A Tale Of A Scribe Who Retires To The Countryside [EN]: Chapter 405

405. Uninvited Guests in the Wilderness

Zaina lived in a small village in Pasa. Unlike other girls her age, she wasn’t interested in pretty clothes or hairstyles. Her village, nestled on the border between the desert and the wilderness, was prone to frequent sandstorms. Remote and small, Zaina had no parents to care for her.

But Zaina didn’t mind too much. She worked at the only lodging and restaurant in the village, which she jokingly called ‘Pigsty.’ Many of the other children were also cared for by relatives or neighbors.

Zaina, quick-witted and sociable, was actually better off than many of the other children. At least at ‘Pigsty,’ she got food every day, and the work wasn’t life-threatening.

Thump. Thump.

Listening to the old door rattle against the sandstorm, Zaina wiped down a table. It would be covered in sand again soon, but she knew it was best to show Behram, the owner and innkeeper, that she was working hard.

Thump, whoosh.

Zaina was going through the motions of cleaning the table when the door suddenly burst open. The sandstorm rushed in as if it had been waiting for the opportunity. Zaina frowned. Now she really had something to do.

Thud, thud.

The ‘guests,’ faces and mouths covered, eyes barely visible, stumbled inside, clutching their collars to keep out the sand.

‘It’s all going to get into your clothes anyway,’ Zaina thought. ‘When a sandstorm hits, it’s best not to move. Why wrap yourselves up like that and wander around foolishly?’

Clack.

Zaina quickly closed the door, waiting for the ‘guests’ to come in. Not for their sake, but to minimize her workload.

“That’s quite a sandstorm,” a young man said, unwrapping the cloth from his face. He looked pale and a bit overwhelmed, as if he’d never experienced anything like this before.

“Still, we’re fortunate to have found this village,” replied another young man, quite handsome. Dark eyebrows, intense eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard gave him a striking appearance. They spoke in Celestial [a common language in many fantasy settings], not Pasa, but Zaina understood them well enough. Of course, she couldn’t read or write in either language.

“Sit anywhere,” Zaina said with a shrug. The weak-looking young man didn’t understand her Pasa.

“She says to sit anywhere,” the handsome young man translated. As they took their seats, the other guests shook off the sand and removed their face coverings.

“It’s a truly terrible sandstorm,” a beautiful young lady said in a clear voice. Her words were neither Pasa nor Celestial, so Zaina didn’t understand her either.

“I never imagined it could be like this.”

She was truly beautiful, even to Zaina. Maybe the princess who lived in the palace of Pasa looked like that?

‘Hmph, it doesn’t matter how pretty you are in a place like this,’ Zaina thought, glancing at her with a sulky expression. But it didn’t last long. Showing hostility to strangers was foolish.

“Hmph, never mind not being able to see…” An old man with white hair, a white beard, and even white eyebrows frowned as he unwrapped his face covering.

“This damn sand is just awful.”

The grumpy old man glanced at Zaina and quickly surveyed ‘Pigsty.’ His gaze was so intense that Zaina decided to avoid him if possible.

‘…These people are strange,’ she concluded after briefly observing the ‘guests.’

One of the ‘guests’ was a woman wearing a veil under her face covering. As soon as she removed the cloth, she put on a wide-brimmed hat with another veil attached, even though there was no sunlight indoors.

The woman with the pale face was just as odd. She whipped off the long hood attached to her coat and did nothing else. She didn’t even bother to shake the sand from her long, black hair.

‘I don’t even understand what they’re saying…’

The language they spoke among themselves was unfamiliar. Besides, their faces were unfamiliar to begin with. But it didn’t matter. They were just visiting to escape the sandstorm.

“Where do I leave the horse?”

Celestial words came from behind Zaina. She turned, startled. A boy so handsome he made her eyes widen stood before her. When she didn’t answer, he smiled and asked, “Why?”

“Ah, it’s nothing. You can tie the horse next to the door. If you’re staying the night, move it to the stable in the back later.”

The boy tilted his head, not understanding Pasa. But even that looked attractive to Zaina. Even the grains of sand in his hair seemed to shine like jewels.

