Borix

[ Chapter One - Borix ]

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Two weeks had passed since Ashran departed, and he is now well beyond the borders of Miden.

He hadn't encountered any major problems, except for having to fend off bandits who wanted to rob him. Most of them yelled, "GIVE ME YOUR GOLD, AND YOU'LL LIVE!" He gotten tired of it and mostly ran away from them as fast as he can without looking back.

It had been hectic for Ashran. He also hadn't had a good night's sleep in the past few days, fearing someone might come up from behind and stab him.

From time to time, curses escaped from Ashran's lips, accompanied by sighs. To him, being here felt like being dropped in the middle of nowhere with no knowledge. Although he wasn't. He would certainly complete the mission as soon as possible. Then, upon his return, he would make sure to exact payback on a certain someone, he thought evilly.

Ashran's frustrations grew, adding to that, he hadn't slept properly. Yesterday, Ashran arrived at a small village near a lake. When he found an inn and thought he could finally rest, but the innkeeper, a small and beefy man, refused to let him do so. Ashran considered offering a large amount of money or maybe even bribing him, but with so many wary eyes upon him, he realized it would be either pointless, or risky. The innkeeper didn't seem like someone who could be easily bribed, despite looking like a corrupt politician, he thought. The atmosphere in the village wasn't welcoming either; the villagers stared at him suspiciously, as if any movement he made would brand him a criminal on the spot.

Currently, he was walking along a path through the woods. Not far from him, he noticed someone sitting beside a tired wagon on the side of the pathway. He decided to get closer.

...

"What happened here?" Ashran asked. Upon closer look, the person was a middle-aged man around fourties, with a well-groomed beard. He wears a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, layered under a dark, old fitted vest. His black pants are secured with multiple belts and straps.

"I'm sitting tight. If it hadn't been for those damned bandits, I wouldn't be here." said the man.

"What about the bandits?" Ashran said, knowing nothing about the situation.

"Have you slept through the last few weeks?" the man asked. But Ashran didn't reply. He wanted to say, "Oh, how I wish," but kept it to himself.

"I'm talking about all the riff-raff from the North that is making themselves at home here in the area. Plundering and murdering for all they're worth . . . I guess I'm lucky they didn't kill me. I let down my guard for one moment, and they clubbed me from behind!" so the man says with a grunt.

Their conversations went further. According to the man, he was robbed by the bandits. They beat him down, and after that, they left. And he has no idea how he'll get all his stuff back. It was all important stuffs — some documents, all his money, and his two horses.

He absolutely has to retrieve it. Yet, without someone to watch his back, he's hesitant to go alone. Uncertain if there's a large group of them, he knows that recklessly trying to get it back without backup could be fatal.

Ashran didn't hesitate to offer him help.

"You want to help me?" the man seemed like he couldn't believe what Ashran said. Then, as if he had no choice, he added, "Alright then, my time is running out. I'll take your offer."

--

"Now, pay attention," he began, pointing his finger down toward the lake, ". . . down this path here, you'll find one of those filthy holes in the ground that bandits like to hide in. The fellows there are the same ones who stole my stuff."

Both of them planned their strategy. After that, they began introducing themselves, with the man going first.

"My name's Gram."

"I'm Ashran Archer, Mr. Gram."

"Alright then Archer, let's get through this."

...

At the edge of the lake, the cave entrance stood tall ahead, guarded by a pair of bandits. The bandits eyed their surroundings, from the lakes to the trees, as if paranoid that someone might be watching them. They were cloaked in a tattered, hooded robes, with some parts of their bodies wrapped in bandages and rugged boots on their feet. If it weren't for the swords they held, one might assume they were perfectly, normal beggars.

Ashran and Mr. Gram crouched behind a huge rock, observing the bandits and waiting for the right moment to strike. Then, Ashran began, swaying his hand downward and extending his fingers forward in a precise, deliberate gesture, as he grabbed the sword at his waist. Meanwhile, Gram readied his weapon—a broadsword that, fortunately, wasn't stolen by the bandits.

Somehow, the tension hung thick in the air.

"I'll handle the left one, you go for the right." whispered Mr. Gram to Ashran.

They nodded to each other, and in an instant, sprang into action. Ashran charged straight at the bandit on the right, while Gram followed, confronting the other bandit with his broadsword.

