Dreamland

The morning was beautiful, with the two bright suns shining high in the sky. The air felt dry and fresh, although it was already getting quite warm. Ayra wiped away the beads of sweat forming on her forehead and grinned. She chatted cheerfully with Kroh, the gunsmith, attempting to negotiate the price of a small knife. He was asking for two silver coins, which was a fair price, but Ayra hoped to sharpen her haggling skills and maybe knock a couple of coppers off the cost.

Suddenly, they heard a couple of shouts that made them realize something was amiss. They exchanged a bewildered look before the town erupted into a cacophony of noise. Children screamed, horses neighed, weapons clashed, and people cried out in pain as if the settlement had been plunged into the midst of a war.

Moments later, Ayra ended up trembling and crying silently in her hiding place, watching the horrifying scenes unfold before her eyes. Kroh had pushed her into the shelter, and although she had initially protested, simply unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation, she now found herself hidden in his family's shelter, the shelter prepared for his wife and children. From her vantage point, she saw them crying, lying in chains in the small square in the center of the settlement.

She felt helpless, her eyes wide in horror; what could she do?

Slave hunters! Ayra realized with a sickening feeling that their small trading settlement had been attacked by slave hunters. How could something so terrible happen to their peaceful community? After hiding Ayra away, Kroh had valiantly rushed outside with a sword in hand to defend his family. But now, he was nothing more than another lifeless body from all those strewn around the settlement, lying in the dust with a growing pool of blood surrounding him.

A shiver ran down Ayra's spine as she heard the slave hunters speak.

"Did you find her?" one of them asked.

"Who? The blonde? No, she's not here. Maybe she's gone?" another responded.

"No! She must be here somewhere! I saw her just a few minutes ago!" the first voice retorted angrily.

Ayra's eyes widened with fear realizing they were looking for her. She almost gasped, and she quickly put her hand in her mouth and bit down to stifle any sound that might give away her hiding place.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down despite the heavy smell of iron assaulting her nostrils – the smell of blood - mixed with urine. From her hiding place, she could see the slave hunters passing by from time to time in front of the small hole she was spying through. She dared not move a muscle, fearful of making any noise that could give her away.

She heard the first voice again: "She's worth gold!"

The raid's leader, a large brute with a scarred face, raised his voice and pointed at three of his men. "You, you, and you! Stay here and find the girl! The rest of us are leaving! I won't risk the whole raid for a single slave!"

Ayra pressed her hands to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. Maybe, just maybe, she had a chance to escape without being caught. With sadness but also relief, she watched as the caravan left, taking with it the people who were forced to go into a life of slavery, crying and moaning as they were dragged away.

She desperately clutched the knife in her hand, her knuckles white with effort. The small knife from Kroh. It was meant for peeling potatoes, but now it was her weapon. Any sword in Kroh's shop was too heavy for her.

She closed her eyes and remembered: she had seen this before. She had almost forgotten the nightmare that had haunted her childhood dreams, and now that memory returned with a vengeance.

She had been only three years old when it happened.

Her mother had hidden her in a small closet, casting a spell of silence and immobility on her. Her mother was a good mage who owned her own magic artifact shop, but her magic was not enough to protect her from the slavers. They had taken her mother, leaving Ayra alone and unseen in the closet until the spell wore off.

Ayra shuddered at the memory of her earliest experience, her only memory of her mother's desperate face as she pushed her into the closet.

A tear slowly rolled down her cheek as she remembered her mother's face. Her eyes turned to the small dagger in her hand. Should she take her own life now?

She swallowed hard like she was choking on something. She raised her head again: not yet; there was still hope.

She had lost sight of them but heard them exploring the small settlement. Then she smelled smoke.

"What are you doing? Dorhang has forbidden us to light any fires!"

"Dorhang's not here. I'll burn all these shacks down if I have to until she comes out!"

"You're crazy? What do you think Dorhang will do if he finds out?”

Only now did she hear the third slaver speaking again:

“If he finds out? Do you think he can't see the smoke?"

The other two continued their bickering.

"Who says we did it? The bitch did it. If this bitch is here, she's gonna have to get out. I don't want to waste another day looking for a slave. At any moment, a denka patrol can surprise us!"

"Idiot! No patrol was planned for today, but now they will come once they see the smoke!"

