Chapter 22: The Cooking Pot

“Sorry about that,” I replied. Scar reeked of alcohol, and I didn’t need to make someone like that angry. I just stepped off to the side. There were more important battles than between us Dupes—even Dupes like Scar.

He shook his head, and he and his posse marched up to the cooking pot. I hung back and watched, waiting for the others to get their bowls.

Scar marched to the front of the line, cutting in front of Ticks, but Ticks let him go begrudgingly. When Scar reached the pot, he tousled his hand through Hild’s apprentice’s hair. The girl couldn’t have been any older than twenty, and Scar was probably ten years her senior, so at first I took it as a gentle gesture. Maybe like a father.

But she shifted away from him, retreating closer to Hild, and I grimaced.

“Ah, come ‘ere, lass,” Scar said. “I don’t bite…unless you make me.”

I rolled my eyes. What kind of pickup line was that? But Hild kept quiet, and no one else said anything. Scar snatched his bowl with a grin, then marched over to a toppled log and sat nearby.

“Hey, Hild, I think she’s been standing long enough!” Scar said, and a few of the other Dupes with him laughed. I winced, noting Scar’s sergeant pauldron. He patted the log beside him and said, “Come on, let her take a seat!”

No one said anything, not even Hild or her apprentice. Ticks just grabbed his bowl of soup and kept going. While Ticks walked over, Scar started flicking food at the back of Hild’s head.

“God, you couldn’t make a nastier man if you tried…” I muttered.

“Don’t even think about it, Levi,” Romance said.

“Does he have a soul?” I asked.

Shave grimaced. “Even those with a soul can still turn out to be terrible men, no matter how much we hate it.”

“Let’s just get back to our tent,” Elf muttered.

I sighed, about to take a step along with them, but Scar reached out and grabbed the apprentice’s arm, trying to drag her back. Hild slapped him on the wrist with a soup ladle, but that didn’t break his grip. He was a Dupe, after all.

My grimace turned to a scowl.

“It’s not worth it, Levi,” Romance insisted. “Come on, they’ll figure it out, or they won’t.”

“What’s the punishment for men like Scar?” I whispered.

“Lashes. If they get reported and caught,” Shave replied. “Which no one will bother with. There’s far more discipline up north. Galliard is…soft.” He was picking his words carefully. “He thinks it’ll make us serve him better.”

“Well, his softness is going to get someone hurt.”

Scar dragged the apprentice down onto his lap. “Ah, now that’s a good—”

“Enough,” I said, stepping back into the flickering firelight. I pressed my spear into Romance’s hands. Since Scar and the others weren’t carrying their weapons, it wasn’t a huge risk, and I didn’t want to escalate too much.

“What’s that, Atoning?” one of Scar’s men asked.

“Say it a little louder, boy, so we can hear you!”

“I said, enough!” I tightened my fists.

“And who are you to stop a sergeant?” Scar laughed.

“There are rules here, sergeant or not,” I said. “I may be an Atoning, but I’ve heard the decorum lectures. Let her go.”

“And if I refuse?”

Romance and Elf stepped forward, begrudgingly following me, and Shave was close behind them.

“Then I’ll make you let her go,” I said, trying to inject as much confidence into my voice as I could. Rules only existed if you had the violence to enforce them, and I’d be damned if I was just going to let this go. It just wasn’t right.

“Big talk for a little Copper. You’re bluffing.”

I gulped, then lunged forward, snatching onto Scar’s arm, as if to make the threat more real. He threw me off and made a fist, but then the apprentice slammed her head back into his scarred over eye. He released her instinctively, and she raced back to Hild.

Leaving me to stare down Scar’s posse on my own.

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They were all Irons, as far as I was aware, and they had no weapons on them. But they were certainly stronger than me. At least I had my armour on still, and they didn’t.

When Scar threw a punch, I was ready. I saw it coming from miles away, and I ducked back, letting his fist brush past my nose guard, before countering with my own. I hadn’t trained much hand-to-hand with Shave, but I knew enough to not break my knuckles when I retaliated, hitting Scar in the chest. His gambeson might have been padded, but it didn’t do much against my fist, and it sent the drunk Dupe staggering back a few steps.

I glanced side to side. One of Scar’s men tried to tackle me, but Romance darted in, grabbing the Dupe’s forearms and wrestling him to the ground.

After that, all hell broke loose, and I devoted my Focus to keeping myself out of harm’s way—and dishing out a little harm of my own. Elf rushed in beside me, attacking a different man. I ducked away from punches and kicks. My fist caught another Dupe in the nose, and the impact took as much skin off my knuckles as it did his. But at least his nose gave a satisfying crunch.