Under the Oak Tree - Chapter 202

Chapter 202: Side Story Chapter 8

Riftan rested in his quarters until the following afternoon when Samon’s persistent harping finally got him out of bed.

“We’ve met our quota for the raid, so we leave in three days. This is not the time to be sleeping.”

Three days?

Riftan cursed as he sleepily scratched his messy hair. Not only would he not have time to rest, but he would have to rush to have all his equipment ready on time. He barely managed to suppress the urge to back out of the raid then and there.

A mercenary’s livelihood depended on his credibility. Thus, in the case of a breach of contract, one was required to pay a third of the entire commission and return the initial down payment.

“Who else is going?” Riftan asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Zachary, Beger, Galt, Garris…”

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All names that belonged to less than mediocre men. Riftan gritted his teeth. It was clear now why Samon had so eagerly tried to recruit him. Low risk or not, it was still a wyvern hunt. There was always the possibility of something going wrong.

Riftan curled his lips in a derisive smile. “What an exceptional list.”

“Well, all the competent fellas already had prior commissions. Thank the heavens you returned just in time.”

Samon grinned, playing up to his younger comrade.

Riftan could not be bothered arguing. He clicked his tongue, pushed the man aside, and started down the stairs. It was too late to be pointing fingers now. After all, he only had himself to blame for accepting this commission without looking into it.

He had his fill of a simple meal before heading off to the smithy. After mending and reinforcing his weapons and protective gear, he went to purchase new clothes and boots. None of his things ever seemed to last long with the demanding life he led, and he always seemed to be organizing replacements at every new location. Moreover, with his recent growth spurt, his rate of outgrowing his clothes was less than two months.

Grumbling, Riftan purchased a pair of sturdy leather boots and a set of too-loose garments. Though he wanted to get the shoes with some room as well, he was afraid that it might hinder movement.

Damn annoying…

Riftan shoved his feet into his new boots, which hugged his feet snugly. It would likely take less than a month to outgrow them. With a sigh, he returned to the inn to inspect each of his weapons.

It was gloomy by the time he finished oiling and cleaning the dark blood stains on his hook and chain from the drake raid. The next day passed similarly. Riftan unpacked his belongings, mended his torn blanket, and washed whatever clothes were still wearable.

He would have loved to pay someone to do his laundry for him, but he was certain that the maid would burn it instead. The hostile glare she gave him whenever he ventured downstairs said as much. Sighing, Riftan hung his clothes to dry in his room. His next appointment was with the herbalist to source various first aid mixtures and detoxicants.

Before he knew it, it was the day of departure. Riftan was in his room readying himself for the raid. He covered his chest with a breastplate of wyvern skin and drake scales, donned his greaves and vambraces, and strapped his sword to his waist. He then secured two daggers and an additional bastard sword. Lastly, he carefully wedged an anchor hook inside a leather bag and threw on his robe.

A knock came at the door. Shouldering his bag, he stepped out of the room to find Samon leaning against the wall. The mercenary was dressed in a similar ensemble.

“We’re meeting at the gate. Are you ready?”

“I am.”

Riftan pulled on a pair of leather gloves as they descended the stairs. A horse and baggage wagon waited outside the inn. While the other mercenaries shouted their goodbyes, Riftan climbed onto the wagon. Various tools needed for dissecting large monsters were stacked haphazardly in the middle of the compartment.

As he carefully squeezed into a corner so as not to disturb the pile of instruments, the wagon began to move. He used his bag as a pillow and spent most of the ride catching up on much-needed sleep.

At the assembly point, Samon poked his head through the canvas opening almost as soon as the wagon rolled to a stop.

“Calypse, our client is here. Why don’t you at least show your face?”

Buried beneath his blanket, Riftan scowled at being woken from a pleasant slumber. He had inevitably had a handful of interactions with nobles during his time as a mercenary. Those encounters had made it clear to him that he was inherently incompatible with people of noble birth.

Riftan pulled the blanket further up. “I’ll pass. Wake me when we’re at Soron Valley.”

“This client’s a viscount. There’s no harm in getting on his good side.”

“I doubt I’ll leave a good impression. Now stop bothering me, and be off.”

