Chapter 13

13

Union Festival

Cyril wiped his brow as he finished with repairing the bar stool. He put away the tools Mister Emil gave him and set the stool aside. The ruffian responsible was at the healer's tent after Cyril broke his arms. The Hunter was forced to intervene when the man kept bothering Emil Gold-Gather over gold owed and who was going to pay for it.

The Good Hunter did give the penny pincher three warnings, as courtesy demanded. The penny pincher shoved Cyril once and that was the beginning of the one sided fight which ended up with several men in the healer's care. Two had broken arms, including the penny pincher himself. The rest were nursing several injuries of moderate severity, one of which was a dislocated jaw.

Cyril checked his handiwork and let out a pleased hum. Perhaps he should pursue carpentry instead of farming? It seemed to be just as honest, and he found himself enjoying it. The Hunter sighed and put away his tools. As he walked through the inn, several men looked away uncomfortably. It seemed that seeing even ordinary tools in the hands of Klaus Tennstedt made people uneasy. Cyril put that out of his mind.

Well, that was another repair down… Cyril saw that he had already finished his work. Just in time too, there were people standing in the bar and the stools were really needed out there for people to sit on.

The Hunter placed the tools back where they belonged and got ready to head out to get more work done before taking up his shift as a guard for the Prancing Pony. He was not about to grow soft and allow troublemakers into the Pony. If they thought otherwise, those drunkards would have another thing coming.

"Oy, Tennstedt."

Emil Gold-Gather was over a hundred and fifty years old. With a thick red mane of hair and a positively impressive beard, the dwarf was a stocky and short figure. He crossed his muscular arms, a former resident of one of many dwarven holds near Sheffield. The dwarves never really interacted with the other kingdoms, and while the Order tolerated other non-humans their reputation for faltering against the Demon Lord's armies made them wary of being caught up in the wars between both factions.

Hence why Sheffield had taken advantage of the world's situation at large and made overtures to those holds that were willing to still communicate. Cyril personally thought it was a rather devious solution, as dwarvish technology and weaponry were known to be of solid make. The sword Cyril had bought to augment his arsenal was of such forging. The dwarven metal made it solid and just as nigh unbreakable as his Saw Cleaver, a worthy addition as it had helped him slay an Ogre and a Wurm.

Cyril had made sure to hide his weaponry away from prying eyes, but he had no doubt that Gold-Gather would have wanted dearly to have a look at the Holy Moonlight Sword.

"Yes, Master Gold-Gather?" Cyril wiped his hands. "I have just finished repairing those bar stools of yours."

"Aye, lad." The dwarf smiled. "You've done much for the Pony, and for the little elf that does her all at the bar."

The irony of the dwarf calling the elf he took under his wing little was palpable. Cyril smiled. "What do you need from me Master?" He asked.

"Master? I'm not so formal lad. Just wanted to pass a message from Sierra. She's looking for you."

Cyril blinked at that a bit confused. "What for?" He asked the dwarf who shrugged in response.

"Don't know, you might want to go talk to the lass. She seemed excited about something."

Cyril sighed, knowing where this was going. But maybe… maybe it wouldn't hurt to just let himself be human for the time being. There certainly did seem to be something going on in Sheffield this day, or at least the preparation of something going on. Maybe he should ask about it.

"Festival?"

Sierra beamed at Klaus as he finished sweeping the floor while she worked on washing the tankards of ale used today. "Yes, the Union Festival celebrating both men and monsters who worked to build the city itself. A full week of merriment. Emil and I go for all of the food and drink."

She blushed. "M-Maybe we can all go?" She asked Klaus hopefully. She had no malicious intentions, heavens no! All she wanted was to spend time with people dear to her; Emil who was like a father to her…

And Klaus… the mysterious mercenary she was trying hard not to fall for.

"Sounds interesting." Klaus said distantly. "When is the festival anyway? I think I'll come along."

Sierra gasped a little. Did he just say yes? Her ears were surely not deceiving her right? She was not having a hallucination?

"Miss Sierra?"

The raven haired elf shook herself out of her reverie. Klaus frowned, worried that something happened to her. Sierra cleared her throat, cheeks bright red and quite embarrassed as her long ears twitched. Inside, she was barely fighting off the temptation to squeal.

