Chapter 212: Rujgard and baron
Gold hoisted herself up onto the cutting board, swinging her boots over the edge with indifferent exhaustion. Reaching into the inner fold of her dress, she pulled out a pack, thumbed it open, and plucked a black cigarette.
She had pushed the golden skull mask up just past the bridge of her nose.
Eren, sitting cross-legged on the ground amidst the scattered gore and overturned salt barrels, caught a glimpse of a porcelain jawline, high cheekbones dusted with soot, and pale, slightly parted lips wrapped around the filter. She took a deep, deliberate drag and exhaled a long stream of smoke toward the meat hooks above.
"Rujgard," Eren began, his tone was like a bored academy lecturer who had completely given up on his syllabus. "A delightfully charming territory of land wedged tightly north of our empire and south of the Valdorian dominion. Guarded by jagged crags to the west, an ocean to the east, and barely the size of the capital."
"Yet," Eren continued, raising a solitary finger to emphasize his intellectual prowess, "it remains the continent’s premier cesspool. The undisputed capital of black-market contracting, untraceable poison trade, illegal slave auctions, and high-end mercenary brokerage. Neither kingdom can conquer it because the moment one legion marches in, the other invades, and the syndicate bosses blow the mountain passes. There are minimal laws and powerful leaders."
"Are you genuinely reciting a geography class at three in the morning?" she rasped, her tone dripping with irritation. "We are sitting in an abandoned slaughterhouse surrounded by corpses, and you’re hosting a seminar."
"I am providing a valuable explanation, you ungrateful gargoyle," Eren muttered, leaning his back against a splintered brine tub and crossing his arms behind his head. "I was merely confirming your intellectual baseline in case you don’t know. Some of us appreciate knowing the socio-political climate of the hellhole we’ve just been stranded in."
"I know what Rujgard is, you arrogant brat," she exhaled another ring of smoke, leaning forward with her elbows propped on her knees. "I don’t need a spoiled, silver-spoon noble explaining the criminal underbelly to me like I’m a fresh recruit."
"Spoiled?" Eren scoffed, gesturing expansively to his torn midnight-blue coat and the bruises blooming along his collarbone. "Do I look like a pampered heir to you? I just got punted through two solid brick walls, wrestled a masked psychotic woman, and had to fight some unknown mercenaries right after getting up. My life is an endless parade."
"You talk too much," she sighed, taking another puff. "Every breath that leaves your mouth is an assault on my eardrums. You’re dangerously calm for someone who just got dropped into the butcher’s den."
"Hey, panic burns unnecessary calories," Eren shot back with an easy, unbothered grin, his blue eyes flashing with that trademark mischievousness. "Besides, you’re the one sitting on a cutting board puffing on tobacco like you’re taking a midday tea break at a country club. If you’re not screaming into your pillow, why should I break a sweat?"
She paused, tilting her head slightly, studying his relaxed posture with genuine, bemused skepticism.
"You really are an anomaly," she murmured, a dry smirk curling her lips. "Most young lords with a face like yours would be curled in the fetal position, weeping for their doting mothers, their maids, or whatever pampered little heiress they left warming their bed."
Eren let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. If she only had the faintest idea of the terrifying, homicidal girls who would burn down anything just to find him, she wouldn’t be talking about pampered heiresses.
"Trust me on this one," Eren muttered under his breath, a cold shiver dancing down his spine despite the warm smoke. "Whatever bloodthirsty cartel bosses are running Rujgard tonight... they are infinitely safer than the women I have waiting for me back home."
Gold raised a single, well-shaped brow beneath the edge of her gilded plate. "Trouble in paradise?"
"Paradise?" Eren snorted, looking over at the snoring bulk of Baron Kiliyan by the trough. "Why don’t we address the headache before the night-shift cleanup crew comes looking for these nine newly minted mercenaries?"
Baron Kiliyan’s portly frame twitched. The man’s eyelids squeezed shut with sudden, aggressive intensity, his chubby hands clutching his silk-clad stomach as he maintained a desperately rigid, statue-like stillness.
"Are you planning on sleeping the entire week, Kiliyan?" Eren asked with mock sympathy.
Gold hopped down, her boots landing without a whisper. She tossed the cigarette butt into an empty barrel, pulling the golden skull mask back down.
"You knew he was conscious?"
"Please," Eren scoffed, rolling his eyes as he strolled over to the trough. "A three-hundred-pound nobleman doesn’t magically stay in a coma for a full hour after surviving a fire, a teleportation, and a war we just had now."
Eren stopped right above the trembling lord, nudging the tip of his boot against Kiliyan’s fleshy ribs.
"One second, Baron. If those little pig eyes don’t flutter open in the next microsecond, I will guarantee your nap becomes permanent."
Baron Kiliyan bolted upright like a corpse struck by holy lightning.
Scrambling backward on his elbows and heels, he violently churned through the stagnant brine and gore on the ground until his spine slammed flush against the wooden trough. His chin wobbled in frantic terror, snot and sweat coating his red, puffy face as he looked between them.
"I’m awake! I’m awake, by the heavens, I’m awake! D-Don’t touch—"
"You’re an oversized ham in an unventilated meat locker, Baron," Eren cut in cheerfully, crouching down to eye level with his hands resting easily on his knees. "So let’s dispense with the peerage credentials and talk logistics. How does a mere baron like you have direct extraction contracts with a syndicate operating out of this specific territory?"
Kiliyan blinked through his sweat, his trembling jowls suddenly freezing mid-shake. "T-Territory...? What territory? Where are we?"
"Rujgard," Gold answered.
The word hit the nobleman like a sledgehammer to the sternum.
All the bluster and residual aristocratic indignation evaporated in an instant. The blood drained from Kiliyan’s face so fast he turned the color of stale lard, his eyes bulging until the veins showed violently against the whites. He began clawing at his own neck, choking on the dry air.
"R-Rujgard...?! No, no, no, sweet merciful gods, not Rujgard!" Kiliyan wailed, frantically grabbing at the hem of Eren’s coat like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood. "Please! I beg of you! I’ll tell you anything! Everything! Just get me out of this nation! You have to smuggle me back across the border! If you save me, I am your loyal dog forever!"
Eren and Gold exchanged a sideways glance.
"Well, that was remarkably easy," Eren muttered, raising an eyebrow at the masked woman.
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{Today only one Chapter. My mind hazy and deleted many scenes. I will upload 3 tomorrow}