WITCHBOUND - Original Isekai

[Random Mudkip]

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: Falling Down

Carter entered Wilson's office, which was at the south-west corner of the floor and had a pretty nice view of the city outside. Wilson had sent him an email through the company network asking to see him as soon as possible. Carter wondered what the man could want; he doubted it was to chew him out since he wasn't late on any of his deadlines.

"You wanted to see me, Jack?" Carter made sure to remember not to call him "sir" or "Mr. Wilson." The man had insisted that everyone call him by his first name, and Carter tried to do so with some difficulty. He was successful most of the time, though on rare occasions his old military instincts would kick in, and he would end up addressing him as "sir."

Wilson looked up from his monitor and gave him a bright smile, his perfectly straight, picket fence white teeth were almost shining from the fluorescent lights illuminating his office. "Ah, Carter! Good, I wanted to see you. Come in and have a seat."

Despite being almost twenty years younger than him, Wilson was Carter's supervisor. In fact, he was the head of his whole department. It was a job that Carter was well qualified to hold, and for a time he looked certain to get the job when his old supervisor retired five years ago. Yet, like most corporate entities nowadays, the management heads decided to hire outside the company to fill the position instead of promoting one of their own into the role. And so the young, fresh Ivy League graduate Jack Wilson had gotten the job instead.

The Accounting VP even had the gall to tell Carter to show his new boss "the ropes," knowing full well how qualified Carter had been to fill the position. It took every grain of self control Carter had not to curse him out.

Carter took a seat in front of Wilson's desk. He waited patiently as the man continued to type on his keyboard for a full two minutes before eventually turning his attention back to him. Wilson smiled, flashing his picket fence teeth again, his bright blue eyes focusing onto Carter's own.

"So, Carter. How've you been?" Wilson asked, his vapid smile unwavering. "It's been so long since we got to talk, you and me. Is everything okay with you?"

Carter nodded. "Yes. I'm fine. Right as rain."

"Good! That's great to hear." Wilson nodded. He continued to nod for another few seconds, and his smile finally began to waver. Carter noticed him wringing his hands on the table in front of him and after a few seconds he wished the idiot would just hurry up and spit out whatever it was he was trying to say. Finally, after a few more seconds of nodding, Wilson seemed to have gathered his nerves enough to speak.

"Listen, Carter. I just got some bad news." Wilson sighed, his smile vanishing finally. "This came straight from the top. I really hate having to do this. There's really no good way of doing it, so I'll just come out and say it." The man sighed again. "Carter… I'm afraid we're gonna have to let you go."

Carter stayed silent for a moment, not believing what he was hearing. He waited for Wilson to say something, anything more, but the moron stayed quiet, obviously waiting for Carter himself to say something. "Excuse me?"

"We're gonna have to let you go," Wilson repeated. "The boys upstairs decided to cut back on expenses. Those expenses include underperforming employees."

Carter could not believe his ears. Underperforming? Sure, his work lately hadn't been his best, but he was still performing way above average! "Are you serious?"

"Afraid so," Wilson said. "Look, I know this is a hard pill to swallow. You've been at this company for a long time."

"Fifteen years," Carter growled.

"Fifteen years," Wilson nodded, agreeing. "But your work has steadily been getting worse lately. I know you're just going through a tough spot right now, and usually I would look past it because of that. But, like I said, this mandate comes straight from the top. I have no choice."

"Bullshit!" Carter snarled. "What about Shane? Alvarez? I know for a fact that their numbers are worse than mine!"

"Carter, please." Wilson shook his head, looking exasperated. "Shane has three kids. Alvarez is pregnant with her fourth. Are you really asking me to get rid of them and keep you? How many children do you have?"

He grit his teeth. "None."

"See? It wouldn't be right to put their families through such hardship." Wilson shrugged. "I'm sorry, Carter. This was a difficult decision, but in the end, the choice was quite clear. Shane, Alvarez, Zeveda… they all have families. Wives and kids who'll suffer if they lose their job. You live alone."

"I have a wife," Carter muttered.

"Carter, she died two years ago," Wilson said, obviously hearing his words. "Is this why your work's been suffering? Carter, I'm really sorry about Anna, but she's gone. It's been two years, you need to let go. It's not healthy to keep grieving like this for so long."

Carter sat silently, his fury building. He gritted his teeth hard, feeling them crack in his jaw.

