Chapter 18: A Physical Reaction

As Awang approached the entrance of the cave, he let out a loud shout, trying to gather his courage in the face of the foreboding darkness.

Unexpectedly, his shout disturbed a flock of birds roosting atop trees. They erupted into the night sky in a flurry, their wings beating wildly. This sudden burst of activity startled Awang, causing him to involuntarily let out a few drops of urine. 

Nevertheless, driven to fulfill his lord’s command, he pushed through his fear. With determined resolve, he spurred his horse forward, heading towards the cave’s gaping maw.

Within moments, he reached the cave entrance. Contrary to his grim expectations of a chilling and eerie place, devoid of corpses or exposed bones, the cave entrance instead exuded an unexpectedly warm aura. Peering inside, he noticed the interior was brightly lit and filled with the sound of voices.

His Khergit instincts, always sharp and alert, recognized these as human sounds. As long as they weren’t malevolent spirits, Awang felt a surge of confidence. He had always been unflinching in the face of human adversaries.

Awang had demonstrated remarkable bravery just a few nights ago during an ambush. At that time, armed only with a few throwing knives and stones, he had faced a rushing enemy without fear. He had fought fiercely, felling several foes with his makeshift weapons. This valorous act had earned him a double promotion.

Recalling his lord’s instructions that the cave might be a robbers’ den, Awang braced himself for what was to come.

“Joining the fun!” he called out, using a secret jargon known among bandits to seek out comrades.

After his call, a brief silence fell inside the cave. Then, a few voices responded, “Full house! Full house!” indicating that the place was already crowded, and he should look for another gang.

With his mission seemingly accomplished, Awang turned around and rode back to Nomar to report.

The next morning welcomed the gentle rise of the sun, spreading warmth across the land. Draxel awoke, feeling refreshed and full of energy. He lay on a pile of grain sacks at the doorstep of the village chief’s house, leisurely sipping his vegetable soup and enjoying a moment of peace.

From a distance, he noticed a familiar figure approaching. It looked like Awang was returning.

“Awang, how did it go? Did you find the cave?” Draxel asked curiously.

“Good morning, Count. Yes, I found it. It’s indeed the robbers’ hideout,” Awang reported with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Hmm… well done. Call Owens over,” Draxel responded, acknowledging the news.

Awang, as a Khergit, instinctively responded with a customary fist-in-palm bow, a gesture of understanding and respect, instead of a nod. Draxel, ever respectful of cultural nuances, had grown accustomed to and appreciative of this form of acknowledgment.

Shortly after, Owens arrived, as punctual as expected.

“Noble Count Draxel, I am here,” Owens announced his presence with due respect.

“Owens, Awang confirmed your suspicions. The dilemma now is our lack of manpower to take over the cave,” Draxel explained, conveying the situation.

Owens furrowed his brow, deep in thought, before suggesting, “Maybe we should consider recruiting more soldiers.”

Draxel replied with a note of concern, “But we’re out of funds, as you know.”

“We could levy taxes and then use them to recruit,” Owens proposed a solution.

A flicker of hesitation crossed Draxel’s face. He vividly remembered Noyan Tu Lu’s harsh treatment of the villagers. He knew that even ordinary taxation, while less severe, could negatively impact the villagers’ living conditions and their goodwill towards him—something he earnestly wished to avoid.

Lost in his thoughts, Draxel’s attention was suddenly drawn to a troop slowly advancing toward them. Their leader, a woman, was clad in tight-fitting leather armor that highlighted her striking figure.

Her face, strikingly beautiful and adorned with a captivating smile, was indelibly imprinted in Draxel’s memory.

He instantly recognized her. She was Ronnie, the Profit Empress, and owner of the Neutral Tavern Mercenary Corps.

Ignoring the pain of his not-yet-healed wounds, Draxel eagerly jogged toward the approaching group.

“Profit Empress Ronnie, what a surprise to see you here,” Draxel exclaimed.

“Hmm, I wasn’t expecting to find you here, Draxel. Weren’t you on your way back to Uxkhal?” Ronnie, the Profit Empress, replied, recognizing the young man before her. She noticed the new scars that marred his otherwise handsome features.

“It’s quite a story. Nonetheless, it’s wonderful to see you again. What business brings you to Nomar?” Draxel asked.

“Oh, look at the state you’re in. Running a tavern means I’m here to purchase grain for brewing. Nomar has always been my go-to place,” she explained. 

As she stepped forward to embrace him, Draxel instinctively retreated slightly. He couldn’t risk Safiya seeing this, not to mention the pain of his wounds against her leather armor.

“We must maintain propriety between men and women. But your visit is timely, Profit Empress Ronnie. As the local lord, I can provide the grain you need, free of charge,” Draxel offered.

Ronnie, experienced in the ways of commerce, understood that nothing came without a reason. Draxel’s generous offer surely had an underlying motive.

“You needn’t be so formal. Just call me Ronnie. I appreciate the special privilege, Count. Since you’re so generous, I won’t be shy then~” she responded with a smile.

Ronnie, the Profit Empress, didn’t hesitate. She gestured to her subordinates to begin loading the grain, ready to depart with her goods. Draxel felt a surge of urgency, he couldn’t let his plan fall through.

“Hold on, hold on! We haven’t seen each other in so long. Can’t we have a little chat before you go? Come on,” Draxel implored.

Ronnie gave him a sly smile and leaned closer, her voice a whisper in his ear, “What’s there to talk about, Draxel, with all those wounds? Should we move this conversation to your bedroom, perhaps?”

Draxel blushed, caught off guard by her forwardness. ‘This woman’s ability to flirt is unmatched,’ he thought to himself.

“No, no, let’s just talk here. Look, Ronnie, your troops are full of brave warriors. It seems a waste to use them just for hauling grain.”

Whenever Draxel was around Ronnie, the enchanting and alluring Profit Empress, he felt as if he lost his noble aura and leadership stature, reverting to a mere commoner.

Ronnie seemed to have an inkling of what Draxel wanted. Playing innocent, she asked, “I don’t see it as beneath them. But what exactly do you have in mind for them?”

“To fight against the bad guys.”

“And where might these bad guys be?”

“I know where they are. A group of burglars and robbers,” Draxel revealed.

“And after defeating these bad guys, what then?”

“We’ll take their gold and jewels.”

Ronnie laughed, her amusement evident. She casually placed her hand on Draxel’s shoulder, pulling him closer to her. “My dear Count, forgive my frankness, but if you kill them and take their treasure, doesn’t that make you the bad guy?”

Draxel, slightly flustered, replied, “Ah, talking is fine, but you don’t need to get so close.”

At that moment, Draxel became acutely aware of a physical reaction within him, feeling her skin almost within his reach.