DakotaKrout

YoTS: Lord January ~ 11!

Added 2021-03-01 12:01:01 +0000 UTC

CHAPTER 11

The best breakfast he had ever had in his entire life complete, Grant left the house with the red door. Becky waved at him and reminded him to hurry back to her after selling off the sword. He considered taking the cart with him, but knew that the Vassal’s personal equipment was too recognizable. “No. He’s going to need the horse when he recovers. It’ll take him twice or three times as long to leave if I take that cart away. Maybe someone can go get his horse?”

Grant passed through the market. There was the usual hustle and bustle, but notably no one was talking about the sword and fireworks. Instead, as he passed people, he heard the words ‘murdered’ and ‘Thirty First’. ‘Manhunt’ and ‘Noble Houses’ alerted him that he should keep his head down. In the center of the market was the town’s notice board, something that Grant rarely paid any attention to; usually far too busy with his chores and delivering the day’s produce.

Today was different. This morning he was expecting to see his own face looking back at him. But… it wasn’t. Instead, there was an advertisement.

The Grand January Caravan!

Today - and today only - the Grand January Caravan will be in town! Buy wondrous delights from across the land and sample luxuries straight from the capital city, Mid January. Hurry now. Calendar Sale. Prices marked down in honor of Lord January’s month of power!

Beside this notice was a smaller, more drab one. This was a job offer.

Calling All Adventurers. Opportunity Awaits.

The Grand January Caravan is in need of a guard. Danger level: minimal. This opening is due to the death of a guard, but fear not! He died from choking on a strawberry pie. Your duties will include: scaring away cattle and turning away undesirables. Prerequisites: Can carry a weapon. Optional: the ability to swing a weapon.

Pay: 3 hours per day + simple rations.

Having wasted enough time, Grant continued on through the market, only to be stopped by Mo’s far-too-familiar voice. “Hey, Loser Leap. Where have you been? We missed you yesterday!”

As Grant walked toward his tormentors, he considered unstrapping the sword from his back. His fingers twitched uncertainly, but the memory of holding closed a gut while it was getting stitched stayed his hand. They didn’t deserve that. No one did, not really. “Loser. Loser Le… Huh?”

“Mo. Why’s his name end as Monday instead of Leap?”

“Strange that, ain’t it?” Curly and Larry stood staring at the tattered-robe-wearing like confused panda bears who had lost their bamboo, not knowing what to do.

Mo hesitated for a long moment, then felt at his mouth where a clear gap reminded him of their last interactions. With a firm-set jaw, he ordered his lackeys, “Stop asking questions. I couldn’t care if his name was January. He’s just a Leap. Get him!”

Larry and Curly loped towards Grant as fast as their bulky frames would allow. Just before they grabbed him with their meaty paws, Grant’s newfound experience kicked in. The word dodge came into his mind; and he stepped backward, then took his left fist and slammed it into the gut of the boy on the right. Rolls of fat heaved in gelatinous waves.

*Ooof*!

Damage dealt: 4 (blunt, nonlethal).

Everyone had fifty health at a minimum, but numbers could not accurately represent how someone would react to pain; a surprised Curly went down. Larry took a swing at Grant and missed as the thinner man… dodged? Off balance, Larry staggered and tripped over the prone lump that was the sobbing Curly.

“Looks like I have to do things myself! What kind of mortal dodges? Everyone knows combatants that are properly fed just take the hit.” Mo presented a gap toothed grin, cracked his knuckles and slowly closed the distance to Grant. “You appear to have levelled up somehow, Leap. That’s good. There’s different laws for cultivators, you know. Let’s make things more… interesting.”

Mo pulled a set of brass knuckles out of his back pocket and strapped them over his meatball of a fist; then tapped them together with a *clink, clink*.

“Mo. I don’t want to hurt you.” Grant swallowed as he watched the brass knuckles dance closer to his face. He reached behind himself and gripped the hilt of his Weapon, barely stopping himself this time around. “The only reason you can't dodge is that you can't dodge. It's practically impossible to miss you if I want to land a hit. Check your teeth.”

“You’re giving me combat advice, Leap? Who do you think you are?” Mo’s chuckle was cut off as Grant replied firmly.

“My name is Grant Monday.”

“Shut your pie-hole. I'm about to punch you into next Tuesday.” Mo swung, narrowly missing Grant’s left cheekbone, but opening a small cut on his cheek. Regaining his footing after the wild swing, he stalked towards Grant.

Still, Grant was holding himself back. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mo. Even with everything you’ve done to me over the years… I just don’t want that. I know you, and if my dreams last night were anything to go by, you’ll haunt my dreams a lot longer than people I didn’t know.”

“You talk a lot, Leap. Why do you think you can hurt me? Let me show you how the law works in these parts.” Mo struck again, frowning when Grant let the fist drift past him and he realized that he was unable to land a proper strike. “Hold still and take your beating! I know you’re weak. You can’t hurt anyone. Even when you hit me with that bottle you nearly wet yourself.”

“I killed two men last night. You force my hand and I’ll do it again.” Grant stared Mo down, risking a glance at the area they were in, “I’ll do it right here, Mo. Right in front of everyone.”

Mo stopped in his tracks at Grant’s cold tone. A chill went down his spine as he looked into Grant’s eyes and he didn’t recognize the boy… no, the man that was looking back at him. “You… you’re the murderer? I knew you were even worse than I thought you were! You'll hang for this!”

Grant's just about slapped himself, why had he opened his giant, uneducated mouth? “I was defending myself.”

“Wait till I tell my dad.” With an expression that was half shock and half excitement, Mo started to waddle-run down the road. “Daddy!”

“I should not have said that. What the abyss is wrong with me?” Grant watched Mo start to gain some distance. “Now what?”

<you after="" and="" him="" his="" off.="" run="" should="" slice="" tongue="" wagging=""> Sarge’s voice reached Grant from within the wrapped sword. <that and="" enough="" escape.="" give="" make="" plan="" time="" to="" will="" you="" your=""></that></you>

“What? No! He’s a bully, a jerk, but I could never do that. I'm not a monster, I'm just a guy who doesn't want to die.” Grant looked down, wondering when killing a man in self-defense morphed into something that was better than cutting off someone’s tongue because he knew the guy lived to eat.

Grant cut off the sword before it could finish it's home-brewed analogy. “I get the picture, Sarge! Can you leave me alone? Or better yet, offer a solution? I’m in a bind here!”

<go and="" cut="" man="" pieces.="" that="" to=""> Sarge demanded. Grant sighed and started moving out of the town as quickly as he could go with such a packed crowd. <where are="" now="" off="" to="" trainee="" we=""></where></go>

“Back to the farm. I… I have chores to do.” Grant’s step faltered as he realized that Randall would know everything. He could never go back to the farm, the only place he had ever called home, and live as he used to do.

<Chores? We have training to do! Let's work on your bloodlust first. You still have time to catch up with the sweaty escapee over there. Turn him into samurai sushi!>

Grant ignored the voice and started walking up the path.