Cultivating Ink 7

It was not the night when he returned to the slums, but it was close. He would have preferred to return faster, especially with his sole objective of hiding the glowing rock ending up in a spectacular failure, but every muscle of his body protested as he walked. 

Who knew that wrestling with a mad monster was a bad idea?

He might not be in such a bad mood if he achieved his objective instead of destroying his most treasured possession, one that he risked his life to bring out of the city. He suppressed his disappointment. 

He was familiar enough with the emotion, doing it with ease. 

In his hands, there was a new club. As much as he was tempted by the idea of keeping the club as a memento, he didn’t want to explain why he had a club with teeth marks that almost managed to chew through. Displaying it would have been honorable, but pride was one that was not a luxury he could afford as a slum rat. 

It was a hard lesson to learn, but a necessary one. 

Using his new club for support, Alaric pushed himself to walk into the slums. His state didn’t garner anything more than a few dismissive glares. He wasn’t the first one who encountered some misfortune in the wilderness, and he wouldn’t be the last. The sight was common. 

Too common. 

Alaric ignored his grumbling stomach as he stumbled toward his shack, unable to sustain himself. He had the money to purchase food, but he didn’t dare to. Not when he couldn’t defend himself. Even if he only used copper coins, he would be targeted. 

Reaching his dilapidated shed, he slipped inside and bolted the door. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, but he knew he had to tend to his wounds properly. It was mostly bruises and scratches, but it still wasn’t worth the risk. 

Luckily, he had a broken clay pitcher half filled in his tiny shed. The water in it wasn’t the cleanest, but it had to do. He carefully cleaned a small piece of fabric as he undressed, carefully tending to his wounds. While doing that, he also unwrapped the fabric he wrapped around his chest to keep his money, the rock, and his brush safe. 

Unfortunately, while he was planning to keep his brush safe he didn’t expect the risk of wrestling with a mad jackal. And now, his brush was gone, buried under a tree as he retreated, leaving only the glowing rock. “I hope you’re worth it,” he muttered as he looked at its throbbing glow replicating his heartbeat. 

Then, he cleaned the little gashes and bruises with what little clean water he had before he dressed again, once again fastening the rock against his chest. 

He was stressed, in pain, and hungry, but none of them were as strong as satisfaction of survival. Living in the slums, sometimes, it was all one could do. And, despite everything the day had thrown at him, Alaric survived. 

Sometimes, it was all one could do. He closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion do its job, the pile of dried grass he called a bed feeling more comfortable than he ever felt in his life. But then, he didn’t remember a day he felt this exhausted, which was not just physical. 

He felt truly spent. 

The sleep arrived quick, but so did the dreams. Dreams that were filled with mountains made of glowing rocks, an army of mad monsters sieging him as he rode a giant, shadowy wolf, a brush he could use to paint over the whole universe —

All of his uncomfortable dreams had been distracted by a loud drum, one that immediately sent his heartbeat to the peak wildly. It was the drum that was only for emergencies in the slum, which could only mean a monster attack. 

He jumped, grabbed his club, and went out, ready to fight. 

Slums were a cutthroat world, but one exception was the monster attack. Hiding in the shed while happening was punished harshly, so much so that dying in the jaws of a beast was the more merciful option.

But, just because he couldn’t hide didn’t mean he had to fight at the front lines. The trick was to predict the movement of the monster, and pick a place that would stay on the periphery of the battle. He was pretty successful, but he still had mementos from the times he failed, engraved on his body. 

However, when he jumped out, he didn’t find a monster cutting through hastily arranged defenses. He saw something scarier. A full squad of guards, led by a sergeant, standing at the center of the poorly-built shacks. 

Even without the circumstances of the day before, it was a scary sight. The guards rarely came the slums, and never for good news. It was made worse by the fact that they visited as a full squad. That had never happened before. 

