Chương 24: Martin

Martin felt he had the worst luck in the world. His employer had only sent him here to keep the accounts, organize the ledgers, and inventory the goods. Strictly speaking, he was not one of the bandits at all. The screams outside continued, weighing ever more heavily on him. He looked around the room. A wooden bed covered in animal hides stood against one wall. On the table beside it lay a black coat of plates. The armor belonged to the leader.

He had left in a hurry, and since it was so cumbersome to put on, he had abandoned it here. A dining table stood in another corner, piled with food and wine. They were leftovers from the feast earlier. Though already cold, they still looked tempting. But Martin had no appetite. He could not eat a thing right now. Account books and ledgers lay scattered everywhere else, leaving the room in complete disarray. He was only an ordinary bookkeeper. He did not know how to fight, nor did he have any interest in it.

The fighting outside was fierce, but he could do nothing to help. He did not dare venture out, either, for fear that whoever came through the door would kill him on sight. After careful consideration, he crawled under the dining table and hid in the corner against the wall. Curled up beneath the table, Martin thought back over everything that had happened recently. It had all seemed to begin with a woman being brought into the camp. Then came a second, and a third.

At first, the women had been nothing more than playthings for the others in their spare time. It had not seemed like such a serious matter. In return for the occasional gifts and money the leader gave him, Martin had always turned a blind eye. Only when girls and children began to appear did the nature of the whole affair change. They became mere figures in his ledgers. But by then, the money he had received off the books was already more than enough to buy his silence.

As the screams gradually died away, Martin grew uneasy again. After a long while passed without another sound, he could no longer contain himself. He was just about to crawl out and take a look when— Bang! The door flew open. Martin flinched and hurriedly shrank back into the corner, peering out from beneath the table. A pair of enormous, rough feet appeared beyond it, clad in straw sandals that were clearly the wrong size. The tops of the feet were caked with dried blood and mud.

Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, and a heavy iron chain dragged across the wooden boards. Martin was too terrified to breathe. Huddled in the corner, he clamped a hand over his mouth, afraid he might let out a sound by accident.

"Hff..." A heavy breath came through the figure's nose, followed by a sniff. The enormous feet immediately turned toward Martin. His heart leaped into his throat. Fortunately, the figure stopped in front of the dining table. The iron chain struck the floor with a heavy thud, and the sound of chewing came from above. Meat juices and blood dripped onto the wooden boards, making Martin swallow nervously. He shifted ever so slightly. The chewing stopped at once, and the sudden silence froze him in place.

Only when he went completely still did the chewing resume. Martin had no choice but to remain in that agonizing position, not daring to move a muscle. Whenever he tried to shift, the chewing above him stopped. The crushing sense that he was being watched at every moment left him barely able to breathe. It felt as though a wild beast with complete control over his life and death were toying with him. Yet he dared not make a move. All he could do was gamble that the creature had not found him.

"Henk? Henk?" A concerned voice came from outside the door. Martin did not dare look. He did not even raise his head, merely curling tighter as he stared at the floor, terrified of being discovered.

"Are you... all right?"

"B-below..." came a heavily nasal voice, now weak and breathless. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The enormous feet swayed twice, then the figure crashed to the floor. The impact of the massive body shook the entire room. Martin could see only the figure's back, but even from behind, his powerful build was terrifying. Suddenly, a young face with black hair and dark eyes appeared at the edge of the table and peered underneath.

The young man was reasonably handsome, but his face was utterly expressionless. His eyes were calm and cold, without the slightest flicker of emotion.

"Oh. So there was another one hiding here..." Warmth spread through Martin's trousers. His nerves, stretched taut for so long, finally gave out, and everything went black.... When Martin jolted awake, he found himself tightly bound and lying in the middle of the camp. The air reeked of blood and filth. The torches around the camp had been relit, illuminating the entire place. Severed limbs lay scattered everywhere.

Most conspicuous of all were the remains of half a body left atop the watchtower and a corpse impaled on a wooden stake. Gulp. Martin swallowed hard and looked to the other side. The women and children who had been locked in the cages now sat huddled together, slowly eating steaming food from wooden bowls.