Wilson gave him a sad smile. "Look, who knows? Maybe this is actually a good opportunity for you, Carter. You know, you can start fresh. With your experience and military background, you can get a job pretty much anywhere. And maybe you can take some time to reflect on yourself and get better. Hell, maybe you'll even manage to meet a girl who can help you get over Anna's-"

Carter roared as he leaped out of the chair and clambered across Wilson's desk. He grabbed the man by the hair and slammed his face onto his keyboard. Wilson screamed in pain and surprise while Carter gripped his hair tighter and repeated his actions over and over again. Wilson's nose broke and blood splattered across his monitor's screen painting the spreadsheets and emails in red.

Carter heard a woman's scream. It was Janet, Wilson's secretary. She stood by the open door, staring aghast at him repeatedly slamming her boss's face into his desk. He ignored her. He tossed Wilson's limp form onto the floor and got off the desk. He grabbed the monitor in his hands, ripping the cords off the back. He stood over Wilson's prone form, while the man looked up at him, horror in his wide, blue eyes.

"Carter?"

Carter lifted the flatscreen over his head. It was times like these that he wished his company still used the heavier, bulkier CRT monitors. Wilson screamed as he slammed the flatscreen down into his already damaged face. Carter snarled as he repeated the action over and over again.

"Carter?"

Carter blinked, and he was back in the chair, his hands tightly gripping its armrests. He looked up and Wilson was still seated behind his desk, face unmangled with no blood to be seen.

"Carter? Are you listening?" Wilson asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Anyway, like I said, this was an extremely hard decision. But you know how it is, tough decisions have to be made. I had HR prepare a separation package for you, it has pamphlets on how to cope with losing your job, and advice on how to get a new one. I'm sure you'll land on your feet in no time. We'll…"

Carter tuned the rest of his spiel out. His eyes dropped to the floor and he stared at the carpet for the next several minutes. He noticed the thick fibers and the pale blue color. There was not a speck of dirt on it. The cleaning service the company hired did a very good job. He wondered how hard those cleaners would have to work if the carpet became stained thick with blood.

---

An inrush of air flowing deep into his lungs brought Carter back to consciousness. He gasped and coughed, scrambling to his feet as he quickly looked around. He was in a forest clearing. All around him were the corpses of men, their dead flesh marred by bullet wounds. Memories of the last few minutes came to him, of being ambushed by these thugs and him being forced to kill them before finally succumbing to his wounds.

Carter's hands traced across his body, checking it for damage. There was none. His vest and shirt had been torn open, but after pulling apart the fabric he saw the flesh underneath unmarred. He remembered being sliced open, his innards slipping out of the wound. Now all signs of the damage were gone. His hand went up to his neck where the arrow had pierced him. Nothing but smooth, unblemished skin met his fingertips.

Magic may be bullshit, but it came in handy. Carter sighed in relief. He thought he was going to die. He should have died. Yet here he was, without a scratch. He suffered so much damage to his body, and yet he survived. He idly wondered what it would take to kill him. Could he even die?

Carter looked down and saw the black shape of the Witch Arm near his feet. Dorothea the Ebon. The gun had saved his life, there was no doubt about that. Those pigs would have kept cutting him up, torturing the hell out of him if it hadn't come to his rescue.

Carter remembered reaching his hand out in desperate need, and the gun just flying into it. He bit his lip, then reached his right hand down towards the Witch Arm. He recalled the emotion he had felt earlier, the fear and the pain, and his desperate need to feel the weapon in his grip. Just like before, the gun launched itself from the ground and flew up into his hand. Carter gripped the gun tightly and lifted it up in front of his face.

"What the hell are you?" He asked it.

In the back of his mind, he heard a woman's soft laugh.

 

[Hellteddy]

Thank you for the chappy!

What the heck is that flashback, is something messing with his head or did he really want to bash his boss's head in?

 

[Random Mudkip]

Thanks for reading.

And yes, Carter wanted to bash his boss' brains in. If it wasn't clear until now, Carter is not healthy in the head.

 

[Random Mudkip]

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: Picking Yourself Up

Carter looked up into the sky. He saw the sun high overhead, which was concerning since when he had fallen unconscious it was just about to set. He cursed, realizing that he had blacked out for far longer than a few minutes. He hoped that it had only been a few hours instead of several days; otherwise Mirilla would have probably sold the things he had left in his room at the inn.

Carter began retrieving his belongings, which were scattered across the forest floor. His cell phone was good, although there were a few scratches on the screen. His sunglasses were undamaged. Carter couldn't find his keys though, no matter how hard he searched. The kid who had gone through his pockets probably threw it far into the forest.

The memory of the child reminded Carter of something. He remembered that the little brat had taken his coin pouch while he was injured. Carter cursed, then desperately began searching the area for his money. He looked through the grass, under bushes, and even searched through the corpses. No matter where he looked, though, the coin pouch was gone.

"Dammit!" Carter shouted. It was that kid! He probably still had it on him when he ran away!