“We'll be leaving before any patrols get here! Why do you care so much about this bitch?”

"Dorhang had promised me one gold if she really is worth more than two! And she is; I've seen her!"

"Ah, so we're here for your damned gold?"

A third voice abruptly stopped the argument, interjecting, "Stop your bickering; someone is approaching!"

"A patrol?" asked the first slaver.

"No, just two strangers," replied the third voice with a chuckle.

"Potential future slaves?" joked the other slaver, followed by more laughter. But the third slaver's tone turned serious, "One of them is a warrior, and the woman with him... I can't quite determine her capabilities. There's something off about her."

"What do you mean?" asked the first one, "You're the scout; can't you sense her magic or something?"

The scout paused thoughtfully before responding, "It's strange; it's as if she doesn't exist. I can't get a read on her power. I've heard of this before, but I've never seen it."

The second slaver interjected, "Maybe she's just weak and defenseless." The scout shook his head, "Her look says otherwise. She must be some sort of shadow warrior. We should leave her alone."

Ayra's breathing steadied, and she dared to hope, but fear still gripped her. Her left leg trembled uncontrollably, and her heart felt like it might burst from her chest. She placed a hand over it, trying to calm herself down.

She wondered what the best course of action would be. The strangers would be outnumbered and caught off guard if a fight broke out. She had witnessed the slavers' brutality and knew what they were capable of. She could try to warn the strangers, but it might not be enough to guarantee their win.

She was on the verge of leaving her shelter, but fear held her back from doing it. After some time, she heard voices again. The strangers were speaking casually with the slavers. How could they be so naive? The slavers were spinning a tale, claiming they had just arrived and discovered the place already burning, likely biding their time for the opportune moment to strike.

She felt the need to yell at them and tell them the truth. She bit her lip. That woman was a wild card. Was she as weak as herself? Then they had no chance. Or was she as strong as the scout suspected?

Smoke began to fill the small cabin where she was hiding. She was still unsure what to do until she recognized the voice of one of the newcomers: a young man who had been a frequent customer at their shop over the past few days.

Yes, it was definitively that guy. She breathed, relieved, and raised her eyes to the sky, thanking all gods. She decided now would be the time to act. Those two probably stood little chance against the three slavers, but if she joined them, this could improve their chances of survival in the upcoming battle. Even if they ultimately lost, at least she would have fought instead of surrendering and becoming a slave.

She mustered up all her courage, took a few deep breaths, and then ran outside, kicking the street's dust with her bare feet and screaming at the top of her lungs: "Slavers! These are slavers!"

She came to a sudden stop, completely taken aback by the unexpected scene unfolding before her. They all were gathered in the middle of the road, sharing a drink that one of the slavers had salvaged from the burning saloon. It was a strange sight, and the final words she had heard them utter only added to her disbelief: "We have to save the drinks!"

In the middle of the street, a solitary wooden chair stood, its surface cluttered with bottles and glasses of various shapes and sizes.

They all stood around the chair with drinks in their hands and regarded her with the disdain of party-goers interrupted by an unwelcome guest.

Seeing that nobody was making a move, she hesitated for a moment before sprinting toward the two strangers. She would try to have those strangers between her and the slavers. After all, there was bound to be a fight, wasn't there?

As she approached, two of the slavers put down their glasses and stepped forward to block her way, while the third stayed with the two strangers: a woman dressed in black and a ruggedly handsome man who wore a shirt that revealed his muscular torso and a suit of armor patched from various sets. She recognized him immediately; it was her former customer.

Will he help her?

The woman was clad in exquisite leather armor that spoke of her noble heritage. But where was her escort if she truly was a lady of high rank? Surely this lone man couldn't be her entire retinue. And come to think of it, she had never seen them together before.

She came to a halt and locked eyes with her handsome former customer, imploring him for help. "Sir, please, you have to help me! Don't you remember me? Please!"

Seeing that the two slavers were approaching her and the stranger made no move, she sobbed, losing all hope. Her hands fell, and she staggered on her feet, unable to believe her eyes.

She knew she wouldn't be able to run away from them. She understood that she had lost.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and the image of her mother's face returned to her memory. A tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, "I love you, Mommy."

With a quick movement, she plunged the dagger between her breasts just above her belly, where she thought her heart was.

