The night passed without incident.
At dawn the next morning, the eastern sky began to pale.
Old Walker opened his shop for business as usual. He had barely removed the shutters when several people rolled to his feet like tumbling logs. Taking a closer look, he saw they were the same commoners as yesterday.
He stared for a moment. It wasn't until they scrambled out the door that he came to his senses. Looking up, he saw people sprawled haphazardly across the already narrow street.
If he hadn't seen their chests rising and heard the occasional snore, he would have thought he was looking at the scene of a mass murder. Who would believe that, in the freezing early winter, people would brave the wind and snow to sleep outside someone's door?
Fortunately, the snow had stopped the previous evening. Otherwise, a few of them would surely have frozen to death.
Tommy, Renard's lackey, sat dozing in front of a heap of rye bread. Like the commoners, he had spent the night outside Old Walker's shop.
The commoners woke up one after another. They shook the dirt and snow from their clothes and gathered around Tommy, who was still dozing.
Cold and hungry, one of them worked up the nerve to nudge Tommy, who was still fast asleep. "Master Tommy, Master Tommy, we've been here for sixteen hours already. Could you—"
The commoners' noise woke Tommy. He waved them off in irritation and scolded them, "What's all the racket? You think I'd cheat you out of what I owe?"
Then he stretched, rubbed his eyes, and ordered with a yawn, "All of you, get in line."
The commoners moved in unison, forming a long single-file line as they waited for him to hand out the food.
Tommy slouched on the ground and handed out rye bread at random. It didn't matter whether he gave them a little or a lot. Rye bread was worthless anyway.
The farmhands were honest enough. They took whatever they were given, and no one complained about getting too little.
But there were simply too many people in line. By the time the bread was gone, more than half of them still hadn't received the payment they were owed. "What's going on? Is there no more bread? You aren't trying to cheat us, are you?"
Unrest stirred in the crowd. The murmuring grew louder and louder, threatening to get out of hand.
Tommy frowned, then reprimanded them in his usual careless tone. "What are you making all that noise for? Keep it up, and I'll have the guards throw you in the water dungeon."
The surrounding chatter stopped abruptly. His threat had clearly carried weight.
The water dungeon was where serious criminals were imprisoned. Getting in was easy, but getting out was all but impossible.
Tommy picked at his ear and glanced around. He soon spotted his target and pointed at a sturdy young man in the crowd. "You there... Tra—"
"Tracy Hayden." The man slipped nimbly through the crowd and jogged up to Tommy, giving his name.
Tommy raised an eyebrow in surprise. He increasingly suspected that this seemingly simple-minded man wasn't as straightforward as he looked. Compared with the numb, unresponsive commoners, at least he was more alert and cunning.
As for his strength, he was passable.
Tommy ordered him without ceremony, "Go buy some rye bread."
He tossed out two silver coins, which landed neatly in the man's hand. "Hurry back. I don't want this little errand ruining the good name Master Renard has spent years building."
A good name? The commoners around them barely hid their sneers. Even if only two people were left alive in Saint Brieuc Fortress, neither would ever apply that word to Renard.
But Tracy, a newcomer, didn't object. He answered, "Yes, sir," then strode off toward the bakery, which had just opened.
Tommy wasn't worried that the man would run off with the money. Unless he wanted to make a living somewhere other than Saint Brieuc Fortress, who would dare offend him, Renard's most capable lackey? Of course, "capable" was a title Tommy had given himself.
Tracy worked quickly. Five minutes later, he came running back with two bundles.
They were heavy. Even with the strength of a Beginner Swordsman, he found it difficult to run with them.
When he reached Tommy, Tracy set the bundles down, and rye bread spilled out onto the ground.
Panting, he returned the remaining few dozen copper coins. "Eighty kilograms of rye bread altogether. It cost one hundred and sixty copper coins. Here are the remaining forty. Please take them."
"Mm!" Tommy took the coins and weighed them in his hand, looking pleased. Then he set a few aside and tossed them back to Tracy. "Want to work with me?"
"Work with you?" Tracy hesitated, not answering right away.
"Mm. More precisely, it's not working with me." Tommy considered it, then changed his wording. "We work for Master Renard. He's the future lord of Saint Brieuc Fortress. What do you say? Interested?"
At that, the hesitation on Tracy's face gradually faded. He nodded solemnly. "If that's the case, then I'd be more than happy to."
Tommy tilted his head in acknowledgment and clapped Tracy on the shoulder. "Don't worry. Master Renard has never mistreated his subordinates—as long as they're loyal enough."
He put extra emphasis on the last two words, as though warning Tracy.
Tracy's expression stiffened. He raised his right hand and swore solemnly to the heavens, "I swear by my own life and the gods that I will show Master Renard unparalleled loyalty."
Tommy's expression turned remarkably animated. The man had sworn allegiance in the name of the gods. An oath like that was unbreakable.
He couldn't help thinking, You're really going all out to win Master Renard's favor, aren't you?
If Scum Renard heard about this, the title of top lackey would surely go to the newcomer.
Unfortunately, Renard was no longer the scum he had once been. The soul now occupying this body treated oaths like that with utter contempt.
Tommy, however, had let down his guard around Tracy. He began treating him like a companion, and the first sign of that was sharing with him. "This is the payment Master Renard put up for completing this job."
Tommy took out four silver coins and gave two of them to Tracy. "Half for you. How much you can pocket depends on your own ability."
Then he gave him a knowing smile.
"Thank you!" Tracy nodded gratefully. He moved naturally to stand beside Tommy, gazing down at the commoners before them as if they were beneath his notice. Changing someone was that simple.
The commoners began to avoid his gaze. The bolder ones looked at him with disdain, while most showed envy and jealousy.
No one knew that, in the decade to come, this burly young man named Tracy would make a name for himself throughout the Barren Land.
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