"He's awake!" A woman noticed Martin stirring and hurriedly rose to call out. Rapid footsteps approached, and the black-haired young man strode over. Though he looked somewhat lean, he was quite tall. The linen shirt he wore had been stained almost completely red, making him a terrifying sight.

"You're finally awake. I have quite a few things to ask you," the young man said calmly. Martin nodded stiffly and forced a fawning smile.

"Of course, sir. You may ask me anything. I still don't know your name."

"Raymond." He bent down, picked up a severed finger, and looked at Martin.

"Start by telling me what this place is. Think carefully before you answer." He glanced toward the women.

"They said you never personally laid a hand on them. That's the only reason you're still sitting here in one piece." Raymond tossed the finger at Martin's feet.

"Several of your companions are still locked in the cave. If your answers don't match theirs, this conversation may become unpleasant." Though Raymond was smiling, Martin could clearly see the warning behind it. This young man plainly knew what he was doing. He had even separated the prisoners before questioning them. Martin shuddered as he looked at what appeared to be a thumb that had been forcibly cut off. After seeing such ruthless methods, he would have to think very carefully before trying to lie.

Yet once he had delivered his warning, Raymond did not begin the questioning right away. Instead, he went to see to the others. Martin breathed a long sigh of relief. The extra time would let him carefully organize what he wanted to say. His greatest fear was being questioned too quickly and leaving something out—or phrasing something poorly—only for his story to conflict with those of the surviving bandits. Then he would be in real trouble. Martin watched Raymond walk away.

The young man first asked after the captive women with evident concern. Then he selected several who were older or more sturdily built and had them take up weapons. Raymond himself kept his sword in hand as he counted the bodies around the camp. Strangest of all, no matter what condition a corpse was in, he always struck it several more times before inspecting it. Martin shook his head and stopped watching. Lowering his gaze, he began considering where to start.

After making a circuit of the camp, Raymond returned and stood before him. Martin immediately put on a fawning smile and looked up at him expectantly.

"How many people were in the camp?"

"Eighteen in total, including me. Six went out to transport goods today, but only one escaped and made it back, so there should have been thirteen people in the camp at the time." Raymond glanced at the bodies and captives around them, then nodded. Judging by his reaction, the numbers matched.

"What is this place?"

"As you can see, sir, it's a hideout. We use it to rest and store goods, and we normally stay hidden here. We receive weapons, food, and other supplies from our supplier, then smuggle them onward and sell them." Martin paused and glanced at Raymond. Seeing no change in his expression, he continued, "We trade with gnolls. I know that sounds unbelievable, sir, but I swear it's true!"

"Go on." Raymond waved a hand, cutting off any further explanation.

"We obtain ore from the gnolls—mostly ore—as well as animal pelts of varying quality and a few other things. Ore and pelts make up the bulk of it. Once we've processed the pelts and the other goods, we deliver them to our supplier."

"How do you normally trade with your supplier? Do they bring the goods here, or do you take them somewhere?" Raymond pressed.

"We have wagons, so we transport the goods ourselves. The exchanges don't take place in town. We meet at a fixed rendezvous point. After delivering the ore and pelts, we bring back the next shipment of supplies for the gnolls." Martin paused.

"I can also tell you who our supplier is."

"Save that for the town guard." Raymond waved a hand.

"First, tell me when the next delivery is."

"A month from now."

"So no one will come here about the trade during the next month?"

"That's right, sir. We normally provide our own food and other necessities." Martin nodded.

"Are the books in the room all records of these transactions? How long has the trade been going on? Are the records complete?"

"Yes, sir. Every transaction since I arrived is recorded in them. But I encoded many of the details, so I'm afraid I'm the only one who can understand them," Martin said cautiously.

"As for the trade, I've been here for ten months."

"Good. At least you know how to cooperate." Raymond seemed satisfied with the answer.

"Then will you let me go? As I'm sure you know, most of what happened here had nothing to do with me. I was only the bookkeeper," Martin asked with a fawning smile.

"That isn't for me to decide," Raymond replied evenly.