Cultivating Anthro CEO RPG Hero Harem Reincarnation In Another World - Chapter 158

IV.

Once outside, Typhon was immediately thrust into the midst of a battle that had devolved into little more than a messy, desperate brawl. Men were screaming, being stabbed, carved into scraps or brutally punched to death in droves, all across the once peaceful courtyard.

Scanning the area, Typhon beamed when his eyes fell upon his father.

Baraba was sitting on his horse, under the shade of a tree far-removed from the heat of the raging battle. Every now and then, he would take a sip from his flask. Swallow it down. Then bark an order at the nearest man he saw slacking, whether they be ally or foe.

Keeping his head down to avoid flying arrows, Typhon merrily wove his way through the death-filled courtyard to meet with him.

“Dad! Dad! Look at what I found!”

Baraba frowned as he approached. “What’s with the funny hat?”

Typhon smiled sheepishly. “It’s kind of a long story…”

“Alright,” Baraba grunted, preemptively taking a hard sip out of his flask. “I’m listening.”

As the cries of the wounded and dying, steel clashing against steel, carnage and murder, raged in the background, Typhon excitedly told his story of what happened.

At the end, Baraba let out a bellowing laugh. “That’ll do it, alright!”

His cheeks were flushed and his speech slurred as he vainly attempted to take another swig out of the now emptied flask, swaying back and forth like a branch in a hurricane.

“Aye, you taught him a lesson in how we do things, here in Ishtar.”

Typhon didn’t say anything, knowing it was best to not engage his father when he got like this.

“And I have to admit,” Baraba said, plucking the hat from Typhon’s hands then plopping it unto his head with a soft pat. “That there really is a nice hat.”

As the desert sands turned red that day, the battle was swung decisively in Baraba’s favor. It wouldn’t be long before the head of her quivering captain was given up by their own mercenary guards, in a much welcome bid to spare all those that wished to surrender. Forces from the Ishtari army would move in and seize control later, after Baraba and his men were gone, tearing down the Golden Ankh standards to replace them with the Ishtari red owls.

Yet for all the blood that was spilled, this was but one small victory in the ongoing war against the Ankh. The dead would be gathered for an efficient burial in a mass grave out in the sifting sands, their sacrifices sadly forgotten just as soon as they were made.

Life in this world was fleeting, as the wind.

Trivial, as a grain of sand.

V.

Baraba downed all of what was left of his wine in one big gulp. It was his fifth of the night, as he and Typhon were passively partaking in all the festivities going on at the camp. It was to celebrate another job well done, and battle endured.

Apart from Typhon and Baraba who sat alone, the other mercenaries ventured out to the nearest town, no doubt hitting up every brothel and pub in their path. Those that stayed, brawled and laughed at the same old stories. Some of the more musically inclined men in the camp had even come together to play music. Sure, they weren’t particularly good, but no one seemed to care.

Typhon watched all this from a distance, knowing he’d only be met with awkward silences and blank stares were he to try to join in.

They were his closest comrades, and yet so far away.

Seated across from Typhon, Baraba had his own reasons to not involve himself in the antics of the younger men, as even the celebratory wine still wet upon his lips had lost its once sweet taste.

When did life become so…dull? He pondered, in a blurry haze.

“You know, son,” Baraba started to say, pausing to scratch at his beard the way he does whenever he’s had just a bit too much to drink. “I’m getting too old for this.”

Typhon just stared blankly – he’d already heard this one before.

“I’m sick of it all,” Baraba muttered, his words slurred.

“This life. The blood and guts. All of it reeks.”

He took another hearty swig from his flagon, wearily swaying his head to peer at Typhon through sagging eyelids, all the soul drained from his face.

“Never you mind. You’re new around here, and still young. But in time…you’ll…”

Before he could finish, he passed out unto the table.

Sighing, Typhon’s gaze wandered back to his jovial surroundings, at a group of mercs returning from the town with a gaggle of giggling women in tow.

At least they look like they’re having fun.

Life resumed as normal in the mercenary camp, in the days that followed.

Typhon went about his usual duties, his father’s crew always chomping at the bit for the next job to come in. Typically this was done by way of messengers sent out from the Ishtari strongholds, carrying job declarations. Baraba would sign the dotted line, the messenger would remain in the area to see to it that all conditions for payment were met, then return to their master with confirmation. Clean, and efficient.

But one day, something other than a flag-waving messenger showed up to the camp. Something that would completely change the usually stable, predictable clockwork of Typhon’s life forever.

It was a large cage, draped in a long cloth, that Typhon saw being transported into the camp. It was carried on the backs of chained together slaves dressed in ragged cloth, alongside a procession of Ishtari traders dressed in decadent silks and turbans atop camels, with Baraba walking, conversing amidst them. But before Typhon could manage to sneak a better look, or drift close enough to hear what was being said, the cage was briskly tucked away into one of the camp’s spare tents.

Baraba soon re-emerged, immediately turning his harsh gaze upon a very conspicuous Typhon, and approaching him.

“There’s nothing in there that concerns you,” he told him sternly.

Typhon gave a shaky nod.

Although, there was never a question he would try to find out what was in that cage, as for once, a real sense of excitement and mystery had permeated his dull life.

Typhon simply had to learn the truth.

VI.

