Chapter 19

Translator: Willia

Somewhere in the inner courtyard of Torvik Citadel there was a spot people rarely came to. It was near the garden, and there Valery, Knut, Arne, and Skard were gathered.

Each of them sat or stood wherever was comfortable, and they were all looking at Valery. Because, quite literally, a crash course in real combat, for the sake of real combat, was in session.

"We won't be doing conditioning drills for a while. We train for the sake of real fights, so training shouldn't get in the way of the real thing. Agreed?"

Arne, practically a training addict, nodded as if to say he understood.

"Arne and Skard, you two stick close to Knut and guard him. If I need something done now and then, I'll have Skard do it. Skard knows how the back alleys work a little better. I'll handle how much salt we sell, at what price, to whom, gathering information, negotiations, drawing up plans, execution, extraction, overall management. Anyone object?"

There was no reason to object. From the very start, everyone had already recognized Valery as the leader, the one in command.

They only found it strange, wondering where this kid had learned all this. Some of the words Valery used sounded unfamiliar to the three of them, too.

"And when something unexpected happens or a fight breaks out, don't go trying to use what you've learned so far in some half-baked way. Got it? That comes later, once you're used to real combat. If you're outnumbered, put your shields up front and just push. You throw everything you have into one shove before the other side has even braced for it. That's how you knock them all down like dominoes. And when you're fighting indoors, always use the dagger. Don't stab anywhere else, stab the gut. Understood?"

"......"

Nobody said a word. It didn't seem like they'd failed to understand, so Valery went on explaining.

"The point is to keep it as simple as you can. Forget all that stuff about foot spacing and how to angle your torso and back-edge cuts, forget every bit of it. Push with the shield, drive the dagger into the gut. Just remember those two things. Still, keep your sword on your hip. It's good for intimidation. Understood?"

Once again, nobody said anything.

"Answer me."

"Got it."

"......"

Arne answered; Knut and Skard stayed silent.

Skard in particular eyed Valery sideways for a while, then spoke.

"What the hell kind of place is Winsloe, anyway?"

Skard's question came from the fact that he couldn't believe Valery had the blade skills he'd shown earlier, or knowledge this professional and battle-tested.

Valery just laughed it off.

"Go visit sometime. And I'll say this ahead of time, no need to be too scared, but don't let your guard down completely either. It might turn out to be nothing much. If things start looking dangerous, we just pull back. Be ready to die, but don't go dying on purpose. Success or failure, nobody here dies. I promise you. I'll see to it."

There was a force in Valery's words. Not merely the persuasive pull of good delivery, but something innate, or something like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The kind of force that took the listener past the feeling that it really would turn out that way and brought them nearly to certainty.

Put simply, his charisma was out of the ordinary. The three of them listening to Valery felt it without realizing.

Next, Valery taught them how to use the dagger. The type was called a knightly dagger, and as the name implied, it was the dagger knights commonly carried.

Since most people modified them to their own taste, there was no fixed shape, but the one Valery had chosen to use was lighter and, to anyone's eye, clearly built for thrusting.

Its blade had the shape of a sharp triangle, a weapon designed so that once it pierced flesh, the wound would gape open.

Thrust with force, it could punch through chainmail, and it was well suited to finding gaps in an enemy's defense.

Valery taught them things like how many daggers to carry and where on the body, how and in what situations to draw them, and the proper grip.

Having spent several years as an assassin before regression, Valery was highly skilled at handling a dagger. When he idly spun one around and around across his hand for amusement, everyone's eyes went wide.

"You don't really need to practice this, but it has to become this natural. Like a sixth finger. So that in any situation, from any stance, you can land a fatal blow in a single motion."

But then, after hearing Valery, Knut flicked a dagger around across his own hand just the same. This time even Valery hadn't seen it coming, and his eyes widened.

"What about the stuff I've already practiced?"

Knut asked.

"Hm...... good job."

There was nothing much to say. Then again, considering he'd rounded up men to assassinate Ketilmund, he was no ordinary sort to begin with. And there was that business as a child, when he'd cut open a servant's belly.

