8
“Ricardo, I did a little asking around, and that Didorii really is a dangerous bastard.”
As Ricardo squeezed his ample frame into a chair in his tent, staring at his map, his lieutenant returned and delivered the news.
Ricardo angrily bared his fangs. “Yeah, anyone could tell that from one look at that skin flayer.”
“Whoa, skin flayer—that’s quite a name. Then again, it ain’t a bad one. He really is infamous for skinning his enemies and wearing them.”
“Yeah, I figured it was some nasty business like that…”
Ricardo’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he pictured the grotesque four-armed giant. Wearing animal skins was one thing, but wearing the skins of demi-humans he slaughtered? That kind of collector was never satisfied with just one or two pieces. He probably had several coats like it, switching them out depending on the weather or his mood.
“He hails from the north, but he’s a rising star down here. That group we just passed… Razcrew’s company, was it? He’s on contract with them right now.”
“‘Rising star’ is an awful cutesy way of puttin’ it. Still, I’m surprised you dug up so much on him.”
“Somebody got into a fight with him once at a tavern. One of his ears got torn to pieces—sounds like he got off lucky.”
The lieutenant shrugged, but Ricardo agreed. Walking away from a fight with Didorii with just a torn ear? That was damn lucky.
The thick stench of blood radiating off Didorii dwarfed any other mercenary out there. He could kill a man with just one arm—and he had four. The gap in power was glaring.
“That’s some sneer you got there, Hound. I know you’re angry, but this doesn’t have anything to do with our job.”
“I know that, dammit. Shit, I’m goin’ out for a bit.”
Still fuming, Ricardo left his lieutenant behind and stepped out into the cool night air above their camp. He absentmindedly played with the collar on his neck as he looked up at the starry sky.
They were no closer to accomplishing their mission or finding the bandits, and his failing sense of smell only deepened his frustration. As if that wasn’t bad enough, now he had some four-armed creep rubbing him the wrong way.
Didorii killed Ricardo’s kin and wore their skins from head to toe. And that affectionate, mocking way he called him “Wolfie”—Ricardo could just feel the smug, twisted evil behind it.
Aside from Didorii, there was only one other person who ignored his name and just called him a wolf—
Anastasia.
“Huh. I feel a twitch in my beard… What is it?”
As he stroked his beard, a sense of foreboding made him raise an eyebrow. Then he heard arguing voices in the distance.
Without thinking, Ricardo took off in that direction.
“Hey, runt, this ain’t no place for a kid. Get back to town.”
“I would, but I must speak with whoever is in charge. Please let me through.”
A rough, tired voice and the voice of a young child that was polite, yet firm and intelligent.
As Ricardo approached, he spotted them. One of his mercenary guards, standing firm, and—
A very tiny young catman.
“What’s the ruckus? Big guy like you picking a fight with a kid—you should be ashamed of yourself.”
The guard hastily bowed as Ricardo cut in. “Ah—Ricardo…er, well, I keep tellin’ the kid to go home, but he won’t listen…”
With a snort, Ricardo turned his attention to the young catman. He was small but clever-looking.
“Son, I’m in charge here. What’s it you got to tell me?”
“You are the responsible party, sir?”
The boy, still in rags, widened his bright, determined eyes at Ricardo’s towering figure. Then, without hesitation, he bowed deeply and dropped to his knee.
“I have a favor to ask, sir. Please save my big brother and sister.”
“Your brother and sister? What happened?”
“It’s slave traders, sir. They were captured by slavers… Can you help them?”
“Ah…so that’s what happened. Yeah, sorry to hear that.”
A pang of pity struck Ricardo’s chest as he scratched his head, thinking it over.
The boy’s older siblings—likely also catmen—were perfect prey for slave traders, especially if they were still young. Judging by the rags he wore, they were slum kids. Probably hyenas scraping by at the bottom of Banan.
And the ugly truth was, it wasn’t illegal. Banan’s laws didn’t forbid slavers from snatching stray demi-human kids off the streets.
Asking Ricardo and his mercenaries for help was a mistake.
“If only the boy hadn’t asked while I was on a job…”
A root of mercy took hold in Ricardo’s heart.
But then—
“Please, sir, look at this.”
Before Ricardo could completely reject him, the boy removed his cloak of rags. When he saw the boy’s scrawny chest and stomach, Ricardo groaned quietly.
His skin was covered with dark red depressions—internal bleeding that formed a drawing. A closer look revealed that the drawing was a map, one Ricardo recognized immediately. It was the same map of Banan’s outskirts he had just been staring at in his tent.
“Son, those wounds…I mean, that map—what is it?”
“Somebody is hurting my brother or sister. For protection…we have the power of the blessing of thirds. We use it to share the wounds or pain we’re experiencing between the three of us… That’s where these wounds are coming from.”
“A map…that’s impressive. Okay, so that’s how you know where they are—wait a minute.”
The boy’s kidnapped siblings were using self-inflicted wounds to give him their location. That discovery alone was enough to astonish Ricardo, but it still wasn’t enough to force his hand. It did, however, make him raise an eyebrow in thought. There was something more to this map.
“This map…”
It showed Banan’s outskirts. It was similar to Ricardo’s…too similar. The same marked areas where bandits had attacked caravans, even the spots Ricardo had identified as potential bandit hideouts. It would be impossible to draw such a map without having seen Ricardo’s own.
But there was one difference.
His camp.
Near Banan, there was a mark around his own camp, with a line connecting it to the city.
“This area…this road…and the bandit stronghold…it’s all connected by…”
“Mister Ricardo? What are you—? Whoa!”
As Ricardo scrutinized the map on the boy’s chest, a guard started to ask him a question until Ricardo grabbed the man’s shoulder, bared his fangs, and growled.
“Gather all the troops and pack up camp! This little runt just dropped a great battle plan in our laps!”
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