The comfortable warmth of the glowing stone felt like fire against his skin. He suppressed the desire to turn back and ran away. Instead, he took a step to the side, as if he was curious to listen, but made sure to keep his left side in the shadows, so that he could drop the tiny rock among the pile of garbage without being seen. 

However, he didn’t hurry up to do that. While his first thought was that the guards somehow tracked the stone back to the slums, they wouldn’t have been standing in the center and summon everyone. They would have been going through every building and searching violently. 

But, just because he wasn’t being targeted didn’t mean there was no problem. Facing the guards, he could see several hunters, who could be loosely called the leaders of the slum as long as one squinted enough, and their worried expressions didn’t fill Alaric with confidence. 

Getting close to hearing them was tempting, but just like pride was a deadly luxury, so was curiosity. He stayed in place, waiting for the inevitable reveal as the rest of the residents gathered toward the center. 

“I have good news for all of you. The city lord, in his infinite wisdom, decided to offer an opportunity for you,” the guard sergeant spoke with a booming voice. Alaric clearly wasn’t the only one who was having doubts, but he was happy to note that no one was stupid enough to voice those doubts. “Rewards include many things. A house in the city, gold coins, even martial techniques!” 

Happy, but not surprised. That level of stupidity, he had never seen on someone that grew up in the slums. The villagers who arrived in the city to make a fortune sometimes did, but they either learned quickly, or stopped being a problem. 

The sergeant was aware of their doubts, but he clearly didn’t care if his amused snort was any indicator. “We are launching an expedition to the mountains, and any men between twelve and forty are welcome to join, as long as they are able bodied,” he shouted. “I trust that all of you would volunteer for this,” he added with a slightly lower voice, his hand very pointedly landing on the hilt of his sword. “I personally vouched for your bravery to the Captain. I would hate to be disappointed.” 

The implication was clear. They would either volunteer, or stop being able-bodied. 

Alaric ignored several smiles as some people failed to catch the implications. It wasn’t his place to inform them about it. The leaders of the hunting teams would soon see to it. Even without hearing them, Alaric knew that they were bargaining, trying to leave at least some people to defend the slums. 

The only thing that he didn’t understand was about the pointless talk of volunteers. It wasn’t the first time they had been conscripting people from the slums — though it was the first time they did in such scale — and previous times, they never bothered with it. 

Then, involuntarily, he remembered the young lord from the day before. Brave and compassionate, but too sheltered to realize that his kindness was more dangerous than any blade. 

Asking volunteers from the city sounded like something he would do. 

Whatever that was going on, it was going to be bad, but Alaric didn’t try to run away. Some of the guards had their bows out, looking too enthusiastic to fulfill their promise. 

As for staying behind based on the quota the hunting team leaders were trying to argue, Alaric didn’t even bother attempting to volunteer for it. The ones that stayed behind would mostly be the friends and family members of the leaders, maybe mixed in with a few hunters strong enough to keep the slums safe — well, only moderately deadly. 

Alaric qualified for neither, and trying to make a point would be useless. It was better to make a smart choice. He quickly moved toward where he could see Lucian, making sure to stand near him. Knowing the guards, they wouldn’t put great care into splitting them, and Alaric preferred to be with the same team as his most competent almost-friend if the situation came to it. 

Once the talk with the sergeant finished, the leaders started calling several people, which naturally didn’t include his name, while the rest were herded toward the edge of the slums. At a distance, Alaric could see a force of several hundred soldiers, consisting mostly of the guards, mixed with a small number of other warriors whose armor Alaric had never seen before. 

“Welcome to the expedition for the Hollow Peaks,” the sergeant smugly. “Now, follow me.” 

A collective murmur spread through the crowd. The Hollow Peaks were a range of mountains shrouded in mystery and peril, teeming with mad monsters. Few who ventured there returned, and rarely with all their limbs.

“No talking, or…” the sergeant added, and the silence stretched the group. 

Alaric felt a knot form in his stomach, wondering if he could survive what was to come.