In any case, Valery's group spent about three days committing the plan and their roles to memory and learning things like how to use the dagger and the shield.

Three days later, word came from the salt merchant.

The goods were ready.

"Heh heh heh, my lords, seeing as no one else would step up, looks like we'll each have to work an oar ourselves......"

At the misty reed-bank landing, Yorik spoke with a servile grin. There was no telling how he'd managed to set it back in, but one of his two front teeth was gold.

The boat was somewhat larger than an ordinary rowboat, with no sail, the kind that had to be moved by working the oars.

"Doesn't matter. Let's load the salt first."

There were twenty sacks stuffed full of salt. Being trained men, they had no trouble hoisting them and loading them onto the boat, but the question was whether the boat could bear it.

Once they'd balanced the load fore and aft, the waterline came almost up to the gunwale.

With five people in all, Knut sat in the middle and two more sat at each end.

At that the waterline drew nearly level with the gunwale, and every time the boat shifted the slightest bit, water spilled in over the side.

"This doesn't seem right......"

Arne muttered to himself, low, clearly uneasy. It was a separate matter from being brave or being a coward.

"We'll get there in half a day. If we're careful, we'll be fine."

Valery was privately a little uneasy too, but he reassured Arne all the same.

No matter how thoroughly a plan was laid, once the real fighting began, unforeseen variables were bound to arise.

When such variables came up, sometimes the answer was to push through, and sometimes the plan had to change. Judging wisely and deciding with courage were the virtues of the one who led.

Valery's judgment right now was to press on.

"Knut, you bail the water."

"Me?"

"Then I'll bail and you row instead."

"I'll bail."

And so each of the five had his task.

The four who held oars, Valery included, shoved off hard from the landing. The boat lurched once, and a good deal of water sloshed over the side. Their hearts lurched with it.

Knut immediately set to bailing with a scoop, working hard.

Still, as heavy as the boat was, it didn't seem likely to capsize easily.

The group began to row with uneasy hearts. At first it barely moved, and they wondered whether it would go forward at all, but slowly, truly slowly, it picked up speed.

And so the boat pushed through the mist, heading northwest.

There was no real swell, so after rowing on for about three hours, the boat held steady, and with it the people's hearts steadied as well.

Just as they began to think they could well make it to their destination, a light appeared through the mist.

They looked to see what it was, and the ones parting the fog were people coming the other way in a boat of their own. Someone at the prow held a lantern, and that was the light that had shown through the mist.

There were four or five aboard. If they'd been harboring ill intent, it would have been no small trouble.

But they only observed Valery's group as they slowly passed by.

The many gazes crossed in the middle. Creak, creak went the sound of the boats moving and the water being cut, and nothing else; no one spoke.

At last boat drew past boat, and the one coming the other way changed course toward the marsh, hidden behind the reeds until it could no longer be seen.

"They knew we were coming."

Valery said.

"Then what do we do?"

Arne asked uneasily, seeming to speak for everyone's mood.

"It's a good thing. Saves us the trouble of advertising."

"That's how it works?"

"No matter how reckless they are, they can't just lay a hand on the Third Young Lord of the Duke of Eldeira. For now they only watched. Think of them like beasts. They tear into you once they've sized you up and see an opening; they don't just come charging in."

"......So we're fighting beasts, then?"

"You're a beast too, Arne. You watch your opponent as well. Like you'll tear into them the instant you see a chance."

Put that way, it was a rather reassuring thing to hear. So I'm a beast too......

"Understood, my lord. From now on I'm a beast too."

Yorik answered as well, his eyes set as though he'd made a firm resolution, apparently moved by it. Valery ignored him.

After pressing on for about another hour, the mist lifted and they reached the wharf. Boats were moored there, but not many people were in sight.

That was because, owing to Duke Sven's embargo, people mainly used the wharf on the north side of the city.

That aside, half the people at the wharf looked like beggars and half like warehouse keepers or laborers, and anyone in decent shape had to be taken as belonging to some organization or other.

