Andre staggered out of the barracks, his eyes blurred with fatigue. The constant repetitive exercises made him feel as if he were a lifeless doll filled with heavy metal. The piercing voice of Drill Master Varro reverberated in his mind, a harsh tune blending with the symphony of sore muscles throbbing throughout his entire body.
He discovered Kai, Jin, and Maya clustered by the old gate. They were now his fresh crew, their tired expressions reflecting his own fatigue.
"Anyone interested in a low-quality ale that at least doesn't have the taste of swamp water?" Jin spoke with a hoarse voice.
Kai made a sound of approval while his wide shoulders drooped. Maya, typically full of energy, simply stared at the diminishing daylight. She mumbled, a hint of rebellion in her gaze, "Anything is superior to barracks stew."
They began walking among the crowds moving along the cobblestone streets. The foul odor of sewage mixed with the sharp smoke from burning fires, forming a strong attack on one's sense of smell. A thin child from the streets, no more than eight years old, quickly moved through the crowd, taking a partially eaten apple from a vendor who wasn't paying attention. The obese merchant, filled with anger, yelled a curse that reverberated through the street.
Andre reacted with a flinch, as the scene was a sharp difference from the clean world he recalled. In this place, life was primitive, chaotic, and harsh.
The Rusty Bucket appeared in the distance, with a tilted sign showing a bucket that wasn't actually rusty, swaying in the evening wind. The sound emanating from inside throbbed similar to an unhealthy heart, a steady pulse interrupted by dissonant cries from a stringed tool of some kind.
Pushing open the warped door, they were greeted by a wave of stale ale fumes and a cacophony of noise. Patrons, a mix of weathered soldiers, grimy laborers, and women with faces heavily painted with kohl, crammed into every available space. The air hung thick with smoke from sputtering torches and a pervasive sense of sweat and desperation.
Kai, pushed his way through the crowd, using his elbows forcefully. They eventually found a place on a lengthy, fragmented bench, the surface slippery from numerous drinks that had been spilled. A thin bartender with a missing tooth and a constantly annoyed look banged down four cracked mugs filled with a murky brown drink in front of them.
Andre cautiously took a small drink. The beer's flavor resembled the dwelling place of a very unhappy swamp creature. He let out a soft groan.
"Rough, ain't it?" Jin chuckled, his voice barely audible over the din. "But it gets the job done." He downed his entire drink in one go, his face contorting in an impressive display of contortions.
The lute, appearing worn with age, and the drum, made of a goatskin stretched over a rusty bucket, pulsed with an unusual vitality as the music played. The bard, a large man with a thick beard and a voice reminiscent of gravel on stones, started rhyming about a famous fighter who fought a three-headed badger for the mystical Rusty Bucket of Eternal Beer.
Andre held back a chuckle. This "rap" was nowhere near the polished beats and rhymes he recalled. In this place, it was unrefined, visceral, and unexpectedly appealing. The customers stamped their feet and cheered loudly, lifting their drinks in a intoxicated salute.
As the night progressed, Andre's tongue became looser due to the ale. He started to recount tales from his previous life, a life abundant with metal carriages that operated without horses and glowing boxes that showed moving pictures. His friends gazed at him with a blend of doubt and admiration, their eyes wide, as they paid close attention.
Suddenly, the creaking door announced a new arrival. Res Aqua, her vibrant hair a burst of color in the dim tavern, slipped in unnoticed by most. Her eyes scanned the room, lingering for a moment on Andre's table. A fleeting flicker of recognition crossed her face before she disappeared into the crowd.
Andre felt a jolt course through him, a mixture of curiosity and unease. Her brief glance felt like a message, a silent code passed in a crowded room. Was she a potential ally? Or was she simply another player in a game he didn't yet understand?
He drained his mug, the bitter ale leaving a dry taste in his mouth. He needed answers, and he needed them fast. This world, this life in the Jade Kingdom, was a tangled mess of secrets and suspicions. But one thing was certain – his days of being a clueless conscript were over. The game had just begun.
The ale sloshed precariously in Andre's gut as he watched Res Aqua weave through the throng of drunken patrons. Her sapphire and emerald hair glowed under the flickering torchlight, a beacon in the dim tavern. His curiosity, fueled by the potent ale and the lingering memory of her earlier glances, burned bright.
"Think twice, mate," Jin slurred, his voice barely audible over the din. "She's the prince's betrothed. Don't go poking your nose in places it doesn't belong."
Andre scoffed, a reckless bravado fueled by the alcohol. "Relax, Jin. Just a friendly chat, nothing more." He pushed himself off the bench, his legs protesting with a chorus of groans.
Ignoring his throbbing muscles, he navigated the sea of bodies, his gaze fixed on Res Aqua. He finally found her tucked into a corner booth, a half-eaten plate of roasted pigeon in front of her. Taking a deep breath, he planted himself across from her.
Res Aqua looked up, surprise flickering across her face. Her eyes widened in recognition. "You," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "The conscript… from a few weeks ago."
