Chapter 8: A Day of Noble

Last Comradeship Camp

The first light of dawn painted the camp in sickly orange hues as Tetanus stumbled through the stake gate. His body was a wreck—his leather armor torn in several places, the cuts on his face and arms already forming dark crusts of dried blood. In his right hand, he carried a bundle of tattered red caps, still faintly smoking, with his canteen and supply pouch tied to his waist.

Farpa was the first to see him. The young soldier dropped the water bucket he was carrying, his eyes wide.

“CRIPES!” his shrill voice cut through the morning silence. “TETANUS IS BACK!”

Within seconds, Gume and Lâmina appeared from behind the tents. Gume, with his frayed red scarf and arms crossed, whistled at the sight of his friend’s condition.

“Hey, buddy, looks like you fought the devil... and lost,” he commented, his eyes scanning the wounds.

Lâmina, more pragmatic, was already holding a clean cloth and a bottle of aguardiente. Without ceremony, she poured the liquid onto one of the deeper cuts on Tetanus’s arm.

“Ow!” he grunted, recoiling.

“Calm down, relax,” she muttered, bandaging the wound with precise movements. “Spill it, idiot. What happened?”

Tetanus opened his mouth to answer when a deep voice echoed behind them:

“Let me guess...”

Tiradentes emerged like a ghost, his white shirt unbuttoned three times, long dark pants, and tall boots. The commander’s dark eyes fixed on the red caps in Tetanus’s hand, and for the first time since they’d known him, Tetanus saw something akin to surprise on the old mercenary’s face.

“Seven Sacis?” Tiradentes whistled softly, picking up one of the caps and rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “And you came back with your skin still on. Impressive.”

Gume snorted:

“Not that intact, boss.”

Tiradentes ignored the comment, studying Tetanus as if seeing him for the first time.

“And the supplies?”

“They were the ones stealing,” Tetanus replied, his voice hoarse. “Found the remains in an abandoned barn. They’d killed a horse... drank its blood.”

A heavy silence fell over the group. Even Farpa stopped bouncing.

“Damn,” Gume muttered, adjusting his scarf. “That’s something, huh?”

Tiradentes tossed the cap back to Tetanus, the corners of his mouth twitching upward slightly.

“Looks like someone deserves a bonus.” He pulled a small leather pouch from his belt and tossed it to Tetanus. “And some advice.”

Tetanus caught the pouch, feeling the satisfying weight of coins. “What’s that?”

“Spend it in Ouro Preto. Buy some decent armor, maybe a sword that doesn’t look like it came from a junkyard.” The commander glanced at the caps again. “And sell those rags to some superstitious fool. They’re probably worth a small fortune.”

Lâmina nudged Tetanus with her elbow:

“Can I tag along? It’s been ages since I saw a decent city.”

“Me too!” Farpa bounced like a rabbit, his broken tooth showing in a wide grin.

Gume sighed, but Tetanus saw the glint of interest in his eyes.

Tiradentes was already turning away when he said over his shoulder:

“Just don’t die. And Tetanus?” He paused without turning. “Good work. Really.”

Tetanus tucked the red caps into his pouch and walked with Gume, Lâmina, and Farpa toward the camp’s central area. The adrenaline from the previous night still pulsed in his veins, but exhaustion weighed like lead on his shoulders. He needed food, a bath, and maybe a corner to collapse for a few hours. His friends surrounded him, talking over each other, Farpa hopping and asking about the Sacis, while Lâmina tried to convince him to split the coins for a “decent night” in Ouro Preto.

“Dude, you killed seven Sacis!” Farpa exclaimed, nearly tripping over his own feet. “How are you not bragging more? I’d be telling everyone!”

“He’s exhausted, kid,” Lâmina shot back, smacking Farpa’s neck. “Let the guy breathe.”

Gume, walking with arms crossed and his red scarf swaying, chuckled softly. “Exhausted or not, Tetanus, you’re a legend now. Even Tiradentes is impressed, and that guy’s impressed by nothing.”

