Reincarnated Into A Dead Woman's Body In Another World-Chapter 381: [Bonus - ] The Ashen Whisper (III)

Part 3: The Whisper and The Valour

Hundreds of gold coins shuffled and jingled into place within the small wooden chest. A hand with gold rings dipped into the chest and scooped up a few pieces to make it rain within.

The man who did it gave a wide grin and looked ahead. The headdress wrapped around his head had a dark blue symbol of two crescent moons facing in opposite directions. He looked to a skinny robed man with an exposed tattoo of a sunset on his thumb.

Dusk light filtered into the room through wooden blinds, painting it in oranges. Dozens of men stood on opposite sides, behind the two men on the chairs. The man with the sunset tattoo, safely hid a pouch under his robes.

All those within the small room kept their heads in a swivel, armed with crossbows they were. There was only one door—locked; only one window—covered by wooden blinds.

The two men got up and took what they had bartered for.

...

One snapped his fingers and his men circled around him in protection whilst the man with the tattoo crossed his arms and waited for them to leave.

"Knock-knock."

Every pair of eyes in the room darted to the door immediately. Which is why they were unaware of—"CRASH!"—the shadow that overtook the orange light of the room.

The window shattered and in came a whirling frenzy of sand that dropped off a figure in the centre. The form shrouded in sand rolled into the side of the room; her parted dark hair got flipped back and away from her gaze.

None saw her eyes—only the swift strikes from a crescent-shaped blade of sand. Eight men dropped to the floor in an instant, with their throats leaking sanguine fluid.

In haste, the form of medium height stood and whipped out a thin polished rapier without a sound.

"Fwing!" "Tsh!" "Crack!"

"It’s the Whisper!" one of the men shouted as a flurry of crossbow bolts fired off. Most of them ricocheted off of the flying dust and the rest fired off into the walls.

Before any could rush to the door or draw out any other weaponry... "Swish!" "Slsh!" "Sfsh!" Several quick slashes of sand prevented any such behaviour. All the bodies except one dropped to the floor.

That yet-to-be corpse was the man in the headdress, who reached for the door and protected the small chest under his arm. "Swsh!" Sand slashed against the doorknob and left a gash in the wood.

The man, panting and sweating, took several steps back and turned with eyes wider than the Moon. "I got the money for the Khathi! I have it right here, I can pay!" he shouted to the figure stepping out of sand and dust.

She brandished her rapier and approached step after step; her deep brown eyes glared down till the tip of the rapier poked his neck. He breathed faster than a terrified rabbit and looked her in the eye...

_

Her eyes looked to the floor and her back leaned against the wall—alongside one boot. Her jacket of dark leathers was unzipped and her dark black hair was tied back.

Broken glass shifted across the floor from the breeze that drifted through the shattered window. Around the belt of her jeans hung the sheath for her rapier and off of her left ear hung two feathers of brown and white patters—one long and one short.

With her arms crossed, her gaze would switch between the floor and the man cowering on the sofa. Suddenly, her head cocked to one side as she heard footsteps approach.

She put her foot down and uncrossed her arms to stand upright. A wolf-man walked in, with a few men armed with crossbows.

A few more grey hairs had taken over his beard, tail and hair. However, his late forties did not treat him any differently as he strode in without the least bit of hesitation.

"Sayyed! My lord, I have what I owe!" the man on the sofa turned and pleaded with the small chest jingling in his hands.

"With interest? And the price for how long it took?" Ghiath stood tall by the door.

The man fumbled and his eyes darted all around, "Yes! Yes, I’m sure there is more than enough! You may even keep the extra!"

Ghiath’s hospitable smile faded and his ear ticked, "Do I look like a charity in need of donations?"

The man’s eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously, "I-"

"Silence. Plead any more and I will see to it you swallow your own tongue," he warned.

He grew noiseless other than his breaths and froze. He gave a simple nod. The men of the Khathi Faction got closer and circled the sofa.

"You were late; you know the penalty. We are going to have a nice discussion and work out a new deal where your life may no longer be on the table; aren’t I generous?" Ghiath stood in front of Arabella.

The man in the sofa sunk into the cushion and opened up the chest on the table in front of him. "Good work my darling girl," Ghiath told out of earshot of the others in the room.