"Miss Sierra? Are you okay?" Klaus asked her.

Sierra held her face in her hands as she shook her head, cleared her throat once more and beamed at him. "Why… yes, Mister Tennstedt." She answered sweetly. "Do I look so ill in your eyes?"

"… You're beet red." Klaus commented, brow raised.

"A minor thing, I assure you." Sierra tittered. "I… should get all of these dishes back to where they belong. Excuse me!"

Cyril watched Sierra go upstairs, leaving said dishes in the exact same spot they were occupying. The mercenary shrugged and continued sweeping the floor. She'll be back. But he knew her intentions, and he felt ashamed that he continued to lie to her this way, he did not want to lead her around like this only to break her heart if she ever found out just what he did in Lescatie.

He was too selfish. He was still living this beautiful lie, that he could someday stay here in Sheffield away from the madness of the Waking World. That he could move on from Yharnam. Cyril closed his eyes briefly, in pain, before he continued sweeping. The Hunter exhaled through his nose. He made his decision.

Even if it was a lie. Even if it was all for naught, he would protect this place. Cyril Sutherland would do this as penance to the people he failed. The Hunter finished his sweeping, and leaned the broom against the wall. He had to walk, get a clear head. Otherwise he would feel worse this week during his shifts before Emil closed the Pony for the festivities.

He heard a faint squeal coming from the stairs, and the Hunter quietly shook his head and smiled.

Someone seemed very happy that he was attending a festival, and that thought made him want to laugh. The Good Hunter attending a festival? He wished Evetta was here, he could have brought her here to make a new life for herself away from the Dream.

His thoughts turned to a small dream he had, a little house next to Gehrman's old workshop which was now his planted next to a field of white asphodels… It was a beautiful picture, a place where he could forever stow away his blades and gun to live the rest of his life in peace. But it was a distant dream, he knew that.

Cyril stepped out of the inn after informing Emil of what he was doing. Perhaps a small stroll through the market would do him good. His steps utterly silent, he meandered through the crowd keeping his hood up. Even then, some recognized him as the odd guard who worked at the Prancing Pony and politely kept their distance. There were guardsmen who looked at him with some respect however.

Two of their own had been attacked by a zealous crowd of Order fanatics, and Cyril had chosen to help them out. The Hunter had heard the stories about him but he did return greetings with a nod. The Hunter moved through the market, eyeing all of the goods on sale. He had made enough that he could purchase something although Cyril wasn't exactly loose with his money. He was still saving up enough to buy a small lot of land to start building a house.

The Hunter closed his gray coat about him. It was a breezy, sunny day with few clouds in the sky. Cyril exhaled as he continued walking, particularly interested in seeing if Sheffield had firearms for sale. Although he had no reason to replace his reliable pistol yet, Cyril had an appreciation for firearms ever since the Night of the Hunt.

The pistol he carried had saved him more times than he could count.

He entered the smithy.

"Well, now. It's a small world after all."

Cyril shook his head briefly as a Cyclops greeted him, standing behind the stall.

"Miss Thomasin." Cyril lowered his head in a bow. "I thought you lived in Marienburg?"

The cyclops grinned at him as she leaned on the table. "Nah, I had business in Marienburg before I came back to manage this shop for a little bit as a favor for a friend. I got another shop over in Ultramarine over east."

Thomasin the cyclops winked at him with her single eye. Cyril did not know how she managed it. "So, you finally made it to Sheffield, Mister Tennstedt. How do you like it so far?"

Cyril thought about it. His work in the Prancing Pony wasn't that bad, no monsters had tried to drag him off, and he hadn't killed anyone in weeks. "It's a good place." He said softly. "I was originally heading to Zipangu to get away but… I…"

"I like it here." Cyril said after a pause, surprised that he wasn't being duplicitous for once. "I think I could live here if I had the gold to be honest."

Thomasin smiled toothily. "We're real neighborly right?" She asked him. "Told ya." The Cyclops stood up from her stall. "I heard some things about the Prancing Pony, say it has a guard. Knew it was you but I was a bit busy with the shop so I couldn't drop in to say hi to her."

She grinned at him. "You did well to stand up for Sierra."

