The day sank into dusk, and Joji and Alaric stopped horsing around. The road had worn the extra noise out of them.
Joji kept glancing at his system window. He hesitated over whether to take a mission at all.
One thing was certain, though. He was not going to click The Risqué Sir.
Yes, the reward had been impressive, but his experience with gas told him how these systems liked to escalate.
Next ti it might demand another woman along the road.
Joji was not against more wives. If anything, the idea appealed to him. He just was not ready to step into that kind of ss yet.
For now, The Honorable Sir felt like the safer choice.
He took a breath and clicked.
The mission flashed before his eyes.
{The Honorable Sir’s Second Mission.}
{Walter Cutlers stood foremost in the running to beco patriarch of his family conglorate, yet his own brothers and sisters had marked him as a target in the ruthless succession for power.}
{lchor, his brother, has nursed envy of Walter’s ventures these many years. Keep Walter safe from his contrivances as you travel.}
{See that he grows alert to the snares being laid behind his back, without reciting, outright, the particulars Sir Engine has set down. Employ whatever other ans this mission allows.}
{Milestones of Completion. Take your reward from Walter Cutlers himself. The sum he pays will determine the asure of your reward from Sir Engine.}
{Ti’s bound. None}
{Penalty. Bide a year before you may set yourself up as a rchant.}
Joji was shocked. He rubbed his eyes and frowned.
"Oh co on, man."
Alaric caught the shift in his face at once. He leaned closer, voice kept low so the caravan ears would not pick it up.
"Joji, what is it? If you’re wearing that look, it’s serious. Did you see anyone lurking about?"
Joji knew he could not speak about the System. If the wrong person heard, they would call it a coveted artifact, and then everyone around him would beco collateral.
He chose his words carefully, then whispered.
"I actually know this Mister Cutlers guy. We gotta help him."
Alaric blinked, confused. He could not see how that was possible.
Joji had joined a few beast raids with him, sure, but knowing the Cutler Family was beyond what he expected.
Still, Joji’s tone left no room for joking.
"Joji, I don’t know how you ca by his favor," Alaric said, "but at least tell what’s going on."
This was why Joji had chosen him. Alaric treated a promise like iron.
Joji explained the conspiracy within the Cutler Family, giving just enough to be believed without exposing the System.
Alaric listened, then when Joji finished, he burst into laughter, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes.
"Joji," he said, still grinning, "what are you holding back? You even know who his brother is."
All he could do now was give the man so assurance.
No one wanted to be pushed into sothing unknown and dangerous, not without being told what it would cost.
"Alaric... you’re kinda weird, but you’re the only one I really trust to have my back. You coming with ?"
Alaric could feel Joji still holding sothing back, but the words pushed the doubt down.
For him, that was enough. He nodded.
"All right," Alaric said softly, with a wry tilt to his mouth. "But at least tell , are we to run, or not, should it co to it?"
"Ain’t no need for you to tell that," Joji said, patting Alaric by his back. "Who do I put my back if not you?"
Soon they made camp in a clearing. Joji and Alaric stayed alert, vigilant to the highest degree, while showing only a relaxed deanor.
They had already spotted two groups trailing them from afar, keeping distance and thinking that distance made them unseen.
Alaric sat by the fire, turning an arrowhead between his fingers. A carefree posture. Not a carefree mind.
A guard approached him with a smile too practiced to be innocent.
"Lady Ava, I may be old, but I am a gentleman. Nice to et you. I dare not intrude, but I wanted to be your pen pal, if possible," the man said, and he lifted Alaric’s hand and kissed it.
That was all it took. Other guards rushed in, one after another, offering the sa request with different words, swarming him like flies to sweet wine.
Alaric raised his hands, as if calming a crowd in a market.
"n of honor, I do have a proposition which all of you will benefit from."
Piqued by her beauty and charisma, the n nodded like chickens to oats and listened. He pulled out small portraits.
The mont the paintings caught firelight, whistles and cheers erupted. Joji looked once, then looked at the n with pity.
