Chapter 60: The Man-Eater

The ground in the shantytown was always muddy and rotten, with sewage and excrement everywhere, wafting an unbearable stench. If a noble lady ever set foot here, she would surely faint; only those who had lived here for years could be numb to it.

Barry staggered home, his steps heavy and uneven. He hadn’t been back for a day and a night.

His home wasn’t far from the church. After he started working for Boss Hook, they moved closer to town. The previous owner of the shack had already been driven out.

On the way, Barry bought a few loaves of black bread and a roast chicken. He still had some coppers left; the collection money from this round was shared among them, and Hook hadn’t taken it.

“Damn it!”

Barry stepped right into a pile of excrement with disgust, scraping his shoe against the ground. This certainly wasn’t dog droppings—there weren’t even chickens in the shantytown.

“No, please, this is the rations the church gave to my family!”

A commotion caught Barry’s attention. An old woman was struggling with two men, one of whom was pulling away half a loaf of black bread.

“Barry! Help me, I still have children at home!” The old woman spotted him and shouted desperately.

Barry turned away immediately; he had no intention of meddling. He knew this woman—her shack was closer to the church, but she wouldn’t be able to keep it for much longer. Her strong son hadn’t returned in five days.

“Merciful Lord, please help me.” The bread was snatched away, and the old woman could only sit in the muddy ground, weeping.

Barry stopped. The feeling of being bathed in holy light hadn’t faded yet; he felt compelled to do something.

“Stop! Give her back the bread. Then get lost!” Barry blocked the two men, staring them down.

“Mind your own business, kid!” one man snarled. Barry looked tough, but there were two of them.

“I work for Boss Hook. If you don’t want to die, drop the bread and leave!” Barry’s voice was cold as ice.

I’ve killed before! I’ve seen blood! I don’t have to fear them; they should fear me. Facing two opponents about his size, Barry tried to bolster his courage.

The men retreated. Perhaps it wasn’t worth fighting Barry for a loaf of bread, perhaps it was the bloodshot look in his eyes, or maybe it was Hook’s reputation.

Ignoring the old woman’s gratitude, Barry strode home. The awe in the eyes of those around him made him feel different.

“Daddy!”

As soon as he entered the shack, a boy of about ten threw himself into Barry’s arms. This was Barry’s eldest—and now only—son.

“Evan, my little man, did you protect your mother at home?” Barry picked him up and asked with a smile.

“No one dares bully us now. Everyone knows Daddy works for Boss Hook!” the boy said proudly.

“You’ve been out all day—how come you’re only home now... Did you buy roast chicken?” A woman approached, taking the bag from Barry’s hand. The aroma from the roast chicken made her swallow hard.

“Roast chicken! I want some!” The little one wriggled free and lunged for the bag in his mother’s hands.

“How did you afford roast chicken?” The woman tore off a wing and handed it to her jubilant son, quickly tying the bag and questioning her husband.

“Did a good job for Boss Hook, got rewarded.” Barry’s voice was gruff.

“Mama, I want more!” One wing wasn’t enough for the boy.

“No, you’ve had some already. Did you forget what Mama told you? What’s left after Daddy eats is yours.” The woman refused him, knowing well that only if her husband was fed and strong would the family not starve.

“Oh.” Evan still wanted more, but his mother’s words were law.

“Let him have some, he’s growing. When I was his age, I could eat a whole roast chicken in five days.” Barry said, unable to bear it.

“That was when we were serfs. Now we’re free, and the family depends on you.” The woman shot him a look; she disagreed.

“It’s fine, I have more money. Hook rewarded me. Keep it safe.” Barry pulled a pouch from his chest and handed it to his wife.

“So much?! All right, let him eat! Barry, what did you do? Why did Hook give you so much?” The woman handed the roast chicken to her eager son, happily accepting the money, but still suspicious.

“I... I did a good job, the boss noticed me. He’s going to promote me. Sara, believe me, I’ll get you all to live in town.” Barry’s voice was firm; he was determined to rise to Hook’s position.

“I believe you.” The woman nestled into his arms, and they quietly savored a moment of warmth.

“By the way, Ina came looking for you. She wanted to know why Witt hasn’t come home. Do you know where he is?” Her words made Barry tense. Ina was Witt’s wife; they had a child, a four-year-old girl.

“Witt hasn’t come back? Yesterday, after work, he left first. Probably got his money and drank himself senseless, who knows which pigsty he’s sleeping in.” Barry quickly answered, seeing his wife’s questioning gaze.

“Ina is so unlucky, stuck with a man who doesn’t care for his family. My Barry is the best.” Sara buried her head in his chest, boasting.

“Well, getting cozy, I see. Barry, work’s up! Come on, Boss Hook is waiting.” A sneering voice came from the doorway, making the couple separate quickly.

Barry looked up—it was Hogan, Hook’s right-hand man.

“I’m off to work. You stay safe at home.” Barry gave instructions and headed out.

At the door, Hogan didn’t move aside, staring at Barry as if to subdue him with his malice.

Barry instinctively wanted to retreat, but remembering he’d seen blood now, he stared back coldly.

They locked eyes for several seconds before Hogan grinned oddly and stepped aside, mumbling, “You’re not the same anymore.”

“Humph!” Barry brushed past Hogan’s shoulder and went out; he, too, felt different.