Tetanus just grunted, eyes fixed on the ground ahead. He didn’t feel like a legend. He was about to respond when a figure appeared, blocking the dirt path to the tents.

The mercenary leaned against a stake, arms crossed, a crooked smile twisting his lean face. His narrow eyes gleamed with malice, wearing worn boots, dirty linen pants, and a torn shirt that revealed the lean muscles of someone who survived more by cunning than brute strength.

“Look who’s back, the camp’s hero,” Rastro said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stepped forward, away from the stake. “Killed some little monsters and thinks he’s king, huh?”

Tetanus stopped, muscles tense. Gume, Lâmina, and Farpa halted too, exchanging glances. The tension in the air was palpable, like the heat before a storm.

“Get out of the way, Rastro,” Tetanus said, his voice low but firm. He wasn’t in the mood for games, not after the night he’d had.

Rastro laughed, a dry, taunting sound. “Get out of the way? I just wanna see if you’re all they’re saying.” He spat on the ground, eyes fixed on Tetanus. “Or are you only good against one-legged critters?”

Farpa opened his mouth to say something, but Lâmina grabbed his shoulder, silencing him. Gume just watched, face impassive, but with a glint that suggested something was about to erupt.

Tetanus stepped forward, his hand instinctively hovering over the empty space where his sword should’ve been. He’d lost it in the forest, and now all he had was exhaustion and a battered body. “Wanna test me? Come on, then.”

Rastro didn’t hesitate. With a speed that caught Tetanus off guard, he lunged, low and fast like a snake. His right leg shot out in a sweep, aiming for Tetanus’s ankles. The boy jumped by instinct, but Rastro was already moving, spinning and landing a quick kick to Tetanus’s thigh, making him stumble as pain exploded in the muscle.

“Fast, huh?” Rastro mocked, hopping back, boots kicking up dust. “Not fast enough!”

Tetanus gritted his teeth, anger reigniting the fire that had kept him going. He charged, fists clenched, but Rastro was slippery. The mercenary spun, using his legs like weapons, landing another kick that hit Tetanus’s knee, forcing it to buckle. A crowd was forming—other mercenaries drawn by the noise—laughing and shouting, some cheering for Rastro, others just enjoying the show.

“Beat him, Rastro!” someone yelled.

“Show the punk who’s boss!” another echoed.

Tetanus ignored the voices, focusing on Rastro’s movement patterns. He was fast, using his legs like blades, striking low to unbalance. But Tetanus had faced worse the previous night. He feigned another charge, letting Rastro attempt another sweep. When the mercenary’s leg came, Tetanus jumped, but this time leaned back in the air, using his body’s weight to land a kick on Rastro’s chest.

The impact made Rastro stagger, air escaping his lungs with a grunt. He recovered quickly, eyes blazing with rage. “You little shit!” he spat, charging with a flurry of quick kicks, one aimed at the ribs, another at the stomach.

Tetanus blocked the first with his forearm, but the second hit, knocking the breath out of him. He fell to his knees, the crowd roaring. Rastro seized the moment, leaping to deliver a final kick to Tetanus’s head, but the boy was faster. He rolled aside, grabbing Rastro’s supporting leg mid-motion and yanking hard.

Rastro lost his balance, crashing onto his back with a thud. Before he could get up, Tetanus was on him, knee pressing into his chest, hand gripping the collar of his torn shirt. Tetanus’s fist hovered, ready to strike, but he stopped, panting, eyes locked on Rastro’s.

“It’s over,” Tetanus said, voice hoarse but steady.

Rastro, face red with anger and humiliation, spat to the side. “This isn’t over, kid,” he growled, shoving Tetanus off to stand. He rose, brushing dirt from his pants, his narrow eyes burning with hatred. “You’ll regret this.”

Without another word, Rastro turned and limped away, the crowd booing and laughing. Some mercenaries shouted taunts, others returned to their tasks, the show over.

