Eventually, they reached the noble's residence—a grand mansion with ornate gates and manicured gardens. The opulence was overwhelming, a testament to the wealth and power concentrated within.
Taron handed over the parcel, and they were directed to wait in a shed nearby. The waiting area was modest, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the main house, highlighting the divide between the nobility and those of lower ranks.
As they sat, Reid observed the surroundings.
"This city... it's different."
Taron turned toward him.
"All cities in Anguth are more or less like Aldor. But yes, Aldor's laws are strict. Punishments vary according to rank. The lower your status, the harsher the penalty. Some can even pay others to take their place in punishment."
Reid leaned back against the splintered wooden wall of the shed, arms folded loosely over his chest. The elk, now small enough to fit in one hand, sat alert in his lap, tail twitching in disapproval.
"Convenient," Reid said, his voice dry. "For the ones at the top."
Taron looked slightly embarrassed.
"I suppose. The idea is… those with more to lose are treated more carefully. They're considered 'assets to the kingdom.' At least, that's what people back in Grinholt used to say."
Reid's lips curled into something that might've been a smile, though there was no humor in it. "And the rest? Collateral?"
Taron fidgeted. "Punishments are… harsher, yes. A Sadis caught stealing might lose a hand. But a Xaldes or higher would get a fine. Maybe public shaming."
Reid raised an eyebrow. "So if someone rich commits murder, they get a lecture and a slap on the wrist?"
"Depends," Taron said, choosing his words carefully. "There are blood laws too. Certain crimes can't be bought off. But others? They can name a proxy to take the punishment. Usually someone they've paid—or someone who owes them."
Reid shook his head. "And people agree to that?"
"They have no other choice." Taron said quietly, "Those who make the laws in Anguth also have the resources to get them implemented, by force if they will. We only fight for what's left."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The elk climbed up to Reid's shoulder, scanning the garden hedges like it expected danger to leap out at any moment. Its paws flexed nervously against his collarbone.
"That is why I don't trust stone houses or clean robes. They think gold buys innocence."
Taron gave a small, guilty smile. "Not all think like that."
"No," Reid said, his voice softer. "But enough of them do."
His hand dropped to his belt pouch, fingers brushing the edge of the coins. Gold talked louder than truth here—and it seemed Aldor had trained its people to listen.
The elk let out a low growl, ears pinned back. A heavy shiver passed through Reid, and suddenly the garden felt colder than before.
"What is it now?" he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing.
The elk didn't answer. But its scales stood on end as if an invisible hand had brushed it the wrong way.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air, high and panicked—cutting through the quiet like a blade. It came from within the grand estate, somewhere beyond the ornate columns and shuttered windows. A moment later, a thud followed—loud, final, the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground.
Reid straightened immediately, hand brushing the hilt of his dagger out of habit. The elk, perched silently on a post beside him, had its ears flat against its head, body tense like a coiled spring. A low, warning hiss escaped it—not a sound of fear, but a signal. Trouble was coming.
"We should leave," Reid said sharply, scanning the gates, calculating the quickest way back through the maze of rank-restricted alleys.
Taron, sitting stiff on the bench beside him, looked toward the house, brows furrowed. "Not without the payment."
Reid narrowed his eyes. "That scream didn't sound like a missed signature."
The commotion grew louder—shouts, footsteps, the clattering of boots and something that sounded like furniture being overturned. Servants burst through the side entrance, eyes wide, pushing past one another. One had a bloodstain on their apron. Another was clutching a broken piece of porcelain.
Chaos erupted from the previously still and gilded mansion.
Then, through the arched double doors, the noble lord emerged.
He was dressed in a dark velvet tunic with gold embroidery, but the elegance was offset by the wild, flushed look on his face. His jaw was tight, and his lips twisted into a mask of fury. Behind him came four guards, armored in lacquered leathers—less for battle, more for intimidation.
The moment the lord's eyes landed on Taron, his face contorted. "You!"
Taron blinked. "M–my lord?"
The noble jabbed a finger at him. "You brought cursed things into my home! Evil charms! My daughter collapsed the moment she touched that jewel!"
Reid stepped forward, blocking slightly in front of Taron. "What are you talking about?"