He gestured in shock and shouted, "No!" running towards her, but it was too late.

She smiled, looking at the memory of her mother's face, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm coming, Mom!" – she whispered, raising a hand to caress the face she saw.

However, she had narrowly missed her heart but had punctured a large artery, and blood spurted over her simple dress, staining it red.

The slavers reached her in a second and knocked her down, one drawing the dagger while the other forced her to drink a healing potion, spraying some over her wound.

The raider swore, holding her nose and forcing the drink down her throat.

"Dorhang will have to pay me for this potion!"

The other slaver growled: "He'll deduct it from your gold!"

She couldn't believe she was still alive.

They put her on her knees and tied her hands behind her back and then to her ankles. One of them grabbed her fluffy ponytail with one hand to keep her face up.

Gargling noises came from her throat as she struggled against the potion as now the other slaver held her nose to force her to swallow.

Disappointed, she felt her wound closing. Could it be that she survived to have to live through this?

The raider behind her asked her other tormentor: “Hey, give me some juice; the bitch scratched my hand."

He growled back, "Use your own potion!"

Angered by that response, the man wiped his hand across her face to use up the drops of the potion she had spat out. He flattened her nose in the violent thrust, waves of foul-smelling sweat flooding her nostrils.

The young man, her former client, came closer while the gray-eyed woman lingered with the third slaver, sipping from their glasses and exchanging intermittent words. For a moment, she thought she saw the woman's muscles tense as she had reached for her knife, but then she remained seated, observing her like a spectator at a play, even worse, like a viewer watching an insect struggle to break free from a spider's web.

Forced to kneel between the two slavers, she grasped the harsh truth that she had lost everything. Her eyes dulled, and her head slumped to the side in resignation. Even death was now a privilege she could no longer attain.

As she closed her eyes, awaiting her fate, the young man approached and raised his voice:

"Leave her alone!"

She lifted her head slowly, not understanding. What does he want? Does he really want to help her?

Behind him, the woman with piercing gray eyes rolled hers and topped off her glass from a bottle adorned with a skull. She then returned the bottle to the slaver next to her, who followed suit, the two of them watching as they exchanged whispered words beyond her reach."

One of her tormentors turned to the stranger: "Mind your own business, man! Should I have let her die? Wouldn't that be a shame? I saved her; I own her life now!”

Ayra looked at the stranger. Their eyes met, and again a small flame of hope began to burn in her heart. She tried to protest, “Please, no! Don't let them...”

She tried to scream and explain, but one of the raiders made her smell something, and suddenly she found herself unable to move, unable to talk, kept standing only by the slaver's leg her body was resting against. But she had seen his eyes; there was hope in those eyes! Captured and bound like so many others before her, her only hope now rested with the young man.

Putting her on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the slaver lied to the strangers: “She is only shocked after the raid. She needs to recover. We'll take care of her."

All she could do was hope and cry. And then the unexpected happened. The stranger put his right hand on the hilt of the sword and asked the slaver to release her: "Put her down!"

She saw him from under the raider's armpit, hanging upside down, the raider holding her legs together with one hand on his shoulder. The binding strained and cut her wrists and ankles. She screamed in frustration and pain. A muffled scream, air rushing out of her lungs over paralyzed vocal cords.

The slaver shook his head. “Look, we don't want to start a fight. She is with us; she was nothing but scared and shocked after the raid!”

He turned to his partner: "Bring the horses! We're leaving!"

No, no, no, no! This cannot happen! She wanted to escape and run, but her limbs would not obey her.

The handsome man hesitated, and the woman dressed in black addressed him: “Spartacius, wait, we don't want trouble with the Golden Empire, and these slavers belong to it. If we start a fight, we will have trouble traveling through their land later. It covers a large part of the central regions of this continent. Do you want this?"

She then turned to the slaver beside her: "How much do you think she'll bring?"

The slaver nodded. "Wise words. Perhaps we can make a mutually satisfactory deal?"

Ayra's heart sank. That woman knew from the beginning that they were slavers. She had accepted it. The slaver moved her, and she lost sight of them. What was the other slaver talking about? What business? It was even more surprising to hear the young man, Spartacius, protesting even more resolute now:

“Slavers? Surely she is not with them. I know her; I won't let them take her!”