"Fuck!" He cursed again, kicking at a rock. That was all his money! Carter continued to curse loudly, his foot kicking out at random things on the ground. "Stupid! Stupid! Why did I keep all my money in one place! Stupid! FUCKING STUPID!" He screamed out in frustration.

He thought about the boy, of the fear in the child's eyes as he ran away from him. He still probably had his coin pouch on him when he fled.

"I should have killed that little fucker when I had the chance!"

Those words he had sputtered out loud caused Carter to pause. Did he really just say that? His flaring temper cooled, and he shook his head to clear it. "Damn it. I didn't mean that," he scolded himself. "I didn't."

Carter thought about going after the kid to get his money back, but with such a long head start the brat could be anywhere. Mattu had said that some of the men who accosted him came from a village he had stopped at, which was a clue to finding the boy. But Carter had no idea which village that was. There could be numerous villages in this area alone.

"God damn it," he said, cursing his situation. He had over fifty gold coins in that bag. He could have lived off of that amount for a year if he was careful. Now all of it was gone, stolen. And he had no one to blame but himself and his carelessness. He shouldn't have kept all of his money on himself. He had thought he was doing the right thing. He had thought that the safest place for the money to be was on him; after all, he had the Witch Arm, which made him basically untouchable. A mistake. Just because he had a magical gun and healing ability didn't make him invincible. He was almost killed by a group of redneck farmhands who were barely even armed!

He also should have left as soon as he saw that Mattu was safe. Hanging around the area when he knew there were hostiles around was just stupid. It was basic situational awareness and he failed it utterly. It was one of the first things they had taught him in Basic, and he knew that in his younger days in the military he never would have been so careless. So what the hell had happened?

Carter knew the answer to that question. He was a fucking moron. He had thought that he had thoroughly cowed the lowly village mob with his biting words and a few shots from his gun. He had been worse than stupid; he had been arrogant. He had looked down on the farmers, thinking he was better than them. They were just ignorant, racist pricks, after all. And he was a 21st Century American, former military, and highly educated. They were illiterate, medieval peasants covered in dirt. He felt they were beneath him. It didn't help that ever since he had arrived in this world, people deferred to him, treated him like some sort of nobility just because he was wearing his department store suit. He had bought into his own lies, and it nearly cost him his life.

"I am such an idiot," he muttered to himself. He even had the gall to think of Mattu as being suicidal when he had been just as careless.

Carter pulled his cloak off of the tree branch it was draped over, then wrapped the blue fabric around his tired shoulders. Despite his newly healed body feeling spry and full of energy, Carter was mentally exhausted. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

With a weary sigh, Carter headed through the woods back in the direction of the road. He needed to get back to Joston before something else happened to him. This event had been a sore reminder to treat this world more seriously and the kick in the ass he desperately needed. This wasn't a game, or some sort of story. This was his life now.

---

"What in the hells happened to you?" Mirilla asked in a voice tinged with both humor and concern as he stepped into the Fat Kitty.

Carter must have made quite a sight. His once fancy clothes had been all cut and torn up, stained with dirt and leaves. Although his own blood had vanished into nothingness like it usually did when he healed, the blood of his attackers marred his unblemished skin. A big blot of it was visible staining his neck, where it had splashed onto him when he had blasted a hole in the leader's head.

"Got robbed," he told the proprietress lamely as he took a seat at the bar.

"Oh, wow. That sounds rough. At least you're still alive." The woman filled a mug with some watered-down ale and passed it to him. "Have a drink. On the house."

"Thanks," Carter said in appreciation as he took the drink. He swallowed the entire contents of the mug in one go.

Mirilla watched him for a moment, noting his dour look and sunken eyes. "I'm guessing they got away with your money?"

"Every cent."

The owner of the inn frowned. "That is rough. On the bright side though, you've paid up for two more days. After that, I got to throw you out."

Carter gritted his teeth in frustration. He knew he shouldn't have expected the least bit of kindness from the woman who constantly overcharged him, but he had hoped. The dark-haired man hid his displeasure and simply nodded. "I don't suppose you need someone to fill in around here?" At the moment, he'd be happy to work just for boarding.

"Sorry, sweetheart. But I already have Kal and the cook. I got no more openings," She said, but then she pointed towards the front door where the noticeboard hung. "You may want to check the listings, though. If you need money you can always find something quick and easy."

Carter nodded, then pushed himself away from the bar to check the noticeboard. He searched through all the flyers, ignoring the obvious advertisements and looking for the listings asking for aid. He found several. Mirilla was right, he could knock these jobs out pretty quickly. The problem was that all of them paid shit. Searching the woods for herbs paid several coppers. Escorting a peddler to a nearby village paid ten silver. The hardest gig on the list, the goblin-killing mission, would only dole out thirty silver. None of these stupid jobs would even cover a night's stay at this inn!

