El's Request

El's Request

It was only after the Earth Dragon incident that Lorist changed his opinion of El. They worked well together on their next few adventures, and as they got to know each other, they became close friends who could talk about anything.

Time had flown. He had been only nineteen that year; now he was twenty-four. Five years had been enough to turn Lorist from a rookie who often made a fool of himself and got into trouble into an experienced mercenary who kept his head in a crisis.

What was wrong with him tonight? Why did he keep looking back? Perhaps it was the way Wenna had left so gracefully, and the knowledge that tonight meant goodbye, that stirred up so many feelings. They had been together for four years. No matter how firmly he made up his mind, he could not easily let go. Perhaps only with time would he gradually forget her. He hoped tomorrow's sunrise would bring a fresh start.

"What are you doing here? Come to watch me make a fool of myself?" Lorist touched his face. Good, he had not cried. El would never let him hear the end of it.

"I heard from Giro, the fruit seller, that you were back. Of course I had to come see you. I thought I'd find a heart-wrenching farewell, maybe an old flame rekindled, a tearful exchange of feelings, and then the two of you tumbling into bed together. Instead, the man was cold, the woman was decisive, and you went your separate ways. What a letdown." El was the same as ever, talking utter nonsense.

"Heh. Sorry to disappoint you," Lorist said with a faint laugh.

"It's fine. I know you haven't got a bard's talent for drama. Can't expect you to put on a show. By the way, what's with those duel notices going up everywhere these past two days? I was going to visit the academy tomorrow and ask Fatty Shi." El looked at him.

"Nothing much. That old bastard, Dean Levens, made a bet with every other academy in the Academy District over whether I could beat their Silver Rank instructors. Then he decided to make some money on the side and boost the academy's reputation, so he had Fatty Shi send people out to post the duel notices." Lorist briefly explained how Dean Levens had pushed him into this mess.

El had no sympathy for his old friend. If anything, he sounded delighted. "Then this is a fine chance to make money. How about we run a book on how many matches you'll win? We'd make a fortune."

Lorist gave a bitter smile. What kind of friends had he made? Not a word of comfort, just thoughts of how to cash in. He poured cold water on the idea. "Forget the Academy District. That old fox Levens will have made arrangements already. He thinks further ahead than you do, and there's no way he'd miss a chance to rake in money. He may even have all of Molent City covered. If you want to take bets, you might manage a small book in the taverns. Once you've paid out shares and greased palms, there won't be as much profit as you think."

"The taverns will do. Molent City has forty-eight districts, plus three new communities, and twenty-seven bosses. All I need is one tavern taking bets in each district and community. If the bosses play nice, I'll give them a ten percent cut. If they don't, I'll teach them a lesson. I've been wanting my men to strike out on their own anyway. It's places to put them that I've been short of. As for that old fox of a dean, however much he schemes, he still has to follow the rules. I can offer better payouts. How can his public book compete with my underground one? We'll see whose odds draw the crowds." El grew more excited as he spoke, eager to get started.

Lorist sighed to himself. Five years ago, El had been carefree. Though he was a gang boss, he had left everything to others and thought only of going on adventures and becoming a legendary mercenary. Now he carried himself with authority, handled matters steadily, and had a keen eye for opportunity. He was becoming a gang boss in every sense. Lorist was not the only one who had changed over the past five years. His friends had changed too.

"If you do that, you really could cut yourself a big slice of the pie. But have you spared a thought for how I feel? I'm the one being forced into these duels. If I'm in a bad mood and let my hand slip, who knows which way they'll go?"

"Heh. I might doubt someone else, but I know my own brother. Now, if you lost, that would be the joke of the century. My Dark Attribute Battle Qi is a little hard to cultivate, so I've only reached Silver Two-star these past few years. Fatty Shi's already at Silver Three-Star. Even so, there aren't many Silver Rank mercenaries or swordsmen in Molent City we'd take seriously. But neither of us has ever beaten you. Even when we joined forces against you with swords, we only lasted a little over a hundred moves. You lose to a Silver Rank fighter? I wouldn't believe it if it killed me." El sounded more confident than Lorist himself.

Lorist rolled his eyes.

"All right, brother. I won't let you do all that work for nothing. How about a ten percent share? No? Fifteen, then. Still shaking your head? Twenty percent, and that's my limit. I still have people to pay off, and plenty of men depending on me." El watched him.