“She says to tie it up, young master,” the handsome young man said in Celestial. The boy nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Zaina’s cheeks flushed at his smile. If Behram saw him, he’d say he ‘looked like a girl,’ but in Zaina’s eyes, he was a hundred times better than the hairy men who just drank and bragged every day. She watched him shake off the sand and sit down, then scurried to the kitchen.

“Those ‘guests’ are…”

Clack.

Behram slammed down a water bottle.

“Don’t think useless thoughts and do your job.”

Zaina quickly shut her mouth, picked up the dirty water bottle and chipped glass, and headed back to the guests’ seats. More precisely, to where the handsome boy was sitting.

“Excuse me…”

Zaina carefully put down the water bottle and glass, about to say something to the boy.

“What’s available right now?” the handsome young man asked in Pasa. He seemed to be the only one who spoke it.

“Grilled dried meat and Taftan [a type of flatbread],” Zaina said bluntly. That’s all they had anyway.

“Grilled meat and Taftan…”

Taftan was a thin, baked flatbread made from fermented wheat flour, a common food in the area.

“Bring that to us. Ah, and there’s no pork in it, by any chance…”

Before he could finish, Zaina scurried back to the kitchen. She didn’t like being interrupted when she was trying to talk to the boy. Rahman, the handsome young man, smiled wryly. Pasa had adopted Islam as its state religion, so they wouldn’t violate those precepts, not even in a remote village.

“Sir, you should return to the Imperial Palace now,” Son Bin said with a soft smile, sitting across from him. Rahman, an Imperial Guard directly under the Empress, shook his head.

“This is my duty. I sent the other guards back as you said, but I cannot leave.”

Knowing Rahman’s nature, Son Bin didn’t press the issue. His loyalty and unwavering devotion were indeed worthy of the Empress’s trust.

“Is this even safe to drink?” Hwang Bang-ju frowned at the water bottle. It was made of porcelain, perhaps to look formal, but it was chipped and dirty. A leather water bag would be preferable.

“Wait a minute. Let me try it first…”

Just then, crash.

“Damn it.”

A man kicked the door open, cursing.

“What’s with this sudden sandstorm?”

The man grumbled, removing his face covering. A distorted face with a beard and a violent expression was revealed.

“But isn’t it fortunate? That we met the sandstorm after arriving. If it was in the middle, we would have had to huddle behind a rock. Hehehe.”

Another man followed, laughing loudly. Then, several more men entered. All of them had large, curved swords hanging from their waists.

“Is everyone here?”

The man glanced at Son Bin’s group and looked back to check on his own. Including himself, there were twelve men.

“Where’s the youngest?”

“He’s tying up the horse. Ah, that’s right!”

The man who answered suddenly closed the door and pressed himself against the wall. A moment later, the door burst open and another man entered.

“Iyap!”

The man waiting by the door suddenly punched. But the entering man tilted his head back and dodged the blow with surprising agility.

“Oh, no. You shouldn’t do that, brother.”

“Hehehe. I didn’t get caught.”

“Hehe, how many years have we been eating sword rice [a metaphor for a life of martial arts] that you think I’d get caught by that? More than that, how long are you going to keep doing that pointless prank?”

The two men exchanged words, chuckling, as if they were at home. Thump, thud. The burly men with swords sat down haphazardly. There were thirteen of them in total, all with unpleasant expressions.

“Hey! What are you doing? Bring some water!”

A man frowned and shouted at Zaina, who was peeking out of the kitchen. She quickly ducked back inside.

“Oh, is that so? I’ll just…”

The man started to get up.

Swish.

The man flinched. A large, rough-looking, bald man appeared from the kitchen. He held a large knife, almost an axe, probably for cutting meat.

“What will you eat?”

Swish, swish.

The man, Behram, roughly wiped the blood-stained knife on his dirty clothes. He truly fit the word ‘butcher,’ and even the rough men flinched at his appearance. Noh Gun, receiving a new glass of water from Dang Ah-wol, glanced up at Behram.

“What’s available?”