Utterly dejected, Carter turned around and headed upstairs to his room. Once inside, he locked the door, took off his cloak, and collapsed onto the lumpy bed.

Think, Carter. Think. He thought to himself. What could he do to get more money?

He thought about how he had gotten the funds he had in the first place and felt the weight lift off his shoulders somewhat. He still had stuff from Earth he could sell. Credit cards, his wallet, even his suit. Also, the stuff he bought from Culvert's Rock was worth quite a bit. He could probably sell those, too.

Carter began to feel a little better. Yes, tomorrow, he'll ask Mirilla if she knows any place in town where he could sell his things. He probably won't get as much money as he did when he sold his items at Logher's shop in Culvert's Rock, but at least he wouldn't be destitute.

Carter turned to lay on his back. He pulled out his cell phone and switched the device on. The dim room was lit up by the light from the screen, and he watched as the manufacturer's logo flashed onto the screen. During the long sea voyage south, when Carter had been alone in his private room, he often turned on his phone to peruse its contents. He made sure not to stay on it for too long to save battery power, but just playing on the device comforted him. It made him feel like he was back at home, safe in his house on Earth. The simple action of playing on the phone took him away from the immensity of his current situation; instead of being lost in an alien world, all but clueless as to what awaited him, he felt safe and sound just swiping at that stupid touch screen.

Carter scrolled through several of the apps on the screen and quickly found the photo album. He opened it up and searched through the various folders, looking for a specific date. Eventually, he found what he was looking for.

2014.09.03

He opened the folder and clicked on the first image. The cell phone's screen was soon taken up by a photo, this one showing a couple seated together at an expensive restaurant, smiling towards the camera. The man was himself, though with a face a decade older than the one he currently wore. The woman seated next to him was what many would describe as ordinary. She had shoulder-length brown hair, light brown eyes, and a light sprinkling of freckles across her plain face. But to Carter she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He reached out a hand towards the image and his fingertips touched her smiling, happy face.

Carter recalled the image. It had been six years ago, and they were celebrating Anne's 37th birthday. It was a large gathering, and all of their friends and family were invited. The event was held at her favorite restaurant, Antonio's, an Italian place right smack dab in the middle of the busy downtown area. It had been a fun night, filled with laughter and joy. Even after six years he felt he could remember every minute of that party. Carter realized right then that that night was probably the happiest of his entire life.

Two weeks later, Anne would be diagnosed with cervical cancer.

His shoulders shook as he shut off the phone. The room quickly descended into darkness. Carter lay in his rented room's lumpy bed, an arm held across his face, as he wept softly. Eventually, after a bit of time, he fell asleep.

The black house once again met him in his dreams.

 

[Random Mudkip]

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: Bad Luck Day

The next morning, Carter got up bright and early and began to separate his things into two different piles. One was for items he would be selling, and the other were the things he intended to keep. Among the items he was keeping were his cell phone and suit. The phone only had about two days of charge left in the battery, but it contained the only pictures of Anne he had left. He intended to cherish them for as long as there was power left in the device. As for the suit, well, it was just too important a disguise. The make and material were so high quality compared to anything else in this world that people had no trouble believing he was a high class aristocrat of some kind while wearing it. No, he needed that suit, just in case he got into a situation where having a high status would come in handy.

The rest of his items he intended to sell. The things he had bought at Logher's Emporium were very high-ticket items, so he could sell those for a good price and use the funds to buy cheaper versions. That meant trading in his clothes, his cloak, his boots, his canteen, and even the backpack that he was using to carry everything. He hoped to get comparable though cheaper items locally.

There was also his sword. He had only used it one time, and that was when he tried to fight the bandits that had ambushed him and Rann back in Culvert's Rock, an event that had gone rather poorly. It was obvious he was no swordsman; he had no skill with the blade at all. Thankfully, he now had the Witch Arm with him. The sword was pretty much useless to him, so of course he opted to sell it.

After about an hour of sorting through his gear, Carter was ready to leave. He packed up all the items he intended to trade off into his backpack, then shrugged on his cloak and put on his sunglasses. He lugged on the large satchel, securing it onto his back by the straps. After everything was set, he picked up his sword and left the room, going down the hall and trudging down the stairs on his way to the exit. The tavern below was bereft of customers due to the early hour. He spotted Mirilla at her usual place behind the bar. Seated in front of her was a face Carter hadn't seen in some time.