Arabella’s gaze was on the man, but then she winced—her entire body jolted. She turned to Sayyed in front of her, her brows scrunched in worry; but she did not move her arms or hands—she would not dare.

He held no scowl nor smile as his hand had seized one of her breasts and he gripped it hard, "I must tell you this again? Conceal your weakness," he let go and walked forward, much to the relief of Arabella.

She kept her face together and huffed. Her white sleeveless shirt was loose under her jacket and as she looked down, some of her bindings had come undone around her chest from her recent fray.

Quickly taking to a corner, she wrapped them around under her shirt even tighter. "When you return, you have another task," Ghiath told over his shoulder.

_

Arabella walked through streets of some dirt and dust, though most of it was brick. Sunset light glimmered through the skies as horsaroaches and other mounts shuffled through the crowded narrow roads.

Buildings were clumped together and many looked as if they were simply stacked atop one another. Business and storefronts yelled and tried to sell their wares, from clothes to fruits and meats that would probably rot if not sold by nightfall.

Beggers lined the streetside with metal pans and wrinkled hats, whom she would ignore and keep walking. The roads became sand as she took a turn.

Carriages and carts had skids instead of wheels, that glided through the sand. They had wheels attached of course, four of them were just folded up and would be ready to be disassembled once they hit bricks.

Many were pulled by horse-sized snakes, that slithered through the sand and had reins around their bird-like heads—around their hooked grey beaks.

Their scales shimmered from golds to browns and had feathery crests around their heads of similar hue. Some had small wings along their form, maybe even two or three sets, but they were much too small to provide any force or aid.

Arabella passed by one carriage pulled by a few ostriches and crossed the road. It was a shady shortcut, but she made it to an estate where the rest of town buildings practically recoiled from, allowing for a vast front yard.

Cacti and palm trees populated the space between the clean paths. Much of the space was open to walk into, but the public avoided even setting foot on a brick.

Arabella walked right in and past the armed men who wore symbols of an eight-pronged Sun. She kept her head held high and made no eye contact with anyone, even though all the guards regarded her with a nod.

One guard opened the front door for her as she entered; years had gone by and this room had little to no modifications done to it when she first sat here. With a single snap of her fingers, she was guided to whatever task she was meant to do...

_

"He came down and began poking around the area. Last thing we needed was for someone to be putting their noses into faction business so, Sayyed had us detain him and the others with him," one of the burly guards informed as he opened the door to the cellar.

Barrels of alcohol lined one side of the wall, and on the other side were iron bars. In the cell sat a man tied up to a chair that was attached to the wall.

Chainmail armour and pieces of plate armour of silverish hue had been stripped off of him and thrown aside, alongside a dented helmet and a large pauldron.

He was breathing, but his head was drooping forward as drops of blood leaked past his lips. "He gave us a lot of trouble. Sayyed wanted you to guard the cell and... he said you would know what to do."

Arabella gave a simple nod. The guard tossed her the keys and departed from the cellar. She sighed and sauntered over to the side of the cell, where she posted herself with a boot against the wall.

...

Minutes passed; the magical yellow lantern dangled back and forth above. Arabella’s eyes darted to the side as she heard a difference in the man’s breath.

...

His head moved and he came to. He first jerked his wrists that were tied to the arms of the chair; then he shifted his legs, but the shackles around his ankles kept him in place.

Arabella rolled her eyes.

He raised his head back and glanced at his surroundings. A busted lip, bruised left cheek and a black eye to truly bring it all together.

A few strands of auburn hair were stuck to the sweat upon his forehead and the rest was dishevelled on his head. His greyish eyes darted around to see his stripped armour and the large double-edged sword laid flat on the floor.

Then he looked beyond the bars and squinted... "You; young madam. You are stationed here as a guard for them, yes?" even though he spoke somewhat out of breath, his low voice still sounded dignified.

Arabella side-eyed the young man in a long-sleeved white shirt and black leggings. He seemed no older than her almost—or maybe it was just the clean-shaven face. She tilted her head away.

He waited for a moment, then continued, "I can pay you triple whatever they pay you and insurance that they do not catch you, in exchange for aiding the escape of my men and myself."