To drive home his point, Riftan turned his back on the mercenary. He heard Samon grumble as he stalked off. Not long after, presumably after confirming everyone was present, the wagon began to move again. Riftan continued dozing until a dull impact jolted him awake.

The road beneath was bumpy now, making sleep impossible. They had most likely reached the gorge. Pressing his back to the wagon’s canvas, Riftan peered outside. His eyes stung as he looked out at the pale winter light suffused around spindly branches. He scanned the silver frost covering the earth and down the procession of soldiers trudging through it.

A lavish carriage, no doubt belonging to their client, led the party. It was flanked by knights clad in polished armor. They seemed to be keeping a vigilant watch over the area from atop their warhorses.

Riftan spent a moment watching them with a cynical expression before hopping off the wagon. Though it was unlikely that he would find other monsters in an area so close to a wyvern habitat, there was still no harm in scouting the area.

One of the mercenaries riding next to the wagon sneered, “Finally decided to show your face, have you? Did you get sick of sleeping?”

Ignoring the man’s jibe, Riftan clung to the back of the moving wagon and surveyed the terrain. The gentle uphill road grew visibly steep as it neared a massive rock face – an ideal place for a wyvern nest.

“This is it,” said Samon. “That’s Soron Valley over there.”

When the raid party came to a stop, Riftan was finally able to see the full size of the group. It was quite the gathering. At a glance, he estimated about fifty soldiers, twenty knights, and forty mercenaries.

“Did they hire mercenaries from other companies as well?”

“I think most are independent. Oh, and look, the mages. Remember their faces. You’ll be desperate for their help if you get yourself injured.”

Riftan looked to where Samon pointed. The mages – one middle-aged, the other much younger – seemed to be locked in an argument. They both wore robes too long and heavy for the mountain setting, making Riftan wonder if they were in their right minds.

He narrowed his eyes as he observed them. It seemed to him that the older man had chosen his attire to impress, while his younger associate simply wore his to keep warm. Riftan frowned as he studied the latter more closely. He appeared to be even younger than Riftan’s first impression of him.

Didn’t Samon say both of them were high mages?

The middle-aged one, perhaps, but Riftan could not believe that the young man currently being admonished by his older peer was competent enough to be a high mage. He had to be in his late teens or early twenties. Another thing that made Riftan suspect inexperience was how tired he looked after just a few hours of riding. It was clear that the young man had never participated in a raid.

Riftan glowered at Samon. “I think he needs to heal himself before he can help anyone else.”

“You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Rumor has it he’s a brilliant mage.”

Could there be anything less reliable than rumors? Riftan felt trepidation bubbling up inside him. Something told him that this raid was not going to be straightforward. In the end, his fears proved to be true.

A nobleman stepped out of the carriage at the front. Wrapped in fur, the viscount had an imposing air about him. He deliberated for a long time with his knights before the one standing next to him turned to make an announcement.

“Eight of you are to climb up and install these magical devices in designated areas. Wyverns build their nests deep in the valley, so we’ll need nimble volunteers who can accomplish this without disturbing the monsters.”

Almost immediately, one of the mercenaries shoved Riftan forward.

“This runt’s the quickest in our company.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Riftan. He shot the mercenary a murderous glare, but he was forced to step forward when the knight beckoned him over with his finger.

“Good. Who else?” said the knight, peering over the rest of the group.

“I never said I would do it.”

At Riftan’s curt statement, the knight slowly swiveled his head to look at him.

Riftan ignored the knight’s glare and addressed the opulently dressed viscount. “The pay isn’t enough. You expect us to approach a wyvern’s nest for a denar? I would hope the lord of Nevron Castle isn’t trying to exploit us to save some copper.”

The viscount’s eyes seemed to blaze, clearly taking offense to the insolent remark. “The mages have put the monsters to sleep. They will not wake unless you are planning on firing a cannon.”

“Even so, scaling terrain this high has its own risks. A denar is a wholly inadequate price to put one’s life on the line.”

“A denar is enough for a commoner to live in comfort for half a year,” said the viscount, his voice tinged with irritation. “It is you who should stop trying to make easy money. Everything should be smooth sailing once the magical devices are installed. The devices will trap the wyverns in a net, whereupon my knights and soldiers will crush them with catapults. Do you intend to twiddle your thumbs while all of this is happening? I suppose what they say about mercenaries being obsessed with money is true.”

