Chapter: 44

Maybe it’s boredom. Could boredom itself be the end of escaping or breaking of the cycles? Maybe you’ve found peace?

Perhaps you embrace it like a fool? Do you start a new cycle – something to occupy the time? Will your old, tired eyes be satisfied chasing the same thing around in circles once more – a way to fill the gap in between the necessary activities? What are you ignoring while you’re busy? If you don’t find something, then what?

Upon pondering these things I seek for wisdom – she hears my plea; I find myself in prayer. For now, I have but one mission for now – I need to control my tongue.

– Avawalk the hidden, Conqueror of Himself.

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On the exquisite upper floor of an inn, in a room with large rectangular rose-glass windows, luminous orbs gently flicker on the ceiling, bringing warm light to the room.

Sitting at the head of a dining table below an orb, a man with a brown moustache and a large belly chews some cartilage off a mist-sheep thigh; sucking out the bone marrow, he wipes his mouth with a caladrius feather before washing it down with some oaken-barley beer. The feather appeared to not even realise it had been tainted as the tracings of food stains disappeared within a moment.

‘Ahh, I have earned this meal. All that travelling and setting up shop was hard work. Good thing this inn is still open at this time of night’. He thought, looking out the window at the torches and luminous orbs illuminating different parts of the village; the sunset had passed by hours ago.

Noticing his gravy boat was empty, the rambunctious man called out for his personal servant.

“BOY! Come here!” Spittle and small pieces of food fly out of his mouth as he yells.

A frail young man with glasses entered the room, seemingly shivering. His black hair was in a top-knot and he was dressed in expensive servant clothes, though his posture and skinny arms exposed him as the nervous, panicky and fidgety wretch that he was.

“H-here’s a new pitcher of beer, sir.”

“HESS, MORE GRAVY!!!!” The man bellowed, slamming his fist down on the table as he threw the gravy boat silverware at Hess, then continued to eat his large portion of rat-tail steaks; he had not expected something so delicious to be served from some unimportant inn – and for only 5 gold a piece.

‘It’s a shame the innkeeper refused to reveal which farm he sourced these from.’ he thought as he chomped down another piece.

“Y-yes sir!” Hess squeals in urgency as he picks up the gravy boat off the ground, leaving the room before wiping off a spec of gravy from his glasses.

Every day, Hess dreamed of running away, but he was a slave – no, worse than a slave – he had a quintessence contract, binding his very soul to his master for as long as they both lived. This contract stopped him from even committing suicide – lest he breach the terms and conditions and serve his master in the eternal afterlife too.

While Hess was not even sure if there was an afterlife, but this was not something he wanted to risk, it was a gamble that was not worth the pay-off. Servitude for eternity, it would be hell.

Why would he throw his eternal life away for some small temporary respite?

Besides, his master was old, fat, and ate like a king – it will not be long till he is free.

After scoffing down the last of the numerous courses of food, Bertram began to review his plans as he quieted down.

“Mmm. Mhm. Good. Hmm. That checks out. Yes… good… mhm..”

As he worked through his papers, his demeanour changed; gone was the boisterous bellowing beast that he was before – replaced by a quiet and contemplative tactician, a mastermind of sorts.

Bertram was by no means lazy when it came to accounting and trading – he was more like a wolf. If anyone examined Bertram when he was like this, you would not think that he just stumbled into his wealth; it would be clear that he had earned every single gold coin he had – though to him, this was not work, It was a competitive sport. He relished every moment of it.

Even Hess had started to respect this side of Bertram, it was like watching a master craftsman create beauty from wood or stone.