Chapter 79

Translator: Willia

A steady autumn rain fell through the night. It seemed to bring winter a great stride closer, making it feel colder than usual. Even a faint breath showed in the air.

Inside one building, fortunately, a wood fire blazed in the hearth and spread its warmth, keeping the cold at bay for now.

Yet the people gathered there after pushing all the tables to one side seemed to be trembling. It was not from the cold, but from anxiety and fear.

Then the door rattled open, and a rush of cold air made the fire in the hearth flare violently. Everyone flinched and turned toward the entrance at once.

A figure in a long cloak pulled back his hood, and the others relaxed when they recognized him. Water streamed from the hem of his cloak.

“Waaah!”

A baby began crying, apparently woken from sleep. Though no one so much as gave her a look, the mother grew flustered and hurried to soothe the child.

As the man who had just entered removed his wet cloak, a woman quickly rose and took it from him. Another woman swiftly barred the door.

The man had a sword at his waist.

With the baby still crying, he sat in one of the chairs gathered together on one side and spoke. Everyone listened closely.

“Paul is dead. I told him he didn't have to finish loading everything......”

His voice was heavy with dejection and despair. Someone began to sob, perhaps because they had been close to the dead man.

This was none other than the Lokir Merchant Company's branch at Hayden Crossroads. Its people were the ones whom the mercenaries known as the War Dogs had recently begun threatening directly.

They seemed like assassins, yet they also stormed in with the organization of an army. Their stated reason was that Lucas, head of the Lokir Merchant Company, had dared slight the 3rd Prince.

The branch possessed a measure of armed strength itself, but it was no match for them. The fact that the mercenaries did not engage in crude looting made it clear they were no ordinary thugs. They had a definite purpose and chain of command.

The merchant company's swordsmen had all been killed alongside the branch manager in a single day, and since then the mercenaries had been killing one member of the branch each day.

They could have killed everyone at once, but they deliberately killed them one at a time because this was a threat aimed squarely at Lucas. Would he still refuse to swear an oath of fealty? If so, they would kill them all.

Paul had been that day's victim. Even with the threat hanging over them, he had been loading cargo to supply raw materials to headquarters when they got him.

A delay of even one day in supplying the raw materials would disrupt production, though whether that was important enough to trade one's life for was another matter.

But it also showed just how dedicated he had been to his work.

“Th-then how many people do we have left who can fight......?”

The woman who had just barred the door asked cautiously. She did not mean trained swordsmen, but any grown men capable of fighting.

In response to her question, the man with the sword at his waist looked over everyone gathered together on the first floor.

The only males among them had either just turned fifteen or were still children. The rest were women.

What the woman who had barred the door was really asking was whether they could find any men elsewhere.

“Uncle Willy! I can fight!”

A boy sprang to his feet and shouted. His mother, who sat beside him, grabbed his clothes and hurriedly forced him back into his seat.

“Keep quiet!”

“Why, Mother? We can't just sit here and wait to die.”

“When I tell you to be quiet, be quiet! Do as you're told!”

His mother repeatedly smacked him on the back. The boy looked aggrieved at being hit when he had done nothing wrong, but her fury kept him still.

“Someone who can actually fight. You aren't one. Still, your courage is admirable.”

In truth, there was nothing they could do. Even if the mercenaries broke down the door and began killing them right then, they had no way to resist.

Everyone knew it. Their deaths might as well have been certain.

That was why they were all so despondent. They saw no way to survive. Then an elderly woman spoke.

“Willy, wasn't what they wanted...... an oath of fealty?”

“That's right.”

“Then what if we at least swear an oath of fealty to the prince ourselves?”

“......”

They did not know whether the mercenaries would accept it, but it sounded like the most realistic option.

Yet the man named Wilfred, whom they called Willy, could hardly bring himself to do it.

That was because this was not merely a branch of the merchant company. It had been passed down and operated for generations.

This was true even of ordinary employees such as Wilfred, not just branch managers. Several families had lived from one generation to the next beneath the broad shelter of the Lokir Merchant Company.

Betraying it overnight was anything but easy.

“A raven arrived this morning. Headquarters said they would send skilled swordsmen as quickly as possible.”

“And when will they arrive?”

“That......”

“One person dies with each passing day. Can you take responsibility for those deaths?”

The old woman, who had worked there since the branch was first established, pressed Wilfred. Since hers was the most rational alternative, he found it truly difficult to argue.