The beggars, draped in rags and gaunt, had not a spark of life in their eyes. Their ages were hard to guess, and they seemed to be waiting only for death.

When Valery's group tied up the boat and stepped onto the wharf, every gaze turned toward them.

Just then Yorik suddenly shouted out loud.

"You there!"

If anything it was his own companions who flinched in surprise. What's gotten into this guy?

Whether the others were startled or not, Yorik strode right up to the nearest person and said,

"We need a warehouse to store our goods."

"......"

Valery's group lugged the heavy salt sacks off the boat, only watching what Yorik was doing with bewildered eyes. Of course they needed a warehouse, but they hadn't meant to secure one like that.

"Are you deaf! Why won't you answer!?"

"......Go ask over there."

One of the wharf laborers pointed somewhere and said. So Yorik walked straight over that way and spoke to the man there.

"We'll be needing a warehouse here."

"......"

"Would you look at this? No answer again? You there! Do you take our lords for a bunch of fucking shit!?"

Fucking shit was a bit much as far as expressions went, but it was true the business was moving along without a hitch.

In fact the warehouse keeper didn't seem frightened, but he'd clearly been overpowered by sheer momentum.

"......Wait a moment."

He went off somewhere, perhaps to report to his superior. After a little while he came back and said,

"Storage is one silver coin a day."

"You looking to die, you bastard? I know the going rate around here. Go fetch the higher-ups this instant, or take five copper coins."

"......Wait a moment."

Yorik raised his hand as if to strike, and the warehouse keeper headed off to his superior once more. Soon the man over him, the warehouse manager, came out.

He looked over Yorik and Valery's group, who had just finished unloading all the salt sacks at the wharf.

Then he looked back at Yorik and said,

"Five copper coins is for storing the goods only, exactly as it sounds. If the goods vanish or whatever happens to them, that's no concern of ours. To lodge in the warehouse, it's one copper a head, so you owe one silver coin."

Ten copper coins made one silver, and twenty silver made one gold.

At the manager's words Yorik screwed up his face. Just as he was about to shout again, Valery stepped in.

"Understood. One silver a day, people lodging included. Five days up front to start."

Valery had spent eight of the ten gold coins he'd received from Duke Sven to buy the salt, keeping two on hand for incidental costs. He handed the warehouse manager five silver coins he'd exchanged back in Torvik.

The warehouse manager whisked the money away in one stroke, as though snatching it. Then he opened the warehouse door at once and said,

"I'll come to see you again in five days, my lord."

The large hinged door gave a rattling groan and the interior of the warehouse was revealed. Inside there weren't many other stored goods to speak of.

The space was ample, but a few people were there. They were all guarding their own belongings, or the belongings of whatever group they were part of.

Once they'd moved the salt sacks inside the warehouse, Valery said to Yorik,

"Good work. Here's the boat rental and your pay. The security deposit you mentioned is included too."

Valery handed Yorik five silver coins. At that Yorik's eyes went wide. Because he hadn't expected to be paid at all.

Whether their first meeting had gone well or badly, Valery always paid what was owed, and so he handed over the coins.

Besides, it was only the demand for a whole gold coin that had been absurd; five silver was a fairly large sum.

But Yorik's reaction was strange.

"Are, are you casting me off?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You told me to become a beast."

"......You didn't need to take that to heart too."

"Please!"

Yorik suddenly dropped to his knees with a thud and clasped his hands, begging. Watching from beside him, Arne said,

"Haven't we already paid the cost including his share? If we're going to guard the goods in shifts, it'd be good to have one more person. Let's just keep him on."

"Thank you! My lord!"

Valery hadn't even given his consent, yet Yorik thanked him as though he had.

At this point there was nothing Valery could do. Going back alone right now would be dangerous too. He thought of the boat they'd crossed paths with earlier.

"Fine, so quiet down."

Then, looking at Knut, he said,

"Staying at an inn means guard problems, and we'd have to split up. I'm thinking we stay here. That all right with you?"

"Sure beats living in a cage."

"Right."

Next he addressed everyone.