Cyril blinked. "It seems that Miss Sierra is fairly popular here." He observed.

"Aye, a wholesome lass like her is the reason why the Pony's a popular inn…" Thomasin said. "She's a nice lass, gives me free drinks when she can sneak it in. Thanks for helping her out, I worry about her and Molly, who is my childhood friend by the by."

"You know a lot of people." Cyril said his tone relaxed.

"Yup. Like I said, small world this is." Thomasin replied with a chuckle. "So don't be a stranger, you hear? Mama Thomasin will help you out and I do hope to see ya at the festival."

Cyril gave her a nod and said farewell. He really needed to get back to the inn before his break ended. There was still a lot of work to do and it needed to be done before closing time. Emil Goldgather wanted the inn in tip top shape and he'd be damned if this Union Festival began with a messy bar and an even messier tavern!

The dwarf may have been grateful for Cyril deciding to do work that he honestly wasn't supposed to but he only hired the best employees he could get for his small tavern. Cyril pulled up his hood further and headed back to the Prancing Pony.

Thomasin watched him go. She smiled to herself; when she had first met the young mercenary there was no light in the poor man's eyes. Now…? He seemed happier here. The Cyclops lived a long life and she encountered many different warriors. Many were fierce and proud, arrogant even. Others were like poor mister Klaus Tennstedt, lost and broken and sad.

"I hope you find peace here, lad." Thomasin commented wistfully. "You look like you need a lot of it."

En route to Sheffield…

Elton Dragmire started the fire for the camp silently, keeping his thoughts to himself. Shaking his red hair out of his eyes, the former Order Soldier glanced around him cautiously. Seeing as he was the only male in a camp full of mamono was often dangerous for the man he used to be.

An Incubus. That was what he was now, thanks to the Demon Energy that permeated Lescatie. His home, which had turned into a realm of demons. The transformation was different for everyone, according to Doctor Little. Some were quick to turn and others were slow like him. Elt felt stronger sure, and even closer to the women that he fancied. Wilamrina most of all. He had learned all his life that the moment a monster took a man for her own, that he would lose all sense of self.

The good Doctor Little had told him that there was a nugget of truth to the Order's teachings, but he was among the many rare cases who kept a lot of themselves intact. Doctor Little was the one who examined him, and she had certainly seen a lot of bad cases before. Elt didn't know what to believe any more but the Doctor did not lie that he was in a good place right now, and told him to report anything unusual. The young soldier laughed to himself; he liked to think that he had risen out of a dark place in his life. His thoughts soured as they turned to why he was here with Wilmarina, Mimil and Primera.

The Moon Scented Hunter. One of the deadliest killers to have ever walked this world of hers. Responsible for a massacre during the Sacking of Lescatie. The mad slaughterer who fought and won against Druella, Fourth born of the Monster Overlord herself, in single combat. Someone who had saved his life in Lescatie from a despicable noble and his cronies.

Elt didn't know the man personally but Sasha, the owner of the orphanage who was like his big sister, had vouched for him. She had called him a troubled and lonely soul.

"El?"

Elt jumped a bit but he smiled sheepishly at Wilmarina who put a slender hand on his shoulder. She was more beautiful than he had ever remembered her being. While her new outfit was more… revealing when they had reunited for the first time in many, many years this time she chose to wear the usual ensemble she donned when she fought for the Order's banner.

Elt himself wore light leather armor, his armament consisted of a long spear and sword. He was a solid recruit but now he was a soldier of the demon realm Lescatie.

"Thinking again?" Wilmarina asked.

"Just… wondering where Sasha is." Elt answered as he sat back to admire the crackling fire he made. "And… well." He glanced in the direction where Ursula leaned against a tree, observing the Dhampir Fina swing her sword against an imaginary opponent.

Wilmarina looked over in the direction she was staring at and sighed.

The animosity between Ursula and Fina Brusilov could not be any more obvious. Although Fina avoided Ursula like the plague it was clear that Fina blamed the former company master for her sister's affliction. The air was charged around the Dhampir, whose blade whistled in the night air like a silver ghost.