Gume, a hulking figure who could’ve stopped the fight earlier, approached, clapping Tetanus’s shoulder. “Damn, man, you’re collecting enemies faster than I thought.”

Lâmina laughed, crossing her arms. “He’s always been like that. Rastro’s a jerk, but he’s harmless. Just hates losing.”

Farpa, still bouncing with excitement, pointed at Tetanus. “You’re badass, man! Should’ve broken his nose!”

Tetanus didn’t reply. He adjusted the pouch at his waist and glanced where Rastro had vanished. Something in the mercenary’s look—not just anger, but a glint of envy and resentment—bothered him. Deep down, he was certain this wouldn’t be their last clash.

“Let’s eat,” he said finally, voice tired. “Before someone else wants to fight.”

Gume laughed, slapping Tetanus’s back, while Lâmina and Farpa followed him to one of the campfires, where the smell of mushroom stew was already spreading.

The sun was high when Tetanus finally right the campfire, his stomach full with the stew that, despite its questionable smell, tasted decent. Gume, Lâmina, and Farpa kept talking animatedly, retelling the fight with Rastro and speculating about what they’d do with the gold coins.

He, however, just wanted a moment of peace. His body ached, the cuts stung under Lâmina’s makeshift bandages. He needed a bath and rest—lots of rest.

He headed to the stream where he’d met Zara the previous night. The memory of her in the water, naked and unashamed, made his cheeks flush, but he pushed the thought away. No time for distractions. He needed to clean the dirt, dried blood, and lingering sulfur smell clinging to his skin.

The stream ran calmly, its clear water reflecting the gray rays piercing the tree canopy. Tetanus set his pouch and canteen on a smooth rock by the water’s edge, carefully removing his torn leather armor. Each movement made his muscles scream, and he noticed new bruises forming on his ribs and shoulder, courtesy of the fight with the Sacis and the clash with Rastro. He tossed the armor to the ground, followed by his dirty shirt, and stepped into the cold water, the shock drawing a sigh of relief.

The icy water soothed his cuts, washing away dried blood and dust. He dunked his head, scrubbing his face with his hands, careful of the cloth covering his left eye. The fabric was grimy, stained with sweat and dirt, and he decided it was time to replace it. Stepping out of the stream, he grabbed his pouch and pulled out a clean piece of linen Lâmina had given him. Sitting on the rock, he untied the old cloth, revealing the crescent-shaped scar where his eye should’ve been. The scar was old, but memories of his former caretaker felt fresh.

He tied the new cloth carefully, adjusting it to cover the void without pressing too hard. The fresh linen was a small comfort, but he couldn’t escape the weight of that empty space, a constant reminder of something lost. He was finishing the knot when he heard light footsteps on the path.

“Didn’t know you were so vain,” a familiar voice said, laced with that mocking tone he knew well.

Tetanus turned and saw Zara approaching, her boots firm on the dirt. She wore a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and leather pants with torn patches. Her red hair was tied in a loose ponytail, her green eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She stopped a few steps away, arms crossed below her chest, tilting her head.

“How you holding up, kid?” she asked, her tone more serious now, though still carrying that testing edge. “You can talk.”

Tetanus shrugged, his gaze subtly drifting to Zara’s chest. “I’m alive. That’s something.”

Zara laughed softly, sitting on a nearby rock, legs crossed. “Alive and with seven Saci caps. That’s more than ‘something.’ Tiradentes won’t shut up about you. I think he’s even considering promoting you.”

Tetanus snorted. “Don’t want a promotion. Just want a day without someone trying to kill me.”

“Good luck with that,” Zara said, a half-smile tugging at her lips. She fell silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the cloth covering Tetanus’s eye. “And that?” She nodded toward it. “What happened to your eye?”