The lake echoed with the sound of clashing steel. Ashran's sword arced through the air, catching the light before embedding itself into the side of the bandit on his right. The bandit crumpled, a look of shock etched on his face as he fell.

Before Ashran could pull his blade free, the second bandit sprang at Mr. Gram. Their weapons met with a metallic screech, but it did not last long. Mr. Gram's broadsword swung in a wide arc, aiming for the bandit's exposed side, but the bandit parried barely. He twisted, his own blade slicing through the air in retaliation. The bandit staggered back, clutching a deep gash in his arm. Blood splattered the ground, dark and glistening against the fallen leaves. With a roar, Mr. Gram pressed forward, his broadsword slicing through the bandit's defenses. The bandit's eyes widened in a moment of realization before Mr Gram's sword found its mark. The bandit cried out helplessly as he died.

Then, they pressed forward, determined to reach the inside of the cave. The cave is quite vast. It's dark, with rough, uneven ground strewn with rocks and roots. Above them is a narrow opening that lets in a faint light, illuminating the damp, moss-covered walls. The atmosphere is cold and damp, too.

The sound of their footsteps can be heard through the cave as they made their way, stumbling upon three bandits along the cave's path.

"I-INTRUDERS?!" one bandit shouted, a look of surprise on his face.

The first bandit was caught off guard and fell to the ground from a precise throw of dagger by Ashran, the same dagger he had taken from the bandit at the entrance. The dagger struck the bandit squarely in the head. Mr. Gram swiftly closed in on the two. His broadsword collided with the bandit's feeble defense. The bandit's sword broke under the pressure, and he diagonally slashed the bandit's chest.

Amidst the struggle, Ashran took the third bandit who's about to attack Mr. Gram, he charged at the bandit, slashed his left leg, then stab his chest. The bandit's pained groaned echoed through the cave.

After a while, the cave fell silent, leaving only the lingering stillness and the faint scent of blood and iron as remnants of the skirmish.

At the end, they were relieved that there weren't any more of them. Otherwise, it would have been a fierce fight.

...

"So, that's done. Hah. They shouldn't have messed with me," said Mr. Gram, and he added, "Now, I can finally go back. I've lost too much time already."

"Where are you headed?" Ashran curiously asked, while looking at one of the crates nearby.

"I'm heading to the capital, Borix, back to my business. And you?" said Mr. Gram.

Ashran turned to Mr. Gram and, with a slight smile, said, "Looks like we're in the same boat."

With that in mind, they decided to travel together to Borix.

Fortunately, they found one of Mr. Gram's horses. They searched for the other but couldn't find it; perhaps it had escaped.

Despite a few minor damages to the wagon, they were able to operate it without any problems.

"Say, do you mind if I ask what business you're in?" asked Ashran.

"Well . . . I'm a slave trader. I deal with trading and sell them at a high but still affordable price," Mr. Gram answered.

To Ashran's surprise, he hadn't expected to encounter one along his journey. Back in his country, slave traders had long since perished.

"That's --good. By the way, I'm a student, or at least about to become one."

"Oh, a student? Are you perhaps going to attend the Academy at the capital?"

"Yes, I am. And to be honest, I know nothing about it. Perhaps you can give me some details regarding the requirements needed to attend the academy?" Hearing the words Ashran said, Mr. Gram chuckled, "Good thing you asked. I'm a graduate there."

Their conversations continued along the way. According to Mr. Gram, the requirement needed the most in the academy is a card, a silver card, with one's own identity and the seal of an authority. The Queen mandated this a decade ago, he ordered every academy to request a card from each student attending in their school. And naturally, the citizens of Miden possess a card.

Ashran told Mr. Gram that his card was accidentally lost. Of course, that was a lie, a blatant one. Then, Mr. Gram told him creating a new card would cost three hundred gold coins. Ashran guessed it must be really important. For a mere card, it's surprisingly expensive, he thought.

Fortunately, Mr. Gram mentioned a way to reduce the cost of the card. Through his connections, he could arrange it for only two hundred fifty gold coins for Ashran.

It was still pricey, but take it or leave it.

Soon after, they caught sight of the massive walls enclosing the capital. Upon reaching the gate, they were greeted by two guards standing watch.

The guards wore a chainmail under reinforced tabards with additional plate armor on their shoulders and forearms.

". . . Halt! Show your card and state your business in the city," said the other guard with a tied-back auburn hair, and a scar on his forehead.

Naturally, they presented them, and after a brief inspection, they were granted entry.