Wilmarina honestly liked her form, a mixture of both western ferocity and eastern skill from Zipangu. Fina's mother, Seras, was said to have been apprenticed to one of Ursula's famous relatives. A swordmaster without compare. Wilmarina could see that Fina would become a good sword fighter someday…

The Hero stood up and dusted her skirt off. Regardless, Fina had a more personal stake in this mission and she was the party's healer. She didn't need any distractions. That and she had been one of the few who had encountered the Moon Scented Hunter personally. Ursula was the one who commanded him to be found, and everyone knew what happened when that command had been followed. Wilmarina certainly was not one of the people who blamed her for what happened, things had just spiraled out of control.

Wilmarina was grateful that Ursula was not so resentful of her position in this party, but the conflict between her and Fina was nonetheless troubling.

She had to set things right. That was all there is to it, hence why she had volunteered to face the Good Hunter.

He must pay for his crimes against the Monster Lord.

"You're a good swordsman." Wilmarina commented as Fina finished her routine, sheathing her blade slowly.

"My mother taught me well." Fina said. "She had me take it up before I met Natsume." Her tone was distant. The Dhampir shook a lock of raven hair out of her eyes. They were a clear hard blue, Wilamrina had only met the cantankerous Seras Brusilov once. It seemed Fina was less like her mother, even if she acquired some of her looks.

"I can see that." Wilmarina nodded her head. "You seem to be-"

"Is there something you need, Hero?" Fina turned around to regard Wilmarina flatly. "Because you're not the only one who's been staring at me for the past forty five minutes today, I have to deal with that blue skinned piece of excrement for a week now; we haven't even arrived at our destination and the idea of slitting her throat while she sleeps has been on my mind lately."

Wilmarina kept up a calm facade as she endured Fina's ire. Ursula had wisely stepped out of the way. The Hero felt Primera and Mimil staring at the impending argument as well, having just returned from hunting duty. Elt had stopped tending to the fire and stood up, a mite bit concerned about the incoming argument. He looked like he was contemplating on whether he had to step in or not.

Bless him for trying, but Wilmarina was going to have to deal with this herself. She could not afford to have members of her party at each other's throats. That would just make it easier for the Hunter to kill them all piece by piece. Of course, she mused grimly, he could end them all anyway in an outright assault if he caught their scent.

"I understand that you have your own reasons for being here." Wilmarina said carefully. "And that… that you are under a lot of pressure right now. But we need to stick together."

"Right, yes… while we are after a madman with a penchant for butchering people who come after him. Sure, captain. I'll play along."

Fina marched off into the woods, furiously. Wilmarina sighed.

"That went well." Primera commented. The Half-Elf Werewolf scratched at her ear with one of her paws. "Should I keep an eye on her?"

"Let her vent." Wilmarina said, sighing again. "Her sister… she's not well."

"Ah… I see." Primera was sometimes a bit prickly and grouchy but she understood when someone needed space.

"She doesn't have to take it out on you, though." Mimil pouted. "I hope she doesn't say anything bad to big brother…"

"She won't, Mimil." Wilmarina said, ruefully. "She's just… having a hard time right now."

"I'll wait for her." Ursula spoke up surprising all three of them. The Demon kept her cloak closed as she took up a position. "If that's okay…?"

"Yes." Wilmarina nodded. "I'll just help Elt finish with setting up camp."

The party moved on from the camp with all due haste. There was no telling if the target was still in the city-state of Sheffield still. He could have moved on, and securing a ship to set sail to Zipangu was a rather stressful ordeal when they considered whose territory they were going into. The Oberon League was a gathering of neutral city-states that declared for no man or monster save for themselves. They were utterly outside of the influence of the Order or of the Monster Overlord. Not only that, they also had the backings of several dwarven holds in the area and the port cities that faced the great eastern ocean were pretty much under their sway.

Wilmarina had never been to the League territories but from time to time she heard her late father complaining about them, and when Elt had asked about what she knew of the League she answered to the best of her ability.

The League was not very friendly with the Order and their relationship with the monsters were more regulated affairs, but they allowed the monsters to settle in their territory provided they followed their stringent laws. None of the others had any idea about the League either, but all she knew was that they did not look kindly upon foreign invaders, monster or no. They just wanted to be left alone.