"Hello there," Kal greeted him with a wave. The blond man leaned away from the bar where he had been busy eating a breakfast dish of what looked like fish and eggs. "It's been a while. Glad to see you enjoying the comforts of the Fat Kitty!"

"Oh, hey," Carter greeted him. For someone who worked here, Kal was a very rare sight to see at the inn. It was probably because the man spent most of his time standing outside rival establishments and in search of business.

"Just the man I wanted to see," Merilla said. She eyed his form up and down, most likely noting the heavy backpack he was wearing. "Since you still have one night payed up, I trust that you are not leaving us just yet."

"No. I'm just going out to sell some stuff. I was actually hoping that you could point me to a reputable store that pays well," Carter told her.

The dark skinned woman smiled. "Of course. I know several good places that would be more than happy to purchase your items at a fair price. In fact, I happen to be one of them."

Carter raised an eyebrow. "You want to buy my stuff?"

Merilla nodded. "Yes. Your sword, specifically."

Carter looked down at the sheathed weapon he was holding.

"You see, Kal's job may be simple, but it is hardly safe," Merilla explained. "He often has to tangle with miscreants who seek to rob him, and has even gotten into blows with some of our various rivals who do not appreciate his presence outside their places of business. He needs something to defend himself with, and I noticed that you don't carry that weapon around with you when you go out. It is for sale, is it not?"

Carter tried to keep the surprise off of his face. This was lucky. If he could get a good price for the sword now then he could sell it quick and not have to lug it around all over town. "Oh, uh, yes. It's for sale." He presented the weapon to the innkeeper who took it into her hands to examine.

"My, this is quite light. And very well made," Merilla said as she examined the drawn blade. She quickly resheathed the weapon and gave Carter a slick smile. "I'll give you thirty five silver for it."

This time he was unable to keep his face neutral as he was completely surprised. He had paid twenty silver for that sword! The fact that Merilla was paying him much more for it when she usually overcharged him, well, it was unexpected to say the least. Perhaps the woman was actually trying to help him, in whatever little ways she could.

"Oh, uh, yes! That's a fair price. Sold!" Carter said after a moment of silence.

"Great!" Merilla passed the sword over to Kal who quickly began to clasp it into his belt. "Now, then. Let me grab your coins from the safe and after that, I'll write you directions to a set of shops that I know."

Carter nodded. "Uh, thank you."

"You're very welcome. Let me get you that list." Merilla walked out from behind the bar and went into the back room of the tavern where the kitchen was kept.

"I don't really need a sword, you know," Kal stated as he continued to munch down on his breakfast. "Sure, I've come to blows with some lowlives now and again, but I can handle myself pretty well with just my fists."

"I see." Carter nodded. So he was right. Merilla was helping him out after all. "She's a really nice lady."

Kal snorted. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. But I admit, she does have her moments."

---

Several hours later, Carter was not feeling as good. Merilla had given him a list with the names of four shops in town that she claimed would treat him right. After visiting them all, Carter found her claims to be highly dubious. One shop tossed him out immediately after he had dropped Merilla's name. Two on the list were outright hostile to his presence, directing suspicious glares at him while he looked through their inventory. And the last one acted kind, but offered him laughable rates for the goods he was selling. The man had the gall to act like he was doing Carter a favor by offering him less than a quarter of what his stuff was worth.

In the end, Carter had no choice but to accept the final merchant's offer. Time was running out for him, and he figured that he wouldn't get a better deal. Not in this town, at least.

Carter aimlessly walked the streets of Joston, feeling absolutely sorry for himself. He had traded in his clothing and gear for less expensive versions. And those that he did get were second-hand, no less. Thankfully, the store keeper seemed to have thoroughly cleaned the goods before selling them, as they didn't stink like he thought they would.

Unlike his previous getup, Carter's current outfit made him look less like a wealthy merchant and more like an out-of-work dock hand. Gone was his fine blue cloak; in its place was a ratty brown leather overcoat with various patches sewn into the hide to repair rips and tears. His fashionable shirts and waistcoats were also replaced by rough cotton tunics, and his well-fitted trousers had been traded in for baggy woolen pants. The worst trade-off was his boots. His expensive, comfortable set was traded in for a cheap clunky set that was a bit too tight. Every time he stepped forwards the cheap leather pinched his toes.

His backpack had also been replaced with a ratty canvas rucksack that was much smaller overall. It barely held his new supply of cheap clothing and was bulging at the seams as he carried it. He had also been forced to sell his favorite pair of sunglasses, which netted him just forty-three silver coins.

The only item from his gear that he had chosen to keep was his canteen since the shop didn't have anything cheap to replace it with. After all his haggling and selling, all the things he had sold only netted him two gold coins, twenty three silver, and several slivers of copper.