Tetanus hesitated, his hand instinctively touching the fresh linen. He didn’t talk about it. Not even with his friends, not even with Farpa, who asked about everything all the time. But Zara was different. There was something in her manner—direct, without pity or judgment—that made the truth feel less heavy.

“A crow,” he said finally, voice low, almost swallowed by the stream’s murmur. “When I was a baby. Tore out my eye before anyone could do anything. I don’t remember much, but... the person who raised me told me once. I heard someone say I was born cursed.”

Zara just nodded. “Crows are bastards,” she said lightly, but with a hint of empathy. “But you know what’s worse? Surviving a crow and still dealing with idiots like Rastro. You’re doing alright, kid.”

Tetanus gave a faint smile, his first in hours. “Thanks. I guess.”

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She stood, stretching her arms as if ready to get back to work. “Finish cleaning up and rest. Tomorrow’s another day, and something tells me you’ll need all the energy you can muster.” She paused, glancing at the pouch. “And keep those things safe. If they’re as valuable as Tiradentes says, don’t let anyone steal them.”

“Got it,” Tetanus replied, tying the pouch tightly to his waist.

Zara gave a short wave and started to walk away but stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “And, Tetanus? Don’t let Rastro bait you again. He’s fast, but you’re smarter. Use that.”

He nodded, watching her disappear down the path, her bootsteps blending with the stream’s murmur. He returned to the camp, finding a quiet spot near his tent. He spread a tarp on the ground, lay down, and closed his eye, exhaustion finally overtaking the adrenaline.

The sky above was dead, as always, but Tetanus felt a spark of anticipation, imagining what it’d be like to visit a big city for the first time, and whether Ouro Preto would be as peaceful as Maragônia.

Tetanus woke with a start, his body refreshed from the previous day, gray rays hitting his face and rousing him. He lay on the tarp beside his tent, the damp ground under his back. His sleep had been deep but restless, haunted by uneasy dreams of traumas he’d been trying to bury.

He rubbed his face, the new cloth over his left eye still secure, and sat up, every muscle protesting.

The pouch with the coins and red caps was beside him, and he pulled it close, the familiar weight a small comfort. But when he untied the knot and looked inside, his heart froze. The gold coins were still there, hidden at the bottom, but the seven red caps—his battle trophies—were gone. The space where he’d kept them was empty, save for a faint sulfur smell that seemed to mock him.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, fists clenching. Only one person could’ve done this. Rastro.

Rage made him leap up, ignoring the ache in his ribs. He tied the pouch to his waist, grabbed his canteen, and stormed out of the tent, eyes scanning the camp. The place was still waking, with mercenaries lighting fires and hauling water buckets. Tetanus didn’t waste time. He knew where to find Rastro—the bastard was probably bragging somewhere, thinking he’d won.

As he crossed the camp, he heard a commotion near the stake gate. Muffled shouts and the sound of something hitting wood made him quicken his pace. Turning a corner, he saw Gume, the hulking figure, pinning Rastro against a wooden wall, his forearm pressing the mercenary’s throat. Rastro thrashed, face red, spitting insults between gasps.

“You idiot!” Rastro growled, trying to push Gume off. “Let me go, or I’ll cut you to pieces!”

Gume didn’t budge, his eyes cold as stone. “You’re not cutting anything, you rat. Give back what you stole.”

Tetanus stopped a few meters away, rage still simmering but now mixed with curiosity. Gume turned his head, noticing his approach, his face serious but with a faint glint of satisfaction.

“Tetanus, take this,” Gume said, tossing a cloth bundle toward him.

Tetanus caught it mid-air, unfolding it quickly. There were the seven red caps, still faintly glowing with that supernatural shimmer, the tattered fabric warm to the touch. He looked back at Gume, who now shoved Rastro hard, making him stumble and fall to the dirt.

“Get up and get lost, Rastro,” Gume said, his deep voice echoing in the damp air. “If I catch you messing with Tetanus’s stuff again, it won’t just be a few slaps.”