A glimmer of hope flared again in her heart, only to be immediately crushed by the woman's words: "Come on! She's just an NPC. Look; eventually, we can find an arrangement…."

Enpisi? What kind of insult was that? The raider adjusted his load, shifting her on his shoulder closer to his neck. A wave of nauseating smell reached her nostrils from under his armpit. He let her slide lower, her long blonde hair almost ended up in the dust of the streets, but now she could see the young man again. He was her only hope. Her watery eyes met his. Will he want to save her? Will he be able to save her? There were three slavers, and the woman in black didn't seem to want to help him. Maybe she couldn't. Will he risk it alone? Will he succeed? He bravely drew his sword and pointed it at the slaver.

“Put. her. down.”

They looked at each other for a brief moment, and then the slaver let her fall to the ground. She fell headfirst, face hitting the dust, then onto her side with a thud, the air knocked out of her lungs. She tried to spit out the dust she inhaled, but her lips and throat ignored her wishes. She couldn't see anything, but she heard the raider's sword leave its sheath. Then the other one.

At least she didn't have to smell that nauseating smell of sweat anymore. The raider shoved her with his boot, rolling her away from him, and she could see them again.

The woman in black exclaimed in surprise: "Hey, he did what you asked!"

Ayra's heart froze in the face of so much disdain.

The woman giggled and sipped from her glass, talking to the slaver beside her. They seemed to be arguing about something. He pretended to drink but moved his left hand slowly toward the dagger at his belt. Ayra watched from the corner of her eye, face down, waiting for the slaver to strike. How could that woman be so ignorant of what was happening? She would deserve her fate!

But it hasn't happened yet. What happened was that the young man, Spartacius, fought the two slavers.

At first, the handsome man was beating them, and she hoped he could win, but they pushed him more and more on the defensive over time. He was going to lose.

He called: "Cala, help me!"

The woman replied as if she wasn't really worried.

"I'll take care of it; just hold on longer; you can do it."

Did she not care about his life?

He took a step back, avoiding a cut: "Oh, come on! Just a hand?"

Ayra felt tears running down her cheeks. That was all she could do. She felt guilty. The young man would die because of her, die trying to save her because she had left her hiding place too soon.

She desperately tried to move as one of the slavers managed to trip Spartacius, who then fell to his side as the other slaver prepared to decapitate him.

She closed her eyes, unwilling to look further.

When she opened her eyes moments later, all three slavers were dead or dying, even if they were still standing. An arrow was in the hand of the slaver who wanted to cut off Spartacius' head, his curved sword already falling, while an iron star had pierced his temple.

The other slaver fell on his side, also with a broken temple, while the third slaver fell on his back, his head almost completely detached from his neck.

The woman in black was next to Spartacius, helping him to his feet. By all gods, how could this have happened? Could she have moved in the blink of an eye? Were there more people helping her?

Ayra's heart stood still: she had never seen anything like it. She didn't think it was possible. Who was this grey-eyed woman who could do such things?

She started crying. The emotional roller coaster she had been through had drained her. She felt relieved, exhausted, and angry. Angry at the world that allowed slavers to exist, angry at the woman in black that had let her be tortured like this, she was angry at everything.

Spartacius addressed the woman in black in a reproachful voice: "Why did you have to wait so long?"

She shrugged. "I negotiated with that guy to sell it to me. If you had waited another minute, it would have been a done deal, and everyone would have been happily ever after. Now we're in a big mess!"

Did she want to buy her? Was she planning to make her a slave?

Spartacius sighed as he stood up and walked over to Ayra, looking her in the eyes.

He protested angrily: “But she is a free citizen of the republic; they only intended to enslave her! Damned slavers!”

The woman snorted: "Yes! There's an empire full of them out there, an empire we'll have to cross later. How are you going to do that with a price on your head?"

He awkwardly picked Ayra up in his arms, and she felt like a doll with its strings cut, unable to move. The woman shook her head, looking at her.

"She's fine. She'll be able to move normally in a quarter of an hour. You should cut those bonds first. Then you can have her rest against a wall until she recovers."

As he tried to help her sit, he asked: "Are you going to leave her alone here?"

Realizing that her bindings wouldn't allow her to sit, he placed her back on her stomach and began cutting them while Ayra stoically endured it all.