"Simps," he murmured.
They were portraits of won. Not naked. Not even in sexy underwear or lace. Covered head to toe.
One simply showed ankles. Another bared arms to the shoulders. Another revealed half a knee.
That was enough. Coins clanged as hands reached for purses, eyes bright like gamblers at a table.
Alaric fed the frenzy.
"Each picture has an address on its back," he said, sweet as cream.
"And if soone took them, then found their heart wasn’t sincere... Where is a lady like ant to show her face?"
The guards murmured with grave seriousness, as if this was a matter of oath and honor.
While Alaric kept up his charade by the fire, Joji scanned the dark edges beyond camp.
He waited for an arrow to fly, or a javelin to be thrown, any mont now.
Joji also needed to get close to Walter Cutlers. He needed a mont alone, a clean conversation.
He searched for a path to it, mind working fast, then his eyes locked onto the cook.
Joji watched every ingredient go into the pot. A simple pottage.
Water. Oatal. Barley. Onion. Cabbage. A whole rock of salt.
Then he saw it. A purple vial, small as a nail, emptied into the stew.
The cook was quick. His eyes darted to Joji and Alaric first, then to the rest of the guards.
Thinking no one had noticed, he smirked and stirred the pot while whistling, like he was only making dinner.
Joji stared at the campfire, mind churning through plans to keep Mister Walter alive.
Then he rembered what had always saved him when fear tried to lock his joints.
Acting. He did not need to be brave. He only needed to perform brave.
And Alaric was no pushover either. He was not here for pocket change.
He was here to make connections, to read the road, to play his part.
Thinking about how Alaric had introduced himself as Ava, Joji felt a flicker of sha.
Alaric had already seen the utility of his face and body, and Joji had nearly wasted it by hesitating.
He focused again. Alaric would follow. Joji only had to move first.
The lid of the pot rang. Dinner.
The cook took the largest bowl and carried it straight to Mister Walter. Walter lifted it, ready to drink it down.
A huge hand clutched the bowl. Joji.
Walter and the cook stumbled back on the damp, leafy path.
In the firelight Joji stood seven feet tall, broad-shouldered and made for violence, the kind of man who did not ask twice.
Guards drew steel at once and surrounded him, blades angled in.
"Huge man. If you plan to hurt our patron, we will see to it with our steel," the head guard roared.
Alaric stepped in, smooth as oil.
"Easy, all of you. This man doesn’t lunge on a whim, and he’s not snapping for a bowl of gruel. Tell them what you need, Desmond."
Joji looked at Walter, who was frightened and confused, then at the cook, who let out a small, sharp squeal. Joji shoved the bowl into the cook’s hands.
"Eat it," Joji demanded.
Walter, the guards, even Alaric went still. Walter and Alaric understood the shape of it at once and chose to watch.
"I. I’m still full," the cook stamred. "I’m a cook. I already ate."
As if he had prepared the lie, he grabbed a larger bowl than the one Joji held and put on a shy expression.
"I even ate more," he said, confidence creeping back into his voice.
Joji did not budge. He only repeated.
"Eat."
The cook’s face collapsed. He cried, tears falling hard.
"Master Walter, please don’t punish anymore. I wouldn’t eat ahead of everyone again."
He tried to claim a smaller cri, sothing that sounded like greed instead of murder.
Joji’s grip closed on the cook’s arm. The muscles bunched under his hand.
"Yaa. Aw. Aw. Aw. It’s going to break. Stop, stop," the cook scread.
"Are you going to eat or not?" Joji asked.
The cook’s eyes darted. He knew he was finished if he swallowed that stew.
With everything he had, he shoved hard and bolted, sprinting into the dark.
Alaric’s bow was already up. The string snapped. The shot was true.
The arrow pierced the back of the cook’s foot, threading clean between his toes.
The man hit the ground, rolled, and scread in pain.
Guards rushed in and took the scoundrel cook by the scruff of the neck, ready to question him.
But Alaric raised his hands.
"Let do it."
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