Near the Desert of Death and the Lost Mountains stood the Ancient Ruins of Reisveil. Half a day’s trip from there was a desert town, Cutlass, named after the curved sword favored by desert peoples. The settlement was a testament to the greed of its founders.
The neighboring Empire of Kal’Faan was a month’s journey away from Cutlass, but the town did not belong to that country—or any country at all. People of all races and walks of life mingled there: adventurers, tomb raiders, criminals, exiles. Though the majority of its inhabitants were of Krus origin, there were also canine and feline beastmen, dwarves, and even dark elves—though the latter were few in number.
Unsurprisingly, given that the town had been founded by adventurers and criminals and named after a weapon, it had no ruler and no soldiers to maintain public order. Life and death were individual responsibilities here. Membership in one of various powerful groups was the only way to secure protection for oneself, making this a place where strength was the key to survival.
“This is a lawless shithole, but it’s not all chaos,” said the proprietor of the first tavern we’d walked into after arriving in Cutlass. “Food is controlled by the Kiluri Merchant Company—the Krus are in charge of that. Dwarves are in charge of the Hogroth Merchant Company. That one deals in weapons and manages adventurers.” He looked unamused as he placed our meals on the counter before us. “They gave themselves fancy names, but they’re not proper merchants, mind you. Then we have the no-good beastmen in the Munza gang. Last, there’s the Reezan mafia, and they control gambling and red-light districts. Don’t mess with any of those four, basically.”
Since he was a resident of this place, we couldn’t fully trust everything he said, but he didn’t sound malicious either. At least he’d had enough of a conscience that when he’d seen a pair of unaccompanied Mercenian girls, he’d told us to leave town, knowing something terrible could happen to us.
He’d served us pale green fruit water and a type of flatbread made from corn flour, similar to what was called naan in that woman’s knowledge. The “fruit water” wasn’t actually water from a fruit; rather, it was made from the peeled and crushed leaves of thick, thorny desert plants. It was lightly bittersweet and apparently nutritious.
I tasted the grassy liquid and checked that the bread wasn’t poisoned before nodding to Elena, signaling it was safe for her to consume.
She took a sip of the fruit water, then asked the proprietor, “Which of those organizations do you belong to?”
“None of ’em,” he replied. “I’m more part of the ‘fifth faction,’ so to speak. Outcasts and poor folk too weak to make a place for themselves anywhere else. I barely manage to keep this place going, and it’s only standing because these people don’t want to lose one of their watering holes. Sad, eh? So...how’s the food? Awful, right?”
Elena, who was tearing the bread into small pieces to eat, gave him a small, ambiguous smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I could get better food if I signed up with the Kiluri,” the owner continued. After I killed the patrons who’d harassed us, he’d been frightened, but now he seemed comfortable enough to teach us about this town. “But they charge a small fortune for that, and protection money on top of it. Fall behind on that kinda thing and they’ll bleed you dry and make you a slave. The dwarves are marginally better, but they have a nasty habit of crushing any powerful non-dwarves around here.”
The owner went on to explain that he’d once been an adventurer too, but since the Hogroth were in charge of the local Adventurers’ Guild, he’d attracted their attention and they’d smashed one of his legs. A fellow adventurer had cast Restore on him at the time, but the healing hadn’t been perfect, and the injury had effectively ended his adventuring career.
According to him, the patrons I’d killed were members of the Reezan mafia, the group that controlled the pleasure districts. But, since they were only grunts, the organization would probably not bother with retaliation.
A low-ranking adventurer came by to dispose of the corpses. He was holding his head, mumbling something about owing the Hogroth, so I paid him a few silver coins for the job and for some additional information.
This must’ve pleased the owner—or maybe he just had nothing better to do, as there were no other customers in the tavern now—and so he called out to us on our way out.
“You there, lass. I know you’re strong, but try to keep your head down. This kind of low-stakes conflict happens every day around here, but mess with any higher-ups and they won’t care that you’re just girls. They’ll make an example of you,” he warned.
We left the tavern and made our way toward the entrance to the town proper, following the owner’s directions.
“What do you think?” I asked Elena, who seemed pensive.
“Hmm. I don’t think he lied about anything, but I don’t think he told us everything either.”
Elena had been the one to handle negotiating with the adventurer who’d come to the tavern to collect the bodies. I could’ve done it myself, since I was somewhat familiar with the situation here, but I had a slight Claydale accent. It had been best to leave it to Elena, who’d had opportunities to interact with Kal’Faan natives before.
“He didn’t lie, but he omitted a good bit of information about the organizations,” she concluded. “It felt like there were things he couldn’t say for his own safety. Either way, we shouldn’t make any decisions based on just one individual’s words—we should gather more intel.”
“Got it.”
We were still outside the town’s walls, but as we kept walking, I noticed the significant number of people milling about. We were covered head-to-toe in hooded cloaks, so many curious eyes turned toward us, but no one approached.
Suspicious people were everywhere here. No decent person would come to a place like this, not even an adventurer or a drifter. Only criminals on the run or those with something to hide would end up here. Plus, Scan wasn’t usable on anyone concealing their entire body under a cloak. Perhaps for this reason, there were many people dressed similarly to us.
We followed the outer wall for a few hours and eventually reached one of the gates, which was guarded by crag dwarves clad in armor with a strange sheen to it. These were no ordinary guards—not like the ones in Claydale, where travelers could come and go freely. These were Rank 2 fighters, ready to fend off monster attacks. Since they were dwarves, they were probably with the Hogroth Merchant Company—this place’s answer to the Adventurer’s Guild.
Had I been alone, I could’ve snuck in by climbing over the wall, but...
“Alia,” said Elena. “Let’s take the direct approach. It’d be unwise to cause problems when we don’t know for certain what’s beyond here.”
“Got it.”