Chương 26: The Guard

On the evening of the hundredth loop, Alcyr made sure to get a few extra hours of much-needed sleep, letting Restorative Slumber heal as much of his body as it could. He awoke roughly an hour before the assassin was timed to arrive, using the candles and the moon outside his window to judge the time. Snow was falling, though the cavern's half-opened ceiling prevented the worst of the winds and frost from assailing the mountain base.

Feeling a little better, Alcyr took a moment to steady himself and sit up on the bed before loudly clearing his throat.

"You don't have to stay out alone in the midnight cold," he called out to the female guard outside.

"Come in and warm yourself by the fire." Long seconds of silence passed. Alcyr was about to call out again when the door cautiously opened.

"Are you talking to me?" the guard asked, puzzled.

"Who else would I be talking to? Get in here and close the door. You're letting the heat out." The guard looked at him for a moment, unsure. Her feet shuffled in place.

"This isn't a request to…

'cavort', is it?" she asked hesitantly.

"I mean, as much as I like to leap into those mighty muscles of yours, I'm more of a dinner-first kind of girl before I jump into dessert." It took a moment for Alcyr to get what the guard was implying. He hid his exasperation and shook his head.

"That's not my intent. I just thought that you might prefer guarding me from inside the infirmary rather than outside. There's no point having you suffer in the snow when there's more than enough heat in here to share." The girl narrowed her eyes.

"Now, see. I might not be the best fighter around, but I can tell when someone is lying." I suppose my Persuasion skill still isn't good enough yet…

"I swear I have no ill intentions for you," Alcyr tried.

"Nuh-uh. That's a lie."

"I swear I have no illicit intentions for you." Wanting someone to serve as a meatshield didn't count as illicit intentions, right?

"... That's a truth." The guard sounded like she was pouting underneath her helmet.

"So, what is it? You're not trying to steal my kidneys, are you?" The guard's peculiar questions and baffling manner of speech kept leaving Alcyr confused.

"Why in the world would I want to steal your kidneys?"

"Maybe you need a replacement? I saw the state you were in when the physician dragged you into the infirmary two weeks ago. Wasn't pretty, though I suppose you looked better than the other guy." Lenore brought Bjorn's corpse into the base as well? That confirmed a few of his suspicions. He filed the thought to be analysed later.

"My kidneys are fine. I don't need yours."

"Oh. Okay." The guard suddenly perked up, her voice turning excited.

"Hey, is it true you finished off the warlord by headbutting a knife through his eye and into his brain? That is one hell of a kill, Butcher. Makes for a great tale."

"I was desperate, and his Iron Body Arte left me no other choice." Alcyr's bafflement turned to irritation.

"Enough of this. Get in and shut the door. I swear I mean you no harm." The guard clicked her teeth.

"Lie. Try again." He cursed internally and corrected himself.

"I swear I will do you no harm." She cocked her head.

"Huh, truth. Now this is interesting… Alright, I'll come in. But you better not steal my kidneys!" Are all Regulars this strange? The guard entered the infirmary and closed the door behind her. She let out a satisfied sigh as she walked over to the fireplace and removed her helmet. Despite the fact that she had died guarding him for a hundred loops, this was the first time he had seen her face. She was…

unexpectedly lovely, if Alcyr were being honest: a young and attractive noblewoman with a healthy complexion and short auburn hair, armoured in flexible drake scales and armed with a sheathed longsword at her side. Her face was unblemished save for a tiny scar next to her lips. Her brown eyes glimmered with a spark of mischief that Alcyr found strangely familiar for reasons he could not place.

"So, what's going on?" The guard asked, an easygoing smile on her lips.

"What game is the Butcher of the Red Rime playing to so brazenly invite an innocent maiden into his abode?"

"What maiden? I see only a pervert, and nothing more," Alcyr said drily.

"Find a chair and sit. We do not need to talk."

"... That's it? You really invited me in here just to sit by the fire?"

"It's cold outside. You can either thank me for the kindness of getting you out of the cold, or you can stop bothering me." The guard pouted, but eventually she did sit down. Her gaze remained on him, though it held none of the usual judgement or scorn he had expected from a Regular. She's definitely a blueblood, given her highborn looks, but her behaviour is bizarre. As if to affirm his thoughts, five minutes after she sat down, the woman suddenly took out a book and started speaking aloud as she wrote."'

