Reincarnated To Evolve My Bee Empire

MEANWHILE, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BEE-HUMAN CONFLICT, THERE WAS A MAN LUCKY ENOUGH TO STILL HAVE HIS VISION.

His name was Zash Meresh. A few days ago, he led his small mercenary warband to this tiny village in search of a place to "borrow" some food from.

Lowering themselves to small robbery when mercenary contracts ran dry was nothing new, and this part of their kingdom was so remote, the villagers probably didn't see a tax collector or a guardsman for years.

Who knew that the place would be under an attack of malevolent forest spirits?

Now the entire warband was tied like pigs and stuffed in some shed, and it was only the unwillingness of the locals to stain their hands with the sin of murder that kept the mercenaries alive when they were blind and helpless.

Even Zash, who was lucky enough to keep his eyesight, couldn't avoid several extremely painful stings.

They ached whenever he moved his face, even just to scowl at his predicament. But his tied-up hands felt nothing at all, which was way worse.

"Those screams we heard this night. You think those were the spirits again, boss?" Samra, the only other mercenary who avoided blinding, asked.

"You bet," Zash said grimly and resumed doing what he was doing this morning—trying to cut the thick rope on his wrists with an iron nail poking out of the living stone wall of the shed.

When the door to the shed opened suddenly, Zash froze; all the other mercenaries, even those still nursing their swollen eyes, perked up and tensed.

A pair of locals entered, holding some bread in their hands. Two more were walking behind them with clubs, glaring warily at the mercenaries.

Zash looked at the "guards" and sneered.

"What, you are afraid of people who are tied up and blind?"

"Shut up if you don't want to end up blind, too, before the law-keepers come to drag your sorry hide away!" one man shouted.

Zash spread his jaws wide in a sneer. He recognized the guy—an older brother of the busty girl he had a close acquaintance with upon his arrival.

She wasn't even against it, the pretty fool. Now she was dishonored and her family was wondering if it was better to make Zash marry her, or to kill him and pretend the entire thing never happened.

"I'm surprised you still have men who can walk around with the clubs after this night," Zash said.

The locals didn't reply, just walked in and began throwing bread in front of the prisoners, not caring about how they would pick it up while blind and with their hands tied up. At least they were tied up in front of them.

When a piece of bread fell in front of him, Zash met the villagers' eyes.

"You know it will take three days for law-keepers to come from the nearest city? You think spirits will leave anyone here standing by then?"

The four men paused.

"Why are you saying this now, bastard?" one asked, glaring at Zash.

"Because I don't want to wake up from any suspicious noise, either! If the spirits try to attack us again, we will be absolutely helpless here! Look, you know that even spirits can be banished with fire and salt. Free me and my warband, and we will help you. We, men, must fight together against unclean sorcery like that!"

Zash's offer was met with laughter.

"Help us? You are a bunch of cripples! How can you ever help?"

"Just keep rotting! At least we will get to sell your horses and weapons to compensate for the damage you did!"

After some more jeers and laughs and an attempt to spit at one of the blind mercenaries, the four left.

When the shed's door closed behind them, Zash let out a long, angry hiss.

"They won't agree to your offer, boss. No fucking way," Samra said, shaking his head.

"Just you see. I give them a night to change their mind. And now I'm going to sleep—since I won't get any at night."

***

Next day began just like Zash hoped it would.

"We will free you and your lot, but do anything funny and it won't take long for us to put you back!"

Ignoring idle threats, Zash finally stretched his arms and sighed with relief. His warband was even given their things back, although his wallet was left absolutely empty.

No matter, he had some coins sewn into his belt just for moments like these.

"I want my wounded to be treated, too," Zash declared to the group of villagers gathered around him and his warband. They must've been all the able-bodied men left in the village.

"Cure-maker Deva is dead and you know it, mercenary," the village head said. "The spirits took his life in the broad daylight!"

"The spirits, too? And here I thought the old man just got apoplexy." Zash clicked his jaws. "So they can kill people, too?"

As soon as he asked, the crowd of villagers erupted with shouts.

"The Yash hunters went into the mountain forest and disappeared without a trace!"

"They left their cursed sigils with blood on the headboards of those who mentioned them during the day!"

"They have cursed this village for trying to get the unholy gold hidden in the forest of living mountains!"

'Huh, gold? Now that's *really* interesting…' Zash thought.

"I get it! The spirits fucked you over!" Zash shouted over the crowd and waited until they fell silent. "And being spirits, they won't listen to reason or apologies. So we will give them neither! Come around—let's speak in your temple. If the spirits are watching our moves, they won't be able to eavesdrop on us on the holy ground."

"You have a plan, mercenary?" the village head asked with cautious hope.

"Of course! War against spirits is still a war."

Zash stretched his jaws in a smirk and raised a sleeve of his tunic. The chitin underneath was covered in layers of old, pale scar lines.

"Each of these scars tells a tale of a fight my warband won. Believe me, I will make a proper militia out of you!"