Game Master in Another World

The next day, we set off for Ravencrest. Travelling as a caravan meant we had the luxury of riding in the cart while our prisoners marched alongside us. The journey would take the better part of the morning , and Faie had firmly insisted that Joan ride up in the carriage with us.

"Joan, do you know any good travel songs?" Sera asked. 

Joan thought for a moment. "Yeah, I know a couple. How about the one about the blacksmith and his apprentice?" 

Sera cocked her head. "Never heard of that one." 

Joan smiled. "Well, I'll teach you then."

"Right," Joan said, slapping her knee to establish a steady, plodding beat that matched the thud of the draft horses' hooves. "It's a call-and-response. I'll sing the story bits, and when I nod, you lot give me a hearty pump the bellows, boy! Got it?"

Sera grinned, leaning forward eagerly. "Got it."

Joan cleared her throat. Her singing voice was surprisingly rich and loud compared to her usual speaking tone. "Master says the fire's dying," she sang out, carrying a jaunty, working melody. She threw a sharp nod at the group.

"Pump the bellows, boy!" Sera yelled, pitching it a bit too loud and making Faie chuckle.

"Apprentice says he's really trying," Joan continued, her foot tapping against the cart's floorboards.

"Pump the bellows, boy!" Faie and Sera chorused together, catching the rhythm.

"Iron's cold and Master's roaring," Joan sang, raising an eyebrow at Drisnil.

I joined in, with my usual singing voice, achieving a quality of singing higher than the song deserved.  “Pump the bellows, boy.”

"Now the sweat is finally pouring!"

Next to me, I felt Illara shift. A small, tentative smile broke through the shadow that had hung over her since yesterday. As Joan looped back to the beginning to keep the song going, pointing at Sera to take over the main melody, Illara drew in a breath.

"Pump the bellows, boy," she sang softly, her voice blending with the others.

We kept the round going for several miles, the repetition and the rhythm lifting the heavy mood that had clung to us since the funeral. When our voices finally gave out, I pulled the wooden tiles I had carved earlier from my pack. We used the heavy, burn-marked blocks to play a few hands of Scum. It took a couple of rounds for everyone to grasp the rules, but once they did, the fierce, lighthearted competition made the rest of the journey fly by.

Our makeshift game was interrupted when the cart rolled up to a crossroads. Ahead, a merchant caravan had been forced to a halt, surrounded by five armed men. The moment the bandits spotted our heavily armed escort and line of prisoners, they scattered, bolting for the treeline.

Sensing an opportunity to test the boundaries of our arrangement, I vaulted out of the cart. "I’ll handle this!" I shouted back as my boots hit the dirt.

The others were too slow to follow.

After a few metres, I let go. I gave Drisnil full control, granting her a turn in the driver's seat.

My last words to her echoed in our shared mind: I want them alive.

She caught up to the five men with terrifying, effortless speed. One of them glanced over his shoulder.

"There’s only one," he sneered, pulling up.

The other four skidded to a halt, turning to face her with drawn blades.

"Well, well. You have got yourself in trouble now, little girl," a bandit with a thick moustache said.

"Heh, I think we might be able to have some fun with this one," a short, weaselly man squeaked.

Drisnil began to smile. A cold, razor-sharp expression that belonged entirely to her.

"Oh, look. She seems happy about it," remarked a bandit with most of his front teeth missing.

"Well, I am going to have some fun," Drisnil purred, her voice dripping with dark anticipation. "But I don’t think you will enjoy it much."

"Five against one, lassie. You don’t stand a chance," the tallest one growled.

Drisnil lunged. With a flick of her wrist, she drove her rapier straight into the weaselly bandit’s groin. He doubled over with a breathless shriek.

"Four now," she noted coolly.

The remaining four charged in a clumsy, uncoordinated rush. Drisnil danced through their strikes with lethal grace. She ducked under a wild dagger thrust, her short sword flashing out to slice cleanly through the man's sword arm, severing the tendons. He dropped his weapon with a howl.

She parried a frantic slash from the toothless man, stepping inside his guard and driving a brutal kick into his gut that folded him in half.

The third and fourth bandits lunged simultaneously. With a fluid twist, Drisnil caught their arms, using their own momentum to redirect their strikes. The sickening sound of steel sinking into flesh echoed as the two men inadvertently drove their blades deep into each other's stomachs.

Within moments, all five lay bleeding in the dirt.

Technically, none of them were dead. She had followed my rule to the letter, fully aware that Illara was only seconds behind us and perfectly capable of healing the worst of it. It was a vicious, calculated loophole, but the pact remained intact.

A minute later, the heavy thud of boots announced Cain and Illara's arrival.