She understood that she would not be enslaved. As soon as she could, she looked gratefully into his eyes.

He picked her up again, sat her down, and started cleaning her face. An amalgam of confused feelings washed over Ayra: she was grateful, afraid, confused, ashamed, and angry. Her head fell to the side as she couldn't keep her neck straight, and spit was pouring from her open mouth. He laid her head back and moved it to be better supported by an ornament on the wall, then cleaned her cheek.

The woman shrugged and didn't answer, then turned towards a nearby building and asked loudly: "Have you noticed anything else around?"

A voice answered from above: “The three of them were alone here, but a group of about a dozen is closing in on us now. The raid leader must have seen the smoke and sent a party to investigate."

The woman sighed and turned to Spartacius: “I knew this shit was going to get bigger. You'd better take her inside and wait until we finish them."

"But I want to fight!"

She shook her head. “They're too high-level for you. Please be careful. It's better to stay inside, at least until the fight starts, or else they might gang up on you if you get their aggro in early.”

She was protective of him. Would she even go so far as to take on a dozen slavers by herself? To Ayra's amazement, he accepted.

He replied, taking Ayra in his arms and walking inside. "Yes, Mom!"

Ayra's eyes widened: was she his mother?!

Had she tried before to teach him a lesson? This would explain why she had let him fight alone and only intervened when he was about to lose.

She took a deep breath. Judging by the way Cala acted and her strength, she seemed to be some kind of monster with a young child. A monster that only looked young.

Ayra's heart was pounding madly in her chest. Slavers raiding her outpost and encountering mythical monsters in one day was a little too much for her to bear.

She looked at Spartacius as he carried her in his arms. At least he was normal.

She wanted him to stay there and never leave her. She was afraid and clung to him with all her little strength. She lost herself looking into his deep brown eyes. She wanted to tell him so many things; she wanted to thank him for saving her! But she couldn't! Will they survive the encounter? Will she at least manage to thank him?

Even though Cala, the woman in black, was powerful, and even with her ally, the mysterious arrow shooter, they were only two against a dozen!?

Was she really that kind of monster?

She heard them talking outside, and Spartacius wanted to put her down.

She muttered as best she could with her numb tongue, trying to grab his shirt with her dazed hands: "Please, no!"

He sighed and held her tightly as screams and battle sounds were suddenly heard from outside.

It was short. Way too short.

The woman and her ally must be dead by now.

Now the slavers will enter.

"Please kill me, don't let them take me alive!" - she murmured in his ear.

He sighed again. "It'll be fine, don't worry."

His optimism surprised her.

That can't be possible! Those are only good words, but then...

The already familiar voice echoed outside: “You can come out; it's over."

Can it be so? But then... Cala was more than a monster; yes, a mythical monster.

He stood up and turned, carrying her outside in his strong arms.

Outside, before their eyes, a scene of carnage unfolded, blood, guts, and bodies scattered everywhere.

Ayra's hair stood up endlessly on the back of her neck, and her eyes widened in horror. She clung as tight as she could to Spartacius.

Seeing them, Cala exclaimed: “I'm surprised you listened to me; I did not expect this?"

“Cala, please don't put salt in my wounds. I lost all that good experience!”

"Yeah, but you have hands-on experience holding a damsel in distress!"

She realized Cala was teasing him. Strange maternal teasing, especially in such a situation!

He shook his head and just grunted.

There was a chuckle from somewhere above, and the archer turned out to be a young woman with long bright red hair fluttering in the wind as she jumped off the roof of a building.

Ayra shuddered at the height she jumped from, but nothing bad happened; the archer walked as if she had jumped off a chair, not a building.

Cala turned to the archer and asked: "Did anyone escape?"

"No. There was another one spying on us, but I had him."

"Good! Please check them out and loot them. Leave none alive. I don't want my reputation with the empire to be ruined by this misfortune. Take the money for your change. Let me know if you find any valuables."

Ayra was left speechless after taking in the cold-heartedness of their comments. These women, Cala, and her archer, were monsters. It was one thing to fight slavers and another to cut the throats of badly wounded warriors, even if they were slavers.

She clung even more desperately to her protector.

Spartacius shrugged:

“You should have put on a mask!”