Rastro stood, brushing dirt from his pants, his narrow eyes burning with hatred. He spat on the ground, glaring from Tetanus to Gume. “You two will regret this. This isn’t over.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and slunk away, disappearing among the tents.

Tetanus gripped the caps, his anger giving way to cautious relief. “How’d you know?” he asked, looking at Gume.

Gume shrugged, adjusting his scarf. “Saw the bastard skulking around your tent at dawn. He thought he was being clever, but I sleep lighter than I look.” He clapped Tetanus’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “Now keep those safe, man. And you owe me one.”

Tetanus nodded, tucking the caps back into the pouch. “Thanks, Gume. Seriously.”

“Cut the mushy stuff,” Gume replied, laughing. “Come on, let’s grab Lâmina and Farpa. Weren’t you headed to Ouro Preto to spend those coins?”

Half an hour later, Tetanus, Gume, Lâmina, and Farpa were ready to leave. Tetanus had swapped his dirty shirt for a clean one, though his torn leather armor was still his only protection. He carried the pouch with the coins and caps, now secured more carefully, and a full canteen. Gume had a halberd slung across his back, its worn handle steady, while Lâmina adjusted a long knife at her waist, her eyes gleaming at the prospect of a city. Farpa, as always, bounced ahead, carrying a small backpack that seemed more stuffed with enthusiasm than supplies.

“Ouro Preto, uai!” Farpa exclaimed. “Bet there’s tons of stuff to buy! Like, cool daggers!”

Lâmina rolled her eyes. “If you spend it all on candy, I’ll tie you to a tree and leave you there.”

Gume laughed, walking beside Tetanus. “Relax, we’ll keep the kid in line. You decided what to buy yet? A new sword, like Tiradentes said?”

Tetanus shrugged, the pouch’s weight at his waist a constant reminder. “Maybe. Wanna see what’s there first. Never been to a big city.”

“Ouro Preto’s an interesting place,” Lâmina said with a crooked smile. “Full of merchants, drunks, some thieves. Like the camp, but with more gold and fewer Sacis. It’s technically one of the few cities that hasn’t fallen to the kingdom’s rot.”

“Hope so,” Tetanus murmured, memories of Maragônia surfacing. He glanced back, half-expecting to see Rastro lurking, but the camp was fading behind them, tents disappearing among the trees.

The group followed the dirt path, the dead sun hidden by dark clouds. The trail gave way to uneven cobblestones as they finally sighted Ouro Preto.

The city emerged among gray-green hills, stone houses with red roofs crowded as if vying for space. The air carried the scent of smoke, tanned leather, and fried food, mixed with the clamor of merchants shouting prices, creaking carts, and laughter echoing from taverns. It was a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the Last Comradeship Camp, and Tetanus felt a tightness in his chest—not fear, but a strange excitement.

Farpa, as usual, couldn’t stay quiet. “Look at this!” he shouted, pointing at a street vendor with a tray of stuffed bread. “Dude, they’ve got food that’s not rancid soup! We’re in paradise!”

Lâmina snapped at him. “Focus, kid. We’re here to spend smart, not stuff your face with dough.”

Gume laughed, his halberd swaying on his back. “Let the kid dream, Lâmina. But he’s right, this place is another world.” He looked at Tetanus, who walked silently, the pouch of coins and caps secure at his waist. “You ready to spend those coins, Tetanus?”

Tetanus shrugged. “First, I wanna see what I can buy. Tiradentes said these coins are worth a lot.”

The group stopped in a bustling square, surrounded by merchant stalls and wooden storefronts. A blacksmith hammered an anvil in the distance, while a woman shouted prices for colorful fabrics.

Tetanus opened the pouch, counting the gold coins Tiradentes had given him. There were thirty gleaming pieces, each stamped with the seal of the current king, Dom Pedro II. He’d heard a gold coin was worth about a hundred réis in goods, giving the group a total of 3000 réis—a small fortune for mercenaries like them.

