camp's entrance.
The security here was alarmingly lax. The mercenaries on guard barely glanced at him, and when the gatekeeper noticed he lacked a number plate, he simply handed one over without a second thought.
As James moved deeper into the camp, he observed the hustle and bustle around him. Mercenaries and adventurers were busy setting up tents, trading goods, and sharing stories.
Suddenly, a loud roar cut through the chatter. "Fuck you!"
James turned to see a burly mercenary angrily shoving a thin girl to the ground.
Her companion rushed over, concern etched on her face. "You... you stole our things! Why are you hitting us?" she shouted, her voice trembling.
"Shut your mouth! Get out of here, or I'll chop you into pieces!" The mercenary brandished a dagger, his threat dripping with menace.
The girl's friend hesitated, her anger flaring, but the girl, wincing as she touched her swollen cheek, pulled her back. "Let's just go," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.
The two girls hurried away, and the muscular mercenary spat on the ground before retreating to his tent.
"What a gray area," James murmured to himself, observing how the mercenaries and adventurers nearby ignored the scene completely.
He spotted a map of the camp hanging on a nearby shelf and walked over to study it. The map was basic, showing only a few key locations. High stone walls enclosed the camp, with three entrances scattered around. At the center stood a temporary building for the Mercenary Association, flanked by a chamber of commerce, a pharmacy, and a weapons shop.
Raising an eyebrow in surprise, James noted the impressive facilities for a place that had been constructed so quickly. "This mercenary association seems more significant than I thought," he said to himself, shaking his head as he turned toward a nearby shabby tavern built from weathered wood.
As he approached, he could hear the murmur of conversation and laughter spilling from inside, a stark contrast to the harsh realities outside.
This tavern wasn't even marked on the map; an off-the-grid kind of place.
As James pushed open the creaky wooden door, a loud *crunch* echoed beneath his feet, followed by an explosion of noise that spilled out from within. The tavern was a cramped, dimly lit room, no more than 200 square meters, but it was packed with thirty or forty adventurers and mercenaries. Each man seemed to be clinging to this small oasis of chaos, drinking and laughing as if trying to drown out the harshness of the world outside.
The smell of stale alcohol mixed with the pungent odor of sweat hung thick in the air, and James wrinkled his brow beneath the mask. The stench was overwhelming, almost suffocating, but he had come here for a reason.
He scanned the room. In the midst of the raucous laughter, a young girl no older than thirteen or fourteen weaved through the crowd, balancing trays of food and drinks. She wore the plain dress of a tavern waitress, but her slight frame and delicate features made her stand out against the rough, heavy-set men crowding the tavern. As she moved through the mass of mercenaries, their large, drunken hands grabbed at her without shame, tugging at her sleeves and brushing against her as if she were no more than part of the entertainment.
The girl bit her lip, her face flushed with embarrassment and helpless anger. Despite her obvious discomfort, she kept her balance, struggling to keep the trays from tipping as she navigated the sea of hands. The strength of a lower-grade G wasn't enough to push back against the upper-grade G men who tormented her, and her resistance only fueled their laughter.
James's eyes followed her for a moment, but he remained silent, stepping aside just as a mercenary vacated a seat near him. The girl, after delivering her tray to a table at the far end of the room, turned toward him, her movements hurried as she approached.
"What would you like to eat?" she asked softly, her voice barely audible above the clamor of the tavern. She stood close to James, quickly clearing the dirty dishes from the table with swift, practiced movements. Her hands trembled slightly as she handed him a worn menu.
James glanced at the menu, knowing full well he couldn't eat anything here; not that he needed to. His body no longer required food. His only purpose for being here was to gather information from the drunken mercenaries around him. Still, he needed to keep up appearances.
"I'll take a glass of this wine," he said, pointing to the most expensive drink listed. His voice was low, rough, and raspy. When she heard it, the girl stiffened, her entire body shuddering briefly before she regained her composure.
