HEO 1

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Three months ago.

A village on the western coast of the continent of Stoll.

“Hey, Silver!”

Late at night, Black Weasel shouted and kicked the inn room’s door. The door broke off and slammed to the floor. The thick smell of alcohol filled the room.

“I’ve finally found a job. We’ve to leave.”

The inn room was pitch black, as if it had been doused with tar. The outlines of the furniture were sparsely visible, like a canvas with only charcoal lines drawn on it. Black Weasel glanced left and right as he headed toward the window.

“Shit, you didn’t even light a candle… Has this slave brat run away? Hey, Silver! Did you run?”

“I’m here.”

A voice finally drifted out from the darkness. Black Weasel pulled back the window’s curtains. A crescent moon smiled ominously in the night sky. The darkness that had filled the inn room was barely fading. Two old beds. Two old chairs. A worn table.

Silver sat on a chair with his legs propped up on the table. He was peeling an apple with a dagger. Black Weasel pulled chests out from under the bed one by one.

“I told you to get ready to leave. This job isn’t a normal one. It’s an assignment to guard a prince. A prince.”

Silver scoffed at those words.

“A prince?”

“Yeah, a prince! Well… he’s probably the king’s eighteenth or thirty-second illegitimate child, but he’s a prince nonetheless.”

“Princes are everywhere. It’d be a different story if it were a princess.”

“Shut up. Since when does a slave talk back to his master? If you don’t want my axe in your head, get ready to leave. Our destination is Morgan.”

“There again?”

Silver’s shoulders twitched. He stood up abruptly and stabbed the dagger into the table.

“That place is at least a month away. It’s October now. It’ll be a damn freezing winter in a month.”

“That’s exactly it. You want to reach Morgan before winter comes, right? If we leave today and run like hell, we’ll be there within a month.”

“Forget it!”

“I’ve already received the down payment. If you want to suffer less, pack your bags, you stubborn brat.”

“Ugh…!”

Silver ruffled his hair with both hands, but he eventually sat in front of the chests. Black Weasel had pulled two chests from under the bed. When Silver opened the first one, he saw all sorts of weapons packed under the stiff wooden lid. There were axes, daggers, iron hammers, iron hooks, and sickles.

Black Weasel threw an oiled cloth at Silver.

“Polish them until they shine! A sharp tool takes a head off best!”

“Shit. They take heads off just fine even without a polish,” Silver grumbled as he wiped an axe with the cloth.

Black Weasel opened the second chest. The gold coins inside scattered a dazzling light everywhere.

“Oh—how have you been, my love?”

Black Weasel kissed a gold coin and glanced at Silver.

“Money is a good thing, Silver. How well have we lived in this inn? It’s all thanks to this fellow here.”

“That’s rare. Are you actually going to pay the overdue room fee?”

“I should settle the bill. The alcohol here tasted good.”

Black Weasel gestured toward a corner of the room. Barrels that smelled of honey were stacked in layers. Silver picked up a sickle and inspected it.

“Pay him generously. It looked like this place was deserted.”

“The village is crawling with petty thieves, so there aren’t any guests. We were attacked by those two jerks just three days after we checked in. Your head would’ve been gone if it weren’t for me, Silver.”

Black Weasel bragged as he made a cutting motion across his own neck with his hand. Silver frowned while cleaning the sickle.

“But why did those two attack us? We look like beggars.”

“Maybe their situation was so bad they had to rob even beggars. Did you forget? The innkeeper begged us to spare their lives. He said they were honest village youths who go out to the North Sea to pirate and feed their families in midwinter.”

“Wasn’t it midsummer then?”

“Anyway. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Done.”

Silver closed the chest. Black Weasel stood up and shouted.

“Let’s move! Ah, but let’s have just one drink before we go.”

The next day. Late at night.

A giant and a young man stumbled down to the inn’s first floor. Several daggers, whips, and axes hung from the giant’s waist. The young man wore a black robe and carried a large chest in each hand. Even to an old man’s eyes clouded by cataracts, they looked like a thief and his lackey who had just finished ransacking a house.

The innkeeper, who had been nodding off at the counter next to the entrance, suddenly raised his head. His face, staring at the giant and the young man, instantly paled.