Carter once more cursed that kid who stole his money. He entertained the notion of going out and hunting after the boy, but he knew that wasn't a possibility. There were numerous villages in the area and he didn't know where to start. Plus it would be very stupid to go out alone wandering into these villages; these were the homes of the men who he had killed, after all. They probably had many friends and family living there, each eager and willing to murder him brutally for what he had done. And he had learned his lesson about underestimating these people. From now on if he could avoid a fight, then he would.

So far, his trip south had been nothing but misery. It was probably a mistake to come here. He wondered if he would have been better off staying in the north and just laying low. Reeve Lannok had warned him that powerful people would be coming for him, and he believed the man's claim. The Witch Arm in his possession was a potent weapon, and those in power would most definitely want it for themselves.

Could he have stayed up north and faced off against them though? Carter doubted it. Despite everything he's been through, he was no fighter. In the Navy, he was a glorified secretary. His rating was Yeoman and he mostly did administrative work. True, he had served on ships and aircraft carriers that were carrying out operations in combat zones, so he wasn't totally safe from danger. But what he did was a far cry from being an infantryman on the ground dodging bombs and bullets. Carter had been lucky that the only fights he had in this world were with disorganized bandits and angry farmers. He had no doubt that if he faced professional soldiers with training then, magic gun or not, he would be screwed. That wasn't even counting the wizards or sorcerers or whatever that they had in this world. He hadn't seen any of them so far, but if there were magical healers and witches around then surely they had mages of other kinds. Who knew what those guys were capable of?

Carter continued walking dejectedly through the streets. Eventually, his blind wanderings brought him back to the Fat Kitty inn. He looked up at the sign, frowning at the rotund feline smirking down on him. It looked way too satisfied at seeing him down in the dumps.

"Damn, even the inanimate objects in this town are mocking me," Carter muttered. He gave the cat a middle finger salute before entering the inn.

The tavern was more crowded at this time of day, with around ten patrons seated around the bar and various tables. Merilla spotted him and gave a wave and a shout.

"Oi! I like the new clothes. Makes you seem honest." She said, laughing as he approached the bar. "How'd it go?"

Carter had to force himself not to say the rude reply that had bubbled up from his frustrated mind. He reminded himself that Merilla had tried to help him. True, her list of contacts was less than useless, but it was the thought that counted.

"Not great," he told her. "I think I got ripped off."

Merilla frowned. "What? Did you go to the shops on the list I wrote you?"

"Yeah. Two were giving me the stink eye the whole time I was there. One guy threw me out when I told him you sent me." Carter smiled when he saw the woman flinch slightly. "The last guy offered me less than half of what my stuff was worth. If I wasn't so desperate for money, I would've told him to fuck off."

"Those stinking whoresons!" Merilla shouted. Some of the patrons looked up at the loud noise but quickly went back to their business once they realized there was no cause for alarm. "After all I did for them! See if I do business with them again!"

Carter nodded, somewhat satisfied that at least the merchants who cheated and snubbed him would face some type of consequence, small though it might be.

"Sorry for that, Ser Gentleman. I honestly thought they could help you." Merilla sighed. "But I do have some good news. A few hours ago, a new notice went up on the board. A caravan is going south to deliver supplies to some Western outposts in the next county over. They're looking for sell swords to help guard the goods during the trip. I hear the pay is good. It's dangerous work, but you seem like you can handle yourself."

Carter pondered her words. It was true, he desperately needed the money. But could he risk his life guarding a caravan headed towards a warzone? He had a near brush with death already, he wasn't eager to repeat it. Yet his empty coin purse all but screamed at him to take the job. He would have the Witch Arm to defend himself with, not to mention that this time around he wouldn't be alone.

His right hand rose to his hip where the black gun rested in its holster. His fingers wrapped around the weapon's grip and he felt comforted by the feel of the cold metal against his skin.

"Thanks for letting me know, Merilla. I'll go check it out," he said to the barkeep as he walked back to the notice board.

Tacked right in the center of the board was a brand new sheet of beige paper. Written upon it, in the strange wavy alphabet of this world, were all the details about the caravan job and what it entailed.

"Attention!

"Adventurous types are needed by the Western Caravan Company to safely guard goods headed to Western Imperial outposts in Lugain County south of Yaide. Must have own weapons and gear for the trip. Provisions will be provided by the company. Pay is 400 silvers, paid upon completion of delivery.

"See Regher Hollo at Western Caravan Company to apply."

The rest of the flier had the address of the Western Caravan Company building in Joston as well as the date the caravan was leaving. Carter tapped a finger on his lip as he read the notice again.

Four hundred silver. That was almost three gold coins! Taking this job would more than double his money.

