act18d3

If they ask me to sell info, I'll sell it. As far as ones like me go, whether those folks come back or don't, it's all business.

Fact is, they don't come back at all. Not one ever comes back.

Two weeks ago, a team came to me. Lackeys of the 'Daggerhorn.'

He had equipment leagues better than all these runts lying around. Very experienced too. Brought more than ten with him. Still haven't seen them again yet.

Very many wonder about where they went. They could've been caught by the Penal Battalion, or it could've been the Iberian Defensa's doing, but I've heard tell of a different possibility.

Over there be... monsters.

Oh.

Or it was the Inquisition that got 'em. I don't know what's a more wretched end.

Monsters or people, my sword draws little distinction. There are only those who block my way, and those who don't.

Alright, alright. You can't be going to Sal Viento for a holiday, that much's for sure.

I need to find someone.

What poor bastard has your wrath this time?

This time's different. It's my... It's someone I knew from before.

Before you even knew me?

Much before.

Here I thought they'd all left. Or died. At least, that's what you told me back in those days.

That's why I'm searching. There's a few things I need to figure out.

You've been searching for quite some years, yeah?

That whole ruckus from last time couldn't have been for any knights' treasure's sakes.

You told me before. People ought to move forward.

Did you bring a treasure map with you?

What?

There're many, some of them even old hands. They travel the barrens, traveling and traveling, and forget where they wanted to go, or what they were even looking for.

They just keep on traveling. They don't know starvation, they don't know exhaustion.

Until the barrenlands do them in.

They were too weak.

Weak? No matter how much stronger, a hunter could still never conquer the boundless barrenlands. So many hunters die for no sure reason out on the road, and don't even know what they're searching for come their deaths—that's not an ending that suits you.

Why are you telling me all this?

As if I've never told you before? They wouldn't rival even the tiniest Ægir machine.

You're strong. So did you save my son's life?

I'm sorry.

Don't say sorry! I'm not trying to flog you here. I'm trying to get you thinking. It's you who hasn't forgiven yourself, not me.

I only regret that I didn't break his legs, stop him following an old papá in his old tracks. Nothing to do with you.

You say you came from the sea. I've never heard of any other sea than the one in Iberia. You're someone I don't know.

So what about you? Is there no one you don't know?

Because that's the kind that killed my son. Someone you don't even know.

That's the sort of thing I'm afraid of.

Never mind it. At least the people you talk about wouldn't spend day and night plotting to kill me. What are you thinking of doing in Sal Viento?

I have a friend who's been taken there.

Strange, that.

Take this. Map.

Alright. What do I need to give you?

Give me?

You sell intel. One thing for another. You've given me information, I'll give you what you need.

(Flicks cigarette ash)

Let me think... That year you brought my young Juan's body back, you handed him to me. Head and arms all still attached to him. So, now we're even.

Mister José, my greatest thanks.

I'll be going, then. Take care.

Stop! Are you in such a hurry to get yourself killed?!

Hm?

Hey. Tell me—has anyone ever said anything like that to you before?

No.

Then you need somebody to tell you well.

You're strolling straight into an Iberian city dressed in all your bounty hunter clothes?

Yes.

You really haven't changed, Skadi. Here I am parching my mouth, and I might as well be the wind for all the good telling you anything does.

The Iberian Defensa'd have you ten times over for looking like that!

And how much time are you ready to waste on them? How much longer can the person you're looking for wait? Iberians aren't like these lousy bounty hunters. They're not that easy to break clean of.

You want to suggest something to me.

I can lend you a few things. Take this harp.

Harp?

Can you play? I remember you played before.

I can.

Good, all the better. Would be fine if you couldn't, long as you pulled off the act.

Change into these too.

What clothes are these? They're very strange.

Whether you're used to them isn't the point. Iberians are.

From now on, you're the wandering singer Skadi.

Go where you want now, singer. Follow the map, go by the waterways, and you'll get there soon enough. This you can do, Ægir.

Farewell, Mister José.

Skadi!

Don't you die out there. You have to die with someone, someone you know.

Right.

Help—Help me!

What are these things... they—they're tangling me, they won't let go! Chopping them apart doesn't even work. Is the entire coast all monsters like this?

Hey—get away, get the hell away!

I wouldn't have come if I goddamn knew! Ja pierdolę, 'Yellow Smog,' bastard, if only you weren't so useless to get hoodwinked back then, would I still be stuck picking up garbage out here?!

Skurwysyny, if I'm not dead by the end of this I'll wish I was! Goddamned Iberia! Country of the actual goddamned!

What—What the hell was that? Turning them all to paste in one shot?

Huff... huff. Whatever it was, at least it lets me live another day—

Ugh—

You. You're not leaving.

And—And who are you? Where the hell does Iberia get all these freaks from?

Second time. Iberia forbids the spreading of rumors. The next you move to speak, be much more careful.

What? Look at that getup, that weapon—

Holy shit. You, you're... that's it, I'm done for, I'm...

Commander. The coast is clean now.

This place is void of all living—er, excepting this outsider who can't stand still and stinks to high Heaven.

What did you see?

I... I...

Please, I haven't done anything! I swear it, I, I was only lost, I was too careless to end up here, I didn't mean to...

Look, I have gold coins, and plenty of other stuff too, damnit, I've lost so much... Take this money, this equipment, all of it, I just beg you to let me go!

Gather your scraps. When the Commander asks you a question, it's not to hear you blather, outsider.

Question? What question? I swear, honor, I wouldn't dare ask questions... I've got no questions, I guarantee...

I beg you, honor, I don't want... Don't take me... I'd be better off if I just died!

Casting yourself into the sea in front of me? Do you still think it's not too late?

That sword... my hand... too close... wargh...

Now, have you regained some sense? You outsiders are as good as insects in the weeds, hearts avaricious and blackened, yet always so quick to fall to pieces.

Ugh, ah... I'm not running anywhere, honor, I'll tell you anything.

Good. I do not like repeating my questions. This will therefore be the final time.