Chapter 23:Old Demir (Please add to your favorites)

His words caught Alicia off guard.

Secret god worship was grave for natives.

Rodinia—all sentients revered ancestors, not gods.

Race churches recorded hero deeds, guided learning from forebears.

Ancient times—human, beastman, elf, others coexisted decently.

Gods arrived—everything changed. Humans called it Dark Age.

Races united, expelled gods—but sparked millennia blood wars still ongoing.

World consensus: fight like dogs, but worship gods—face all-race vengeance.

“No problem. Reward—pick two from Winterhold treasury.”

“Agreed.”

Berius instant yes, handed compiled files, small comms magic device.

“All intel here. This contacts me.”

Done, Berius left, warned silence.

Back inn with thick docs, Alicia collapsed soft bed, heavy sigh.

“Miss Alicia back—what happened?”

Cosette poked head curious.

“Lord Berius gave tough commission—heretics.”

Alicia eyes closed, recounted day.

“You met Lord Berius?!”

“Focus?”

“Cough—sorry!” Cosette playful tongue, then:

“But what’s tough?”

“Files: cult secret human sacrifice, god ‘Ngyur’, symbol flame eye. Guards catch clueless small fry—no leads.”

Alicia rubbed temples, current state.

Zero-clue nightmare. Smash lair easy—this no.

“Tomorrow ask Mr. Demir? Decades Winterhold, well-informed.”

Cosette suggestion.

“Fine, know him?”

“Of course—healed knee arrow, or retired mercenary.”

Alicia mouth twitch—saved or trapped?

Next day, early guild.

Guild simple: left prep zones groups, right idle mercs lounge.

Atmosphere relaxed—tables chat lazy, corners ale-dazed bliss.

Alicia, Cosette arrival drew eyes.

Guild hot—many recognized Eastern face.

Cosette used chaos, polite reserved smile distance.

Knew mercs bored fun—engage fueled them.

Noise ignored, Alicia followed Cosette corner.

…

Ale still piss-taste.

Old man set mug, covered lone eye, stared dull reflection.

Once proud Fifth “Lark” legion scout—fearless, brave, confident, vital.

Bore Sechinsman pride, fought savage beastmen, countless kills.

Dream: defend home, promote sergeant, centurion, own manor.

Simple dream—till lost right eye battle.

Forced retire, unyielding—mercenary.

Grassland son no easy break.

Army experience second spring—till knee arrow.

Healed, but hires dried—leg wound, one-eye scout risky, age, better options.

Thought here, drained ale, raised mug for refill.

Then, two sat beside.

“Bagatur Demir?”

“Me.”

Demir turned—unknown woman, but Cosette behind recognized instant.

“Cosette, this?”

“Alicia, teammate with Cosette.”

Old Demir head rub thought, then dawning nod.

“You beat Harvisa…”

Gestured sit, attitude thawed.

“Cosette, Olga—don’t grieve too. Merc life. Least no dog death.”

Comfort first, then:

“Look—need help? Cosette healed me—ask, if can.”

Direct yes—Alicia no polite, low:

“Winterhold god worship—what know?”