Lethologica
"Wait, what?! You—you're in?"
Stark, who had just returned from his meeting with Zachary, stood frozen at Asep's words. He couldn't believe the man had agreed to join so easily.
"Yeah. Why? You don't want me in?" Asep replied calmly, taking another swig of wine.
"No, I never said that... it's just... I didn't think you'd accept so quickly," Stark said, still a bit dumbfounded. "I was about to offer you the deal myself, but seeing as Sylvanne is already here... I guess I have her to thank."
"Haha, you see, Starky boy?" Sylvanne grinned, slinging an arm around Asep's shoulders. "All it takes is a little... creative negotiation. And the promise of a future where a man can enjoy his smoke in peace."
"The tobacco... I see." Stark sighed, a weary but understanding look crossing his face. He pulled up a chair and slumped into it, the weight of his conversation with Zachary still heavy on his mind. "Then welcome to the company, Asep. Things are... about to get complicated, and we'll need every capable hand we can get."
Stark's tone carried a hint of grim foreboding, and the jovial mood at the table instantly cooled. Even Sylvanne's boisterous grin faltered. She slipped her arm off Asep's shoulder, her crimson eyes narrowing.
"What did Zachary say?" she asked, her voice losing its playful edge. "Is it about the princess?"
Stark nodded, running a hand over his face. "Yeah. We're to wait until she returns to town, he said. I just hope she's safe out there."
"She will be. Zachary would do anything to protect her, even if it costs him his life. You know that, Stark," Sylvanne said. "And we are here to support him with everything we've got."
Princess... civil war... tobacco... The words swirled in Asep's mind—a confusing mix of high-stakes politics and personal addiction. He had joined this mercenary outfit on a whim, motivated by something as mundane as a nicotine craving, yet he had immediately landed in a web of royalty, rebellion, and impending war. Just a few hours ago, he was a simple peat cutter. Now, he was a mercenary, informally pledged to a cause he knew nothing about, sitting with battle-hardened veterans discussing the fate of a kingdom. Life had a truly twisted sense of humor. He took another long gulp of his wine; he was going to need it.
"So, what's the plan?" Asep asked, breaking the sudden silence. "We just sit here and wait for this princess to show up? Or is there something we can do in the meantime? Like, I don't know, finding a secret stash of tobacco somewhere?"
Sylvanne chuckled, the tension breaking. "I wish. No, for now, we wait for Zachary's orders. But that doesn't mean we sit around. There's always work to be done, like patrols, training, escorting merchant caravans... keeping the peace in this town is a full-time job, especially with the refugees pouring in." She glanced around the now-crowded tavern, her eyes lingering on the anxious faces of displaced families huddled in the corners. "This town is a powder keg. Our job is to make sure no one lights a match."
"She's right," Stark agreed, his composure returning. "Starting tomorrow, you're officially with us, Asep. We'll get you registered, find you some proper gear, unless you plan on fighting a war in your work clothes and muddy boots." He eyed Asep's ragged attire with disapproval. "And we'll see what you can do. Zachary will want to assess your skills himself."
"Fine by me. Just tell me who to punch and where to sleep. I'm guessing I can't keep crashing in a peat shed."
"We'll get you a bunk in the barracks," Sylvanne said, clapping him on the back. "It's not the royal suite, but it's warm, dry, and the food isn't half bad. And the company," she added with a wink, "is excellent."
Their conversation was interrupted by a voice from the tavern entrance.
"Sylvie-sis! We're back! The escort mission was a success!"
The cheerful, youthful voice cut through the din, followed by the clatter of armored boots on the floor. Two figures stood at the entrance, their travel-worn clothes dusted with grime. The speaker was a young woman, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with a bright, earnest face and short, honey-blonde hair. She wore practical leather armor over a simple tunic, an orange cloak fastened at her shoulder, and carried a round shield and a shortsword at her hip. A small white flower was tucked neatly behind her ear—a touch of delicate beauty amid her functional gear. Radiating energy, she pumped a gloved fist in the air, a wide, triumphant grin plastered on her face.