Carter smiled, feeling somewhat hopeful that his luck was finally changing. "Looks like I'm going on an adventure."

 

[Random Mudkip]

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: Walpurgisnacht

Carter opened his eyes. He expected to wake up to the small rented room in the Fat Kitty. Instead, he found himself lying atop a hay bed inside a stone room. It was quite dark as there were no windows; the only source of illumination was from several wax candles tucked into sconces inside the walls. There was little to see in the room as besides the bed, it was completely empty of furnishings. Only a single door located on the farthest wall from the bed could be seen.

Carter stood up then examined himself. He wore the same clothes that he had worn to bed that night, which were his bland white cotton tunic and black wool pants. Strangely, he was wearing his boots and the Witch Arm was held in its holster connected to the belt around his waist. He most definitely did not go to sleep with them on.

"I'm dreaming again, aren't I?" He asked himself out loud. His eyes scanned the room, but aside from stone walls and shadows, there was nothing of interest.

He was slightly confused. Usually, he would be dreaming of the black house as well as its creepy inhabitant. Him waking up in this room was new.

Carter walked up to the only thing of interest in the room besides the bed, which was the door. He examined it, noting that it was an ordinary wooden door with a brass knob. It had no etchings upon it, no decorations; it was just plain wood. At least, that's what he thought. Because of the dim light and shadows, he didn't notice at first, but as he drew closer to the door he realized something.

It was painted black.

Carter tried the doorknob and it turned easily. He felt relieved as part of him expected the damn thing to be locked. He pushed open the door and stepped out into a hallway. Like the room he had just left, it was made of rough stone, with several sconces containing candles providing the only sources of light. The hall was narrow, roughly eight feet wide. It contained numerous doors like the one he had used. Carter looked to his left and saw the hallway ending in a blank wall. To his right, the hall led further down into darkness.

He noted that his black door was the second on the left side when facing the dead end. The first door on the left was made of the same plain wood, though it was painted white instead of black. The door across from that was blue. The door across from his was orange.

Carter scanned the hallway, spotting more doors along the walls, each painted a different color. Altogether he counted twelve doors, six on each side of the hall. There was a red door. Green. Blue. White. Brown. Violet. Orange. Yellow. Silver. Gold. Gray. And of course, Black. No color was repeated, and all the doors except the one he had exited were shut.

Carter stepped over to the orange door across from him and tried to open it. Unlike his door, this one was locked. He tried several of the other ones, finding that they too were similarly unable to be opened.

He turned his attention to the hallway and eyed the shadowy gloom swallowing up the other end. It looked like there were no sconces of candles further down, or if there were then they weren't lit. Carter sighed, knowing that unless he wanted to stay in this empty hallway until he woke up then he would have to traverse the dark corridor.

He shrugged, then took a cautious step forward. His hand rested against the grip of the Witch Arm, just in case. Sure, it was only a dream, but Carter would be damned if he became the victim of a jump scare. He always hated those in movies, and this situation seemed like the perfect time for one to happen.

The dark-haired man continued to walk in absolute darkness for several more steps before something surprising happened. In the blink of an eye, the dark, all-consuming shadows around him vanished and he found himself somewhere completely different. Gone was the narrow stone hallway. He now stood upon the summit of what looked like a great mountain. Brilliant stars lit up the night sky and the rocky ground he stood upon dipped down to his left into a sheer cliff face. Skeletal trees were the only life he could see upon the mountain, their thin, unhealthy branches reaching up into the air like corpse fingers.

Carter quickly noticed that he stood upon a path and that it led up higher into the summit. He followed it, his boots crunching down upon the pebbles and stones that made up the terrain. Soon he found himself at the top of the mountain, the path leading to a small grove of skeleton trees. At its center was a massive bonfire, one composed of the remains of what was probably another tree. This one was all but blackened from the flames, but Carter could tell by its sheer size that it was much bulkier than the skeleton trees around him. Probably much healthier, too, until whoever set this fire lit it up.

As he got closer to the burning tree, he noticed that several figures stood around it. The figures noticed him at the same instance, each turning their heads to watch as he approached.

One figure was a giant of a woman. Standing at roughly six feet seven inches, she wore thick leather armor that left her heavily muscular arms bare. She had muddy brown eyes and long auburn hair tied into a braid. Her face was attractive but held a deep scowl as she watched him come closer.

Strapped to her back was a massive greatsword, both its hilt and blade red as blood.

The second figure was an older gaunt-faced man with graying hair. He was dressed in expensive clothing, with a purple silk shirt and fine black trousers. His light blue eyes zoomed onto him intensely, and Carter felt as if his stare was locked onto his very soul.