“Alright,” Lâmina said, crossing her arms and eyeing the coins with a calculating glint. “Let’s split it fair. Seven coins each, and two extra for Tetanus since he killed the Sacis. Fair?”

Farpa pouted. “Why’s he get the extras?”

“Because he almost died for those caps, you ungrateful brat,” Lâmina snapped, flicking Farpa’s ear.

Gume chimed in, “Take it or get nothing.” His looming shadow hung over the group.

Farpa grumbled but nodded. Tetanus handed seven coins to each, keeping nine for himself. He still didn’t know what to do with the red caps but decided to sell them only after finding a buyer who wouldn’t cheat him.

“Alright, every man for himself,” Gume said, rubbing his hands. “I’m hitting the bar over there. I can smell good cachaça from here.” He pointed to a tavern with a crooked sign reading “Twisted Goose Tavern.” “Who’s with me?”

Lâmina rolled her eyes. “You’re gonna blow it all on booze? Pathetic.”

“Pathetic’s you not knowing how to have fun,” Gume shot back, already walking off with a wave. “See you at the end of the day! Or when I wake up.”

Farpa bounced with excitement, eyes fixed on a stall full of weapons glinting in the sun. “I want a bow!” he declared, sprinting toward the vendor before anyone could stop him.

Lâmina sighed. “Better go after him before he buys an arrow he can’t even use.” She looked at Tetanus. “And you? Know what you want?”

“A sword,” Tetanus said, voice firm. “Something that won’t break on the first hit... or get kicked away.”

Lâmina gave a half-smile. “Good choice. Go for it, buddy. We’ll meet at the square before sunset.”

Tetanus headed to the forge he’d seen entering the square, the sound of a hammer on metal guiding his steps. The blacksmith, a burly man in a soot-stained leather apron, looked up as Tetanus approached. The stall was packed with blades: knives, daggers, short swords, and some exotic weapons like hatchets and sickles. But what caught Tetanus’s eye was a greatsword on a wooden stand. It was a two-handed weapon, its polished steel blade reflecting the cloudy sky. The hilt was simple, the kind elite city guards might use.

“Interested, kid?” the blacksmith asked, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “That’s a war sword. Quality steel, forged to last. Heavy as hell, but cuts like a dream.”

Tetanus picked up the sword, testing its weight. It was heavier than anything he’d held, but months of camp training had strengthened his arms. He swung the blade with both hands, feeling its balance. It was perfect—not just a tool, but an extension of his rage.

“How much?” he asked, eyes still on the blade.

“Eight gold coins,” the blacksmith replied, crossing his arms. “And don’t haggle, it’s inflation.”

Tetanus hesitated briefly, but the sword’s weight in his hands felt right. He handed over eight coins, leaving just one in the pouch, and looked for a way to strap the new weapon. The blade at his side was a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

Meanwhile, at the weapons stall, Farpa haggled with a sharp-eyed vendor. The boy held a polished recurve bow with a taut string and a handful of colorful feathered arrows. “This is perfect!” he exclaimed, testing the string with eager fingers. “How much?”

“Five coins,” the vendor said, rubbing his chin. “And I’ll throw in ten arrows free.”

Farpa paid without hesitation, spending nearly all his coins, and left the stall with the bow in hand, already aiming at imaginary targets. “Lâmina, look at this! I’m gonna be the best archer in the camp!”

“You’ll shoot your own foot,” Lâmina mocked, but her eyes were fixed on a scimitar at another stall. The curved blade gleamed with an almost mirrored finish. She approached, testing its weight with one hand. “This one’s mine,” she said, almost to herself.

“How much?” she asked the vendor, a woman with gray braided hair.

“Six coins,” the woman replied.

“Six coins? What a robbery!”

Lâmina paid, sheathing the scimitar in a new scabbard that cost her last coin. She spun the blade in the air, her movements swift and precise, and smiled. “Now I’m ready for anything.”

