The bastard's blade

Ran stood still just outside the Bloodrune estate's gate, unsure of where to go. The ground beneath his feet felt like foreign soil. The massive gates behind him were closed now. He wasn't welcome there anymore.

He looked around.

People passed by—some recognized him, most didn't care. A few stopped, staring just long enough to smirk or whisper.

"That's the bastard, isn't it?"

"Thought he was a swordmaster's kid?"

"Pathetic. Look at him now."

They didn't even try to lower their voices.

Ran clenched his fists and walked on.

His stomach growled. It had been over a day since he last ate. He didn't care about money, shelter, or even rest. He needed food. Just something to keep him on his feet.

He went to stalls. Shops. Even begged from a few travelers.

Everyone turned him away.

The vendors didn't want a disgraced Bloodrune in front of their stalls. Some even chased him off like he was a thief.

By the end of the second day, his legs were numb. His mouth dry. His pride already bruised and bleeding.

But one thought kept him standing.

'I'll come back stronger. I'll return, and I'll make them all regret this.'

He knew where to go.

The outskirts of the estate—far enough to be ignored, but close enough to still belong to the city. That's where the mercenaries set up camp. Mercenary Guilds were known to take in all sorts—criminals, dropouts, even cowards—if they had one thing.

Use.

Ran had nothing. But maybe someone would give him a chance.

The mercenary guild was a mix of shouting, laughter, and steel clashing. Tents were pitched in crooked lines. Weapons leaned against trees. Campfires burned through the day. Loud, chaotic, alive.

Ran had been standing at the gate for hours the first time. He asked around—respectfully, carefully. Nobody even looked at him.

He came again the next day.

And again.

No one listened.

One group even kicked him when he approached. A man with a jagged scar across his mouth spat on the ground.

"Get lost, runt."

The kick landed hard in Ran's ribs. He collapsed onto the dirt, coughing. They laughed and walked off, leaving him in the dust.

Ran didn't move for a while. He stared at the sky, then at his shaking hand.

But he didn't cry.

He stood back up and dragged his feet to another campfire—this one larger than most.

The Sunflower Mercenary Group.

One of the more respected groups in the area. Known for discipline, strength, and loyalty to contract. Their banner, a burnt yellow sun painted on a black background, waved above the tents.

Ran stood in front of them, his clothes torn, skin bruised, eyes sunken from exhaustion.

A man stepped out from the crowd, towering over most of the others.

Geld.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a thick neck, tree-trunk arms, and a massive axe strapped to his back. His jaw was square, his face shadowed by a permanent scowl. Every part of him screamed fighter.

Ran bowed his head deeply.

"I want to join your group. Please."

The camp went quiet for a moment. Some nearby mercs turned their heads.

Geld stared at him with no interest. His eyes swept Ran up and down like he was dog filth stuck to a boot.

"No."

Ran kept his head down.

"I'll do anything."

"I said no."

Geld stepped forward. The ground felt heavier with each step.

"You're weak. You're sick. You're slow. You'll only drag people down."

His words were calm, but sharp as blades.

Behind him, the other mercenaries chuckled.

"Didn't that kid get kicked out of Bloodrune?"

"I heard he collapsed during training and cried in the woods."

"Probably can't even lift a sword now."

Ran stood firm, his teeth gritted.

"I don't care what you think. I just want a chance."

"You'll get someone killed."

"I'll take any job. Even the worst."

"You won't last a day."

"Then let me die trying."

The camp fell quiet again.

Geld opened his mouth, probably to shout or shove him, but someone else stepped forward.

"Wait."

A voice cut through the tension—slim, cool, and mocking.

Ran turned.

A younger man stepped out from the back of the group. Slightly shorter than Geld, but with a sharper face, narrow frame, and confident steps. His sword was sheathed at his waist, a clean blue hilt glinting in the firelight. His eyes were an icy blue that didn't smile even when his lips did.

Kelt.

Geld's little brother.

He tilted his head at Ran, smirking.

"You said you'll do anything, right?"

Ran didn't reply. He just looked at him.

Kelt took another step forward.

"How about this. You prove your dedication."

He pointed to his boots—dusty, dirty from walking the camp.

"Lick them."

The entire camp paused.

Ran blinked.

Some mercs looked at each other.

"He can't be serious."

"Is he gonna do it?"

"That's low. Even for Kelt."

Kelt turned, addressing the small crowd.

"You heard him. He said anything."

He looked back at Ran, grin widening.

"Come on. You want to join, right? Show us how far you'll go."

Ran stared.

His hands were shaking. Not from fear. From shame.

He looked at the boot.

He looked at the people around him. Some already started whispering. Others laughed. One or two made bets on whether he would actually do it.

Pomerian's face flashed in his mind for a second. Her sad eyes.

'I was a Bloodrune. Now I'm nothing.'

He took a step forward.

Then another.

He dropped to his knees in front of Kelt.

Someone gasped.

Ran lowered his head.

His lips touched the boot.

One second.

Two.

He pulled back, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and stood.

Silence.

Then laughter exploded around the camp.

"He actually did it!"

"I owe you ten gold!"

"That's the bastard Bloodrune for you!"

Coins exchanged hands. Some people fell over laughing.

Ran didn't say a word.

His face was blank, but his eyes burned.

Kelt watched him with a strange expression. His smirk widened, but there was something else in his eyes—curiosity, maybe.

He stepped forward and patted Ran on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the party."