Author's Preface
“Fuck, that hits the spot… ♡~”
A soft, shameless moan drifted through a well-decorated room at the Silver Lamia Inn. Long, full, caramel-colored legs kicked up in the air. Soft brownish-blonde hair fluttered down across a smooth back. A soft face lightly flushed, the corners of her lips turned up. Body lounging across the soft green sheets like she owned it. Then the stunning bare beauty brought it to her lips - a liquid white, creamy, and thick…
Knock knock. BANG!
Before the woman inside could even respond, Nassor had barged right inside, already taking off his outer layers of armor.
“Man, does it feel good to relax after a nice bath,” he yawned. “Juna, you gonna hit the bathhouse too? Or-”
Pause. The tall, dark, and handsome older brother finally took an actual look around the room.
A bow neatly by the dresser. Clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor. Jiu seals thrumming a light blue across the walls, keeping the room cool. This definitely was Arjuna’s room at the Inn. But…
The Al-Thuraya Heiress was naked as the day she was born. Laying down on her stomach on the bed, a scroll in front of her. Holding a nice jar of fresh, chilled goat’s milk and honey.
Leila giggled, her eyes running up and down Nassor’s back, licking her lips slightly.
He really was sculpted. Corded muscle shifted beneath sun-darkened skin with every small movement, a landscape of old white scar-lines crisscrossing fresh ones - some thin as knife-strokes, others thick and nasty. His wounds from the tomb had mostly been healed over, but a few had been re-opened after the bath… but it was quickly covered up by a thin, loose brown tunic.
“Oops! Juna isn’t here right now. It’s just me. And… you look like something a sand wolf dragged in, chewed on, and then spat back out for sport.”
Nassor’s mouth opened. Closed. Then that familiar crooked grin returned, though it sat tighter than usual around the edges.
“Princess Big Booty,” he drawled, eyes wandering over to those lovely brown hills, “you’re lucky I’m half-dead or I’d climb into that bed right now and ruin your little milk-and-honey moment.”
"Mm. Promises, promises." Leila propped herself up on her elbows, unbothered, and gestured lazily around the room. "Sit, sit. Anywhere. Before you bleed on this nice floor, I have to apologize to the innkeeper for the blood trail."
"Bossy. And it wouldn’t be the first - he is housing all of us rowdy, fun, blood-thirsty mercenaries for now, ain’t he?”
But Nassor sat, wincing as his back hit the wall, sliding down until he was on the floor beside the bed, legs stretched out. "You'd think almost dying twice in one day would earn me a LITTLE sympathy around here, eh?"
"You'll get sympathy when Kazan gets in here with our cut of the mission reward." Leila popped the spoon back into her mouth, humming happily. "Yum~. But where is our resident one-armed menace, anyway? Thought he'd have barged in by now, ranting about towels."
"He went to use part of that reward for some meals. We need some good filling after that tiresome, traumatizing descent, no?" A light, mirthful chuckle escaped Nassor’s lips.
“A good filling…? You’re saying these things on purpose, around me, aren’t you?”
“No comment~”
They shared amused smirks - and then, a beat of quiet stretched between them. Comfortable, for once.
"...Hey," Leila said, softer now, setting the empty jar aside. "So if Juna isn't here, and isn't with you… is he still talking to the Captain?"
Nassor closed his eyes.
"Yeah. That's right." A small pause. "Odd, though. Even during the walk back, he seemed like he'd thought of somethin'. Or noticed somethin'. Didn't say what. Then there was how ol’ Raktam was actin’. But… eh. I trust Arjuna will tell us when he gets back.”
“Mhm… he will. Though I’m more curious as to those treasures he carried out of the tomb.”
“Me too. But we can wait for him, ain’t in no rush, baby.”
“...”
“...”
“... you’re still staring at my ass, Nassor.”
“Oops. Can you really blame me, Princess? If Arjuna takes too long, should we get comfortable? ” Nassor slowly stood up - and his hand moved lower, gripping a full handful of soft round ass, just like a globe. Slight, easy caresses.
“Tempting,” Leila murmurs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “But, I’d like some food first, and to chat with the others. Not to mention, I’ve been craving Juna a bit more. SO, you’ll have to wait~”
Nassor rolls his eyes, but keeps his hand there. “Fine, fine. You really like him that much, huh?”
“Of course. I feel drawn to him. That strength underneath the kindness. That introspection. So gentle, so smart, and so…” She sighs happily. “I just want to tease him, kiss him, shower his pretty face with affection, AND then-”
“Enough yapping - let’s head downstairs you two,” came a disgruntled voice.
A head of shaggy dark brown hair peeked in. Kazan had his usual dry expression, though… he seemed a little happy? And zero reaction to the nudity on display.
“Hurry up. Before Grisha or Bhoomi steal your plates.” He disappeared back down the stairs without another word.
