Youkar, Walite - Chapter 1 - Ghost mercenary

In a dimly lit room, a pale-skinned elven girl dressed in black scale armor lies on a table. Her eyes tightly closed as a soft moan escaped her lips. In the haze, a pungent smell of alcohol wafts by her nose, followed by a sharp pain that shatters the brief drowsiness.

The girl suddenly opens her eyes, sits up, and realizes she is in a strange place, resembling a warehouse. An oil lamp standing next to her.

The greasy light of the oil lamp outlines the girl’s features. Her facial features elegant, with a pair of pointed ears, a petite and delicate nose and mouth with smooth skin.

The girl sat on the table, and behind her, a large white tail curved elegantly into an S shape on the tabletop. Her legs hanging down along the edge of the table, her hands by her side, resembling a delicate doll.

The only flaw is the girl’s emerald-green, messy hair covering her right eye, revealing only the left, a gray semi-transparent eye resembling a lone pearl.

Even more regrettable is the exquisite face, marred by a dark red vertical scar that runs from top to bottom across her left eye and a horizontal scar under her nose. Her skin is as pale as paper.

The girl’s name is Youkar Walite, this is her name, the only thing she remembers. As for the others, they call her “Youkar.”

“My head…” Her voice was clear, with an ethereal yet cold tone. “I remember, I fell from the slope, and… No, how did I end up here?” Youkar lifted her head, carefully observing her surroundings. It seemed to be a warehouse, with an office desk and chair in front of her, covered with various papers and documents. Behind the desk was a shelf neatly displaying a series of bottles and jars, with some seeming to store organs upon closer inspection.

Youkar’s tail suddenly twitched, and a sense of wariness filled her. Her eyes shifted elsewhere, catching sight of a person standing beside the shelf.

“Are you awake?” The person’s voice, slightly hoarse, exuded a certain amount of experience. He slowly made his approach, and the girl instinctively reached for her waist, only to realize her weapon was missing.

“Oh, there’s no need to be afraid. Old Emil brought you back after you fainted outside the town.” The man said, “You’re quite lucky; falling from there only resulted in some minor injuries.”

“Who are you?” Youkar warily looked at the person in front of her. His face covered by a mask, hair grey-white, skin slightly rough, sharing the same pale complexion as herself but with a hint of gray, almost lifeless. Black-framed square glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and under the ash-covered lenses, the waxen-yellow eyes seemed cloudy, his breath somewhat weak. The man was tall and slender, clad in a white coat and a black thin sweater underneath. His white pants, however, were somewhat dirty, with faint, mottled red stains, intermingling with the grimy gray.

“Cough, let me introduce myself,” the man said, hands behind his straightened back and an authoritative tone, “You can call me Doctor Faust, miss. This place is my private clinic.”

“A private clinic?” Youkar slid off the table, standing up. She took another look at the dubious clinic, without seeing any goddess statues, scrolls, or any marks of the goddess at all.

Seeing her doubt, Dr. Faust explained, “Oh, I forgot to mention, I’m not a priest. As you can see, I’m just an ordinary, unarmed man.”

“Do you know healing arts?” Youkar squinted her eyes and moved around. “No, not really. Only herbal and aromatic healing,” Dr. Faust answered.

“Clang!” Youkar accidentally bumped into a shelf, causing an iron plate to fall down, scattering its contents all over the floor.

Youkar quickly bent down to pick up the items and apologized to Dr. Faust.

He remained silent, watching Youkar recover and rearrange the items.

“Hmm… these are.” Youkar noticed some bloodied items in what she was gathering: several small knives, a needle, a spool of thread, and a few bundles of cotton balls.

Youkar organized these items and placed them back on the shelf. Dr. Faust explained to her: “These are my tools of profession… I haven’t had a chance to clean them yet. Oh, if you can, please throw those cotton balls into the trash bin over there.”

“Is this really a clinic here?”

“The treatment methods are a bit crude, but they get the job done.”

Youkar frowned, reached into her pouch, took out several silver coins (currency issued by the church), and asked Dr. Faust: “Is this enough as a consultation fee?”

Dr. Faust waved his hand and assured: “No need. You’ve only been here a short while.”

“Consider it compensation for your troubles.”

“No need for that.” A gleam of clarity appeared in Dr. Faust’s eyes. “You’re a mercenary, right? If possible, could you do something for the people in this town? I’ll try to offer you a relatively generous reward.”

A flash sparked in Youkar’s eyes when she heard about money, and asked: “What is it? How much?”