Beside her, leaning against the doorframe with a look of profound boredom, was a young man of a similar age. His moss-green hair was perpetually messy, falling over sullen yellow eyes. He was dressed in the garb of a scout, a sturdy longbow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows at his back. Where the girl was all sunshine, he was a brooding storm cloud, arms crossed over his chest with a deep scowl etched onto his features.
Sylvanne's head snapped up, her boisterous grin immediately softening. "Clara! Kirsche! You're back already? I thought you weren't due until tomorrow." She waved them over. "Come on, pull up a seat! First round is on me. Tell me everything. Did those mountain bandits give you any trouble?"
Clara's face lit up even brighter. She practically bounced over to their table, her shield clanking against her scabbard with every step. "It was amazing, Sylvie-sis! The mountain pass was a bit tricky, and a rockslide blocked the path at one point, but we cleared it! Kirsche shot a rope across the gap, and we helped the merchants rappel down. It was so exciting!" She beamed, her eyes shining with the thrill of a successful mission. "Oh, and we saw a griffon! It was just circling way up high, but it was huge!"
"It was just a big bird. And you almost fell off the cliff twice because you weren't watching your footing," Kirsche muttered, still lingering near the entrance. His voice was a flat, disinterested monotone. "The only exciting part was that the merchant actually paid the bonus he promised. Now we can collect our share and go rest." He finally pushed himself off the doorframe and shuffled over to the table, dropping into the last empty chair.
"Oh, hush," Clara chided, giving Kirsche a playful nudge that he completely ignored. Her gaze then fell on Asep, her head tilting in open curiosity. "Ooh, who's this? I haven't seen you around the guildhall. Are you a new recruit?" She offered him a warm, friendly smile.
"Something like that," Asep replied, returning her smile with a lazy one of his own. These kids reminded him of the fresh-faced juniors from his old days; full of energy, thinking they were ready to take on the world. It was nostalgic, and slightly painful feeling. "The name's Asep. Just signed up a few minutes ago."
"Really? That's awesome!" Clara exclaimed. "I'm Clara, and this grump is Kirsche." She gestured to the green-haired boy, who merely grunted, his eyes fixed on a knothole in the table. "Don't mind him, he's always like this. It's great to have someone new join! We need all the help we can get."
"Yeah, especially since your babysitter here," Asep said, jerking a thumb toward Sylvanne, "recruited me with the promise of saving the kingdom's tobacco supply."
Clara blinked, looking confused. "Tobacco? Is there a problem with the tobacco?"
"There is," Kirsche spoke up unexpectedly, his sullen gaze finally lifting to meet Asep's. There was a flicker of understanding in his yellow eyes—a shared appreciation of a common vice. "The last shipment from Albion was seized at the border. Prices have skyrocketed. My old uncle has been complaining about it for a week." He grunted again, as if the effort of speaking had drained him, and resumed staring at the wood grain.
The dynamic was clear. Clara was the bubbly, outgoing heart of the duo, while Kirsche was the broody one. Sylvanne played the role of the indulgent older sister, guiding them with a mix of tough love and teasing affection.
It warmed Asep's chest. These people are actually decent, a faint smile touching his lips. I might actually fit in here.
***
The following morning brought the unfamiliar luxury of a real bed and a solid roof. Asep woke feeling more refreshed than he had in months. The barracks were spartan, but the mattress wasn't stuffed with straw, and the water in the communal bathhouse was clean and blessedly warm. He had even managed to scrounge up a razor to scrape away months of stubble, making him feel almost civilized.
Stark had provided him with a new set of clothes, simple, sturdy dark trousers and a grey tunic, a major upgrade from his peat-stained work rags. Feeling more like himself, he followed the spearman through the bustling guildhall, which was already a hive of morning activity. Mercenaries were coming and going, checking the boards, and stocking up on supplies. Their destination was the tower office, where Asep would officially sign his contract with Zachary.
As they reached the top of the stone staircase, the heavy oak door to Zachary's office opened from the inside. A young woman stepped out, her head bowed as she clutched a stack of documents. She wore the practical attire of a commoner; a cream-colored blouse, a tan skirt, and a leather corset, yet she carried herself with a quiet dignity. A soft, off-white scarf was draped around her neck, and a small brass lantern hung from her belt. She looked up as she closed the door, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes met Asep's.
