Chapter 89. School Break
Jarl the Red—mercenary, adventurer, monster-slayer, twenty years in the field and three scars on his heart—sat back in his chair, arms folded. Across from him, the noble’s envoy looked confused.
“It’s a simple job,” the envoy said. “The target is young. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. Just a student from the Academy.”
Jarl’s expression didn’t change. But the tankard in his hand paused mid-air.
“Academy?” he repeated slowly.
“Yes. Some kind of duelist. He—”
Jarl stood up. Not fast, but with the heaviness of finality. The chair scraped across the wood.
“No.”
“What?” The envoy blinked. “Wait, you haven’t even heard the pay.”
“Don’t care if you offer me a duchy. You didn’t say a mage was involved.”
“He’s just a kid—”
“A student mage is still a mage,” Jarl snapped, voice low but hard. “You think their spells bounce off because they haven’t hit puberty?”
The envoy flinched. Jarl stepped closer, jabbing a calloused finger into the table.
“I’ve seen a twelve-year-old snap a man’s spine without moving from his chair. Saw a girl smile and make three men forget their own names.”
“This one’s not dangerous—”
“They’re all dangerous.”
He grabbed his coat, slinging it over one shoulder.
“If there’s a mage on the other side, I’m not your man. If there’s a mage on our side, I’m still not your man.”
“You’re overreacting.”
Jarl gave a tired, humorless smile.
“No, son. I’m still breathing. That’s what not overreacting looks like.”
And with that, he walked out.
The tavern door had barely swung closed behind Jarl when a voice spoke from the next table over.
“That old bastard’s gone soft.”
Kerrick leaned back in his chair, boots propped up, one eye watching the noble’s envoy. The other was covered by a leather patch—a souvenir from a chimera hunt. He grinned like someone who'd never bled the same way twice.
“I’ll take your job.”
The envoy hesitated. “You heard the details?”
“Heard enough. Student mage. Fourteen, maybe. I’ve put blades through worse. Give me half up front.”
“He’s… from Xerkes,” the envoy said carefully. “Top of his class.”
“Oh no,” Kerrick said, mock gasping. “Top of his class? At fourteen? Should I write my will now?”
He stood and dusted off his coat, grabbing the coin pouch tossed his way. As he strode past the barkeep, he muttered just loud enough for the room to hear:
“I'll be here tonight. Just send me the details. Don’t know what scares that old red-bearded coward so much. It’s not like the brat’s a warlock.”