The noble ignored him, storming toward the shed as his guards followed with grim expressions. "You goldmongers think you can sell poison wrapped in sparkle? Sorcery! That's what this is!"
Taron raised his hands, visibly shaken. "It was made to your exact request, my lord. I watched my father craft it—"
Before he could finish, one of the guards stepped forward and punched him in the gut. Taron doubled over with a choked gasp, falling to his knees.
Reid sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers. "I told you we should've left."
Another guard kicked Taron in the ribs, and the boy curled up with a grunt.
"Hey," Reid said, voice low but dangerous.
One of the guards turned to him. "You got a problem, beggar?"
The elk hissed again from the shadows.
Reid looked at Taron, then at the guards. Then he exhaled slowly.
"Enough."
The guard stepped up to him. "You're going to regret—", taking a swing at Reid, connecting with his jaw.
Reid's eyes narrowed.
Crack.
Reid's fist connected with the man's jaw, lifting him clean off his feet and sending him sprawling into a pile of broken crates. Another lunged forward, and Reid met him head-on, grabbing the man by his belt and collar and hurling him against the side wall like a sack of potatoes. The plaster cracked on impact.
But he only saw red.
A third tried to rush him from behind. Reid spun, caught him by the legs mid-stride, and slammed him down like a washerman pounding laundry. Once. Twice. The man stopped moving after the second hit.
The fourth hesitated, sword halfway drawn. Then he saw the look in Reid's eyes—calm, cold, unblinking.
And backed off.
The noble stumbled, wide-eyed.
Reid had struck, quick and hard.
"What—what are you?!"
Reid stalked forward, wiping a smear of blood off his knuckles. "Someone who doesn't like broken contracts."
"I didn't agree to this—!"
Reid's voice dropped to a deadpan. "You took the delivery." He ticked off a finger. "You struck the courier." Another finger. "You failed to pay." Third. "That's three breaches of a verbal contract."
The noble blinked rapidly.
"Oh, and," Reid added, "your man hit me. That's a fourth. Assault on a mercenary while in active service. You're looking at a claim value of a hundred gold.' He paused and then turned to Taron, 'How much was yours?'
'A hundred.'
'See. Now it is two hundred gold. And that's me being generous."
The noble stammered. "T–there are no such gibberish laws you talk of-"
Reid scoffed. "It is Aldor. I will be surprised if there are not."
The noble's mouth flapped open. "T–that's ridiculous! I—I won't—!"
Reid cut him off by grabbing him by the collar and lifting him clean off the ground. The man let out a startled squeal and flailed like an overdressed fish on a hook.
"Make it two-fifty now." Reid growled, his voice deceptively calm.
"You're—" the noble wheezed, face flushing beet red, "you're insane!"
Reid tilted his head slightly, giving him a look that was almost thoughtful. "I prefer motivated. But I'll answer to insane if it gets us paid quicker."
The noble whimpered. Actually whimpered. "F–fine! Fine! You want gold? Take it! Take the damn gold!"
A steward appeared behind the noble like a ghost, eyes wide and terrified. He held out a velvet pouch with both hands, the way one might offer a cursed artifact to a wrathful god.
Before Reid could reach for it, the elk zipped forward like a tiny thunderbolt and snatched it with both front paws. It held the pouch over its head triumphantly, little tail flicking like a war banner.
Then it turned and bared its tiny, perfect teeth at the steward.
The steward stepped back immediately. "Apologies," he whispered—to the elk.
Reid couldn't help it. He laughed. Actually laughed.
The noble just stood there, trembling, trying to look anywhere but at Reid or the small creature glaring holes into his soul.
Taron groaned from the bench, clutching his ribs. "Do all your deals end like this?"
Reid walked over and helped him up, tossing one of the boy's arms over his shoulder. "Only the ones with nobles."
"You should raise your rates."
"I just did."
As they rode side by side to Tarron's family inn , Reid's thoughts kept wandering back to the little altercation.
The system here was crooked beyond means, designed to blatantly favor the powerful. Discrimination were baseless and overly exaggerated. In truth, there was more honor in a ragged band of mercenaries than in all the gilded houses lining these crooked streets. At least mercenaries bled for what they earned.
King here must be a spawn of Satan rather than a son of God, Reid thought.
He didn't care much for either.