“This is a little excessive, don’t you agree?” Prosciutto remarked while looking at the heart.
“Can I have that?” Formaggio asked.
“Sure,” Pesci replied, tossing him the heart. The redhead took it and retreated to his room. The green-haired man then looked at his brother. “What’s my reward for this contract?”
“You get an enchanted ring to help with spell casting and 600 Septims.”
Just before Prosciutto could hand him the bag of coins, Pesci grabbed his arms.
“That’s it? No increase in rank? I should be an Eliminator by now. I remember a long time ago you told Illuso something. You said, ‘Not too fast.’ Were you talking about my rank? Do I deserve less?”
Prosciutto slapped him with force, knocking him to the ground. He then stomped on him repeatedly.
“You earn the rank you get from pure skill, Pesci. You didn’t kill Styx, Luca, Gaston, Anne, or Tuudir by yourself. I am proud that you killed Alessia by yourself, but that was one thing! You’ve earned the rank Slayer because I thought that would’ve boosted your confidence.”
Risotto uncloaked himself from the invisibility spell.
“I knew I saw someone there!” Pesci commented.
“Prosciutto, you’re being too harsh on him,” the muscular Dark Elf said. “At least he managed to kill his targets. And how he handled Tuudir, I thought that was excellent.”
“I’ll see about Pesci’s rank after he kills his next target,” Prosciutto said. He looked through the list of available targets. One of them grabbed his attention, but he wasn’t sure if Pesci could handle it. He took a look at his brother who was tapping his foot.
“Come on, brother!” Pesci complained. “I feel confident. Give me a tough one!”
Prosciutto sighed. “Your next target is Rohan Kishibe. Like Alessia, he has written books, but he can also paint. He’s a High Elf living in Skingrad, luckily. Security has probably been heightened in the Imperial City. However, I’m coming with you to evaluate your skills. Sorry, Risotto, you’re going to have to wait.”
“Very well,” he said before vanishing into thin air.
-
Prosciutto and Pesci got to Skingrad by horse. They arrived around somewhere in the evening.
“Hey, brother, thank you for buying me a horse,” Pesci said.
“You were supposed to earn it after the contract, but that’s fine,” Prosciutto replied.
Both their horses were black, but their saddles were a different color. Prosciutto had a black saddle with the first letter of his name in yellow. Pesci had the same thing, but it was green. They let their horses rest at the stables and went in.
Pesci has passed by Skingrad before, but he’s never been in it. Everything seemed so high-end and made of stone. Leaves and flowers were growing in places, making the city less dull. And Pesci loved this place. It was beautiful and clean. There was this garlic aroma in the air. As he took a whiff, it took him back to his memories of his mother. If she were alive, what would she say? He looked at his brother.
“Brother, what was your mother like?” Pesci asked.
“Rohan is close by,” he said, dodging the question. “Remember, he has green hair like you. I’ve heard he’s unpleasant, too, speaking of which.”
They spotted Rohan yelling at someone outside of the supply store. The man he was shouting was a small Breton with short black hair.
“You useless servant!” Rohan yelled. “Why do I even bother hiring you?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spill the paint,” the man quietly said. “I tripped on a rock.”
“Tripped on a rock? Do you hear this? Clumsy little thing.” Rohan then looked at Pesci. “You there, the one with the same hair color as me but brighter, come over here.”
Pesci walked towards him. “Yes?” he said nervously.
“Clean this up before the guards think there’s a murder over here.” He pointed at the spot where the red paint spilled. It was too bright to look like blood, but Pesci didn’t want to anger him, so he wiped it off with his shirt. Some of it still lingered. “Stop, that’s enough. Hazamada, you’re fired.” Prosciutto slipped out of sight, into the shadow of two buildings. “You there, what’s your name?”
The short Breton man ran away crying. Prosciutto witnessed what happened and saw the look of scorn Hazamade gave Pesci.
“I’m Pe– Peppers,” he replied.
