Chapter 123: Chapter 122 – Clean Cut

“There’s no reason to look like such a downer, Jonell.”

“Why the hell are you trying to put a positive spin on this? It was my fault you got injured, you nearly died out there.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose, so it wasn’t your fault.”

“Guilt doesn’t just rely on intent, Ryan.”

“Yeah – it depends on whether I feel like prosecuting your ass over it. I don’t. So as far as I’m concerned, the problem’s settled. Done and dusted.”

It was a great indictment of the nation’s drinking problem that Ryan’s first want once he was finally allowed out of the house was to go drink himself stupid. Several empty tankards of beer littered the round wooden table that sat between them. The mercenaries and rogues who occupied the bar had given him a warm welcome and plenty of well-wishes, and even some free drinks. He still had one arm left to drink with, so drink he did.

“Just saying that you don’t care isn’t going to convince me, or make me feel any better about it.” Jonell’s gaze drifted up to the left side of his face, where a trio of deep scars ran down from the side of his head, through his brow, and into his eye. He couldn’t see properly out of it anymore. It was a constant reminder of the moment when Ryan had fallen to its claws. If only he had been a little more reactive, then Ryan would still be in one piece.

Jonell couldn’t get that moment out of his head. He had never been overly affected by seeing a mercenary take a licking in a fight. Ryan was different; he knew him – they had worked and partied together for years. Suddenly being callous to those who were injured in battle didn’t seem so easy anymore. Those other men probably had friends and family too. It didn’t help that it was a gruesome sight at that. Animals didn’t care about leaving clean cuts. He winced slightly as he recalled the pressured grip of the wolf’s claw sinking into his flesh.

He slammed his pitcher back down onto the table, “I don’t blame you for nothin’. I was the one who agreed to help you out with that job – and I got too wrapped up in killing that giant to realise that we were getting too deep.”

Jonell sighed, they were going in circles. Ryan simply could not understand his perspective on the matter. He was always maddeningly positive. He had taken to only having one arm like a duck took to water, even if he occasionally tried to grab something with his missing hand. Eventually he started tucking the blunted limb into his garb, preventing him from moving it accidentally. He had been put off by how normal Ryan acted when they finally met again. Jonell had been avoiding the inevitable meeting for weeks, he hadn’t even visited him while he was recovering at home.

Jonell distracted himself by watching the door. A pair of strangers squeezed through and loitered there for a moment to try and find somewhere to sit. They noted the empty table that was next to them. Jonell had never seen these two before, which was odd. People liked their haunts – and if you were a regular visitor you would soon come to know all of them. They had the builds of fighters, so few at the bar gave them a second glance; someone who worked in the business had clearly pointed them this way for some cheap drinks.

The first was a young woman with dark skin, curly black hair and a stern expression. She was accompanied by a man with a shaved head and thick brown beard. Jonell’s initial effort to clock them as mercenaries on the hunt for a bar to occupy was soon proven to be entirely incorrect. The man looked like a sheep amongst wolves. His eyes were darting everywhere, his attempts to appear casual and relaxed falling short.

“Hey, Ryan. Get a load of that bloke at the bar.”

Ryan leaned into the table to get a clearer view. He whistled, “Shit. He looks like I did the first time I came in here.”

“Yeah, poor guy’s about to faint.”

The two spectators quieted down as they both moved towards the table besides them. They sat down and remained completely silent for several minutes. Jonell wasn’t expecting a party atmosphere in a drab hole-in-the-wall like this, but these two were almost like total strangers. This game continued for longer than Jonell was comfortable with watching, so he turned back to Ryan and continued the discussion from before.

“I didn’t know you were acquainted with a celebrity, by the way.”

“We just kinda’ bumped into each other a few weeks back. I was trying to find that one girl I was telling you about, and she sure as hell gave me a run-around trying to locate her.”

“What was your impression of him? A lot of the folks around here have been talking him up big time. He’ll either bite your head off or shake your hand.”

Ryan smirked, “He’s a little prickly, like a rogue should be. As long as you don’t annoy him he’s friendly enough.”

“No. I mean, they keep telling me that he’s really intimidating.”

“Oh. I wasn’t thinking much about that personally. I’ve never seen him in a straight fight; but if what they say is true then he must be a serious hardass.”

“I don’t know if I should believe that coming from you. I didn’t know you could move that fast.”

Ryan laughed, “I don’t like busting that stuff out too often, really knocks the wind outta’ me.”

The fearful lad from the other table turned to him and spoke loudly, “Excuse me! I was wondering if I could ask you a question?” He recoiled as Ryan turned to face him, the full brunt of his injuries coming into view. Luckily for him Ryan was as friendly as they came. He was significantly less likely to punch his teeth out than a normal mercenary.

“What’s up?”

“We couldn’t help but overhear you there. Are you saying that you know the Blackvein?”