"The Oberon League…"

The Hero turned to the witch at her side, sitting on a ball of floating slime as she consulted a small encyclopedia. "Not even the Wandering Scholar's been there." Mimil commented as she flipped through a page. "But they're a hard working people apparently, and they have a lot of trade pacts with Zipangu merchants."

"So… it's a country for merchants then?" Primera asked. "You humans and your obsession with money."

"Money can't buy happiness, but it can come close." Elt said. "From what Wilmarina says, the League has a lot of gold in their coffers, enough to fund the Order's wars for centuries. No such luck trying to get them to pay though."

Wilmarina agreed with that sentiment.

"Do they have heroes there?" Ursula asked.

"That I do not know." Wilmarina answered. "Which is why I must ask all of you to stay on your toes."

"At least they have an Adventurer's Guild." Fina muttered. "Makes it easier to track our target."

Wilmarina considered that option and decided to let Fina take the lead on that. She asked. "Can you handle that front?"

Fina looked at her and nodded her head. "Yeah, I'll make inquiries at the Guild. I'll say I worked with him and was just curious if he made it out of Lescatie or not."

"Okay. First phase is planned out." Wilmarina announced. "We should be close to the first town in Sheffield, in around three days so we're going to have to put on disguises."

"It would be bad if someone recognized you, Lady Noscrim." Ursula commented with a small smile as she received a warning glare from Fina.

Wilmarina was going to have to keep an eye on these two before they got themselves killed.

Or if Fina decides to remove Ursula's head from her shoulders, which would be bad of course.

Sheffield…

"So he said yes!?"

Sierra giggled at Molly's excited expression.

"Yes, he's going with us." The elf answered shaking her raven locks. She put her hands to her cheeks. "I'm so excited… For him mostly." Sierra looked over to the side. "He's done so much for Master Emil and I, but he never really asks for anything in return."

She looked back to Molly who smiled cheekily. "You really like him, yeah?" She asked.

"I do…" Sierra said. "I just wish to do something for him. You know, to make him smile for once and yet I do not know what he likes…"

"So why don't you ask him?" Molly said, drinking out of her teacup. She wished for some ale but Sierra had been the one who wanted to meet here.

"I… p-plan on doing that of course!" Sierra realized the gap in her logic, and also the fact that she ahd just given Molly more ammunition to make fun of her.

"When? Now?" Molly asked her grinning. "Because the Festival's beginning soon, the Lords want security tight and I'm on the night shift so I won't be able to help you much you know."

"When he gets back, he has business to take care of." Sierra said. She pouted insistently. "Stop looking at me like that! He was tight-lipped about it!"

Sierra was a bit worried deep down inside though. Klaus said that someone important wanted to see him, when asked he just showed her the letter with the seal emblazoned on the scroll. A seal that belonged to Lord Nial Henderson, a member of the leading council of Sheffield.

Nobody was summoned to see one of the ruling lords of Sheffield for just a friendly chat. Klaus had thought the same thing hence why he was going to see what this was about. Sierra had wished him good luck, and hoped nothing happened.

Nial Henderson was known to be a kind man, even if he was one of the patrons of the military organizations of the city-state. He was said to be a former mercenary so maybe he just wanted to talk to someone so… infamous.

At least, that was what Sierra had hoped would happen.

Cyril was allowed into the main keep by a guard. The adjutant to the noble he had been summoned by was waiting for him. The man's imperious and disdainful look faded as he saw that Klaus Tennstedt was no gutter scum but a rather scary individual.

"I-I…" He stammered as Cyril regarded him with a cold glance.

"I was summoned here. Are you here to lead me to your master, good sir?" Cyril asked.

"Y-Your name s-sir?" The adjutant stammered again, trying to find his bearings and to look anywhere except for Cyril's horrible, blank eyes.

"Klaus Tennstedt." Cyril introduced himself.

"Ah, y-yes!" The adjutant bowed. "Please, this way! Master Henderson awaits you!"

Cyril bowed his own head in return, as customary for him. He allowed the adjutant to lead him deeper into the keep. The Lords and Ladies of Sheffield kept their own personal estates throughout the territory but all of them made the decisions that impacted the lives of big and small here in the main keep.