“Peppers, huh?” Rohan repeated. “You’re hired.”
This was happening too fast for Pesci to process, even Prosciutto would agree.
“Come, let us go to my home. I’ll throw away that useless servant’s belongings. You can move your belongings later.”
Pesci wasn’t sure what to say. For now, he kept quiet. His brother followed them from a distance, leading to Rohan’s home.
Inside, art and bookshelves adorned the walls of the house. Aside from that, Pesci was a bit worried about the candles on the wall. With this much flammable material, it’s a wonder this building has not gone down in flames. As for the books, a curious Pesci grabbed one of the books and examined the cover. It was just a blue hardcover with Rohan’s name written on it. He opened it, and on the first page, there was a rune. He hadn't understood what it meant. As he turned the page, the rune activated and disappeared. He also felt strange, lighter. For now, he ignored this feeling.
“Peppers!” Rohan called. It sounded like he was in the dining hall. Pesci rushed to his call.
“Yes, Mister Kishibe?” asked Pesci.
“Do you know how to cook? I’m hungry. I want onion soup,” he demanded.
“No, I–”
“I thought so.” Rohan handed him a piece of paper. “Here.”
On it, it said, “Onions are in the basement. This is what an onion looks like.”
Below what was written was a very detailed onion. It was a very impressive drawing. Whoever wanted this guy dead must be envious, Pesci thought.
Rohan cleared his throat. “You can go now.”
Pesci headed to the basement where Rohan stored his food. He wasn’t sure how the slip of paper was supposed to help him. Ignoring the oddness, he carried some onions, extra virgin olive oil, butter, sugar, salt, and other types of herbs and spices. Heading to the kitchen with the ingredients, he placed them down on the counter. Before starting, he washed his hands. Afterward, he grabbed the onions and began chopping them.
From outside, Prosciutto looked at Pesci from the window. Unless his brother learned how to cook from the Anne contract, which he doubts, he felt like he should interfere and take care of Rohan himself. For now, the blond waited. Should anything happen to Pesci, he had a trick up his sleeve.
About an hour has passed. Pesci carried the bowl of onion soup and placed it in front of Rohan. Before the author could eat, he had a conversation with him. From the window, it looked like he was writing on his brother's hand. Believing that the conversation they were having was more important, Prosciutto placed his ear to the stone wall.
“Pesci,” Prosciutto heard Rohan say, “thank you. Why don’t you take a rest? I believe you earned it.”
“Yes, Mister Kishibe. I think I will.”
Prosciutto immediately went inside the house, knowing that Pesci wouldn’t reveal his name to Rohan. When he unlocked and opened the door, despite trying to open it slowly and quietly, it squeaked loudly.
“Ah, is that Prosciutto dropping by to say hello?” That was Rohan’s voice, but he wasn’t sure where he was. “I know everything. I know that Pesci’s here to assassinate me, and you’re here to watch him.”
If he wanted to, he could leave and let Pesci die. However, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Pesci nor Rohan had revealed themselves, but Prosciutto had the feeling that he was going to complete his brother’s contract.
“I know you’re there. At least I think you’re Prosciutto,” Rohan said. “Pesci, go check to see if that’s him.”
Pesci walked down the stairs, bow drawn and ready to fire. Beads of sweat ran down his face. His arms quivered when he looked at his brother directly in the face.
“I’m so sorry,” the younger brother whispered. “I can’t control it.”
“No, I’m sorry,” the older brother replied.
Before entering, Prosciutto had activated his spell, which turns people old. The aging process speeds up when one is warm. Since Pesci was working behind the stove, his face was getting wrinkly, and his arms were too fatigued to hold the bow. As for Rohan, Prosciutto couldn’t tell. One, he doesn’t know where he’s at. Secondly, he wasn’t sure how his spell would affect elves. If he had to guess, he probably didn’t age at all but was maybe tired.
“Don’t touch the runes on the paper,” Pesci said. “And don’t let him write on you.” He then fell asleep.