Scar-ridden and massive. His height dwarfs regular men. His frame: immense, muscled, yet lean. Oh, how the room reeks thick with the scent of his blood and sweat; his earthly musk disgusts and excites the female senses in equal measure,'" she murmured to herself, hurriedly scribbling upon the pages.

"'Those murderous hands, thick-knuckled and covered in calluses. How would their roughness feel upon a maiden's fair skin? Dark hair and darker eyes, the latter filled with perverse hunger. His nubile prey in sight, the Butcher of the Red Rime opened his mouth and said—'""What in all hells are you talking about?"

"Just setting the mood since you are failing so utterly at it," she replied without a hint of hesitation or shame. She was still writing.

"I'm bored. This is boring. You're boring. Entertain me, Butcher."

"Are you a child? And stop calling me that." The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"What, you don't like your newest moniker?" she snickered.

"Your friend wouldn't stop telling everyone about it when he was here, by the way. More know you now as the 'Butcher of the Red Rime' than 'Private Alcyr', whether they want to or not." Alcyr stared incredulously.

"Roland had been prattling his nonsense here as well? Is he mad?" Spreading wild tales to other bored peasants in an Irregular company was one thing. The highborn in the 4th Regulars were much less likely to entertain his wild tale-mongering in their own base. In fact, they were much more likely to whip him for it.

"His enthusiasm was infectious, for lack of a nicer word," the guard said, eyes and fingers still fixed on writing her work.

"He was only here for three days, yet every hour was practically spent singing your praises. His bardic work wasn't bad, though. Too bad the bluebloods here can't stand listening to how a peasant like you had done a better job than them killing barbarians."

"Not you, though," Alcyr sighed.

"No, not me. I find you quite fascinating," she smiled, pausing in her writing. The young woman leaned forward, elbows on her thighs and her head resting on her hands as she observed him.

"Doesn't hurt that you're easy on the eyes. Makes me jealous of our physician, keeping you naked in her bed and all to herself these past two weeks, no doubt for all manner of unprofessional reasons…"

"I doubt she found much joy sewing up my wounds and cleaning up my blood and waste," he flatly said.

"What are you writing?" He gestured towards the book in her hands. The guard shrugged.

"I fancy myself an amateur bard," she answered.

"Your story's a little more interesting than the rest of the drab tales found here, so I'm writing it down to improve my Bardic Craft skills." That sounds eerily familiar…

"I'm not here to help you level your skills."

"No. But you do need me here to help you." The guard snapped the book shut.

"So, are you finally going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" The guard's brown eyes flickered with excitement.

"Your target, of course. Who has the Butcher of the Red Rime set his sights on to murder tonight?" Well. This was potentially problematic.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly.

"I just invited you in to use the fire. It's a rather big leap in logic to go from there and assume I'm going to kill someone."

"Are we really going to play this game of 'I know you know', or would you rather we get to the point where we start making plans and cooperate?" The guard snorted.

"You're a really terrible liar, by the way. Your bloodlust makes your every attempt at deception laughable. I can practically feel your Persuasion skill straining to save you from your own inept charisma."

"You assume too much of me," he shot back.

"And you think too little of yourself," she chuckled.

"Everyone here is scrambling after you — investigating your history, trying to get a piece of you — and yet, for the entire day today, you wander about cluelessly with the sheer gall to believe yourself some unimportant peasant. I almost feel insulted on your behalf." Something clicked in Alcyr's head.

"You were one of the guards in Commander Faldren's room earlier today. The one who was laughing."

"Yep. I appreciate your humour, by the way. Very… standoffish. It's charming in its clumsiness."

"Enough about that," Alcyr snapped.

"What were you talking about earlier? Who has been investigating me?"

"A better question would be who hasn't in these past two weeks," the guard huffed.

"Sure, most of the Regulars here don't believe half the stories about you. Hells, most don't even think the barbarian corpse brought in is actually Warlord Bjorn. The captains, however… They all saw and verified the body. They know it was you."

"Get to the point." She smiled.