Nassor just turned to Leila - and laughed mirthfully. “Hahaha! Not even a hello, or an update about his chomped arm! But he’s right. Let’s head back down. Need help getting dressed?” He was already off the bed, offering a hand.
But she didn’t take it.
She floated off the bed, Star Magic at work. As she shook her head.
“No thank you, good sir. You have to secure our plates and a table before your fellow mercenaries steal a bite, didn’t you hear?” She giggles warmly, reaching for her discarded clothes. But not before a small stretch shows off every bit of her curvaceous, plush curves.
Leila shot Nassor a wink, as well as a wave - and then focused on getting ready.
“... right, right. Food. I’ll go secure our places, Princess Big Booty~”
He took one final glance - and then headed down the stairs.
Downstairs, the soft evening light was filtering in through half-covered windows. The sounds of rowdy but controlled laughter bustled through the dining room.
A couple of mercenaries from the Black Fang, walking around, chatting, a few sitting down to eat their meals. Steam wafted up from the fresh bowls of stew and slow cooked goat, the smells of spices carried by the light breeze.
Villagers from Eshtara itself mingled with mostly each other, taking bites out of flatbread with cooked lentils on top. Speaking in easy, casual tones.
Even a few guests were here, presumably from foreign lands. A young woman and her lover, wearing clothes from another nation, though they had Solaran faces. Two older men with grey robes Nassor didn’t recognize, most likely also foreign. He did notice however, that they seemed to sit a bit more upright than the others in the room.
“Odd,” Nassor murmured. “This little village has some interesting visitors. But first…”
Nassor groaned - turning his attention to Grisha. The older mercenary sergeant from Niflheim was laughing loud, before stumbling his way over to the counter. Right where the innkeeper’s daughter was washing a few empty beer mugs.
“Lassy~! It might be warm out, but the seals in my room keep it verryyy cool,” he slurred, holding a bottle of wine in one hand. His other hand was against the counter, keeping the drunk older bastard upright. “Whaddya think? Come… come upstairsssh?”
… and the young woman chuckled sheepishly, brushing her pale silver hair to the side. She winced a tad, gesturing behind the older man.
“Mister Mercenary sir, I think you’ve had a bit much to drink. Shall I lead you back to your table, or…?”
“HAH!” Grisha cackled. “Ain’t ever enough to drink! I can down another bottle all by my lonesome, praise the Sphinx!”
Some of the other mercenaries just laughed and went right back to eating. Others stared. Kazan looked up from his table off to the side with a frown. Captain Raktam was sitting at the largest table, handily devouring a large roasted goat leg... but the giant man spared no glance in that direction.
“Shite,” Nassor grumbled. “Guess it’s on me then. Oy! Sergeant Grisha! You should- oh…”
Creeaak.
A chair had been emptied. And one of the old men who had been sitting down - was now right next to Grisha’s side, a weathered hand on his shoulder.
“Perhaps you should have a seat, merc,” he remarked, green eyes crinkling at the edges - not warmth, a warning. “I smell the wine on your breath. And I urge you to have a seat. This is a place of rest and chatter.”
Eyes immediately moved. Even Raktam was staring now.
“Huhh…?”
Ol’ Iron-Headed Grisha didn’t back down. He just stared into those weathered eyes with drunken stupor.
"Are ya kidding… me?" Grisha laughed loud, his smoky voice full of complete bemusement. "T-this old fart wants to tussle with the strongest sergeant of the Black Fang? HA! The old folks home is just outside! Fuck off!"
Even addled by alcohol, the middle-aged mercenary threw a punch almost faster than the human eye could track. Wind rushed by, and the innkeeper’s daughter winced in sympathy.
But there was no sickening crunch of impact.
The old man didn't dodge; he simply wasn't there anymore. With a step so smooth it defied gravity, he pivoted into Grisha’s blind spot.
Tap. CRACK!
Two strikes. A rigid knuckle to the radial nerve of Grisha's swinging arm, instantly rendering it numb. A sharp heel-kick to the back of the mercenary's knee. The Jiu in Grisha's body completely short-circuited, causing his limbs to twitch involuntarily.
"Guh-...! S-so… fast!"
Grisha slammed into the floorboards on both knees, trying to push himself up by his hands. The world was spinning in his mind, alcohol and the lightning-quick disarming combining into sensory mayhem.
And then… he felt it. Cold, sharp steel resting gently against his carotid artery, extending from just under the old man’s oversized sleeve.
"Who… who are… ya…?" Grisha mumbled drunkenly, the alcohol instantly evaporating from his system as he stared down possible death.
The plainly dressed old man stepped back, weapon already stored away. But before he could speak -
“That’s enough. Settle down, Grisha.”
It was a voice that made every mercenary fall into line - the harsh, authoritative voice of Captain Raktam. The giant of a man had stood up, walking over towards the dispute.