Cala sighed:

“I can't go masked all of the time. You can put her down; she can move already!”

Ayra stared at Cala and uttered, in a low voice, for herself: "Uh, how can one be such a monster!?"

But Cala's acute hearing caught Ayra's words, causing her to turn and raise an eyebrow.

Embarrassed, Ayra attempted to hide in Spartacius' embrace, but the archer reprimanded her, saying, "Show some respect, young lady. That 'monster' saved you from those slavers."

It seemed everyone had a sharp hearing.

Ayra almost started to cry: "She would have gladly let those slavers take me. They killed Kroh!”

Cala answered with a yawn. "He shall respawn!"

"What do you say? He'll never come back!? How could he? Magic so high doesn't come to a village like ours? Someone else will, sure, but Kroh is dead!"

Why was Cala looking at her in wonder? That's how the world worked! Even more surprising was her question:

"Will he not respawn?"

"How can someone ask such a foolish question?" Ayra thought to herself.

"No. And his family is now in chains!"

Ayra was slowly coming to her senses. She turned to Spartacius: “Those children you allowed to play with your knife last week are now in chains and brought to their fate as slaves. Would you not try and help them?”

“You allowed kids to play with your knife? Something is wrong here!”

Everybody turned and looked at Cala. That was the thing she found disturbing? Cala shrugged, and Ayra exploded:

“You have to save them!”

It was so much more that she wanted to say, but how could she explain them? How could she explain that a whole world made by those people, their children, the jokes, the games, the tragedies, and the happy moments, everything will get extinct with them going into slavery?

Spartacius, putting Ayra gently on a chair, wondered:

“Is this a quest?”

Ayra's eyes went round upon hearing that. What was this for a stupid question? Or was it something between him and his mother? Cala shook her head.

“Quest? Even if it would be, all I could gain is to fall out of grace with the damned Golden Empire. A hell of a reward! I do not need another Empire to hate my guts!”

Spartacius scratched his head:

“If we do it cleanly, you do not lose anything!”

At this, Cala sighed and wondered:

“There is a risk... and what do I gain?”

Ayra answered, looking sharply at her:

“Gain? Do you always need something to gain? Do the right thing for a change!? You may find peoples' gratitude more rewarding than anything!”

Cala laughed:

“Wow, this is an advanced talk for an NPC!”

That was too much. Ayra felt like exploding:

“Slurs, when you have no answer!? What's an enpisi? Is it some wordplay about pissing? Yes, I pissed myself; yes, I was afraid; this is no reason to let them enslave those good people!”

She was angry. Cala had again used this slur, but she would not let it pass. The sudden silence that followed showed it was the right question to ask.

Cala and Spartacius exchanged a look. Finally, Cala said something:

“Well, this is weirder than I expected it to be.”

Then she raised a brow looking at Ayra:

“Did you really piss yourself?”

Ayra screamed, grasping the air with her hands to their amusement. Shame and fury were mixing inside her, but she said nothing as she heard Cala asking the archer:

“Alice, how far are the slavers?”

Can it be? Will they free them?

Then fear invaded her. No, they cannot… They will run to their death… There have been at least fifty slavers in the beginning. How many were left?

She turned her head to look at Cala: maybe with this monster with grey eyes, there was a chance?

Alice's answer came after a moment:

“They are moving slowly with all those people afoot. I guess we could catch them if we push our horses a bit.”

“Will we get them before the border?”

“Probably. If they do not have some other trick to move faster.”

“Good. I do not want to do this within the Empire's lands.”

Spartacius wondered:

“Why not?”

“The emperor has ways to find out who does things within his empire. Well, if you want to free those NP… ahh folk, we should go now!”

“What do I do with her?”

“Leave her here. We'll come back as soon as we are done.”

“I prefer to take her with me.”

“OK, but your horse will be soon tired, and you'll fall behind. As I said, I will not be waiting. If I do it, then only within the republic. If it's OK for you, then we'll meet when we get back.”

“Go, brave Sir Spartacius, go!”

She watched him as he hesitated for another moment, then left. She was proud of herself and, at the same time, afraid and angry that she had let him go. What if some of the slavers shall come back now? What would she do? She tried to rein in her fear and go fight the fires; then she went back into hiding, and then she came out again to fight the fires.