Gulbahar, the leader, broke the tension. Behram replied bluntly, “Grilled meat and Taftan.”

It was a common dish, but excellent for such a remote place.

“Okay, then that and…”

“Is there any alcohol?”

Another man asked.

“The Prophet has forbidden it, so there’s no way there would be any.”

The men frowned. Behram’s butchering was far from the precepts. But before they could curse, Behram said, “But there is water from Taftan.”

Taftan was the name of a food, but also of an active volcano nearby. ‘Water from Taftan’ meant strong moonshine.

“Hey, boss…”

The men, brightening at the mention of alcohol, looked at Gulbahar. He smirked. A little alcohol would make things easier. And he needed some strong alcohol to wash away the sand in his throat.

“Okay. But don’t get drunk, you bastards!”

The men chuckled at Gulbahar’s scolding.

“Did you hear that? Bring it here.”

“The money?”

Gulbahar took out a small pouch and threw it.

Clack.

Behram caught it and weighed it. Then, he went into the kitchen.

“Aren’t you giving too much, boss?”

A man whispered.

“Hey, I said call me brother…”

The man lowered his head. Gulbahar smirked.

“It’s okay. We’re going to take that money back anyway.”

They were thieves. They had planned to attack and plunder the village, but the sandstorm forced them to hide their identities.

“Ah, I see.”

The man scratched his head and glanced at Son Bin’s group.

“It seems we only need to worry about that big guy from before.”

The boss nodded. How many men in this small village would wield a sword?

“If necessary, you guys take care of him.”

“Don’t worry. If several of us attack at once, even the strongest guy…”

He was interrupted. Zaina carried a large wooden tub from the kitchen.

“Kha.”

The men, throats stinging from the sand, drank the strong ‘water’ with gusto. Zaina had to carry the tub several times. While waiting for the grilled meat, some of the men glanced at Son Bin’s group.

“That bastard, he’s really into women…”

“Hehe, what are you talking about, boss? You saw them as soon as you came in?”

The men chuckled. They were looking at Sa Soo-yeon and Dang Ah-wol. One was veiled, the other hooded, but their curves were obvious.

“Two young women and five men, one old, one a boy…”

The men’s eyes shone with greed. Only Rahman could wield a sword, and they were numerous. Drunk, they saw no reason to be patient.

“Hey, you there…”

Just as a man was about to speak to Son Bin’s group.

Thump.

The door opened and a sandstorm swept inside. The men frowned.

“Damn it. Which bastard…”

He stopped.

Thud, thud.

Men in black coats entered silently. Seven men, eyes sharp beneath their hoods.

Swish.

Without removing their face coverings, they looked at the bandits and Son Bin’s group. Thump, thump. The sandstorm continued, but no one spoke. The murderous aura of the men in black filled ‘Pigsty.’

Clack.

Zaina closed the door. One of the men glanced at her, but said nothing.

Thud, thud.

The men in coats sat in the empty seats. With the others, there were twenty-seven people, making the place even more cramped. Zaina, sighing at the extra work, noticed someone was missing.

‘Huh? Where did one person go?’

Geomhee, the cold-eyed woman with long hair from Son Bin’s group, was gone. But Zaina didn’t dwell on it. It was none of her business. The problem was the handsome boy, Seo Rin.

‘Oh, what should I do?’

Zaina, looking at the boy sipping water, glanced at Behram, who was grilling meat on the stove.

“Here.”

One of the men in black coats called Zaina. She scurried over.

“Why?”

“Bring water,” the man said in a rough voice.

“Real, water.”

The bandits’ faces twisted. In the Islamic region where alcohol was forbidden, moonshine was often called ‘something water.’ He was mocking them. Gulbahar glared at the man, who arrogantly provoked him.

Grit.

Gulbahar gritted his teeth. The tension filled ‘Pigsty,’ broken by Zaina’s voice.

“Anything else?”

The man turned to Zaina and frowned, but she didn’t back down.

“Aren’t you going to order anything other than water?”

A small girl, Zaina, boldly looked up at the man in the black coat with a sulky expression.

(Author’s words)

And water is self-service?