Arabella stifled a laugh and managed to let it out as a small scoff. She absentmindedly signalled with her hands, "Yeah sure. If I’d trusted every prisoner here that’s said something similar, I’d be far, far away from this place."

"Then you do not want to be here, correct? You can trust my word above all else, I do not intend to swindle you," he replied.

Arabella furrowed her brows and turned to look in his direction. Her relaxed fingers tensed up a bit, "You... understand?"

"Y-yes, yes I do. You cannot speak madam, but you can hear me?"

"Yes."

"Please, I beg of you. Only a worse outcome awaits this town if I am not released alongside my unit. Your assistance will be paid handsomely and I personally guarantee protection from any who would pursue you."

"Big talk from the man tied up in the cellar."

"There is only so much one person can do when faced with dozens without warning. I do not wish to overestimate you madam, but if they have only one person guarding me, you must be someone of great strength."

"You’re but one bloody and bruised man, you have no reason to believe that."

"I apologize, I am relying on instinct. Nevertheless, please consider my offer. You have just openly admitted that you wish to be far away from this place," his eyes were locked on hers.

"Why would I ever trust that?"

"I am Lord Fravash Keya, Admiral of the Royal Guard of Cravolta. I swear it on my name and my station that what I offer will be fulfilled without fail," he affirmed loudly.

Her eyes narrowed, "What is the Royal Guard doing all the way down here in Asheva? How did you end up being captured by the Khathi?"

He sighed and tried not to wriggle out of his binds anymore. "I understand that the Royal Guard nor Cravolta have jurisdiction over Asheva or its politics.

However, your township still falls under the responsibility of Cravolta. It has been as such for decades, since the foundations of this settlement.

Eight years ago, when the Great Fire of Burnetrout struck and clouded the skies in ash and smoke, by decree of King Riyanavan, relief funds, daily rations and basic provisions were to be transported and distributed throughout all of Asheva."

Arabella cocked a brow, "All? Lies."

He shook his head, "You are mistaken. All were accounted for by the Maleficos Ordinate; their magic should not be doubted. Every head had their share of the rations."

"What you say is untrue."

"No, it is not," he restated with his head tilted to one side. "That is what I was sent to investigate, by the order of the king and of my own accord.

Funds were given to owners of plantations and businesses to pay their workers who could not work outside in those weather conditions.

Medication was distributed to anyone affected and food to all those who starved—or so it was thought. Given the state of Asheva, no one truly believed everything went to where it was supposed to be going."

"That belief is true. Although you are far too late; eight years too late." She scowled.

"If I could have arrived sooner, I would have. But a mere child cannot hope to face such matters alone," he exhaled. "I am of age and station now; and as such, I am here now. I apologize that I cannot do much for the past."

Arabella’s eyes shrunk and she looked to the door of the cellar.

Fravash took a few more breaths and tried to wriggle his wrists free with a calmer approach. It was no use still. He gazed back up to Arabella, "I understand you may be upset...

I can only imagine what you had to endure as a child, in a time where you could have used the assistance."

"Why the sudden interest in the slums?" She signalled with her hands while her gaze stayed fixed on the door. "Your investigation will bear no fruit."

"I disagree," he sat upright. "I shall be the judge of that. I believe justice is due and those who stole and hoarded what Cravolta offered in times of need will face their punishment.

If I cannot save the lives of those who have passed, then I can at least try to save the countless lives in the present and future.

I have only been here for two days and I found this ruling faction of Asheva, the Khathi, to be rigging electoral votes and paying off thieves."

There was a slight twinge in her eye. "Again I ask, why do you care to butt in?"

His eyebrows creased and he spouted, "I share the sentiments of King Riyanavan. We are at war. How are we to fend off our invaders and attackers, when we are in disharmony with the settlements and people around us?

Asheva may even be attacked by the Regimes given its position. Even if that were not the case, does it strike you as fair that crime after crime is frivolously committed day by day in your home?"

Finally, her head turned to face him...

He did not pause, "Do you not fear for the safety of the men, women and children who cower at night in dread of being unjustly slaughtered or pillaged?"

A black gem-like ripple flashed across her eyes.

"That is why I am here," he huffed.

"Rumble..."