The Asmulda's in Zimil
The biting wind of the northern border did not merely chill the skin; it felt like a thousand frozen needles seeking a way into the bone. The Asmulda family had hiked seventeen miles through a landscape bleached white by a relentless, soul-crushing winter, leaving the suffocating shadow of the plague-ridden Asheviliah Kingdom behind them. Ahead lay the promise of the Durmount Kingdom, but for now, they had reached Zimil—a grit-caked town huddled at the foot of Mount Durnil like a weary traveler trying to steal warmth from a dead hearth.
Yukino did not stop to admire the scenery. He headed straight for the local guild, his boots crunching rhythmically against the frost. The guild clerk's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his face as Yukino produced orc teeth and high-grade skin from his pack. In a backwater town like Zimil, such trophies were rare, and the clerk paid up handsomely without a word of protest. High-risk trophies were the only universal currency in a world that felt increasingly small and dangerous.
"This will cover basic food and beds for the week," Yukino noted as he finally dropped their heavy luggage onto the floor of a cramped inn room. The wood groaned under the weight. He watched as Yuriko carefully settled the twins, Solvayne and Nyxelle, into the bed. They were small, huddled shapes beneath the furs, exhausted by the trek. "If we're smart and skip lunch to focus on breakfast and dinner, we might even have enough for six extra meals."
Yuriko straightened up, brushing a stray, silver-tinted hair from her face. Despite the miles, her eyes remained sharp. "We will manage. I'll scout the town for work in the morning. Dear, you should take the day to rest."
"Understood," Yukino replied, a rare, soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He moved toward the bed with a deliberate lightness. "It's Papa Time for little Solvayne and Nyxelle anyway."
"Oh? Going straight for the daughters and ignoring your wife?" Yuriko leaned back against the bedpost, her lips curving into a pout that was far too practiced to be sincere. "Cold man. Genuinely, heartlessly cold."
"My wife? You mean my darling wife?" Yukino didn't give her the chance to finish the act. He moved with a sudden, feline grace, scooping her up and tossing her onto the furs next to the twins before leaping down beside her. Their hushed, frantic laughter filled the small room, a temporary fortress of warmth against the howling wind outside.
"Hey! Keep it down up there!" a neighbor roared from the ground floor, hammering a fist against the ceiling.
The two shared a look, stifled a second round of laughter, and finally settled. For a fleeting moment, they weren't survivors of a collapsing kingdom or hunters of monsters; they were just a family.
Later, they descended to the inn's restaurant. The atmosphere was thick with the smell of roasted fat, cheap ale, and the low hum of desperate people. As they ate, the domestic mask slipped just a fraction, replaced by the mechanical efficiency that had kept them alive this long.
"I'll watch them from dawn to sunset," Yukino said, sliding a choice cut of meat from his plate onto hers without a second thought. "Then you'll be back by the time the sun dips so I can head out to hunt the perimeter. It's the most efficient rotation."
"I see it working," Yuriko agreed, her eyes scanning the room even as she spoke. "I'll likely find a position in a restaurant or a cleaning service. We stay just long enough to earn enough for a carriage and a horse. We aren't walking into Durmount on foot."
"My, my. You've thought this through," Yukino remarked, an appreciative glint in his eyes.
"Aren't you generous?" Yuriko teased, nodding at the extra food on her plate.
"Because I'm your husband," Yukino murmured. He began to lean in, the noise of the tavern fading for a second, only to be punctured by a waiter clearing his throat with the subtlety of a falling rock. The man slid a check onto the table, his eyes lingering on Yuriko with a look that was far too familiar.
"I'll pay you extra to leave," Yukino said, his voice dropping into a calm, flat register that would have signaled danger to anyone with a modicum of instinct.
"Sorry, sir, but I'm quite well-compensated here," the waiter replied, a smug, oily tilt to his head.
"Then buzz off," Yukino whispered, leaning in so only the man could hear the steel in his words. "I'll pay. Let me enjoy quality time with my wife."
The waiter winked, leaning down to whisper back, "Can't blame you. You've certainly got a beautiful one."
As the man walked away, Yukino's hand tightened around his glass. "Damn him... I'm her husband. I'm the one who's supposed to be complimenting her."
The irritation was short-lived, however, as the voices from a neighboring table rose above the din. Two adventurers were hunched over their mugs, their expressions grim.
"It's getting out of hand," one muttered. "The plague isn't staying behind the borders. It's only a matter of time until Zimil is crawling with it."
"So we bail?" his partner asked. "I thought it was contained to the Asheviliah Kingdom."
"That's what the nobility want you to think while they treat us like rats. It's probably the work of some sick sadist with a fetish for collapse."
Yukino and Yuriko fell silent, the news settling over them like a second winter. Yukino took a slow, methodical sip of his wine, his mind already recalculating their trajectory.
"We need to move," he said eventually.
"We still need the funds," Yuriko replied, her voice steady despite the news. "Give me two days. I'll work double shifts."
"Then we move on Friday," Yukino decided.
The night air was crisp as they stepped out of the inn, the silence of the street a stark contrast to the rowdy tavern. They hadn't gone twenty paces before six men emerged from the shadows of an alley, blocking their path from both directions. It was a classic formation—the kind of ambush set by men who thought numbers were a substitute for skill.
"You seem new around here," the leader said, stepping forward with a dull sneer.
Yuriko sighed, a sound of genuine, bone-deep boredom. She lifted the hem of her dress just enough to clear her ankles, a predatory glint entering her eyes. "Just great. Baboons. And here I thought we were in a civilized place."
"Ba... baboons!?" the bandits shrieked, their faces flushing with rage as they drew their daggers.
Yuriko turned to Yukino, both of them wearing matching, razor-sharp smiles.
"Oh my, dear. You could have at least called them by what they are," Yukino laughed, the sound cold and hollow. "A premature waste of sperm. Yes, that's much more accurate."
Yuriko turned back to the men, her laughter joining his. "Absolutely, dear. At least sperm has a biological function. These fools are just... a rare, tragic case of backward evolution."
The bandits charged in a disorganized rush.
Three lunged at Yuriko, but she moved like a blur of silk and violence. With a fluid, acrobatic flip, she drove her heel into the first man's jaw, the force of the impact sending him crashing through the rotting floorboards of the street and into the sewer system below. Without pausing, she spun, a second kick launching another man through the wooden wall of a nearby house with a splintering crash. She flipped gracefully past a desperate dagger strike, catching the third man's momentum and redirecting him head-first into the stone wall of the next building.
On Yukino's side, the combat was less about grace and more about absolute finality. He shattered the first man's jaw with a single, piston-like punch before throwing him bodily into a house. He caught the second by the arm, and a sickening crack echoed through the alley as he broke the limb like a dry twig, following up with a knee to the face that silenced the man instantly.
The last bandit, the "leader," turned to bolt, his bravado evaporated. Yukino didn't even bother to give chase. He simply glanced at a heavy iron trash can sitting by the curb. With a practiced, effortless flick of his wrist, he sent the heavy metal bin sailing through the air. It connected with the back of the man's head with a resonant clang, dropping him into the snow.
"I guess that's taking out the trash, huh?" Yukino remarked, calmly brushing the dust off his sleeves as if he'd just finished a minor chore.
The two continued their walk to the inn, their calm, melodic laughter echoing against the cold stone walls of Zimil, leaving a trail of broken "baboons" in their wake.