---

The group reunited in the square at dusk, as agreed. Gume returned from the tavern, face slightly flushed, reeking of beer. He carried a half-empty bottle and a wide grin. “Best day of my life,” he declared, raising the bottle like a trophy. “And I’ve still got one coin for tomorrow!”

Farpa showed off his bow, trying to convince Lâmina to let him shoot at an apple he’d stolen from a stall. Lâmina, with her scimitar at her waist, just rolled her eyes, while Tetanus adjusted his greatsword, still getting used to its weight.

“Gume! You gotta help me strap this to my back,” Tetanus said, eyeing Gume.

Gume handed over his halberd’s scabbard. “Here. It’s big enough for that little sword of yours…”

“And now?” Gume asked, taking a swig from his bottle. “Find a place to sleep or spend the rest of the cash?”

“You guys can sleep,” Tetanus said, voice firm. “I’m gonna try to find someone to buy these caps.”

Lâmina nodded. “Good idea. But watch who you deal with. Ouro Preto’s full of crooks who’ll try to rip you off.”

Farpa, still playing with his bow, pointed to an inn across the square. “There! Looks warm and smells like food!”

The group headed toward the inn, the city’s noise enveloping them like a wave. Tetanus walked in the opposite direction, hand on his new sword’s hilt, eyes alert. Ouro Preto might be a place of opportunities, but he knew deep down it was also a place of dangers.

Tetanus crossed the street, heading away from the inn. But at the corner, he was hit by a wave of impure sounds and movements from the open door of a brothel.

He approached the entrance slowly, his eyes widening at the obscene scene unfolding before him. Scantily clad or outright naked women mingled in the shadows, while loud, older men drank and caroused, many with hands on forbidden parts of the women.

Tetanus felt a strange heat rise to his face. It was repulsive, yet fascinating. He’d never seen anything so explicit, even in the orphanage, and being alone in an unfamiliar city made it all the more dangerous and thrilling.

With a firm grip on his sword’s hilt, he entered, a crowd of curious eyes staring. A fat, bearded man approached, grinning with gold teeth.

“Look what we got here, ladies! A new customer, eh? How much you got, kid?”

Tetanus glanced around, his last coin glinting in his clenched hand. He knew he shouldn’t spend it like this, but something in him—a burning curiosity—pulled him into this forbidden world.

“I’ll pay one coin for a service,” he said, voice firm and resolute.

The bearded man laughed, slapping the thigh of a nearby brunette, pushing her forward. “Good choice, kid. This one’s our queen, the most popular whore in all of Ouro Preto.”

The woman smiled, her red lips gleaming in the dim light. She approached Tetanus. “I’ll give you a show you’ll never forget,” she said, pulling the hero up a staircase to the dark, sweat-soaked brothel.

The room was small and dimly lit, with a wide bed covered in frayed sheets. The brunette prostitute closed the door and turned to Tetanus, her eyes sizing up the young armed boy.

“How much time you got?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with disinterest.

Tetanus glanced at the wall clock and replied, “One hour.”

The woman sighed, running her fingers through her brown hair. “That’s not much time for games, but I can do something quick if you pay extra…”

Tetanus shook his head. “I want normal sex,” he said firmly.

She laughed, a sharp sound. “You’re new to a whorehouse, aren’t you? Here, you pay for specific services, not a romantic adventure.”

Tetanus felt a thread of anger unravel inside him. He hadn’t come here to haggle over prices and services. He just wanted to experience a prostitute, plain and simple. “I’ll pay for the full hour,” he said, louder than intended. “And I want everything you can give.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised by the boy’s insistence. “Well, if you’re that eager…” she said, starting to undress slowly.

Tetanus felt relief as she finally lay on the bed, naked and waiting. He undressed quickly, his eyes fixed on her breasts.

But as he tried to lie beside her, she pushed him back with a firm hand. “Hold on,” she said, her tone now sharper. “You can’t just come here and expect me to do this without even knowing your name, kid!”