Did she make a deal with the devil himself? Who could have killed so many raiders so fast? That was impossible. Only somebody who truly had superhuman powers could do such.

By the time when they came back, the fires were almost extinguished. She saw them riding on their exhausted horses and thought they had given up. They were too soon back. Yet they had more horses. Did they kill everybody? Did they encounter another group?

She did not dare ask, but the woman named Cala talked to her half mockingly:

“Well, we freed them. What is now our reward?”

Ayra could not believe it:

“You freed them? Really? Where are they?”

“They are coming behind us; it will take them maybe half an hour to get here. They cannot move fast with all those children afoot.”

“You left them alone? Without horses?”

“They are good. We left some horses. We will check when we meet them again on our way; we are now going to Lilitown. Spartacius wanted to come back and tell you we did it.”

She was even more grateful to Sir Spartacius! What a valiant and brave gentleman! How could such a brave soul come from such a dreadful mother?

He got off his horse and smiled at her: "They'll be fine."

Ayra ran to him and hugged him, kissing his cheeks, then dropped to her knees and kissed his hand. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Sir Spartacius, thank you!!"

Cala laughed as Spartacius looked at her awkwardly, at first unsure of how to react, then trying to get Ayra to her feet again.

Cala laughed louder: "Hey, that's his reward and mine?"

Was she really asking to be hugged, or was she mocking her? Was this a test?

Ayra was poor and knew she couldn't pay, but even so, she would do her best; she took her purse and headed back to Cala.

She would give her all she had: “Children will sing the praises of such heroes as you! Here is all I have, but I'm sure you'll get tens of times more for your good deed when they learn about you and what you did. Please take it!"

She performed a curtsy in front of Cala as best she could.

Cala took the purse, whistled, and then laughed again. "Awesome! He gets the kisses; I get the money! You are good! Look, I'd appreciate it if you didn't sing our praises. They..." - she said, pointing to the Empire's lands - "...don't know our names, and this time we were wearing masks. We'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone who we are."

"But why? Every citizen in the republic would be grateful?"

"This was nothing. They had better arm themselves. The Republic's army was greatly weakened after the last battles against Mephisto and especially against the orc tribes. This situation encourages the slavers. There will be many more raids for sure."

"But what can we do? We aren't soldiers!? Should we run? Where?"

“Only one archer half as good as Alice would have driven these slavers away. Better save your money, buy yourself a decent bow, and learn how to shoot.”

Ayra hesitated. She understood that this was a challenge, but in what sense? On the other hand, what Cala had said was true. They relied too much on mercenary soldiers. No one in their small village could fight.

"What can I do if more slavers come next time?”

Cala shrugged:

"Run. You are too young and inexperienced. They will come in greater numbers."

The woman said it gloomily, as sure of herself as if she knew the future.

Ayra sighed. “I've worked in Aruba's store since I was little. What else could I do? I learned to be a merchant."

She turned to Alice. "How did you learn to fight?"

"There is a monastery not far from here. They train rogues like me to fight Mephisto and all evil.”

Ayra asked, pleasantly surprised and full of hope: "Are you a nun?"

Alice laughed, shaking her head at the same time. "No. I'm a fire arrow master. I'm not a nun. One can do the training without becoming a nun."

"Didn't you want to become one?"

A fire arrow master? Was she really one? Or was he bragging? She had only shown a small portion of such powers in these fights… but that might explain why they were so sure of themselves.

What Alice answered surprised her even more:

"I was not considered worthy of becoming one. It's a longer story here..." - she shrugged - "Besides, I wanted to fight outside, not wait in the monastery for the evil to come to me," - she continued with a slight grimace - "so I learned to be a mercenary, and I was sold under contract to Cala."

"So, you're like a slave?"

Alice giggled, visibly amused. "No. Perhaps I misspoke. The contract was sold. The contract was for one year. The monastery collected the money, and I had the duty to serve as a mercenary under her orders for a year. A contract is not slavery; I am a free woman. Cala released me from my contract on the very first day. She told me: I'm free to stay or go whenever I want. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. I'm only with her because I want to be .”

“Did she buy your obedience by releasing you from the contract? Why are you following her?”

Alice had the feeling that Ayra could hardly conceive that Cala had anything genuinely good in her.