Cyril had seen that it would also be a formidable bastion should an enemy breach the city walls. The Hunter had doubts however. He had seen the guards around the city on their patrols. They were well armed with metal armor, and the companies responsible for the safety of the keep wore even heavier mail plate. Complete with full face covering helms, heavy swords and high quality halberds the soldiery of Sheffield were a solid competent bunch.

The Hunter had yet to see what else the city-state had in store for its formidable defenses. Cyril turned his attention to his current situation as it stood. Somebody high up in the city council had an eye on him in particular, one in charge of the city-state's military.

At least that was what Emil and Sierra had told him about Nial Henderson. The man was a slippery snake apparently. Cyril didn't care. If the man thought threats or blackmail was enough to deter him to be an errand boy he had another thing coming.

The door to the office opened.

"Pardon me for my lateness, I had some business to take care of."

The Good Hunter got a good glimpse of Lord Nial Henderson. The man was in his mid forties, with a well trimmed salt and pepper beard. Unlike most lords whose clothing was more ostentatious, Nial preferred a more modest set of clothing underneath a deep blue coat. The heraldry of a knight was emblazoned on his chest.

"Ah… so here is the mercenary of the famous Prancing Pony."

Cyril looked into Nial's stormy gray eyes. "What of it?" He asked the lord directly. "I assume this wasn't meant to be a social chat."

"Indeed, you are correct… Cyril Sutherland."

Cyril rocketed to his feet, pistol in hand and the barrel aimed right in between Nial's eyes. The Lord didn't react overtly. Instead he smiled apologetically as he leaned forward.

"Please. I mean no harm whatsoever, but if you do end up shooting me in the head… I hope you know that there are hundreds of armed soldiers here." He said pleasantly.

"It makes no difference to me." Cyril growled. "How do you know that name? Tell me before I paint this room with your brains."

Nial smiled and beckoned for Cyril to sit back down. The Hunter refused, pistol still in hand. But he did lower it.

"I have a contact in the city you see, hiding out just like you. That and I have done some research into rumors of a certain Moon Scented Hunter." Nial explained to Cyril. "I know, I know… You have a reason for hiding. You were there during the Fall of Lescatie weren't you?"

"Get to the point." Cyril said coldly, his cruel gaze narrowing. "Before I decide that this conversation, and your life, is over."

Nial's smile faded as he realized that no, Cyril was not kidding. He knew the Hunter was dangerous, but reasonable when passive. The Lord exhaled, shaking for a bit.

"I have need of your talents, my young friend." He said trying to calm himself down. It was hard not to. He already made a mistake by antagonizing an extremely dangerous man. "As you can see, the Union Festival is upon this city. Which presents the rather unique problem of distracting our guards."

Nial leaned back in his chair. "You dealt with a group of Order zealots the other day yes?"

Cyril nodded.

Nial sighed. "Those aren't the only ones. We've been dealing with them for the past few months."

"Are they a threat?" Cyril asked, holstering his pistol. Perhaps this was an opportunity. Of course, if Lord Nial Henderson thought to do something untoward… He could just kill him if he got the chance. Still, a chance to earn some coin would do him good.

At least he'd have some money in case the possible assassination attempt occurred and succeeded.

"They are." Nial said. "I have said as such to the council but they have dismissed me as a rambling warmonger."

"And the monsters?" Cyril asked.

"Those who live here are Sheffield's." Nial answered. "They've proven themselves just as worthy as the humans who have come here as refugees from the Order's failures. True, the League is not friendly towards the forces of the Monster Lord but there are just as many monsters who want nothing to do with the war against the Order."

He smiled at Cyril. "I see that your existence as been a bloody one, but you came here just like them. A refugee from a war you want nothing to do with." Nial leaned forward. "So I must ask: are you willing to shed blood in the defense of this ideal?"

Cyril looked at Nial seriously. "You do realize what you are asking me to do, lord." He said to Nial.

"Yes, I am asking you to kill. Not just for me but for this city." Nial answered.

Cyril sat back down in his chair. "And how much are you willing to pay?" He asked.

"We can discuss the price of course." Nial said, he wasn't so stupid to think that Cyril would do this from the goodness of his heart.

But the potential for a massacre was just too much of a risk for him to be passive.

He just prayed that he made the right choice in hiring the Moon Scented Hunter.