The Road Toward Capital [3]

Five days on the dusty trail had been a breeze. No bandits, no monsters, not even a yappy coyote to liven things up. The raucous caravan, camped under a sky bursting with stars, had lulled him into a false sense of security. Now, a prickle of unease crawled up his spine, shattering the peace. It was a feeling he knew all too well, a souvenir from Vaendalle's nightmare survival training.

His hand, reflex honed by weeks of dodging trouble, twitched for his sword. A giant of a dude, his shaved head gleaming like a chrome skull in the firelight, materialized out of the crowd. Tattoos snaked across his scalp, looking kinda creepy in the flickering flames. Arthanis shivered before he could stop himself.

The giant loomed closer, a steaming bowl appearing in his hand like magic. Arthanis tensed, fingers hovering near his sword hilt. But instead of a weapon, the mountain of a man shoved the bowl forward, surprisingly gently.

"Free eats," the giant rumbled, his voice deep enough to echo in Arthanis's chest.

'Welp,' Arthanis thought, a grin tugging at his lips. 'Guess I can't argue with free food.'

Arthanis couldn't help the grin splitting his face. Free food was the universal language.

The shaved head gave a quick nod, a silent 'sup', before lumbering on, handing out bowls like a pro server. Arthanis found a crate to perch on, stomach growling in anticipation. The first bite... was a betrayal. A sour punch attacked his taste buds, a cruel joke compared to the delicious smell that had teased him. He grimaced, spitting out the offending mush with a cough.

"Ugh, what is this stuff?" he muttered, brow furrowed.

Food crime of the century! It smelled like a feast fit for a king, then tasted like something a troll would leave on your doorstep. It was like the cook threw random garbage in a pot and called it dinner.

"Guess beggars can't be choosers," he mumbled, eyeing the suspicious stew with newfound wariness.

The bad vibes weren't exactly unique to Arthanis. Tension hung thick in the air. Everyone else who snagged a bowl from the giant, bald cook was trading worried looks, their movements like a nervous bunny stampede as they shuffled away from the dude. The folks who got the steaming vat approached all cautious-like, then vanished faster than Houdini, the muffled thump of a rejected serving echoing from behind the caravan.

Arthanis, ever the realist, followed suit, returning his barely touched bowl with a weak grin. The cook's meat cleaver, glinting ominously at his hip, wasn't exactly calming his nerves.

"Back already?" the cook boomed, surprisingly friendly for a dude built like a brick wall. "Seconds? Or you join the, uh, secret society of ditchers?"

"Uh, yeah," Arthanis stammered, his stomach doing flip-flops. "It was a bit, well, strong. Like, super strong sour, and bitter. But, uh, amazing! The smell, I mean. Top-notch." Lies never tasted so good.

The cook grinned, all teeth and wrinkles. "Finally! Someone with some taste! You wouldn't believe the trouble these folks have with, like, bitter and sour and stuff." He winked, the cleaver somehow winking too. "No worries, bud. Seconds are always welcome."

Arthanis slunk away, sympathy flooding him for his fellow diners. 'No wonder they gotta ninja-toss their food,' he thought, picturing the scene behind the caravan. Who in their right mind would say no to a dude wielding a meat cleaver the size of a skateboard?

His stomach growled again, a much more persuasive voice than the creepy cook. Time to find some actual food. A booming voice cut through the crowd. "Weapons! Armor! Shiny things for adventurers! We've got it all, just name your price!"

"Just some food, actually," Arthanis replied.

The merchant scoffed, his eyes scanning Arthanis' tattered clothes with disdain. "What? Do I look like a vegetable stand? Go bother someone else!"

Arthanis' face burned. Why so hostile? Weren't merchants supposed to love customers? "Ugh, fine," he muttered, turning to leave.

'Seriously? Customer service is dead,' he grumbled. 'Maybe I should just— no, focus. Gotta find a decent vendor...'

A voice, barely a whisper, snagged his attention. "Try the next caravan. They sell rations - two coins a pop for dried meat. If they try to rip you off, just say 'Karavan Chief.' That usually shuts them up."

Arthanis turned to face the speaker, a girl with a merchant's badge bearing a two-coin silver emblem. Her brown hair framed a face that exuded a dangerously alluring charm, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint as she winked and offered a pleasant smile.

"Thanks," he said, a grateful smile tugging at his lips.

True to the girl's word, the next merchant attempted to charge him eight Orbicoins for a portion of salted meat. Arthanis fixed him with a level gaze and spoke the words she had provided. "I'll report you to your Karavan Chief for that price."

The merchant's eyes widened, and he fell silent, begrudgingly accepting the two Orbicoins Arthanis offered and even throwing in a portion of fresh meat as a reward for not reporting the incident to the Karavan Chief.

Arthanis expressed his gratitude to the merchant with a warm smile.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Arthanis gave him a nod and a smirk. He had his food, but the sun was sinking like a stone. Time to find a place to camp before he was stuck fumbling around in the dark.

The fire crackled, flames flickering like ecstatic performers. Arthanis chuckled, a low sound that rumbled in his chest. Not only did he have rations, but the nervous merchant even threw in a bonus hunk of fresh meat to avoid a chat with the Karavan Chief. "Thanks to that chick," he muttered, glancing sideways at the source of his good luck.

She stood a few paces away, firelight glinting off her eyes like amber. Her playful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a cool assessment.

"So," Arthanis began, tilting his head with a studied nonchalance, "care to enlighten me on the motivations behind your… intervention?"

The firelight seemed to dance with renewed vigor in her amber eyes, sharpening the angles of her face. A flicker of annoyance, swiftly extinguished, played across her features. "Intervention? Mr. Traveler, perhaps 'strategic maneuver' would be a more apt description." A hint of amusement, laced with a touch of condescension, colored her voice. "And while we're on the subject of titles, wouldn't 'lady' be a more appropriate designation than the rather…unrefined 'chick'?"

"Maybe," he conceded, a glint in his own eye. "But not until I hear what you want."

"Fine, let's settle on 'traveling companion' for now. You're not as naive as you appear, figuring there'd be a price for that tip."

Arthanis grinned. "Yeah, free stuff from a merchant girl in that wild caravan? A bit fishy, right? And spilling info like that ain't exactly your average good deed. Not something you see every day, especially from someone with your fancy badge."

A slow smile spread across the woman's face, neither friendly nor unfriendly. "Can't argue with that, Mr. Traveler," she said, the title dripping with mock seriousness. "Capital, your destination I'm guessin'?" she asked, one eyebrow arching with a playful smirk.

He shoved a chunk of meat in his mouth. "Yup." He chewed thoughtfully. "Anything interesting happening on that route, my, uh, traveling companion?"

"If you're truly curious," she purred, her voice a silken thread laced with a hint of danger, "I have a proposition for you."

Arthanis felt a prickle of unease crawls up his spine. Negotiating with a complete stranger, especially one who exuded a calculating aura that set his teeth on edge and 'don't trust me' vibes, wasn't exactly his top move and was never a good idea. And a girl like this? In his experience, such a girl rarely brought good fortune. But, a flicker of defiance sparked in his gaze. This wasn't the sterile routine of his past life, a monotonous cycle of predictable days bleeding into predictable nights. This was a realm of magic and untold wonders. Surely, the people here wouldn't be so… predictable, right?

"A proposition, huh?" he said, trying to sound cool but failing miserably. "Hit me."