She raised an eyebrow and replied:

“Obedience…bought? There are other things beyond that, things I'm afraid you cannot understand!” - she shrugged, then continued - "I didn't want to stay in her debt; that's why I served the first year. Now it's different. True, I get paid, and we share the loot, which is a nice thing, but that's not the only reason I'm following Cala. I have been with her for years. We grew stronger together, fought many wars, and saw many different lands."

Ayra tried to protest: "Why do you think I can't understand?"

Alice chuckled.

"Maybe you can. Tell me, how many times has someone saved your life? How many times have you saved theirs? She saved my life..." - she sighed - "I'm ashamed to say that I've lost count of the times. Can you imagine that? Oh, and I've saved her life. And I don't even know how many times. It fills my heart with joy when I can serve her. It fills my heart with joy when we overcome the most terrible obstacles and formidable enemies. We have fought evil beyond your imagination. One day we will fight and kill Mephisto himself. That is why I follow her."

“Mephisto? The king of black magic? The Great Devil himself?”

“Yes, the Great Devil himself. What comes next, we'll see."

"After? There will be no after...”

Cala and Spartacius were preparing new horses from some they had captured from the slavers.

Spartacius turned to Cala and whispered: “Wow, crazy! Did you hear the conversation?”

"Yeah. They went overboard with the NPCs."

At this point, Ayra turned around, approached them, and proved to have good ears. Looking angry and feeling betrayed, she spoke, looking at Spartacius and then at Cala:

"Enpisi? Enpisi? Why do you say 'Enpisi' with such disdain? It sounds as though you're referring to a group of lesser beings, not even people. And she was talking about you too!”

As Ayra pointed at Alice, Cala placed a hand on her forehead and sighed while Alice shrugged.

"I didn't deserve it this time!" - Cala thought - “What did I say wrong about NPCs? Will they make an NPC revolution next time!?”

But Ayra wasn't finished yet, as the fact that Alice almost idolized Cala was infuriating her to no end. She pointed at Cala's chest and spoke with a hint of anger in her voice,

"Yes, you! You mocked me when I wet myself, but Alice doesn't deserve that kind of treatment. She loves you and serves you! Why are you talking about her that way? And what about me? Why won't you even look me in the eye as if I'm not worth your time? Just because I don't know how to fight doesn't mean I'm worthless. I could learn how to fight, even if I en-pissed myself!"

After saying this, Ayra felt scared. What devil had driven her to challenge this monster who could squash her like a bug? To her surprise, Cala didn't cut her throat. Yet.

Cala just mumbled, raising a brow while her eyes wandered towards Ayra's legs: "That's not what en-piss... ahm... did you really... ahm, forget about that! You've misunderstood me. It has nothing to do with the fact that you...err...all that."

She chuckled, took a deep breath, then continued looking into Ayra's eyes.

"If you want to learn to fight, you can come with us. We now go to the monastery to hire an archer for Spartacius. Come and see if you want to stay there.”

Alice added: "There are other roles you can learn, not just nun or fighter."

"But I don't have enough money to pay for the training?"

Cala seemed to consider for a moment before responding. "Alice and I can vouch for you and help you gain entry to the monastery's training camp. If you're interested, you can take one of the horses as your own - we won't need them all. This place is dangerous, but the camp has stronger defenses. Or you can stay here and wait for them” – she pointed towards the approaching group she could barely see on the horizon, then continued – “and see if they plan to rebuild the village or relocate to a more secure area.”

Ayra took a deep breath. Maybe it was her lucky day after all. Perhaps she should listen if this monster advises her to leave the outpost.

She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded:

“Aruba can run her store without me; she even asked me if I didn't want to go. They're good people, but... I don't have to follow them. I want to learn to defend myself against any slavers or other robbers. If it's possible, I would like to accompany you to the monastery."

Raising her blue eyes to meet his, she made a vow. "Sir Spartacius, I will train hard and become the best archer I can be for you."

He looked up in surprise and asked, "Can you ride?"

Without hesitation, she nodded.

Cala pressed her knuckle to her mouth to stifle a laugh and break the spell.

She gestured toward the horses and said, "Please, be our guest."

Then she chuckled and added, "Although I should warn you: Sir Spartacius is seeking a mage for his bodyguard, not an archer..."

They left a few moments later.