"Captain Lenore already half-suspects you possess a partial oracle bloodline that lets you divine the future. Meanwhile, Commander Faldren believes you carry a Corpse God's inheritance, which would explain your accelerated growth while being so estranged from the highborn courts. Half the other captains in this camp think you are a trained saboteur sent by the rival Houses and want to kill or interrogate you.

The other half theorise you are some forgotten royal bastard and are currently making plans to secure your allegiance." Alcyr frowned, his expression steady.

"You're either exaggerating or you're lying. Cases like mine are not rare. The leaders of this company are not fools to jump at every prodigy that sprouts from lowborn stock."

"You believe that nonsense Lenore told you?" The guard snickered.

"She lies. Or rather, she's trying to downplay her interest so that you'll trust her more than the other snakes around while she looks into your past." The guard leaned in as she continued, mirth and mischief clear in her eyes. She lowered her voice, as if she were sharing a scandalous rumour.

"She wants you just as badly as everyone else. The shy maiden's just better at hiding it. You haven't wondered at all why she's so accommodating of a mere peasant like you? Even accounting for your recent slaying of Warlord Bjorn, the company isn't so flush with resources that it would spend two weeks nursing you back to health with the head physician herself in charge of your care." He had been suspicious. But with the creature killing him every night since he woke, he had been occupied with other matters.

"What about you, then?" he asked.

"What's your interest in me?"

"Me?" Her grin turned sly.

"I'm just here for a good time." Alcyr sighed.

"I'm not that interesting. Or interested."

"I don't want you for lecherous pursuits, not for now, anyway. Only scholarly ones." She waved her hand.

"I'm just a Regular who likes stories. You're mysterious, strong, and charmingly charmless, funnily enough. You're the perfect stoic protagonist for levelling my bardic skills with." Alcyr snorted.

"So you're saying because you're no one important, I can trust you with my secrets?"

"Trust? No. But I'm less of a risk to be involved with. Isn't that the reason you asked me to help you for whatever foul scheme you have planned tonight, instead of dear Captain Lenore?" Alcyr kept his mouth shut. The guard was too perceptive by far. He had thought she would be an easy meatshield to use, but the woman was proving more dangerous than he'd first thought. That didn't mean she was without worth, however.

The information he gained from their conversation alone was already useful, and it helped confirm certain suspicions he had with the 4th Regulars. He briefly considered what to do. He was tired of intrigue and equivocation. Even with all the levels he had gained in his charisma skills, being direct still suited him far better. The blunt approach it is, then.

"In less than an hour, a Master-tier assassin will be coming for me," he stated plainly.

"You're going to help me kill it." To the guard's credit, she managed to mask her surprise quite well. Her tone changed to something a little more serious.

"High or Low Master?"

"Likely High," he answered.

"Its speed and strength seem close to Low Grandmaster-tier as well, though I suspect it's a product of an Arte rather than passive skills. The creature is capable of illusory and shapeshifting abilities too." She considered for a moment.

"Do I get a reward if I help you?" He grimaced.

"Half a gold piece."

"Wow, you're cheap! Eight."

"One."

"Five!"" One, and I let you pester me with your questions until the assassin arrives." [Barter has improved to 22]"Deal!" she cheered.

"No take-backs! I'm going to get so many levels drafting the tale of the Butcher of the Red Rime…" Alcyr didn't care. He doubted she would survive the night anyway. In a few hours, this conversation would have never happened.

"What's your name?" he asked. She seemed startled. For a moment, she looked at him blankly, as if she did not comprehend the question. Then a strange light flickered in her eyes, and her face became animated again. She bit her lip, as if deep in thought, then she smiled rakishly.

"Call me Ishmael." He frowned.

"That can't be your real name."

"It's a reference," she smugly said.

"You won't get it." He snorted.

"We are hunting a humanoid assassin, not a giant whale." Ishmael's eyes widened. This time, she leaned so far forward, she nearly fell out of her chair.

"You— You know Moby Dick?! How?!"

"My mentor likes reading me bedtime tales," he answered drily.

"Bedtime—?! That story predates the fall of the Old Gods!" she exclaimed.

"It's at least ten thousand years old! There's no way any existing record of it still remains!"

"How do you know it, then?"

"Well, I—! Um… That's not important…"

"We can agree on that, at least. Let's discuss the plan instead. Here's what I need you to do…"