"Fine. Deal." Lorist lazily held out a hand. "Go see Fatty Shi tomorrow and get the duel schedule and information on the challengers. You can use all that to drum up bets. And don't forget, Fatty Shi will want a cut too."

"I know. Ten percent at most for him. Twenty for you, ten to twenty for bribes, ten for the bosses, and another ten to staff the taverns. That still leaves me thirty or forty percent. Worth the trouble." El slapped Lorist's outstretched palm. The thought of all those gold coins coming his way put him in a fine mood.

"Ah, Locke, there were two other things I came to see you about. That talk of betting drove them right out of my head. Oh, right. I found you an apprentice." El frowned and thought for a while before he remembered.

"What? You found me an apprentice? You're joking, right?" El's words startled Lorist. Come on, how old do you think I am? Me, someone's master?

"Well..." El hesitated, then scratched his head in frustration. "He doesn't exactly have to be your apprentice. Just let him stay by your side and give him a few pointers when you have time. Think of him as another attendant or servant. Make him do all the dirty work and heavy lifting. The lad's big and strong; it won't trouble him."

That caught Lorist's interest. "Tell me what's going on."

"All right, Locke. You know about the men I grew up with. Here's what happened..."

Lorist had learned years ago how El had become a gang boss. More than twenty years earlier, El's parents had both been Gold Swordsmen, a well-known husband-and-wife pair who led a mercenary company. But twenty years ago, they had taken the company into the Battle of White Deer Town. The Krissen Empire's only Sword Saint had fallen in that battle, but the Forde Commercial Alliance had paid a terrible price in casualties. The company led by El's parents had been all but wiped out. His mother died on the battlefield, while his gravely wounded father spent several years bedridden before he too passed away. Of the company, only El's uncle Garilando, a Gold Swordsman, and a few Silver Rank mercenaries remained. A wound to the blood vessels in Garilando's thigh left him lame and ended any hope of his advancing to Gold Two-star.

With so few members left, the mercenary company could not survive and had to disband. Fortunately, before leaving for battle, El's parents had considered the worst and made careful arrangements for their men's families. All the relatives lived in the same district. Though the company was gone, the bereaved families looked after one another, and Molent City provided generous support for the mercenaries who had died so bravely. They had no need to worry about food or clothing.

Garilando opened the Red Raven Tavern so he could look after and teach the children his comrades had left behind. He pinned his hopes on them, longing for the day they would grow up and raise the mercenary company's banner again. Among those children, El was the undisputed leader. He was the oldest and the strongest, and he knew how to look after the younger boys and girls. After all, they had grown up following him everywhere.

As the children grew older and El's graduation from Dawnlight Academy approached, Garilando was overjoyed. The day they could reestablish the company seemed close. But events took an unexpected turn and pushed El into becoming a gang boss instead.

The Forde Commercial Alliance's policy of handing district management over to underground groups was a strange one. It gave many gang bosses a chance to go legitimate and reduced both crime and clashes between gangs, but not every boss kept to the agreement. The district where El and the others lived got one who did not.

Ordinary taxes and management fees were already far higher there than in other districts. Then the boss dreamed up new charges: fees for hanging out laundry, using space, wear and tear on the roads, and more. The whole district protested, nearly sparking a riot. The residents of El's neighborhood were especially united. They refused to pay the unreasonable charges and even beat the gang members sent to collect them badly enough to land them in the infirmary. They were young and hotheaded; that much was understandable.

The boss did not see it that way. He regarded El's neighborhood as the example the rest of the district followed, and blamed El and his friends for leading the opposition. They became a thorn in his side, one he was desperate to remove. Then one of his underlings brought news that made him angrier still. People throughout the district were said to be preparing a petition and protest for the year-end district review meeting, hoping to force the city council to strip his organization of its management rights.

The boss leaped to his feet. He had spent a fortune currying favor to gain control of the district, and he had yet to recover his costs. He could not let that happen. Criminal bosses were not always the brightest thinkers. After mulling it over, he settled on making an example of someone. El and his companions were the obvious targets.

