My translation stuff

Ten days passed since Varrell had started working for Stella, and still no signs of his storm—though, according to him, it was close. Stella had also half expected Apollo to round up his entire house to get revenge on her, but no signs of that either. The Palpud Union, however, had attacked. It was supposed to be payback for the burglar incident, but Varrell made short work of the attackers. Unsurprisingly, Mace’s men and Beck had been completely useless. “By the way, what happened to them after they were taken away?” asked Varrell. “I hear the Company returned them to sender,” said Stella. “But not before making sure they’d never be able to fight again.” “Well, they were asking for it. They should count themselves lucky for having escaped execution.” Should they really? To Stella, their fate seemed worse than death. Still, it was the second time the Union had crossed her. One day, she would make them pay. “I was very clear that I wanted them dead,” she said. “Mace must have given in ...

It was Varrell’s first night working for Stella. His job was to keep the store safe until morning, and he was allowed to rest between sunrise and noon. It was well paid enough. The moon was hiding behind the clouds, and the only sources of light were the lanterns hanging out front. But that was all Varrell needed. Should anyone approach, he relied on his sharp instincts to warn him—the same instincts that had saved his life on many different occasions. Varrell’s mentor had called it his “special trait,” which made little sense to him, but at least it was a useful trait to have. It was better than someone else he knew, whose only trait was her ability to inconvenience everyone around her. She had taken heavily after their mother and their mentor’s violent personality. Varrell wouldn’t want to touch her with a ten-foot pole. Or at all, for that matter. The troublemaking fool , thought Varrell. When is she going to leave me be? Varrell lightly cracked his neck, then raised his sword and s...