And his world tilted on its axis.
It was only a second—a brief meeting of gazes in a hallway, but it hit him in the back of his memories. Her face was painfully familiar. The gentle curve of her jaw, the way her dark brown hair was casually tied back, the warm, compassionate light in her eyes... it wasn't an exact match, but the resemblance was so jarring that it stole the breath from his lungs. A name clawed at the edges of his memory, a ghost on the tip of his tongue, yet it remained stubbornly out of reach. He knew her. He was certain of it. But from where? How? He had no idea. It was like seeing someone from a dream whose name he couldn't quite recall.
She offered them a polite nod before descending the stairs with unhurried steps. Asep's eyes followed her until she disappeared from view, his mind reeling. He was so lost in the disorienting wave of déjà vu that he didn't realize Stark had opened the door and was waiting for him.
"Asep? You coming?" Stark's voice pulled him back. Blinking, Asep shook his head to clear it and stepped into the office.
The mercenary leader was seated behind a large mahogany desk, a departure from the map-covered table of the previous day. He looked up, his sharp eyes assessing Asep with a calm, discerning gaze. "Asep. Thank you for coming. Stark has informed me of your decision. Welcome to the Castalia Mercenary Company."
Asep nodded, his mind still elsewhere. He walked to the desk, his movements mechanical, and took the offered quill. He skimmed the document, a standard contract outlining pay, duties, and code of conduct. It seemed straightforward. He dipped the quill in the inkwell and signed his name at the bottom.
"Good. Now, for your initial assessment—" Zachary began, but Asep cut him off.
"The girl," Asep said, his voice a bit rougher than intended. "The one who just left. Who is she?" The question came out before he could stop himself, a desperate curiosity overriding any sense of propriety.
Zachary paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise unreadable expression. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Her name is Adeline. Why do you ask? Do you know her?"
"No, I don't think so," Asep admitted, forcing a casual tone he didn't feel. "She just... reminded me of someone from a long time ago." He tried to conjure the face from his past, the one he was certain resembled Adeline's, but the image remained blurry, a frustratingly incomplete puzzle in his brain. After all, it was a memory from when he was a street kid, nearly starving. Lethologica, he thought, the word for the inability to remember a specific term floating into his mind. It's exactly like that. But with a face.
"I see," Zachary said, his analytical gaze dissecting Asep's sudden curiosity. "To answer your question, Adeline is the representative for the refugees from Merlesia. She has been tireless since they arrived, organizing the camp, distributing provisions, and acting as their spokesperson. She was just here reporting on their needs like food, blankets, and medical supplies. She possesses remarkable strength and clarity of purpose, especially considering what she and the other survivors have endured."
A refugee representative... it made sense. She had a weariness in her eyes that spoke of hardship, but also a resilience in her posture that spoke of an unbreakable will. Yet the answer did nothing to solve the mystery of her familiar face. Who did she look like? The question gnawed at him like a splinter in his mind.
"Now, as I was saying..." Zachary continued, his tone shifting back to business. "Now that the paperwork is settled, you are entitled to your cut of the bounty."
Asep's eyes immediately locked onto a small leather pouch on the desk. "Is that..."
"Yes." Zachary pushed the pouch across the desk. It landed with a satisfying clink. "Your share of the reward for Borwe. Stark insisted you receive it immediately. A gesture of good faith."
Coin. The sight of the pouch finally broke through his confusion. He grabbed it, the weight of the gold reassuring in his hand. And with this... A wide grin spread across his face, his first real smile of the morning.
"...I can finally buy some smokes!"
Zachary stared at him for a long moment, completely nonplussed, before letting out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.
"I see," Zachary said, his voice flat. "Very well. Your priorities are clear." He gestured toward the door. "Stark will take you to the training yard. We'll have you spar with a few of our regulars. I want to see what you can do with my own eyes. Don't disappoint me, Asep."
"You got it, boss," Asep said, tucking the pouch securely into his belt. The mystery of Adeline still lingered, but it was temporarily overshadowed by his immediate need for nicotine. First, he would prove himself in the yard. Then, with his new funds, he would embark on his most important mission of the day: tracking down whatever tobacco remained in Loriana. The fate of the kingdom could wait.