Prosciutto facepalmed. At this rate, his brother will forever be a Slayer. For now, he had to leave him there and search the rooms.
It didn’t take long for Prosciutto to find Rohan. His house was big, but not that big. There wasn’t any place for the elf to hide, so Prosciutto found him in his room. The elf sat at his desk with confidence, knowing he could not be killed at the moment. He walked into his room, calmly.
“Rohan Kishibe,” he said.
“Ah, Prosciutto, I was wondering when you would reveal yourself to me. Let me guess, you want me to remove the spell that’s on your brother. I’ll do that, but on one condition! I want to know who ordered the hit on me. It can’t be Alesia, she’s been slain. Stella May! It has to be Stella May. It was because I said her vampire romance stories were trash.”
“So, if I told you who ordered the hit, would you lift the spell you put on my brother?”
“Yes, you have my word.”
“Alright, it is done.”
“Truly?”
“Peppers, I need you here. It’s an emergency.”
Pesci did not come.
“Well, he’s not here. Is that good enough?” Rohan asked.
Seeing as the aging effect clearly wasn’t working on the elf, he stopped the effect from continuing. The aging does affect himself as well. For now, Prosciutto would have to get up close to him. When he approached him, he stepped on a piece of paper. He looked down at his foot as he removed it from the spot. There was a rune. Before Prosciutto could react, the elf froze him in place with a frost spell.
“As I thought,” Rohan said, “I knew you wouldn’t keep your word. A shame. It’s over for you two. I won. You lose. I could make you turn yourselves in, but think of the stories I can make out of your memories! Pesci’s aren’t as exciting. But you, you’re exciting.
“When you were just a boy, you loved your mother greatly. After all, your father took out his frustrations on you and your mother, but mostly your mother. You weren’t sure why, but as you got older, you believed she was cheating. But let’s go back to when you were younger. When you were six, you witnessed your father beat your mother to death. You were too scared to call for guards. That, and your father threatened to kill you. Strange, I thought the Dark Brotherhood recruited murders. I guess they have standards. How tragic. I’d feel sorry for you if it weren’t for this part.
“Your father was happy when he married Pesci’s mother. He even stopped beating you. And once Pesci was born, you felt threatened. You thought your father was going to get rid of you. To get stronger, you killed a beggar, which the Dark Brotherhood noticed and recruited you at the age of seven. Eventually, they gave you targets that were equal to your strength, and you got stronger as the months went by. At age 16, you killed your father, and that’s when you ruined your brother’s life. Your stepmother was so heartbroken. She tried her best to stay alive to take care of poor Pesci, but she fell ill one day and died when your brother was 13.”
The two of them heard footsteps.
“Mister Kishibe,” Pesci said, holding a bowl of onion soup. “Here is your soup. Have you forgotten?”
“Oh, I have forgotten. I was so busy with my work. Here, place it on my desk. Try not to spill it on anything. Now, where was I?”
The elf got up and got closer to Prosciutto.
“How do you feel?” interrogated Rohan. “Do you feel lighter?”
“Do you feel hotter?” Prosciutto asked.
“What?”
He turned around and looked at Pesci. His desk was on fire.
“How?” the elf demanded. “I wrote on your hand that said you could not harm me.”
“I didn’t harm you,” Pesci stated. “I only set your house on fire. You never did say anything about your house.”
“You little—“
“And since you haven’t written anything on me yet…” Rohan turned his head to Prosciutto who then shoved him harshly into the fire. The ice around the blond’s feet melted, and he was free to move.
“Come on, Pesci, let’s go!”
The two left the house, away from the fire, where they then conversated.
“Brother,” Prosciutto said, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was a moment of silence. The blond looked at his brother, unsure if he had heard the conversation between him and Rohan.
“Hey, brother,” Pesci spoke, “shouldn’t we get going? The guards will find us and think we did it.”
“Agreed.”
It seems Pesci did not know.
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