The attack on the village, which she later learned was called Westend, was not an isolated event. Several others had been hit simultaneously, but it was only because of their intervention in Westend that the officials in Cuprik had any idea of the raids to the western edge of their influence. With the Toruachs to the east it might have been days before anyone noticed several outer villages going quiet.


    The culprits were quickly identified as the Omeda. Between Seras’ prompts from the poison and Rohan’s own knowledge it was an easy discovery. They were distant cousins to Rohan’s own Akemi, or any other of the many people native to this region. They were once renowned and celebrated as warriors during the period of Bloody sands, the century long slaughter of outsiders encroaching on the Five deserts.


    But when the Diamond ranked ancestors of the Desert natives intervened and brokered peace the Omeda were the most vocal opponents, and tried to take matters into their own hands even after the Diamond rankers declared the matter settled. For that reason, the gold ranked elders of the Omeda were killed, and what was left of the people scattered and hid.


    Nowadays they were a minor power with only a few silver ranked elders who were less like the honorable Akemi and more like bandits and brigands. Killing, stealing, and raping as they pleased.


    Or that was how Rohan had put. Seras wasn’t the most devout student of history, but even she knew that such a clean and simple story likely had many facets that were ignored in favor of a clean and simple narrative.


    With the Omeda threat looming on the horizon and threating the fringe villages of Curpik there was some talk about pulling the adventurers watching the Toruachs away to defend the boarders. But as the idea was being floated around several cloaked figures were spotted killing the Toruach Matriarchs and stirring the beasts into a frenzy before fading back away into a cave likely connected to the labyrinth.


    Then came the news from the north that wagon trains were disappearing, their cargo and crew never seen again.


    The whole fustercluck had caused the city to declare a halt to all outgoing caravans and many outside adventurers were given a standby notice.


    While adventuring was a mostly voluntary enterprise the society reserved the right to issue special missions in times of need. With most of the local adventurers needed on the east the city was going to rely on the more transient members like Dustin.


    Seras, for her part was enjoying the time to actually explore the city at her own pace. Since coming to this world Seras spent most of her time on the road, only spending a handful of days in several different cities. For a street kid like Seras, it was a dramatic change.


    Cuprik was arranged in a ring around the Airy, with eight main roads cutting to ring in nine uneven sections. Each section had its own slightly different feel from the other mainly as a factor of which noble faction held sway over the neighborhood. Some were better managed, and others had more traditionalist architecture. Or so she was told.


    To be honest, much of it was lost on Seras. While she had started out trying to get a feel for the city, she quickly lost herself in thought.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Seras had done and seen a great many things in her career as a Merc. She has scaled skyscrapers, traveled to space, and once found herself in the middle of a gang war that she ended by accidentally killing the bosses of either crew in self-defense. It was the bold sort of move that finally got some of the players in Mantel to pay attention to her.


    But being tearfully thanked by nearly a whole village was new for her. She had never really done jobs where that sort of thing happened. She was lucky if she got a pat on the back for saving a few lives.


    It shouldn’t matter to her; they were dull ordinary villagers who would likely spend their whole lives in the same village. People like that would never amount to anything. On her old world they would be the equivalent to mindless corporate drones, or faceless thugs, and she had killed plenty of those.


    Not intentionally of course, people like that weren’t even worth the consideration to kill. They had just been the useless bullet soakers in the way of her and her gig. But now…


    “Miss Cross.” A voice called to her.


    Seras shook her head and focused on her surroundings. The street was still populated with people going about their day, and the shadow of the Airy was just falling over this side of the city. She summoned her pistol into her hand and wheeled on the person who had snuck up on her.


    The man put his hands up. He was a well-dressed man, wearing the classic vest and button up preferred by the people of the Five Deserts. Unlike the broad brimmed hats, she had seen from people who spent most of their time under the sun his had a thinner brim and a round top. His skin was of a lighter hue more akin to Seras’, and he was sporting a meticulously groomed mustache.


    “Who are you and what do you want?” She demanded.


    The man did not look afraid. He glanced down at the gun in confusion. “Really now, what have I done to deserve this kind of reaction?”


    Seras cocked back the hammer. “I have only been in the city for a day, I don’t know you, nor should anyone here have a need to know me. Your dressed like a shop owner so I’m assuming your weren’t sent here by some God. And if a friend of mine had sent you then you would have called me Seras, not Miss Cross.”


    He considered her words “Even still, your reaction seems a bit paranoid.”


    “Its only paranoia if they aren’t out to get you.” Seras said bitterly.


    The man frowned “And who’s out to get you. Like you said you have only been here for a day, I doubt you would have any enemies. But to assuage your fears I’m an associate of Mr. Martin. I financed his last expedition; one you played a part in salvaging from ruin. My name is Dillon Bannick.”


    Seras frowned, still unconvinced, but she let the hammer down and returned the pistol to her pocket space. “Sorry, I just had a rough encounter with bandits on the outskirts of the green patch. I’m still a bit jumpy.”


    The man smiled, and something about it set Seras’ nerves on overdrive. There was something too knowing about that smile. “Yes, I heard, nasty business. But that is not why I’m here. Like I said I’m a financier, I fund everything from caravans, mines, to forges. And Mr. Martin said you used some pretty unique weaponry.”


    “So, you want to see my guns? Sorry, but they’re not at a place where I feel comfortable displaying my work.” Seras said trying to wheedle her away out of this encounter.


    “Yes, Mr. Martin mentioned that. He also told me that you intend to make them expensive, highly customized, and hard to replicate. That right there speaks to a mind with at least a smattering of enterprising knowledge. I was hoping to invite you for tea to have a candid discussion.” He gestured to a brick building with a private terrace area just across the street.


    “You want to discuss my guns over tea?” Seras asked incredulously.


    “Among other things. Mr. Martin would not tell me how you got the designs for these ‘guns’, but I have my own sources. And they managed to dig up an incident from Karstess where a grey haired Outworlder was temporarily detained after a drunkard caused a bar fire.”


    Seras was once again on guard. “I see. And what do you plan to do with that knowledge?” She asked, her mind descending into somewhere cold and bloody.


    “Miss Cross,” the man said soothingly, “I intend to burry that report and hoard the knowledge for myself. It would not do to alienate a potential business partner like you.”


    “And why should I believe you?”


    “Because Outworlders represent a prime opportunity. Other worldly knowledge and expertise in a resource only a few ever truly appreciate. To be up front with you, I want to finance your research and development, I may even be able to get you some hard-to-find knowledge.”


    Seras kept her face placid, but inside her head she was running through all the possibilities. Slowly she began to relax. “Alright, I’m open to talking. But not tea.”


    “Oh, then what’s your drink of choice Miss Cross?” He asked pleasantly.


    “Bourbon, all the way, top shelf or no dice.” Seras demanded.


    Bannick smiled, and for the first time Seras felt it was genuine. “That I can do.”