All the tension bled from Horus' bones as he left the tent. He didn't notice that he hadn't even contemplated how a fight would go in there. Gestill was simply too powerful. An Heroic fighter can move mountains and crush lesser enemies faster than they could think.
The only reason he didn't wipe out the Heretic raiders was that his fighters needed the levels to grow stronger. There was probably another reason though… Horus would have to investigate that. It was never a bad idea to have options.
He glanced at the paper the commander gave him. It was written in English for some reason, but Horus guessed the system would translate this race's language for him. The writ allowed him to get the things he needed and leave Captain Sever's platoon.
Did the commander sense the animosity between them with his [Battlefield Orchestrator] skill?
If he did, Horus was thankful. There was bound to be a fight to the death between them, but it was better off delayed. At least until Horus could prepare and set the terms.
He stopped suddenly, glancing around the busy army camp. It was a crossroad from here. On the left, the hammering of steel pricked his ears and on the right the sounds of men chatting.
Where would the slave quarters be? The thought put a bitter taste in his mouth, making him grimace. As unsavory as the practice was, Horus couldn't deny that he needed help.
He was about to call out to someone for directions when Carrison walked by him, saying, "Follow me."
His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he followed. Whether she was sent to assist or watch him didn't matter as long as he carefully chose his actions.
"Would you like to spar later?" Carrison asked leisurely. Her short black hair caught the moonlight in a way that drew attention away from her scars.
Now that he was back in the light of the crimson moon, Horus found it hard to notice the different skin tones here. The heretics had similarly grey skin, but theirs was darker and more easily noticed, and their hands were scaly and black.
Similar origins, he guessed.
Carrison turned, her black eyes filled with amusement. "If you keep staring at me like that, I'll assume you want something other than a spar."
He blinked awkwardly. He was partially silent because of this no talking thing. "My apologies, I forgot you asked me a question, ma'am."
"You have such a formal tone for someone that's meant to be a commoner. Relax, you can speak when addressed by a superior, and you can drop the Highborn speak."
Horus kept his gaze ahead, contemplating what she said first. It was an offhanded accusation, but a helpful one.
"I would like to spar with you, but it'll have to be before I set off tomorrow morning."
Carrison raised an eyebrow. "So quickly? We will break camp tomorrow, you should follow us up the mountain before deciding where you'll go. You don't have to run away so enthusiastically, but I guess that's what diligence does to you. I still have assignments I haven't done for a week."
"Yet the Commander trusts you so much. It's a testament to your skills." Or something else, Horus thought.
He had assessed his chances in a fight against the Lieutenant. He'd lose nine out of ten times against an Elite. His mind had wandered more into studying the terrain. The tents bunched together, the high canopies over eating areas and sparring fields. Anything slightly useful in an escape.
But nothing happened. They arrived at the slave quarters, talking about unimportant things like her favourite weapons and the general geography of this land. With the help of dialogue prompts and leading questions, he learnt some useful things.
Carrison pushed open the tent flap and Horus flowed into the vast dark space filled with steel cages stacked upon each other. On their left was a flimsy desk and a man half asleep.
"Oraden," Carrison said in her deep, warning voice.
The man snapped awake, looking between them before jumping to his feet. "W-welcome, Lieutenant, Penitent. What can I help you with today?"
Oraden rubbed his hands nervously, but Carrison simply gave him a sharp grin before turning to Horus, who handed the man the paper from the Commander.
The man's eyes flickered over it with surprise before nodding. "So what type of slaves will you need?"
"Scouts and people with the [Stealth] skill, warriors with strong [Endurance] skills, someone to take care of my hor—mount," he didn't know if there were horses here, "and someone that speaks both our language and the heretic's language."
Carrison whistled behind them. When they turned she waved them off with a small smile.
Oraden also seemed surprised by his detail and decisiveness, nodding with a lost expression. "Most people browse a little and hear what I have. This—" he took out an old note, blowing dust off it "—is the glossary. I have all the skills written down here."
It didn't take long for Horus to note the ones he wanted, but something caught his eye among the ages of the slaves.
They have kids here?
What reason did one have to enslave children? Even if you applied the flimsy excuses they usually gave like criminals and war prisoners, what could children do that was bad enough to—
Stop.
He suffocated the sick feeling in his belly. He had to complete the quest quickly and without triggering too many side quests to get the highest grading by the system.
He muttered something under his breath and Carrison suddenly asked, "What?"
"Nothing," he lied through clenched teeth, pushing his list to Oraden. "These are the ones I want."
Oraden read his inquiry with a raised eyebrow. "No women, but a child. Interesting." The man's crooked smile made Horus long to behead him.
"Okay, Horus, I'll take your name and your signature written in your blood to apply to their Curse of Servitude."
He gave the signature without saying much, glancing at Carrison and the exit occasionally as he thought.
They have the Curse of Servitude here too. I guess almost all worlds and dimensions have been invaded by the One King at least once.
Horus and Carrison waited in silence as Oraden gathered the slaves, until she broke it, asking,
"I'm not surprised by the women, you seem like a man of great will and self-respect, but a child? Why?"
"No reason."