He squeezed his eyes shut and agonized over it for a long while before speaking.

“One day. Let us wait just one more day. Tomorrow, it'll be my neck on the line.”

It seemed he truly would rather die than betray the merchant company. Perhaps this was where the Lokir Merchant Company's true strength lay. In a world where people betrayed one another at the slightest trouble, its unity was exceptional for a merchant company.

After Wilfred went that far, the old woman said nothing more. It was not as though she failed to understand how he felt.

But even if she herself did not have many years left, what about the young women and children gathered there now?

“For now, let us sleep. I believe that is, that is what we should do for Paul and the others who died.”

Wilfred spoke, but whether they agreed with him or not, there was no chance sleep would come easily.

It was only near dawn that they began nodding off one or two at a time and finally fell asleep.

The sound of snoring filled the room, along with the occasional fretful cry of babies in their sleep. Each time, the mothers instinctively gathered them into their arms and soothed them.

The rain outside died away, and everyone fell asleep. It seemed even anxiety and fear were no match for sleep.

The rain had stopped, but the clouds did not retreat, so dawn came late. Even so, everyone woke automatically despite their weariness.

They woke one another, then scattered to their assigned tasks. Most began cleaning the interior, pouring water across the floor, sweeping it away, and scrubbing.

Then they moved the tables and chairs back into place. Food was prepared in the kitchen.

The Hayden Crossroads branch was responsible for gathering raw materials arriving from every direction and supplying them to headquarters, but it also served as a tavern and inn. That was why they cleaned and prepared for guests from early morning.

Given the recent situation, however, there was no chance any guests would come. They began their daily routine anyway because it was their way of life, something they could not let go of even if they were about to die.

Unity and diligence truly seemed to be the Lokir Merchant Company's greatest assets.

Outside, the rain-soaked world was still dark.

The people bustled about from early morning to prepare for guests, but once every task was complete, they simply waited. They needed guests before there was anything more to do.

Then, first thing in the morning, a group of people entered the branch.

The weary serving girl dozing at a table in the corner saw them and instantly snapped awake. They were War Dogs mercenaries.

Five or six of them came inside, casually looked around, then claimed a table and sat down.

“You don't serve customers here?”

The mercenary spoke calmly, but the people watching them could not remain calm. They stood frozen, and someone hurried off to summon Wilfred.

Before long, Wilfred came downstairs with his sword at his waist.

“Wh-what is your business here?”

“Good grief. I asked if you don't serve customers.”

“Hey, you there. Do you pick and choose your customers here?”

They had killed the branch manager and the swordsmen, and just last night they had killed Paul too. Now they were suddenly demanding service, so the people could not help but feel frightened and anxious.

Wilfred swallowed hard, then spoke to the women trembling anxiously in the kitchen.

“Bring them a meal.”

Only then did the women move. Wilfred sat some distance from the mercenaries and watched them, struggling to conceal his anxiety. The mercenaries snickered as if they found the sight laughable.

Fortunately, if such a thing could be called fortunate, they seemed to have come only to intimidate them, not to cause any actual harm. For now.

Before long, the women brought out the tastiest food they could make. Steam rose invitingly from it. The mercenaries began tearing into it with their bare hands.

Just then, the sound of several horses' hooves came from outside. Wondering what it was, Wilfred and the mercenaries all turned toward the entrance.

A short while later, three people entered after stabling their horses. They wore long cloaks with their hoods raised, but when they pulled them back, the first face revealed was so handsome it came as a shock.

The still-dim interior seemed to brighten all at once. It was Valery.

The rain that had fallen all night had also left the woman standing behind him with somewhat disheveled hair and clothes, but even that could not conceal her breathtaking beauty.

The remaining person was short and looked around at everyone with a faintly disgruntled expression.

Valery spoke.

“Who is in charge of this branch?”

Even after Valery asked, silence hung over the room for some time. Wilfred finally came to his senses, rose from his seat, and spoke.

“I-I am. I'm the acting branch manager, Wilfred. Who are you, and why are you looking for the person in charge?”

“Headquarters sent us. I heard there were some mongrels here.”

“......”

The mercenaries had been eating, but the look in their eyes changed at Valery's words. They set down the meat in their hands and wiped their greasy palms on their trousers, ready to seize their weapons at a moment's notice.

When Valery said headquarters had sent him, Wilfred did not properly understand what he meant at first.

