The entrance of the tent flap rustled. Some miners peeked out to see what was happening, but he didn’t care. All his attention was on the man mocking him to his face. Fuck you!
“I will never apologise to someone who disrespects my name. Maybe you should apologise to me!”
“What is a little goblinshit like you gonna do, Recruit?” Cadmun asked, overly stressing the last word.
Cadmun’s face was now right in front of his. A prominent vein ran alongside the big scar down to his collarbone. He could feel Sir Frost’s hot breath.
“The name’s Stick!” He was fed up. “I don’t care if you’re a knight! Call me Recruit once more, and I’ll send you on your ass like I did with PP!”
Cadmun ground his teeth. Then he stepped back, smiled, and burst into laughter.
He stomped his foot and raised his hands as PP had during their fight. “You want a go, Cadmun?”
But Cadmun only laughed louder. “That’s the spirit!”
Confused, he lowered his arms again. What?
“Just like him.” Cadmun thumped his stomach repeatedly. “You’re just like him!”
“What? What are you saying?” He blushed anew.
“You’re funny!” Cadmun eventually said, letting out another chuckle.
He clenched his fist again. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re Montgomery,” Cadmun said with a giggle. “You’re a little Monty.”
His will to fight faded with the mention of that name. Huh?
“You’re funny!” Cadmun reiterated. “And just like Montgomery, you don’t care about seniority.”
“I—well, of course I do!” he defended himself. “You just didn’t respect my name!”
“And your name is more important.” Cadmun met his eyes. “If you truly valued seniority, then you’d never speak to me like that, would you?”
“I don’t—I don’t—” he couldn’t end the sentence. “I guess not.”
“It’s either your way or no way, right?” Cadmun provoked him.
He paused to consider. “I don’t care about your way, if you won’t respect mine. That’s just basic decency.”
“Good, good. That’s the attitude you’ll need to become a great hero.” Cadmun’s gaze drifted to the campfire. “Montgomery could’ve been great too. But he was too lazy to put in the effort.”
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
He was?
“Do you think he’s dead?”
Cadmun took a deep breath. “We have to face the facts, don’t we?”
The thrill of their argument had died down. The entrance to the tent was closed again, but he knew the others were eavesdropping. It was eerily quiet at the campsite.
He broke the silence first: “What facts are you talking about?”
Cadmun raised his head. “We’ve had no sign of life for months. That tells us all we need to know.”
Stick refused to give up on him. “Nothing is confirmed until we see a body. He’s probably locked up in the mansion, pestering the Baron for being too cold and not getting his feet massaged.”
Cadmun sighed. “You are a little hero, aren’t you, Stick?”
Stick’s lips formed a smile on their own. “No, I’m the greatest, remember?”
The bald man let out a weak laugh. “That remains to be seen.”
The two stared at each other in silence for a moment.
“So,” Stick finally said, “I wanted to ask you about something.”
“What is it?”
Stick tried recalling his conversation with Lydia. “Is it true that you have red hair?”
Cadmun was taken aback. “Where did that come from?”
“Lydia told me some time ago,” Stick clarified. “Is it true you kept a journal on red-haired people?”
“Of course,” Cadmun said gleefully. “It’s not every day you see one.”
So it is true!
“Can I read it?”
The bald man looked perplexed by the request. “Why?”
“Because I want to know something.”
“Sorry, but you can’t.”
“What? Why? Please, I need a clue about people who might be related to me.”
Cadmun rocked his head back. “That won’t be possible.”
“Come on! I need to know who I am!” He felt a bit embarrassed to admit it.
“I wish I could help you, but I no longer have access to the journal.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s at the Factory,” Cadmun explained. “Somewhere in the mountains past the mines. It would be impossible to get it.”
“Surely, you remember the people, right?”
Cadmun hesitated. “I’m sorry, there were many names on that list and it’s been years.”
“Oh no…” He felt deflated.
“There are only two people that come to mind.”
A shimmer of hope built up inside of him.
“Really?”
“The first is obvious. It was none other than the Great Hero himself.”
“What? No way!” Stick grabbed his orange hair, which he had seen reflected in a water bucket before.
Like me?
“I’m not joking. Arslan, the Godslayer, was indeed a ginger.”
“Wow!”
“Though he wasn’t quite as immature.” Cadmun smiled.
Of course, he had to ruin it.
He tried to ignore the remark and pressed for more information. “And what about the other one?”
“The other one…,” Cadmun said, “was the first and last redhead I’ve seen to date.”
“Who is it?”
“A Travelling Merchant by the name of Redfield. He’s from my hometown.”
The information struck him like a revelation. “Pridtur?”
“Yes,” Cadmun replied, “it figures that you’re an Adventurer.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have read your Status.”
“It’s alright,” the bald man assured him, “it’s not like you’re one of those Adventurers who destroyed it.”
“Destroyed what?”
“Pridtur.”
He felt a lump in his throat. He wouldn’t put it past those Players to be that ruthless.
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say, don’t count on Redfield being alive if you’re looking for relatives.”
“Damn it! Fucking Carnifex.”
Cadmun nodded. “That’s all I have off the top of my head. Sorry, Stick.”
A sinking feeling weighed on his chest. What if I’ll never find out who I am?
He shook his head, as if the very thought of abandoning the search this early was an affront to his identity. “I guess I’ll have to find that journal.”
“Good luck getting out of here first.”
As midnight approached, the glow of the dying embers in the fireplace gradually faded, giving way to the moonlight from above. There was one burning question he had as a result of their talk.
“There’s something else on my mind.”
https://www.patreon.com/IgLu_Books