Riftan’s lips twisted into a crooked smirk. It was like the pot calling the kettle black. After all, a wyvern was worth far more than a gold coin or two.

“If you joined this party with the shameless intention of making money with no effort, then you may leave. Of course, you must return the down payment first.”

In the end, Riftan gritted his teeth and accepted the device. Once they selected the other seven men, they immediately started making their way down to Soron Valley. The younger mage with messy gray hair accompanied them to assist with the installation.

After flicking a dubious glance at the mage, Riftan set off through the dense forest, deftly winding around the trees in quick steps. Up close, the rock face was a lot higher and steeper than he had first estimated.

When the mage finally caught up to Riftan, he took out a magical device and launched into an explanation while trying to catch his breath.

“Starting from the peak, the devices need to be installed at 50-kevette (approximately 18 meters) intervals. Do you see this sharp spike on the back of the circular plate? Stick this into the rock face, and the device will lodge itself onto the wall with a strength that can sustain a thrashing drake. By fixing these at uniform intervals on both sides of the ravine, we’ll be able to create a massive, magical net.”

“We won’t get ambushed while we’re installing these things, will we?” one of the mercenaries muttered as he tried to peer into the dark ravine.

The mage shook his head. “It’s unlikely that they will wake from the sleep spell unless they are physically stirred. Still, try to move as quietly as possible, and don’t worry about slipping. I’ll be down here to break your fall.”

“How many rants (a unit of measurement for weight. One rant is approximately 35 kilograms) can your magic hold up?”

Riftan swept a dubious look over the mage. Sensing Riftan’s misgivings, the young man grew indignant.

“I can easily support a thousand rants, so feel free to fall as often as you want!”

The mage’s hubris only served to double Riftan’s doubts. Nothing ever turned out well for anyone with a big mouth. Aiming to lighten the load, Riftan shucked off his robe and breastplate, but he drew the line at leaving behind his weapons. He was not entirely convinced that the mages had put the wyverns to sleep.

Now with minimum protection, Riftan began to scale over the rocks using his hook and chain. The other mercenaries carefully followed suit. They climbed for a long time, securing the hooks into cracks while the chains supported their weight. When he next looked up, Riftan realized he had climbed two-thirds of the way.

He glanced down to the distant ground and squeezed his eyes shut. He was far ahead of the others, who seemed to be moving at a more leisurely pace. It was obvious that he was the one who would have to climb to the peak. With a sigh, he continued his ascent.

At the top, he leaned into his steel chain as he installed the device on the rock wall. It responded as the mage had said it would; the bee stinger-like spike lodged itself into the rock as soon as he drove it in.

After making sure it was secure, Riftan leaped over the hanging rock to the clifftop. He was drenched in sweat despite the cold weather. Lying on the cold stone, Riftan wiped his forehead.

I’m going to kill that bastard when I get down.

It should have been obvious that whatever commission Samon dangled in front of him was unpleasant. He was fuming in silence when he heard clattering coming from the narrow ravine.

Riftan frowned into the darkness. The ravine was widest in the middle and narrowed out at the top, shrouding everything within it in shadow. Could it have been the wind blowing gravel down? Squinting further in, Riftan made out a shifting, dark mass.

He flinched and backed away. Looking down, he saw that only five of the magical devices were installed.

“Hurry! A wyvern’s awake!” he cried out as he started clambering back down.

The closest mercenary was halfway up the wall. Hearing Riftan’s cry, the man panicked and lost his footing. The mage managed to break his fall, but the device he had been holding fell further down the rocks. Riftan cursed the mercenary’s foolishness and slackened his chains as far as they would go.

“Hey!” Riftan cried, skidding down. “Use your magic to pitch the device to me! I’ll install it!”

A fierce gust whooshed up from below, and Riftan caught the device as it came flying toward him. Unfortunately, it was too late.

Another blast of wind surged out of a ravine. Soon after, an enormous dragon head emerged from the depths. Riftan did not have time to install anything. Silver nets shot out from the five devices, ensnaring the gigantic, forty-kevette (approximately 12 meters) monster. The rock beneath shook violently as the wyvern began to thrash around.

Riftan clung on for dear life as a roar like a volcanic eruption reverberated through the air.