His height and build rivaled an adult's, but his face looked young. Moreover, one of his companions appeared not yet fully grown, while the other was a woman.

Surely these could not be the swordsmen headquarters had promised to send......?

It seemed so absurd, so bewildering, and so unreal that Wilfred could not answer at once. The mercenaries were the first to speak instead.

“Hey.”

Valery turned toward them.

“Were you calling us mongrels?”

“Probably.”

One of the mercenaries carefully examined Valery, Knut, and Brynhildr. Their long cloaks concealed what armor or weapons they wore underneath, but each clearly seemed to have a sword at the waist.

“Can you handle that sword?”

“What's with all the questions? Or are you just barking?”

“Ha.”

One of the mercenaries struck a plate on the table and sent it flying.

Crash!

Then they all rose. Their chairs scraped noisily backward.

Valery spoke to Knut and Brynhildr.

“Close the door.”

Brynhildr, who stood near the entrance, snapped the door shut. Valery spoke again.

“Only deal with anyone who gets past me. It'll get confusing if several people start rampaging at once.”

Then he stepped forward. He did not draw his sword. The mercenaries did not draw their weapons either. But it seemed a foregone conclusion that a fight was about to begin.

“Looks like this bastard came from some sword school......”

One mercenary began drawing his sword as he spoke. But he could not finish his sentence, nor did he manage to draw the blade all the way.

That was because Valery drew his sword like a bolt of lightning, closed the distance in an instant, and sent the man's head flying first.

His cloak billowed wide.

Before the mercenaries even realized one of their companions was dead, Valery swung his sword twice, once to either side. Two sharp swishes sounded, and two more heads fell, a sight that hardly seemed real.

Then, to kill the mercenaries behind them, he leaped onto a nearby table. With the cloak around him, he looked like some enormous bird flapping and rampaging through the tavern.

Only then did the three heads hit the floor, while fountains of blood erupted and sprayed across the ceiling and walls.

Spla-a-a-ash!

“Huh?”

The remaining mercenaries could not process the unbelievable scene. Their brains took in the facts—their companions were dead, and Valery had just leaped onto a nearby table—but no response came out.

At that very moment, Valery lowered himself into a crouch and continued with his next attack. The target was farther away this time, so his strike covered a greater distance.

Whoosh!

With the sound of the sword slicing through the air, a severed head spun round and round in midair. Blood spun with it, spraying in a circle.

The final mercenary stumbled backward in shock and collapsed onto his rear. Valery landed on the floor and promptly kicked him in the head.

Thud!

The man lost consciousness for a moment, only to strike his head against the hot pot sitting over the hearth.

Clatter!

The pot fell and spilled its scalding contents over his head. The pain quickly jolted him awake, but before he could escape, Valery planted a foot on his head and pressed it firmly against the blazing hearth.

Sssssssss.

“Aaaaaaargh!”

The people of the branch had never heard a scream like it in their lives. It truly sounded like a shriek echoing from the very depths of Hell.

“Hraaaagh! Ghk! Kgh! Ghh......!”

The flesh of his throat melted and blocked his airway. He thrashed and clawed at Valery's leg, but could not free his pinned head. At last, his arms dropped limply.

Only then did Valery lift his foot. He looked around the room, and for all the rampaging, it was surprisingly tidy. Only one or two chairs had fallen over, and not a single table had been overturned.

There was, however, blood sprayed everywhere. And headless corpses lay on the floor.

Silence settled over the room. Then several serving girls' eyes rolled back, and they collapsed unconscious. Wilfred's legs also gave way beneath him and he sank to the floor, but fortunately, he did not lose consciousness.

Valery flicked the blood from his sword, sheathed it, and spoke to him.

Flicking blood from his blade indoors rather than outside splattered droplets across the wall. Of course, so much blood had already been sprayed around that a little more hardly seemed to matter.

“The rain last night left me tired. I'd like to get some sleep first.”

Wilfred stared blankly, unable to answer, and merely nodded his head rapidly.

Valery gave the interior a cursory look, then walked toward the stairs with his companions.

Once they vanished with the steady sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, Wilfred stared into empty space as his head, hands, and entire body began trembling uncontrollably.

It was because this was somewhat different from what he had expected. The skill on display was certainly impressive, though.

The scene looked as if some malevolent demon, rather than a person, had swept through it. The smells of blood and roasting meat filled the dining hall.

In stark contrast, the clouds outside began to part, and at last the day began to brighten.