"Drisnil, please don’t run off like that, it is—" Illara started to scold, before her eyes swept over Drisnil's predatory stance and the five groaning men bleeding out on the ground.

She stopped. "Oh. You are that Drisnil," she said quietly.

"It seems my fun is over," Drisnil sighed, the disappointment thick in her voice.

I clamped down and took control back, the sudden weight of the body settling over me once more.

"I hate it when you do that," Illara said matter-of-factly, already moving to kick away the discarded weapons and begin tying the men up.

"I know," I replied, exhaling a shaky breath. "But it is part of the agreement."

Cain frowned, looking between us. "I have no idea what you are talking about. Do I want to know?"

"Yeah," I said simply. "Probably not."

Once we returned to the caravan, our prisoner count had swelled to twelve. Illara had healed the newly acquired bandits just enough to ensure they wouldn't die, but left them battered enough to ensure the journey wouldn't be comfortable.

One of the merchants approached us. "Thank you for saving us. Is there any way I can repay you?"

"Are you heading to Ravencrest?" Cain asked.

"Why yes, we are heading that way," the merchant responded.

"Well, we now have many more prisoners and could do with some assistance transporting them."

"Ah, I see. I think we can help with that."

The two merchants joined our ever-increasing caravan. We progressed along the road for a few more hours before the walls of Ravencrest finally loomed into view.

We parted ways with the merchants and joined the queue for the main gates. Straight away, the hair on the back of my neck prickled. Something was off. There were men stationed at the entrance wearing unfamiliar uniforms—people I didn’t recognise.

"Halt," said the first guard, stepping forward. "What are you transporting?"

"Twelve prisoners. Five of them bandits, seven of them soldiers led by Percy to attack us. And Percy’s head," Cain responded, showing the guard the bag with its grisly contents.

The guard looked over the battered prisoners and the severed head in the bag.

"Right. Please make your way to the barracks. Private Timmons will escort you."

Cain thanked the guard, and we entered the Ravencrest gates.

We followed the familiar path to the barracks. Private Timmons pushed open the heavy wooden door. “Please wait here. I’ll go retrieve the captain.”

We didn’t have to wait long before a short, stout, older man approached us.

“Good day. I’m Captain Guthery,” he said, his gaze sweeping over our group. “I understand you have two types of prisoners on your hands.”

Cain nodded. “Yes. We have the guards from Ravencrest, along with some low-level bandits.”

Joan dismounted from the cart and silently joined her fellow captive soldiers.

Captain Guthery inspected the prisoners, his expression unreadable. “Private Timmons, take these bandits straight to the gallows. As for the guards, I will have them placed in the holding cells.”

Private Timmons saluted, gathered up the terrified bandits, and marched them off toward the back of the barracks. Captain Guthery then motioned for another guard to escort the Ravencrest soldiers to the cells.

Faie immediately started protesting. “Please don’t take Joan away! I’ve only just managed to woo her.”

Joan smirked. “Don’t worry, Faie. I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’ll come and bend you when I’m out.”

Faie crossed her arms and pouted, though the flush rising in her cheeks suggested she was more than a little excited by the prospect.

“With that sorted, how about some of you join me inside?” Captain Guthery said, turning his attention back to us.

Cain and Jenna followed the captain into the barracks.

With Cain and Jenna handling the politics inside, there was no reason for the rest of us to linger in the barracks courtyard. I caught Illara’s eye, and without needing to say a word, we both understood it was time to go home.

The walk back through the familiar streets of Ravencrest was a quiet one. The city bustled around us, oblivious to what we had just been through, but the heavy exhaustion of the journey—the fights, the loss, the sheer tension of keeping Drisnil in check—was finally catching up to my muscles.

Once we crossed the threshold of our home, the silence of the empty house was a welcome relief. We didn't even bother unpacking the bags. Instead, we focused on the only thing that mattered: drawing water and getting the hearth fire going to heat it.

The bath was blissfully, scaldingly hot. Peeling off our stiff, road-dusted gear and stepping into the steaming tub felt like shedding a heavy, second skin. Illara slipped into the water opposite me, sighing as the heat lapped at her collarbones.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. We just let the warmth soak deep into our tired bones, the silence of the room broken only by the gentle slosh of water. Slowly, the grime of the road, the sweat of the journey, and the lingering, copper scent of violence began to wash away.

Illara picked up a cloth, shuffling closer in the water to gently wipe the dirt from my shoulders. The rhythmic, soothing motion was incredibly grounding; a simple, human kindness after the brutality of the morning. I took the cloth from her next, returning the favour, taking my time to carefully work the dust and tangles from her hair.

As the water cooled, I watched the tension slowly bleed out of her shoulders. In the quiet safety of our own home, the heavy shadows of the past few days finally began to recede.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!