The morning was lively, full with activities of the marketplace. Yorrick walked through the bustling streets, his boots tapping against the cobbled streets. He arrived in this trading town at dusk the day before, but now the place was thriving with traders shouting and displaying their goods.
The air smelled of fresh bread and spices. From afar was the earthy scent of the nearby farms. It was a peaceful scene. One that felt, for a moment, far removed from the raging chaos that lingered in his mind.
He was lost in the crowd when suddenly, a small body bumped into his legs. Yorrick barely had the time to react before the child—a young girl, looking no more than six or seven—stumbled back and hit the ground with a soft thud. The child's breath was caught in her throat, her eyes wide, as if she expected him to strike or shout at her. Tears welled in her eyes, clearly terrified.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, her voice trembling, before tears started to crawl down her cheeks.
Yorrick froze for a second, but then his instincts kicked in. His hand shot out to cover her mouth, a futile attempt to silence her sobs before they drew unwanted attention. But as soon as his hand touched her, he realized his mistake.
"Shi—" The last thing he needed was to make the situation worse, to make himself look like a threat. The child’s eyes went wide with confusion and fear. He quickly withdrew his hand, whispering towards the child.
“Kid, shu—quiet down.”
His voice was low, trying to calm her, but it probably made her feel worse. Thankfully, most people in the market were too busy with their own business to notice, and the few who glanced in their direction quickly looked away, uninterested.
Yorrick gave a silent thanks to whatever luck was on his side that morning. The last thing he needed was an outburst that would draw the wrong kind of attention to him, especially with the events yesterday still lingering in his mind.
He looked at the girl again, who had stopped shaking, but her eyes were still wide, tearful. He sighed, stepping back. “Pay attention when running, kid,” he said, his voice softer now. Before he could say anything else, he gave her a quick, gentle pat on the head and turned, walking away before she could say anything more.
He made his way through the marketplace toward the nearby mercenary league building. Inside, a dozen or so individuals stood, chatting or sharpening their blades. Most of them are your typical veterans with their armor, donned in their pieces of armors and weapon.
His eyes lingered on three teenagers who stood together in the corner, looking far too clean and wide-eyed to be part of this world. They wore mismatched armor, their swords still shiny, unscuffed. They looked like they had wandered in from some backwater village, with a glow of foolish dreams still burning in their eyes.
Yorrick clicked his tongue in annoyance. Those three… they were the type of kids who probably read that damn Adventuring book. That stupid thing was a curse wrapped in a cover of false hope. More than one fledgling had died because of it, thinking it was their ticket to glory, to riches, to a life of adventure. It was one of the best-selling books in the damn world, and it was killing kids. He couldn’t understand why it had become so popular.
“Is it really cursed?” Yorrick muttered to himself, shaking his head as he watched the teens try to look serious while adjusting their gear.
He almost felt sorry for them. But not quite.
They’d learn the hard way, just like he had. The world wasn’t kind to dreamers. And this league? It wasn’t a place for them to grow. It was a place where dreams died.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
---
The sun had only just begun to rise, casting long golden streaks across the dirt road and the caravan lined up in its shadow. Yorrick stood near the front cart, speaking with a short, wiry man in layered vests and a thick leather satchel. Jonesy, the merchant leading the whole operation, had a voice too loud for his size and a face that always looked halfway between smiling and scowling.
“We’re good to go,” Yorrick said, arms crossed, tone flat.
Jonesy grunted, eyes sweeping the gathered wagons and hired hands. “Alright then. Let’s move before the day gets too hot. And keep the pace steady. We're carrying enough weight to slow an angered ox.”
Yorrick gave him a short nod and walked back toward his post near the rear of the formation, his boots crunching softly against the dry earth. The rest of the caravan began stirring to lift. The drivers mounted their carts, the guards adjusted their straps and weapons, and the lead wagon creaked forward with the first lurch of movement.