In a low-ceilinged house in the slums, Barry met his boss and several burly, grim-faced men—Hook’s trusted enforcers.

“Barry, did you finish the job?” Hook, thin and smiling, asked as Barry and Hogan entered.

“It’s done!” Barry replied stiffly.

The stares from these dangerous men made Barry’s scalp tingle, but he kept telling himself: I’ve seen blood, I’m one of them now.

“Good, good, Barry. From now on, you’re one of us.” Seeing Barry no longer timid, Hook laughed heartily.

“I called everyone here because a few old cripples embarrassed us. We need to teach them a lesson, or those fat sheep on that street will all rebel.” Hook glanced around, grinning wickedly.

“Boss, do we need the whole crew for a few old geezers? I could handle them myself,” scoffed a bald, scar-faced brute.

“Barry, what do you think?” Hook ignored him and turned to Barry.

Hook’s sudden question startled Barry—he’d just been relieved Hook hadn’t asked about the collection money.

“Boss, uh, chief, those old men are tough. There’s a one-armed old guy who took down five of us alone! I don’t think we can force it.” Remembering their cold, indifferent eyes, Barry couldn’t suppress his fear.

“Cowards will always be cowards, so timid—how can you survive out here?” sneered a man toying with a dagger.

“Barry’s right. You may not know, but those old cripples have more lives on their hands than you have acquaintances,” Hook said in his defense, making Barry feel better.

“Boss, are you bluffing? Those ten or so old cripples, they’ve killed before?” a henchman asked, uncertain.

“I checked with old Harald. They’re all ex-mercenaries, not to be trifled with.”

Hook’s words quieted the room.

“What’s wrong? Scared?” Hook mocked, seeing his men falter.

“We’re not scared, boss. We could deal with a few crippled mercenaries, but if their company returns, we’ll be in big trouble—might even lose our turf. Too risky,” a man tried to smooth things over; the mention of mercenaries truly unnerved them.

“Don’t worry, those old guys were discharged by their company, no backing. And they could afford two shops—at least 200 gold coins in severance pay. Lord Barol said he won’t take a cut this time; all the money goes to the brothers! This is a big deal!”

“Boss, maybe we should gather more men? Prepare some boiling oil, maybe get a couple crossbows, and hit them at night?” The bald brute, exchanging looks with a few others, hesitated.

Going after mercenaries’ pension money was no different from pulling teeth from a night-leopard’s jaw—even a crippled night-leopard was deadly. Gold coins were tempting, but only if you lived to spend them.

“Fear nothing! Lord Barol has cleared it with the guards; we do it just like last time, but everyone gets a slightly smaller cut.” Seeing his men’s cowardice, Hook cursed them inwardly but comforted them aloud.

“All right, boss, you’re always resourceful!” A reclining henchman jumped up.

“Come on, let’s get to work.”

“Lord Barol, really—just a few brothers could handle it. Why involve the guards and cut our share!”

Barry put on a cold, ruthless face as he followed Hook out. He was still confused, but his heart was ablaze. Being part of the crew changed everything—before, he’d only extorted a few coppers; now, gold coins were on the table. This was a real business!

——————————

Old John was behind the bar, carefully polishing glasses. There were no customers at the moment, but he was content—he enjoyed this life.

“One-leg, I wonder how young Nelson’s doing over there? Haven’t heard a word,” a burly old man with a hook for a left arm asked, taking a swig.

“Our War Bear is strong! What could go wrong? He’s fine, just far away. Probably another three months before anyone comes,” Old John replied.

“Do you think Sir Victor discharged us and left us here, forgotten?” another old mercenary asked suspiciously.

“Two thousand gold coins in severance? You think you’re that important?” Old John said coldly.

“I just miss Lilia, that girl. Hey, next time we see her, do you think we should call her Madam?” the mercenary said sheepishly.

“I doubt it. That knight from the York family—she looked at the lord like she wanted to eat him alive,” another old man chimed in.

“Not necessarily, Sir Victor’s a bit naïve. Maybe he’ll pick Lilia,” another one-armed mercenary quipped.

“Shut it! Where’s the lord naïve?”

“Not naïve? He gave us two thousand gold coins? You think you’re that important?”

“Business is good, isn’t it?” A sinister voice interrupted.

“Hook!” Old John said coldly.

Hook pushed open the door, and a dozen odd-looking fellows followed him in.

“What’s wrong? Not open for business? We’re here to support your tavern, John,” Hook said with a wicked grin.

“If you’re here to drink, pay first. If you’re here for trouble... Well, what, got too much money for medical bills?” The old mercenary with the iron hook stood up, sneering.

“I’m broke, just enough to buy drinks for the brothers. Barry, go have a drink, my treat.” Hook smiled.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a big job? Why was he sending me for a drink? Barry was baffled, but he stepped forward as his boss instructed.

Suddenly, pain shot through Barry’s chest; he looked down to see a shining dagger thrust through his back, blood gushing.

“Boss Hook, you...” Barry turned his head with difficulty, staring in disbelief at the man behind him.

“Murder! Murder! The innkeeper’s killed someone!” Hook shoved Barry down and screamed.

Barry’s face hit the floor, his vision dimming. Wasn’t this supposed to be a big job? Why kill me? With deep confusion, his consciousness sank into eternal darkness.

Those who devour others will themselves be devoured.