Andre ignored the sting of embarrassment at being recognized solely for his lowly status. "Res Aqua," he began, hoping to sound confident despite the hammering in his head. "I need to ask you something. Do you know anything about Elian Aetheris?"
The question hung heavy in the air. The playful lilt vanished from Res Aqua's face, replaced by a mask of icy composure. A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the raucous laughter from a nearby table.
Just as Andre opened his mouth to speak again, a rough hand clamped over his face. A coarse sack, reeking of mildew, was yanked over his head, plunging him into darkness. Panic clawed at his throat as a muffled voice snarled in his ear, "Nosy little conscript. Asking questions you shouldn't."
He was forcefully pushed against a wall, causing the world to spin. He was hit with a flurry of punches and kicks, his grunts muffled by the sound of the sack. He felt a sharp sensation in his ribs and tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He attempted to defend himself by throwing wild punches, but they missed their target and only hit empty space.
The attack seemed to last forever before finally, a peaceful silence arrived. Weak and struggling to breathe, Andre leaned against the wall, his mind spinning. Before darkness took hold of him again, he briefly saw a pair of worn boots walking away.
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Andre felt a wave of nausea come over him as he restrained a gasp. The cold water that had been poured on him was not completely unwanted. It woke him up suddenly, also causing a new surge of pain in his already injured body. He was stretched out on a chilly, moist stone surface, surrounded by a strong smell of mold and a metallic scent that made him feel sick.
He blinked, attempting to alleviate the sharp ache in his head. The faint light exposed a small, enclosed room without windows. The rugged stone walls were wet with condensation, and the only flickering torch provided more shadows than light.
A figure emerged from the darkness, materializing slowly like a bad omen. It was Prince Marcus, his golden hair immaculate in the dim light, but his face a mask of fury. He wasn't the picture of regal composure Andre vaguely remembered. This Marcus was feral, his nostrils flaring, his eyes narrowed with barely contained rage.
Before Andre could even react, a meaty fist slammed into his jaw. The world tilted on its axis, stars exploding behind his eyes. He tasted blood, thick and metallic, filling his mouth. A strangled groan escaped his lips, but he choked it back. A primal instinct, the voice from before, urged him to silence, to wait.
"So," Marcus snarled, his voice laced with venom so thick it could be cut with a knife. "We meet again, conscript. Seems my betrothed has a taste for strays from the gutter." He spat the last words with a disdain that dripped of entitlement.
Andre fought against the urge to flinch. His vision swam, the pain a dull roar in his head. He met Marcus's gaze, a sliver of defiance flickering in his blurry eyes. He knew he looked pathetic, a bloody mess sprawled on the cold floor. But a strange calm settled within him. There would be time for defiance later. For now, he had to survive.
Marcus, seeing Andre's audacity in the face of his wrath, seemed to lose the last vestiges of control. "You think this is funny, pig?" he roared, his voice a guttural growl. He grabbed Andre by a fistful of hair, the pain a white-hot spike that lanced through his skull. He yanked Andre's head up, forcing their eyes to meet.
Another fist connected with Andre's face, this time to his already bloodied nose. The stench of blood filled his nostrils, metallic and overpowering. A choked sob escaped his lips, but he clamped his mouth shut, the metallic tang a grim reminder of his helplessness.
"Tell me," Marcus continued, his voice low and dangerous, his breath hot on Andre's face. "What were you whispering sweet nothings in Res Aqua's ear? You, a filthy peasant, with someone of her station?"
Each word was punctuated by another blow, a calculated brutality that sent waves of pain crashing through Andre's body. He tasted bile rising in his throat, but swallowed it back, a low groan escaping his lips. The voice within, a chilling whisper, repeated in his mind: "Wait. Be patient."
Through the haze of pain and nausea, he saw Marcus raise his hand, a cruel amusement twisting his features. "Guards!" he bellowed, his voice echoing in the cramped chamber. "Take this mutt to the cells. Let him experience the true meaning of hospitality in the Jade Kingdom."
The heavy oaken door creaked open with a groan, revealing two hulking shapes in the dim light. They moved with a practiced efficiency, their faces grim and emotionless. One of them knelt beside Andre, grabbing him roughly by the arm.
Andre flinched, but offered no resistance. He was a ragdoll, his body a symphony of aches and pains. They dragged him to his feet, his legs buckling beneath him. His vision swam, the world a blurry mess of flickering torchlight and shifting shadows.
As they reached the doorway, Andre, in a voice hoarse from pain and blood loss, rasped a single word. "Elian..." The effort ripped another groan from his throat. He couldn't finish the thought, but he knew a seed of doubt had been planted in Marcus's mind. Now, he just had to survive until it blossomed into something more.
One of the guards backhanded Andre across the face, silencing him with a sickening crack. A cruel smile twisted his lips. "Let the games begin, conscript," he sneered. And with that, they dragged Andre away into the darkness, his body screaming in protest, but his mind holding onto a sliver of hope, a whispered promise of revenge.