But his men could not beat El's group in a fight, especially with a Gold Swordsman behind them. Too stingy to hire outside help, the boss sent his men into their neighborhood in the dead of night with a barrel of lamp oil. They were to burn El and the others to death and pass it off as an accidental fire.

It was a rotten plan, and it failed at once. The men were spotted the moment they reached El's place. After a beating and a few threats, one of them told everything. The news shook the district. That night, residents surrounded the boss's home so tightly he could not escape. El and the others dragged him out, but he still refused to admit wrongdoing. The furious crowd surged forward. Before El's group could react, the boss was dead.

With the boss gone, who would manage the district? Several dozen respected elders talked it over and came to a decision: El would do it. And so, to everyone's approval, El became the new gang boss.

El had been pushed into the role against his will and wanted nothing to do with running the district. His friends were another matter. Each was eager and capable, and they handled everything so well that El scarcely had to worry. By the time the new year had passed, he discovered that he was also responsible for the two neighboring districts. Thus the young people Garilando had hoped would form a new mercenary company became a district organization instead—one of the most energetic and promising in Molent City.

When the mercenary company disbanded, a Silver Swordsman who was close to Garilando prepared to return to his home in the Roman Empire after surviving the battle. As they said goodbye, Garilando told him of his hope that their comrades' children would one day raise the company's banner again. Three months ago, a young beggar from the Roman Empire came looking for Garilando. After questioning him, the old man learned that he was the son of his old friend, the Silver Swordsman.

Only then did Garilando learn that the Silver Swordsman had died the year before. His friend had come from a remote village. After returning home, he became captain of its garrison, married two years later, and had the boy who now stood before Garilando. An epidemic had struck the village two years earlier, and the boy's parents had not escaped it. His mother died first. The Silver Swordsman held on for another six months, and before he died, he told his son to find Garilando and join the mercenary company.

The boy had spent half a year getting from the Roman Empire to Molent City. A long-distance coach would have made the trip in less than two weeks, but he knew nothing about that and walked the whole way. When he ran out of money, he did odd jobs for food and slept outside inns or in haystacks. It was remarkable that no unscrupulous slaver had caught him along the way. Once in Molent City, he asked where the mercenaries' families lived, then went to their district and asked for Garilando. Someone finally brought him before the old man.

Garilando had wept when he heard how the young beggar had reached him. He fed and housed the boy well and told El to treat him like a brother. But when the boy learned that El and the others had started a district organization instead of a mercenary company, he dug in his heels and refused to join them. Surely he could go to school instead? Well, he had come home that very night with another expulsion notice. He had beaten up every classmate in his class.

"That's the third elementary academy already. We'd hoped he could apply to Dawnlight Academy in a year, but that doesn't look possible now. The old man asked what he wanted to learn. He said he wanted to study the sword, become a great mercenary, and travel the world on adventures. But the question isn't what he wants. It's whether he has any talent for it..."

El went on complaining. "The lad grew up in a mountain village, playing in the woods all day. His parents gave him far too much freedom. Now he's wild and stubborn, and once he gets an idea into his head, he won't budge. Take swordsmanship. I swear he'd be more dangerous with a wooden stick than with a great iron sword. He's only sixteen, but his Battle Qi has reached Bronze Two-star. He's so tall and broad that he looks about twenty, and he's immensely strong. You'd think he was made for martial training. But put a sword in his hand and he turns into a fool. Teach him a move and he'll forget it in less than ten minutes. He swings the sword around like a club. It's maddening."

"Even the old man doesn't know what to do with him now, so I thought of you. If anyone can teach him to use a sword, it's you," El said.

Lorist chuckled. "Old Garilando is a Gold Swordsman. If he can't teach the lad, what can I do as an Iron Rank?"

"You're different, Locke. Your swordsmanship is far better than my old uncle's. Do me this favor, will you? If he spends some time with you and you decide he has no talent for the sword, you can send him back." El's voice turned pleading.

Lorist considered it for a moment, then nodded. "All right. If he isn't cut out for swordsmanship, I'll send him back to you."

Note: In Molent City, students could not enter major institutions like Dawnlight Academy simply by signing up. They had to pass a basic entrance examination to show they had a foundation in academic subjects. That was why the city had many one-year elementary academies. Like the college entrance exam prep schools Lorist had known in his previous life, they helped students strengthen their knowledge so they could pass the exam and enter a major academy.