In his hands he held a scepter. Its short shaft and spherical head were all made of a dull gray metal. Carter knew that scepters were meant to be ornamental, more a symbol of power than an actual weapon. Yet this one was purely without ostentation. It held no precious stones, nor was it gilded in gold or etched with exotic scenes. Its head and haft were all just plain metal, and a simple gray metal at that.

The third figure stood next to the gaunt man. She was a short, thin woman with dirty blond hair and wore a plain gray tunic with matching trousers. She had delicate features and seemed pretty young. Unlike the others, she had looked away quickly when his eyes met hers.

Like the previous two, she too held a weapon. At first Carter thought it was a simple long staff, but then he noticed the round metal ball hanging off its end by a long chain. Vicious little spikes protruded from the metal ball, perfect for piercing armor. Both the staff and ball were composed of dull orange metal.

The last figure was a tall man in dark leather armor and green cloak. He was about Carter's real age, though while Carter had been soft and pudgy in middle age, this man was the opposite. Even while wearing full armor, Carter could tell that the man had hard, lean muscle on every limb. His thin face had days worth of unshaven stubble on its jaw, and his hazel eyes were keen, intelligent, and obviously sizing Carter up.

Strapped to the man's belt was a sword. From the length of its scabbard, Carter could tell that it was a longsword. He couldn't see its blade since it was covered, but Carter just knew that it would have been the same color as its hilt, which was a drab yellow.

He was beginning to suspect that this whole thing was not a dream.

Carter ceased his approach when he reached the center of the clearing. With the exception of the old man and the girl with the flail, he noted that all the figures stood a good distance away from each other. That meant that they probably weren't together then, and didn't belong to any one organization or group.

"Which one are you?" The big woman asked him gruffly.

"What?" Carter asked back, slightly confused at her question.

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed, looking very much frustrated at his confusion. "You new guys are all alike. Dumb as rocks, all of ya."

Before Carter could retort, the older man piped in. "What the she-brute means, is, which weapon do you hold?" He held up the scepter in his hand, its gray metal barely reflecting the light from the bonfire. "I have Abigail the Ashen. And my niece, Antana," he indicated the girl standing next to him, "wields Regina the Titian."

"Oh." Carter looked towards the giant, then to the man in the cloak. He regarded their weapons, noting the red and yellow metal respectively. So, they were wielders of the Witch Arms, just as he was.

He drew the magic gun from its holster and held it up for all of them to see. "I, uh, have Dorothea the Ebon."

Surprised looks appeared on all of their faces. The gaunt-faced man and the mercenary-looking one exchanged glances. The young girl looked scared. And the large woman looked absolutely furious.

"No fucking way!" she yelled out. "There's just no way! I refuse to believe that the Black Knight Dervon was taken out by this wimpy little weasel!"

Carter grit his teeth as he felt a flash of anger flare up. He sent a glare up at the tall woman. "Lady, I'm getting real sick and tired of your mouth."

She sent a glare back. "Do something about it, then, toad."

The small flare of anger suddenly became a storm. Carter's grip tightened around his Witch Arm. He was about to aim it at the arrogant giant when the sharp bark of a voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Enough!" The man in the cloak yelled out. His voice was deep and commanding; whoever this guy was, he was used to giving out orders.

"Stop giving the newcomer grief, Syf," he told the big woman.

The giant snorted in annoyance, but followed his order all the same.

"And you, newcomer." Carter almost stood up straight at attention upon being addressed by the man. His voice just reminded Carter too much of the RDC's that trained him back in Basic. "Ignore Syf's antics. She's always like that."

"O-okay," Carter said, though it was kind of hard to ignore a giant wall of muscle like her.

"I am Vaco Bardeyn," the man continued, introducing himself. "And I wield Helene the Xanthous." He drew his sword, allowing Carter to see its pure yellow blade.

"Laird Veyn," spoke up the older man. "I hold Abigail the Ashen." He once more held up the gray scepter. "And earlier I introduced Antana. She has Regina the Titian."

The girl in question gave a nod in greeting.

"Syfil Raas," the giant woman said. She pointed a thumb at the red greatsword strapped to her back. "Roseline the Cardinal."

Carter nodded as he tried to commit their names into memory. Interesting. So all the different Witch Arms corresponded to a certain color. He wondered what that meant.

"I'm Carter Lee," he said introducing himself. "I have Dorothea the Ebon."

"Well met, Carter Lee. Well met!" Laird said, a big smile on his face as he clapped his hands. "It's always a grand occasion when we introduce new blood into the fold. Ha ha." The man grinned, then held out his hands in a grand gesture, as if he was officiating some type of religious ceremony.

"Welcome to Walpurgisnacht!"