“Blackvein. Heh, I don’t think he likes that nickname. But I know him, not that well, but I know him. He works as a freelancer around here.” Ryan looked at the man’s face and studied his response carefully. He was tense and nervous. Like he had already claimed – he resembled a man who had never visited a rough tavern before. He spoke carefully, but there was something off about it; like he didn’t even believe the words he was saying.

“Must be nice having a living legend around to keep troublemakers away.” As the statement left his mouth, his female companion winced like he had just stabbed her in the ribs.

“He’s not a watchman. He’s a mercenary, or a rogue, or whatever. The point is you need to pay him to get him to help out.”

“And if we were interested in hiring him?”

Ryan ignored the feeling in his gut and offered some tame advice; “You’d need to find him. I don’t know where he’s staying at the moment though. If you ask around at some of the bars you should get close.”

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“I thought you were a friend?”

Jonell barked out a chuckle, “Ren doesn’t do friends.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Without even taking a sip of their drinks, the pair shot straight up from their seats and marched for the exit. Ryan and Jonell watched in disbelief as a pair of perfectly good, untouched beers were left in their place. Before they could dash over and grab them, another enterprising patron was already taking them and dragging them to his own party.

“Shit. Too slow!” Jonell seethed, “And what the bugger was that about? They come in, ask a few questions and dip without finishing what they bought.”

“Spy stuff. They’re looking for Ren,” Ryan explained. It had only occurred to him after they had run away. He had gotten so used to people openly talking about Ren and his deeds that it seemed perfectly normal until that point.

“Should we go warn him?”

Ryan slapped the table and roared with mirth, “You seriously think those two are going to be able to kill that guy? I’d go tell them to think twice and pack it up! He’s going to eat them alive.”

“If you say so…”

---

Maria and Joseph were shocked to discover the looseness of lips within the city of Dalston. Everyone was talking all the time about everything and anything they could. Gossip, rumours, major events happening on the front lines – information flowed freely from person to person with little regard for the potential consequences. The rogues and mercenaries were the worst amongst them. Much of their business relied on knowing the right people or selling themselves as the best fighter in the Federation, so they were incentivized to spill whatever they could.

As it turned out, ‘Ren Kageyama’ had a lot of friends.

It was a great irony that this willingness to speak with total strangers was ultimately what made the task so much harder. Everyone had a story to tell, whether it was true or not. The deeds he had committed across the continent had snowballed into an uncontrollable behemoth. A morbid game of telephone dancing across bars and taverns, slowly exaggerating the brutality of his methods and the body count that resulted. In those few weeks since Forester’s death, thirty had ballooned to two-hundred plus change.

“They are more scared of this man than we are,” Joseph spat as they stepped out from another haunt. Their search for information was getting them nowhere in a hurry. A blind drunk had just finished telling him that Ren Kageyama had once lifted an entire cow and threw it over the city walls. The tall tales were beginning to make the real person seem more reasonable by comparison.

“They are intoxicated off of nationalist fervour,” Maria sneered, “The man can do no wrong by them.”

Joseph sighed, “I can understand why. The death of an enemy commander would elicit similar celebrations back home. It seems that the full truth of his corruption is not known to the wider public – they simply believe he is suffering from some sort of disease.”

“Aye, but it will make it easier for us to identify him. Pale skin, blackened veins, without an outbreak in the city he will stand out.” As she scanned the faces of those who passed by, she noticed a peculiar one among the throng. She reached down and tugged on Joseph’s sleeve, pointing him out to him.

“What? Is that him?”

On a closer inspection, he knew that it wasn’t. The man was far too elderly to be Kageyama. His squalid complexion did match the description they had heard a dozen times over. This was not merely a man who hadn’t seen the sun in a year – he was pale as a sheet. Despite Joseph’s expectation of a man on death’s door, he continued to go about his business as if nothing was amiss.

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know, but I get the feeling that it has something to do with our quarry.”

“Is the corruption spreading?”

Maria shook her head, “John had personal assurance from the Absolver that Stigma does not operate in such a manner. To corrupt requires intent from the user. Its presence does not affect another in itself.”

“Then he is an accomplice, or a victim.”

Maria stepped away from the wall, “We cannot know for sure without asking him.”

“Now hold on there a second! Why don’t we just tail him a little to make sure first?”

“Why?”

“Because from the way that everyone was looking at us in some of these bars, they’re going to start talking about the strangers who’ve been asking for information. The last thing we need is to break our cover for someone who isn’t Ren.”

“Why did you go ahead with this plan in the first place then?” Maria countered.

“Do I look like an experienced spy to you? I have never been asked to operate like this before! Both of us are going to need to learn quickly, so let’s prevent ourselves from making any more amateur mistakes. This bar idea was a waste of time.”

Maria rolled her eyes, “Shall we go? He’s going to get away.”

Joseph was boiling under his cloak. He turned and sought out the back of the pale man. Hopefully he would prove more fruitful than the drunkards and backstabbers.

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