“There’s a bandit group on the southern mountain near the town; it’s not too large in scale. Although they don’t raid the town, they do harass the travelers outside the safety of the walls. Please deal with them if you can.” Dr. Faust reached and took out a black leather notebook from his pockets. “Business has always been slow for a small clinic like mine, not much money. I wonder if this item can serve as down payment? You might find some of its contents helpful.”

Youkar slightly furrowed her brows and opened the notebook, which contained a myriad of records of various herbs, formulas for making potions and many details about animal behavior, all accompanied by insightful illustrations.

“Hmm…” Youkar flipped through the notebook, rubbing her chin in thought. After a while, she closed the notebook, stowed it in her pouch, and said: “Deal.”

“Excellent, I’ll be waiting here for your good news,” Dr. Faust said as he walked to his desk. He retrieved two Eastern-style knives from it, with black scabbards both. One is named “Celestial Hold,” and the second “Crimson Seal.”

The handle of “Celestial Hold” displayed a light blue color, with faint blue patterns decorating the deep purple blade, as if a part of the starry sky itself had been left there. As for “Crimson Seal,” it appeared quite old, with the scabbard covered in wear and tear, and even the handle was crudely wrapped in tattered, limping cloth. The blade noticeably absent.

Dr. Faust handed the dual knives to Youkar. “Your weapons are here. By the way, how should I address you?”

“Just call me Youkar,” she replied, taking the knives from Dr. Faust and securing them at her waist. She then pulled down a black hood over her face and left the clinic in short order.

Stepping outside, the bright sunlight accompanied by the gentle breeze greeted her. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight, shook her head, and observed the scenic beauty of Crossroads Town. The sunlight was radiant, and the sound of birds could be heard. Everywhere was painted with a layer of tranquil charm, forming a vivid contrast with Dr. Faust’s clinic.

Known as the Kingdom of Winds, Snodham had a mild climate. It was spring, slightly rainy, creating a humid atmosphere. If one were to carefully search in the flower beds, they might discover a frog or two.

These things, Youkar was quite familiar with. She looked down the street, one end leading outside the town, and the other to the center of the town—the church. Two main streets intersected, forming a cross shape, with the church positioned at the very center. Shops and residential houses extended along the streets, giving rise to the name Crossroads Town.

Conveniently, the clinic was located on the southern street, so Youkar trotted along the cobblestone road and towards the southern gate.

The town’s walls were approximately two people high, the gate, a pair of wooden doors, without a moat. Only a muddy path led into the distance.

As Youkar walked toward the city outskirts, she was stopped by a guard. “Halt! Pay the toll!” The guard scowled at Youkar and shouted.

Puzzled, Youkar asked: “Pay a toll? What toll?”

“The fee for leaving the city, fifteen copper coins.”

Youkar furrowed her brows and argued: “Wait a moment, I remember, there’s no toll for leaving the city, only for entering, and that’s only when you have goods with you.”

The guard suddenly pushed Youkar back and said menacingly: “That’s how things are done in Crossroads Town! Don’t talk about other places! Pay the toll!”

Displeased and unwilling, Youkar reluctantly took out the money and handed it to the guard.

The guard took the money, and just as Youkar raised her leg to leave, a sharp and unwanted voice spoke up: “Wait! This one is a mercenary.”

Youkar glanced at a man with a rat-like appearance, sporting a three-pronged mustache. He stood there wearing chainmail under a deep blue cloak adorned with a golden emblem of the wind.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the guard greeted with great respect.

The tax officer, stroking his small beard, said to Youkar, “Mercenaries have an additional tax, and you are a sub-human, so there’s an additional sub-human tax, totaling one silver coin.”

A surge of anger welled up in Youkar as she questioned the tax official: “Are you collecting taxes or robbing? One silver coin is several days’ income for a farmer. Even mercenaries and adventurers have to kill several wolves to get that much.”

“If you don’t have the money, don’t make excuses,” the tax official straightened his posture, trying to appear imposing, and “kindly” warned Youkar: “Resisting taxes can land you in prison. Don’t act recklessly.”

“Fine, you want money, right?” Youkar, now quite irritated, reached out for her purse again. Seeing this, the tax official smiled with glee and put his hand forward to receive the money.

Unexpectedly, Youkar did not take out money but made a feigned move. She took a bold step forward and reached out to grab the tax official’s head.

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ah! Ah! Argh!” The tax official screamed in pain, and the guards quickly drew their weapons at the sight.

However, Youkar coldly uttered: “Do you want to die?”

With that, her grip on the tax official’s skull tightened, producing a cracking sound.

“Don’t… don’t, wait!” The tax official hastily stopped the guards.

Youkar bent down, crouching slightly, and stared at the tax official in her hands. She asked: “Now, may I inquire, Tax Official, whether you would exchange your life for one tax exemption?”