Extra's Survival: Raising SSS-Rank Characters Is My Only Option

The supper was river trout and black bread and a stew with actual meat in it, and Harun had not lied about the kitchen.

Jin was on his second bowl, listening to Berrick and Yohan argue about crossbow maintenance, watching Gus - seated at the table with them now, still faintly disbelieving about it.

He was working through his bread when the door banged open, and the cold came in.

And with the cold came in a man - a soldier to be precise. Two more came in behind him, stamping the mud off their boots.

He wore a rusty red and grey, over a mail shirt that had seen better days - one look and anyone could say he was from House Maren. The two behind him wore the same colors but were younger, quieter.

The man was big, going soft in the middle, with a raw, drink-flushed face, and he walked into the common room as if the house owed him money.

The room immediately got quieter.

”Marla!” the soldier called out, dragging a chair around and dropping into it.

”Wine. The good one, not the vinegar you serve the boatmen. And bring the ledger while you’re at it - collection’s early this month.”

Jin had a very bad promotion about the man, not exactly bad for him but the man himself.

’Appraise.’

[ Name: Dagg ]

[ Age: 29 ]

[ Realm: Initiate ]

[ Star level: One ]

[ Talent: Common ]

’One star initiate! Same as me, and every field is visible!’

Jin turned back to his stew, unimpressed by the soldier with common talent. Now that he thought about it - the Talent part of the status was a bit confusing.

Jin’s status itself didn’t have anything like that, but the skill was judging other people’s.

And till now, he had only come across ones with common talent or those whose status he could not see.

’And Gus,’ whose talent supposedly exceeded the system parameters.

’Should I ask for a third bowl?’ he wondered, keeping down the second bowl finished clean.

He glanced once at Dagg’s two men before writing them off.

’Another One-star initiate, and one without even a star to his name.’

Meanwhile at the hearth, Marla stiffened.

”The collection was paid, Dagg,” she said, without turning. ”Two weeks past, and I paid in full.”

”Was it? Well.” The soldier put his boots up on her table. ”Rates went up.”

’And there it is,’ Jin thought and turned back to his meal.

It was not his business.

Jin told himself this clearly and firmly. He was still nine days away thanks to the unexpected stay at the Cavell and the slow pace with which they were travelling.

In a territory of a house he didn’t know, and a half-drunk noble’s soldier shaking down an innkeeper was, regrettably, simply what the world looked like.

’If I slap him and ride off tomorrow, I feel good for one evening. Then he comes back next week with more men, and she pays for my good mood for years.’

Jin knew that interfering halfway is worse than not interfering at all - he knew that because he too was once a man who used to receive half-hearted help from people, which landed him in greater troubles.

So he kept eating.

He thought he would be able to ignore it, and he did ignore it, until the things stopped being about the money, that is.

It escalated the way these things always escalate - by inches, and then all at once.

Dagg drained the jug in four long pulls and set it down hard enough to rattle the table.

”Another,” he said.

Marla didn’t move from where she stood by the hearth. ”You’ll pay for the first one before I pour the second.”

”Pay for that?” Dagg pushed the jug toward her with two fingers, as it had wronged him. ”That was vinegar, woman. Bring me something that isn’t sour, and we’ll call it even.”

”It’s the same wine everyone in this room is drinking.” Marla’s voice stayed level, but she didn’t reach for the jug.

Dagg leaned back, grinning at nothing in particular. ”Maybe it’s the company that’s souring it, then.”

A few low laughs from the soldiers at his table while the rest of the room had gone quiet.

Marla crossed to him anyway and took the empty jug off the table. ”You’ve had your drink. There’s the door.”

Dagg caught her wrist before she could turn away. ”I like this door better.” He nodded toward the kitchen, where the lamplight spilled out warm and yellow. ”Warmer than the road, I’d bet. Warmer than most beds too, from the look of you.”

”Let go of me.”

”Or what?” He was still smiling, but his grip didn’t loosen. ”What will you do if I don’t?”

At the edge of the room, Jin’s table was at the verge of losing nerves. Harun had stopped eating, and Sir Gareth had gone still - even Gus was looking at the scene with concerned eyes, but Jin....Jin was working through his meal.

Marla wrenched her wrist free. ”Last warning, Dagg.”

She planted herself between him and the kitchen doorway, jug still in hand. ”You’ve had your drink. Get out of my house.”

Dagg stood. His chair went over behind him, cracking against the floorboards. ”Your house.”

He said it like the words tasted bad. ”You stupid cow, your house sits on Maren land. Everything on Maren land belongs to Maren, and I’m the man Maren sent.” His eyes slid off her, toward the kitchen doorway, where Senna stood frozen mid-motion with a rag in her hands, close enough to have heard all of it. ”Everything,” he said again, softer, and started toward the girl.

’Not my problem,’ Jin told himself, one last time, already knowing it was a lie.

Marla got there first, threw herself between Dagg and the doorway, jug raised. He caught her wrist before it landed and twisted, and she cried out - short, more surprise than pain, but it was enough to make Senna scream, high and raw, backing into the shelving so hard a pot came down and rang against the stone floor.

The one at the window laughed. That was the part Jin couldn’t get past afterward, thinking back on it - not the shove, not the wrist, but that someone had found it funny.

Dagg shoved Marla aside into the table, plates skidding. ”Stay out of it, woman.” He reached for the girl himself, got a fistful of her sleeve.

”Let go - let go of me!” Senna twisted away from him, the rag flying loose across the floor, and screamed again -

Jin’s fork was already moving before he’d finished deciding to move it.

It crossed the room flat and fast, no arc to it at all, and caught Dagg square above the ear hard enough to snap his head sideways. He staggered, one hand flying up to the spot, more startled than hurt, and let go of Senna’s sleeve on reflex.

Every head in the room turned toward where the fork had come from. Only then did Jin speak.

”Harun.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The word came out into the silence like a coin dropped on stone.

”Beat that piece of shit up. Try not to break the furniture. It isn’t ours.”

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