He quietly placed a single silver coin on the counter, sliding it to the innkeeper’s daughter. Pulled up Grisha without any ceremony, already shoving him towards an empty chair.
And a small nod to the old man.
“Appreciate you reigning in my man for me,” Captain Raktam murmured, his voice low. “Enjoy the rest of your night… ███████”
Nassor didn’t miss one detail. That almost respectful tone from one of Solara’s strongest mercenaries. And those words he mouthed at the end.
“General…?” the white-haired young man mumbled out loud. “Of what? Our country, another country, or just a title of respect…?”
In the midst of the tavern disruption, Leila had finished dressing up. The free-spirited noblewoman was heading downstairs in a simple linen nightgown, colored white. She stopped right next to Nassor, poking his side.
“Definitely not from Solara,” she leaned in to whisper. “Look at his facial features. They’re a bit different. From… Xandria maybe? Definitely the Northern Continent, not the South.”
Across the room the old man simply inclined his head to Raktam - just a small, brief gesture - and then returned to his seat and his companion. Grisha sat where he’d been shoved, unusually quiet, rubbing the back of his knee.
The Captain remained standing a moment longer. His gaze swept the dining hall once. Meeting the eyes of each mercenary briefly.
A clear, wordless order that the matter was finished. Only then did he sit back down and pick up the goat leg again, chowing down with gusto.
“The hell is a big shot foreign General doing, drinking in Eshtara of all places?” Nassor shakes his head, sighing. “A big storm is brewing, Leila. Bigger than us, and this little village.”
“But right now, there’s a big storm brewing in my stomach!”
Leila laughs, tugging at the spearman’s sleeve. “Come on! Let’s join Kazan. I can already see him cutely struggling to eat with just one arm.”
That made Nassor smirk mischievously. “Oh yeah? Can’t miss that~”
The pair navigated their way through the murmuring tavern, past the other mercenaries and villagefolk, who had continued their conversations in more hushed tones. Nassor slid into the booth, right across from Kazan. The scruffy healer was eyeing a particularly tough piece of goat he couldn’t even hold down to cut. Grumbling as he picked at the steamed root vegetables next to it.
“Want me to chew it for you and spit it into your mouth, baby bird~?” Nassor teased.
“Shut up and pass the salt, ungrateful ass,” Kazan retorted, stabbing the meat aggressively with his two-tined fork. “That’s gross. Arjuna, I’d allow it. Leila…? Yeah. But you? Hell no.”
Without a word, Leila slid into the booth right next to Kazan. She gently reached over, took his knife, and neatly sliced the goat into bite-sized chunks.
Kazan stared at his plate for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. “... thanks.”
“Of course!” Leila beamed sweetly. “Eat up! You need all the energy you can get, to regrow that arm!”
“That’s not how human arms work, Leila. But I appreciate the sentiment, I think.”
“Ah! Finally! The food looks quite delicious!”
The trio looked up, and immediately had smiles on their faces. Walking down the wooden stairs, freshly washed and clean, wearing comfortable white linens, was Arjuna. His platinum blonde hair was damp still, his bow slung over his shoulder.
But it was his face that Nassor noticed first. Or rather, the small microexpressions.
“He’s smiling,” Nassor thought briefly to himself. “But that ain’t his usual smile…”
“Sorry I took so long!” Arjuna slid right into the seat next to his older brother. “The Captain wanted every single detail of the report. And then I had some small business to take care of… The Captain’s suite has a private washroom, he let me use his. Could hardly decline, aha.”
Leila beamed, immediately leaning over the table to rest her chin on her hands. Immediately admiring him. “Oh, Juna! We were getting worried. But you look amazing~! Did you get everything sorted out? Did he…” she paused to gulp. “... ask more about Azarin, or the snake deity…?”
“Ah, just that he’d report it to the Militia Bureau,” he deflected smoothly. “But Captain Raktam was more curious about the treasure! He laughed when I told him half of it was scrolls and sealed boxes full of books, haha. He said he’ll organize the full raid later.”
Nassor paused, his spoon of hearty stew stopping just before his lips.
And he quietly stared right at his little brother.
“ Too smooth. Too calm. Not even one of his small gentle chuckles. That’s nervous laughter. He’s lying about something here, or omitting information,” Nassor mused.
But now wasn’t the time. Not here, in this open dining hall. Not here, with the mood still high.
“Well!” Nassor said aloud, his trademark crooked grin back onto his face. “Glad that’s over with! Tomorrow we’ll hit the village again, find a way to spend our reward. Kazan has the rest of it all divvied up, yeah?”
“Yep. All neat and square. “Cept I gave myself a little more for uh, losing my damn arm,” Kazan joked.
“Right,” Arjuna smiled right back, his eyes curving into happy crescents. “I’m glad you’re all feeling better. Now is the time to unwind, and… relax.”
But no one saw it, thankfully. How the slim archer was gripping his knuckles under the table so hard, they’d turned white.