Tetanus felt his anger slowly rising. With a growl, he grabbed the brunette prostitute by the waist and flipped her face-down on the bed, the force making the sheets jump. He positioned himself over her, between her legs, his throbbing erection pressing against her entrance.

“You don’t call the shots here. I pay, so I do what I want.”

He pulled his hips back and, with a brutal thrust, penetrated her in one go. She moaned, her fingers clawing at the sheets as she tried to adjust to his size and force.

“SLOW DOWN! NOT LIKE THAT!”

He began moving inside her vigorously, each thrust harder than the last. The prostitute moaned and writhed beneath him, but Tetanus didn’t slow down. He wanted to feel every inch of her closing around him.

The bed creaked under the frantic rhythm of the sex, the room filled with their heavy breaths and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

He kept pounding her relentlessly, until, at the moment of climax, a traumatic vision invaded him. He saw Father Arture, that cruel, depraved man who had abused him in the orphanage.

A child’s scream rang in his ears, and suddenly, Arture was standing over Tetanus, a sadistic expression on his face as he forced himself on the vulnerable boy. Touching him, exploring his body with those long hands.

Tetanus felt his blood turn to ice. That horrific scene replayed in his mind as if it were happening again. He saw Arture lean over him, smiling wickedly before penetrating him with a moan of pleasure.

For a moment, he felt like he was Arture.

With a scream, Tetanus leapt off the prostitute, grabbing her neck with force while still inside her. In a state of total frenzy and panic, he began to strangle her.

“You’re just like him,” Tetanus whispered, barely audible. “A whore, a child violator…”

And then, in one final swift, brutal motion, he finished strangling the prostitute, killing her.

Tetanus breathed heavily, climaxing inside her, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He turned to the door, checking the empty hallway before planning his escape.

The prostitute’s body was still warm as Tetanus fled the brothel, his breathing ragged, hands trembling as he dressed hurriedly. The smell of sex and death clung to his skin, but he couldn’t stop. Not now.

He ran through Ouro Preto’s streets, his new sword weighing like a ton behind him, feet pounding the uneven cobblestones. The city was alive with voices and laughter, but to Tetanus, it all sounded muffled, as if he were underwater.

Until he spotted a sign swaying in the wind: “Twisted Goose Tavern.”

It was a small, dingy tavern, the half-open door leaking the smell of sour beer and tobacco. Inside, flickering candlelight revealed hunched figures over mugs, but Tetanus had eyes for only one: Gume, sitting alone in a corner, an almost-empty beer bottle in front of him.

Tetanus entered, knuckles white from gripping his sword’s hilt.

Gume looked up, his face flushed from alcohol, but his expression shifted at the sight of his friend’s state.

“Damn, Tetanus.” He frowned. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Tetanus collapsed onto the bench beside him, shoulders tense.

“Beer,” his voice came out hoarse, like he’d swallowed embers. “Can you cover it?”

Gume studied his face for a second, then waved to the barkeep.

“Four.” He tapped his empty bottle on the table. “And another of these.”

The barkeep, a potbellied man with scarred arms, brought the drinks without question. Tetanus grabbed a mug with both hands, downing half in one gulp. The bitter liquid dripped down his chin, but he didn’t care.

Gume waited. He knew Tetanus well enough to know questions wouldn’t help now.

“I might’ve killed someone,” Tetanus said suddenly, his voice so low it nearly drowned in the tavern’s noise.

Gume didn’t flinch. He took a slow sip before replying:

“Did they deserve it?”

Tetanus stared at his hands. He could still feel her neck under his fingers.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Gume nodded, as if that was the most normal answer in the world.

“Alright then.” He pushed the new bottle toward Tetanus. “Four left for you to drink. Tomorrow, we get the hell out of this city.”

Tetanus swallowed hard. Was that how it worked? Kill and move on?

But as the second beer arrived, he realized it was.

That’s exactly how it worked.