It was noisy throughout the camp, that night. Some mercs were getting into a drunken brawl, and the blacksmith was working late, flooding the air with heavy clangs and the hissing of water poured onto molten metal.

Typhon couldn’t have asked for better sneaking conditions.

Calling upon the skills he’d developed throughout his line of work, he made his move toward the tent which held the mysterious cage. It was heavily guarded, with men posted around its perimeter at all times, but under the cowl of darkness he was able to slip past them with ease.

Spirals of dust lingered in the still air, made visible by scant rays of moonlight.

The inside was bare, aside from the cage. Through the cloth that still covered it, Typhon could see a faint glowing coming from within. A light that did not flicker, that formed a pale ring around the cage.

What could it be? Even his wildest imaginings came up empty.

As Typhon tiptoed closert, still wary of the guards outside, he was startled by the silhouette of something shifting within, cast against the curtain. Something distinctly human within the cage had sat upright, stirring softly to and fro, as if sensing his presence…

Mustering his courage, Typhon brushed the cloth aside, and there he saw her.

A single ray of moonlight shined down upon her, like a perfectly placed spotlight. A round, youthful face with sparkling amber eyes, brimming with youthful life and energy, and an unmistakable sharpness and intelligence. Her hair, pure white as snow, covering one half of her face, fell down her back in long, silky strands.

The two locked gazes in the ensuing silence. Hers was eerily unblinking, as he steadily extended his neck to draw closer to her. She looked like she was shaking.

Suddenly she pulled away, retreating to the other side of the cage.

“Sorry if I frightened you!” Typhon said.

“Is it the mask? I can take it off, if you like.”

At first, he hesitated — will a girl make fun of me too? But he moved past it, peeling off his leather burglar mask then tossing his hair, before reuniting with the girl’s guarded gaze.

“How’s that?” Typhon said. “I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

The girl still didn’t appear convinced.

Nervously, Typhon started pacing back and forth, trying to come to grasps with this unsettling new discovery.

“So, my dad’s keeping a girl in a cage.”

What could this mean?

What kind of shady business is my father into?

What kind of a man is he really?

“What did you just take off from your face?”

Typhon winced, caught off guard by the unexpected gentle sound of the girl’s soft voice. “That’s–” He stammered, turning to her. “It was a mask. I just took it off, because I thought it was scaring you.”

“I do not understand,” she said, frowning.

Typhon scratched his head.

“What don’t you understand?” He thought he was pretty clear in his explanation just now.

“Why wear a mask, if you know it is ‘scary’?”

Typhon blinked — is she serious? First she seems to not even know what a mask is, and then all of a sudden she’s trying to get all philosophical.

Unsure of how to respond, he changed the subject.

“So, do you have a name?”

“Name…” she repeated to herself.

She looked down briefly, her brow furrowing in concentration.

“I’m…El,” she mumbled. “That is…my name.”

“El,” Typhon said, trying her name out for the first time. An unusual name, he thought – not that he was one to talk.

“My name’s Typhon.”

El’s eye narrowed.”That’s a weird name.”

Typhon laughed.

“My mother told me it’s a kind of monster, from an old story.”

El looked confused. “Monster?”

Monster. A word that she was certain she’d heard before.

It throbbed. It pulsated.

Like an open sore, afflicting her mind.

Monster girl!

What are you, some kind of monster?

A monster only gets scraps!

El cowered, wailing and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Stop it! Stop calling me that!”

“I am not a monster!”

“I am El!”

Typhon stood there, gawking. “El…?”

Panicking, he could hear the guards outside rustling about. He dove underneath the cage, as it was elevated slightly above the ground, and wrapped himself up in the cloth cover stored therein, to hide.

He waited and listened as the guards tried to calm the screaming El down.

“Just hit her with something.”

“The Boss said to keep her in good condition.”

“Right. For all the rich perverts in–”

Typhon’s stomach churned.

“Shh!” Another guard snapped. “You’re going to make her freak out even more!”

After a while, El’s screaming subsided.

Typhon waited until he was sure the guards had returned to their posts, then crawled out from under the cage.

“I’m gonna break you out of there.”

El was strewn out across the floor of her cage, unresponsive. Her face, still flushed pink, and wet with tears. Typhon could tell she’d suffered a lot, and his heart ached for her.

He inspected the bars of the cage.

Too thick. Too sturdy. Can’t break them.

The door was padlocked shut.

Dad must have the key.

“No,” El suddenly said. “It is better if I stay.”

“What are you talking about?”

She rose limply, into a slumped over, sitting position. Then lowered her head, unto an invisible chopping block.

“It’s not like they’ll keep you in this cage forever, if you stay!”

Typhon recalled the slaves he’d witnessed carrying the cage on their backs earlier. The despairing looks of the slave women, back at the fort. A similar fate was in store for this girl as well, if he didn’t act quickly.

But El was adamant.

In her mind, she was determined to not fall for the lies of this human named after a monster.

She rose to her feet, looming over him.

“If you do not leave – now – I will scream.”

Typhon looked deep into her eyes. Saw pain, and fear, reflected in them.

He was certain he could hear the men outside rustling around, again. So as much as he wanted to stay, to try to talk the girl out of what she was saying, he couldn’t risk it.

So her name is El, he mused. And she doesn’t want to be free.

Nevertheless, no matter she might claim, and how hard she might insist, Typhon could only see El’s predicament for what it was–

An innocent girl, trapped in a cage.