Kings Game

Chapter 91 - The Courtesan and the Sellsword

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Toran tried to recall the last time he'd killed someone. It was probably his last bout in the arena, back when he'd lost his eye. It had been a bloody business, which was normal for him, but the taking of a life was always a difficult thing, even for someone as hardened and experienced as Toran.

He'd also gotten into a few fights in the street after his retirement, but he hadn't been trying to kill those fools. They were just poor bastards that had picked the wrong person to rob. There was the possibility that the wounds he inflicted had killed them, or at least assisted with their deaths later on, but he hadn't made any special effort to keep them from getting up after he was gone.

None of that, however, compared to the weight of proper violence. Fending off someone trying to rob you felt justified. Killing someone in the arena was an inevitability for anyone wearing a title. But killing someone, on the deck of their own ship, while cannons roared and people screamed, was something else entirely.

Toran wrenched his sword out of the poor sailor that had chosen to oppose him and moved on. Around him, the crew of Tasos's Wrath swarmed over the ship, cutting down sailors and soldiers wearing the greens and browns of the Esmun Republic.

Mentass walked among them, one of his harpoons in hand, but he didn't pay much attention to the enemy sailors around them. He was more focused on his own crew and trying to keep them safe. He needn't have worried. The crew were elite sailors and fighters, heavily etched with the best markings money could buy.

Many of the enemy combatants had gone for Toran, thinking the crippled old man would make for an easy opponent. He'd proven them wrong, hacking them apart one by one with ease. Toran may have been missing an arm, but his sword was sharp and his etchings were effective. He still carried some of the old vigor he'd used to defend the mountainside paradise of Aurandale.

As the crew mopped up the rest of their opponents, Toran wandered over to Mentass. The old sailor's harpoon dripped with blood and some of it had stained his clothing. He seemed oblivious to it, focusing instead on the mayhem around them.

"I've never liked boarding someone else's ship for the purpose of killing them," said Mentass. "I'd prefer to do that business from my own ship with my own weapons."

"Don't like seeing the men you're killing?" asked Toran.

"Not particularly, no. But it's not just that. I guess it feels wrong. I'm a demi-god. None of these men stand a chance against me. For me to walk up to them and wipe them out of existence when they have no chance of fighting back hardly seems fair."

"Sneaking up on them and blowing them out of the water with one of your harpoons in the dead of night doesn't seem very fair either, now does it?"

Mentass rolled one of his massive shoulders. "That's simply how naval warfare works. Does none of this bother you?"

"I've spent my entire life killing people for money. No, it doesn't bother me."

"Even when you were a Sentinel?"

"We got paid to be Sentinels," said Toran. "What was the point of this? Why did we board this ship?"

"Two reasons," said Mentass. "First, to let the men get some exercise. Several of them used to be privateers and need to let loose everyone every once in a while otherwise they'll grow rusty. Second, because this ship used to belong to the Groshin raiders, meaning they probably have something good stowed away. Come on, let's go hunting."

Mentass led Toran across the deck. The sailors that had once piloted the ship were littered across the deck, dead or dying. Several had jumped overboard in hopes of being picked up by another ship. Mentass and his crew let them go. Toran had been surprised that none of the sailors had surrendered once the battle became hopeless. When asked, Mentass had simply shrugged and said that nobody became prisoner of the King's Empire if they could help it. Dying was a significantly better option.