He'd signed on to this escort just yesterday, along with four other seasoned mercenaries, at least that's what they look like. Interstate jobs like this weren’t rare, but the pay on this one was... exceptional.
The caravan would travel past the Magocracy of Kidia, moving from its northern outskirts all the way to the eastern lands where the Duchy of Loutland is located. According to the merchant, the distance they'll travel is roughly 210 miles full of uncertain roads, stubborn hills, and the occasional wild threat. The merchant added his estimation of eleven to twelve days before their arrival.
Jonesy had explained it all well enough. The merchants technically had guards of their own, trained and decently equipped. But mercenaries were the insurance policy. They were the ones expected to act when things went south. If beasts struck, if rogue mages attacked, or if someone got greedy on the road.
Yorrick didn’t mind. The gold was good. And that was more than enough.
As the caravan began to roll out, the hills in the distance caught his gaze. Soft and green under the morning light, stretching long across the horizon. He stood still for a moment, letting the image of three newbies settle in his mind.
“Survive, you three,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.
He didn’t need to name them. The kids from the mercenary league. They were already too deep in his thoughts. Dreamers with clean blades and bright eyes. He hated that he cared, even a little.
With a final glance back toward town, he turned and followed the rumbling caravan down the road, dust kicking up behind their slow yet heavy march.
---
The crackling fire cast dancing shadows over the small clearing where the caravan had stopped for the night. Yorrick sat on a flat rock near the edge of the flames, chewing through a strip of salted meat, his eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed but always ready to spring. He preferred to eat in silence, away from idle talk.
Unfortunately, silence rarely lasted long.
“Mind if we join you, loner?” came a voice, casual and laced with a grin.
Yorrick glanced up to see two men approaching. One tall and lean with wiry muscles and a broad, boyish face, the other shorter, stockier, and dragging a dented pot of stew with both hands.
“We figured you’d be the type to sulk alone,” the tall one added as they plopped down nearby.
Yorrick raised a brow. “Was enjoying it, yeah.”
The stockier one laughed and nudged the taller with his elbow. “I’m Urbhel, and the twig beside me’s Gaesh. Known each other since before our teeth came in.”
“And he’s been an idiot the whole time,” Gaesh said, smirking.
Urbhel scoffed, tearing off a bite of bread. “Says the guy who once tried to wrestle a goose for coin.”
Yorrick gave a dry snort. “Yorrick. I work solo.”
“Figures,” Gaesh said, licking his spoon. “You’ve got that whole mysterious, haunted look. Bet you’ve got a tragic backstory and everything.”
Yorrick momentarily stared at Gaesh before continuing his meal.
The conversation lulled for a moment, filled with the sounds of chewing and popping firewood until another voice joined them.
“Not the worst idea, sitting together when the knives are still sheathed,” came a calm, low tone.
A woman stepped into the firelight, hood down, revealing a brown hair. She held a steaming mug in both hands.
“Name’s Jesh,” she added. “I’m a mage. I can do magic.”
“Pfft. I can do magic too,” Urbhel chimed in. He lifted his hands and focused. Slowly, the color drained from his fingers, turning pale, and a faint fog of cold mist trailed from his skin.
A solid thunk landed on the back of his head courtesy of Gaesh’s palm. “Fool. Your little frost trick’s nothing like a real mage’s magic. They’re on a whole different level, y’know.”
He said it smugly, as if correcting Urbhel somehow raised his own intelligence.
Jesh raised a brow but said nothing. Her expression gave nothing away.
Yorrick just eyed her for a moment, chewing the last of his meat. Then he gave a small tilt of his head toward the open space beside him.
“Sit, then,” he said. “Might as well know who we’re dying beside.”
Info Dump #6:
- There once was an adventuring guild that manage to thrive having branches on 3 kingdoms. Unfortunately, they were exposed to be too corrupt and performing evil rituals. That tarnished the "adventuring" field for decades to come. Currently, the most widespread type of guilds aside from the merchants are the mercenaries.