Those two guests had stayed on the second floor since early August and were the innkeeper’s greatest headache. The giant and the young man had burst into the inn’s tavern like wild boars invading a farm’s vegetable garden on a sunny afternoon. Within the time it took for the sun to tilt a single hand’s breadth, every drinking customer had fled the tavern. That evening, the guest in the inn’s best room was forced to check out, and the room naturally went to the giant and the young man. That happened two months ago.

“Innkeeper, why aren’t you asleep? Did your wife kick you out because you’re no good at your nightly duties?”

The giant smirked as he walked over. The smell of alcohol wafted with every word he enunciated. The innkeeper swallowed his saliva in silence.

“Hey! When a person asks a question, you should answer!”

The giant slammed his fist against the table. The innkeeper pressed his back against the wall.

“Yes, yes! G-guests, what brings you here at this hour? Are you… finally… leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, thank you! Have a safe trip! I won’t charge you for the room, food, or alcohol!”

“Forget it. I’m a guy who hates free stuff.”

The giant pulled out an axe, not money.

“Give us a wagon and a month’s worth of food. Oh, and I’d like seven barrels of alcohol and three crates of apples. This is a modest price for us leaving this place, right?”

***

At the same time, on the Atania Continent. Rosipol, the capital of the small kingdom of Levenon.

On a slightly warm October afternoon, the outdoor practice field in front of the Mayer Public School’s main building was noisy with the students’ chatter. An instructor signaled from the center of the circular arena.

“Quiet! Wolf! It’s your turn.”

Wolf stood up and trudged to the center of the arena. He had leather straps wrapped tightly around his hands and was half-naked, wearing only pants. The sand felt as rough as a carpenter’s hand against his bare soles.

His opponent was Roy, the biggest student in the class after Wolf. Wolf and Roy stood facing each other with the instructor between them.

The instructor said, “Basic stance.”

The complexity of a boxing stance was equal to a fortress’s blueprints in these young men’s eyes.

“First, bend your knees slightly. Keep your feet shoulder-width apart and your left foot slightly forward. Your left hand stays level with your eye line. Place your right hand in front of your right cheek. Keep your elbows at your sides.”

The students sitting around the arena all looked like they were chewing on moldy barley bread. Every man in Levenon, except for slaves, must receive combat training starting at age seventeen. However, this was a school for commoners. Unlike baking, shoe repair, or tailoring, combat training was a useless waste of time.

“Wolf, look your opponent in the eye! Are you afraid of getting hit? You’re such a big guy, but you’re a coward…”

The instructor frowned as he looked Wolf over. Wolf was only seventeen, but his height was nearly that of a grown man.

“He has a body that looks like he gains muscle just by sleeping, but he has no spirit. With that physique, he could easily knock down an opponent while taking hits… Snap out of it! A man who can’t fight can’t handle a weapon either!”

“Instructor, Wolf is good at baking bread. He’s been helping the landlord in the kitchen since last year.”

The students burst into laughter at the comment. The instructor lowered his head and let out a long sigh.

“Alright. I’ll count down, then you start the attack. You win when your opponent surrenders or can’t fight anymore. Five, four, three, two… one!”

Wolf fell on his butt as soon as the instructor finished speaking.

“I surrender! I surrender!”

“Hahaha!”

The students doubled over with laughter. The instructor also seemed to have given up now.

“Wolf, Roy, go back. Next pair, come out.”

Wolf brushed the dust off his rear and left the arena. Roy followed him and grumbled.

“I can’t believe we have to do this every week until graduation. Ugh, it’s so boring.”

“You’ve just got to pretend. If you’re unlucky enough to break a finger, you’ll lose time for learning your trade.”

Wolf also spoke in a low voice. The students whispered discontentedly.

“They’re going to leave everything to mercenaries if a war starts anyway.”

“I’m so jealous of my house’s slave. He doesn’t get combat training, and he rolls around on the bed with my sister every day.”

Wolf sat down anywhere. A history teacher’s voice drifted out from the main building behind them.

“The <Ill Omens> are stupid. The academic world also cites their characteristic habit of trying to solve everything with violence as stemming mainly from that stupidity.”