"For now we all stay here together, but whenever anyone goes out, two people always stay behind to guard the goods. If it looks like something dangerous might happen while there are only two of you, just drop everything and run. Got it?"

They all nodded, though for some reason it looked like they'd guard it with their lives.

"I'll look around the city on my own first, so don't wander far, just get a feel for the area nearby."

"You sure you don't need us with you?"

Arne asked. Valery answered with a smile.

"Actually, I've been here before."

"......What the hell kind of place is Winsloe? They send a kid off to somewhere like this?"

Skard, who had been spreading out his bedroll and settling in earnest for life in the warehouse, said this while shaking his head.

"I'll be back."

Valery left the warehouse.

Rounding the wharf and entering the city proper, he found it familiar and yet utterly strange.

After the king died, when he was twenty, he had come here. So now was six years before that time.

There was truly nothing he hadn't done here. It was the very embodiment of a world where the strong devoured the weak, a world that had driven Valery on in the most inhuman ways.

To survive in hell, there was no choice but to become a devil. If that was an excuse, perhaps it was an excuse.

Count Aethelred and Madam Sybil, and Harold and his friends. That they had changed so much of who he was became real to him, now that he had come to this place.

The wind blowing off the marsh had its own distinctive smell. The scent of damp earth and burning. The burning was the smell of peat aflame. Here they used peat more than firewood.

Whether he was chasing memories or retracing his future, Valery walked wherever his feet unconsciously led him. He felt gazes here and there, but let them slide past like a passing wind.

A place like this called for caution around the alleys, yet Valery walked into the alleyways without the slightest hesitation.

Then, at the corner of some stone building, he spotted a black handprint stamped onto it. The Black Hand. The symbol of the very Thieves' Guild he had once belonged to.

Valery brought his hand up to the handprint, as if measuring its size against his own. Or rather, he meant to.

"Hey, you shouldn't go touching that."

Valery turned to find the owner of the voice.

He swore it, there was no one here he had longed for in his dreams. Even the friends who had helped him out of goodwill had betrayed him, and his fingers had been cut off for it.

Turning around, he saw it was not one person but several. And the one who had called out to him was, with a scar splitting one corner of his mouth into a long tear, none other than the man who had cut off Valery's own fingers.

The man who cut off fingers, whether the fault was pickpocketing or robbery or begging, whenever someone failed to fill their tribute quota.

And yet, even facing him, not a trace of anger rose in Valery's chest. He simply looked endlessly insignificant.

"Still cutting off kids' fingers these days? Pale."

"......Who are you?"

"Ah, is 'The Finger Collector' more familiar? Your nickname."

"......"

The man called Pale flinched, visibly rattled. Violence he was used to, but he felt more fear at the fact that this stranger knew about him.

The Black Hand, Grinnen's Thieves' Guild, valued secrecy above life itself. To them secrecy was the most important, most solemn, most absolute rule of all.

Break it, and it didn't end with a few fingers cut off or a quick death. The offender was tortured until he had told them everyone he'd let it slip to and how far the ties ran.

In truth, that person was tortured until every last memory in his head had been dragged out.

So the men with Pale were just as startled and rattled. Because a complete stranger knew about Pale. And the quicker-witted among them grew afraid they might be implicated too.

"What to do...... this'll do. His Excellency the Duke knows all about how you've been selling information to the Ball-Ripper. You've got a hideout behind the toad rock to the north, don't you? You know, they say you move a stone and there's a stairway down to a cellar. And that it connects to somewhere......"

Six years' difference in time meant the information Valery knew could be inaccurate. But it didn't matter. Even if only part of it was right, they'd torture him until he spilled memories he didn't even have.

"Wh, what! What are you talking about! Th, that! How did you know something like that!? This is insane! It wasn't me! It really wasn't me!"

Pale, seized by great confusion, made excuses to his companions.

"If you've got business with me, don't bother coming at night. Come in the daytime."

Valery left those words behind and simply walked off.

Behind him he could hear Pale frantically shouting something or other. Then, as if his mouth had been stopped, it soon fell silent.