She quickly gathered the rest of the dishes from the table, her hands still trembling slightly, and extended one toward him. "That'll be 43 dollars, please."
Before James could respond; knowing full well he didn't have a single penny to his name; a drunken man nearby stumbled to his feet, his movements clumsy and unsteady. He lurched into the girl, knocking her off balance. With a yelp, she fell to the ground, and the tray of dishes she was holding flew out of her hands. Plates and bowls went flying, hurtling toward the man, James, and the floor.
Reacting swiftly, James caught the plates heading his way, placing them back onto the table with cold precision, making sure none of the debris stained his robes. The rest of the dishes, however, weren't as lucky. The girl's tray and its contents clattered to the ground, spilling food and drink across the tavern floor.
The drunken man sneered, barely aware of the chaos he'd caused, while the girl scrambled to her knees, frantically trying to clean up the mess.
A heavy silence followed for a brief moment before the usual tavern noise resumed, but James's eyes remained on the girl, who seemed smaller than ever, her hands shaking as she gathered broken pieces of pottery.
"Careful where you're going," the drunk slurred, his voice thick with amusement.
James remained still, his red eyes glowing faintly behind the mask. He observed everything in silence, calculating, waiting. This wasn't his battle to fight, not yet. For now, he would watch and listen, the tavern's energy feeding him more than the wine ever could.
The girl winced as she rubbed her aching head, grimacing from the sharp pain. She had barely managed to sit up when the drunken mercenary who had knocked her down loomed over her, his breath reeking of alcohol.
"Hey, hey, hey!" The man's voice slurred as he bent down, grabbing her slender arm without a care. He yanked her to her feet with a rough pull.
"Ah! It hurts!" she cried, struggling against his grip, but his hands were too strong, too unforgiving.
"What's wrong with you? Don't you have eyes?" the mercenary snarled, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and sour. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, flicked to the oil stains on her dress. He jabbed a finger toward them, his tone growing more hostile. "Look what you've done! You've ruined my clothes! Do you want to die for that?"
"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" The girl gasped, trying desperately to pry his hand from her arm with her free hand, but her strength was no match for his drunken fury.
"Sorry isn't good enough!" he roared, his voice cutting through the tavern noise, drawing the attention of a few nearby patrons, though none seemed eager to intervene. His gaze drifted lower, noticing the girl's fragile frame, her youth evident in every movement. A twisted smile spread across his face, something far darker flickering in his eyes.
"But... you're just a kid," he muttered, his voice softening in a way that was far from comforting. He released her arm suddenly, letting her fall back to the ground like a discarded object.
The girl, unprepared for the release, tumbled backward, her hands instinctively reaching out to break her fall. Sharp shards of broken plates littering the ground cut into her palms, and she winced in pain, her breath catching in her throat. But despite the sting, she quickly scrambled up, ignoring the fresh blood trickling from her hands.
"Thank you, thank you," she stammered, bowing her head, too scared to look him in the eye. Her voice trembled with a mixture of fear and desperation.
"Don't thank me yet," the man growled, still grinning that wicked grin. He pointed to the stains on his filthy jacket, tapping it as though it were some prized possession. "Here's the deal," he said, stretching out a finger, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "You've got two options. Clean this up yourself; on your knees and pay me 1000 dollars for the damage."
The girl's eyes widened in horror as she stared at the grime-covered jacket. "I... I don't have that kind of money," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of the tavern. She swallowed hard, feeling trapped, and her hands shook as she tried to steady herself. "Can I... pay less?"
The mercenary's grin only widened at her pitiful plea. He leaned in close, his breath hot on her face, and clamped her chin in his rough hand, forcing her to look up at him. "Then, it's the second option," he whispered, his voice dripping with menace. "Spend a couple of days with me, and I'll forget all about the money."
His fingers tightened on her chin, his eyes gleaming with vile intent as he whispered, "What do you say, kid?"