Darkthorn Assault! -3
"Oh my, the seafood really is in excellent condition, isn't it?"
"Aha—ahahaha... O-o-of course...! Our shop has always prided itself on the finest quality...!"
Badro bit down on his tongue hard enough to keep the scream from bursting out of him. Standing face-to-face with the very person who had ruined the life he had built, he felt hatred and rage—but the emotion that outran them both was pure terror.
"By the way, a moment ago it looked as though you were setting some of the seafood aside after a customer purchased it?"
"Th-that...!"
There were certain unspoken rules among the merchants of the fish market. Quietly tinkering with a magic scale so it ran a little heavy, or discreetly skimming a few shellfish off a customer's order as you handed it over—those little frauds were part of the code. Even when someone committed the crime right out in the open, the other fishmongers—and even the rival stall next door—kept the secret. That was basic merchant virtue in the market.
But getting caught by a customer was another matter entirely. When that happened, you either shut the customer's mouth somehow, or you took the full punishment yourself. Those were the only two choices.
She saw it. She actually saw it!
Badro squeezed his eyes shut. Once already this girl had destroyed him when he tried to make a move. Now, without even a bodyguard, how was he supposed to silence her?
Even so, he refused to collapse. He decided to lean on his greatest talent: the silver tongue that never quit.
"That was...?"
"That was—just—I mean—well—ah! That customer asked me to leave those pieces out!"
Even with his back against the wall, his tongue kept working. A born swindler if there ever was one.
"Ah, I see."
What Blanc had actually seen was a customer carrying off seafood bought at this stall—not the purchase itself. Even she had no way to prove the scam once Badro started insisting like this.
"Heh heh. If you'd rather the Association not hear about it... you understand, don't you...?"
"Ah... ahh..."
But what did that matter? If the other side was going to dig in their heels, Blanc would simply dig in hers.
"Heh heh..."
The white devil's easy, smiling eyes narrowed. Inside them sat the gaze of a predator that had just found a delicious meal.
"Heh heh...♥"
Looking at the seafood piled high in both arms, she simply could not hold the smile back. She had managed to acquire far more than she expected—most of it cheaply, courtesy of the bald gentleman. At this price she almost worried whether he was making any margin at all, but he was a merchant. He would sort that out himself.
"Heh heh. Truly mouthwatering...♥"
It was far too much for the young lady alone, but if she asked a courier, the Duke and the maids back in Preas would have more than enough. All thanks to the Empire's railway linking all the way to Preas.
"Oh my, the sun is nearly up."
When she had first entered the fish market the moon had still been out; now bright sunlight was already showing on the far horizon. It was still too dim to properly drive off the dawn dark, but by the time she reached Haas the sky would probably be a clear blue.
"Yes. And it is also the hour of blood."
"Hm?"
At the rather adorable voice she turned, and found the girl who had been trailing her for some time now—her self-appointed stalker-fan. A black-haired girl with striking, healthy brown skin.
"Kuhahaha! Become my masterpiece!"
Stalker-fan suddenly drew a dagger from her coat and charged.
Hmm? So it has come to this after all...?
It could not be helped. She was a maid of demonic charm, after all...
For a stalker-fan who had only watched from a distance to finally rush her like this, there could be only one reason. Looking was no longer enough—she wanted a hug. And that dagger? After watching her buy seafood, the girl must have decided to give her a cooking knife as a gift. It did look sharp enough to be perfect for dressing fish.
—No. I'm telling you, if someone out there tries to hug you, you run. No exceptions.
—Why? They're a master who likes me, aren't they?
—Stalker-fans are not masters! You idiot!
—Is that so?
—If a stranger tries to grab you out of nowhere, you refuse. Got it?!
Well. It was a shame for the person running at her with such a fine present, but in her previous life she had promised her friend that she would refuse whenever a stranger came rushing in. The two of them had long since lost touch, yet that friend had been the only person she could truly call a friend—so she wanted to keep the promise as best she could.
"Oh my, the sun is nearly up."
Dawn—the hour when the moon sank and the sun began to rise. Deed had grown more and more restless while Blanc spent longer than expected in the fish market, and the moment Blanc turned into the alley she knew this was her last chance.
While operating inside Lyceum, a Darkthorn operative was never to cross "the line," no matter what. She would not kill Blanc—but she fully intended to make her pay for wrecking the safehouse.
"Yes. And it is also the hour of blood."
She had already confirmed there was no one nearby. Conditions could not have been better for an assassin's work—yet Deed deliberately stepped out of the shadows.
An assassin who made a dramatic entrance with a cool line, then killed a target already trembling in fear of her. That was Deed's idea of the ultimate assassin. So she had gone ahead and said something about "the hour of blood" whose meaning she did not even know. What in the world was the hour of blood supposed to be? Deed herself had no idea what the phrase was supposed to mean; she just thought the ring of it sounded cool.
"Kuhahaha! Become my masterpiece!"
Calling it a "masterpiece" was for the same reason—it sounded cool. An assassin who treated murder (well, not murder this time, but still) as a work of art. How stylish was that?
She had even been practicing the signature she would leave at future scenes once she graduated and became a full-time assassin. Revealing herself so blatantly already made this a disaster that barely counted as assassination, but Deed's overwhelming talent was demonic enough to force even a mess like this to succeed. This time, too, she put absolute faith in that talent. That snow-white maid would not even be able to thrash around; she would simply be toyed with.
Deed curled her lips and swung the dagger. The instant the drug on its tip touched the maid, the girl would lose consciousness.
There! Time to pay for the safehouse!
"I am terribly sorry, but any further approach is not permitted."
But the dagger never pierced Blanc's body.
"What?!"
She had never taken her eyes off Blanc—and yet, in a blink, Blanc vanished into the shadows. Deed's blade carved empty air, her stance collapsed, and Blanc appeared behind her.
Shadow magic!
While tailing Blanc she had seen the maid's shadow move on its own, and even watched objects come out of its mouth. She had never imagined the ability went this far!
"Eek?!"
"You are a rather troublesome one."
And just like that, Blanc flipped the situation and pinned Deed down. She took the dagger from Deed's hand and checked the substance on the tip. A familiar viscous color. It was a drug Blanc herself had often used back when she operated as M of Yeoro.
"Watching from a distance was acceptable enough, but to actually use a drug... that crosses the line."
"D-don't tell me you noticed me tailing you?!"
"Pardon? Has it not been since four days ago?"
Face ground into the dirt, Deed forced her head around to look at Blanc. The expression that said, Why ask something so obvious? left her speechless.
She was the young lady of the Savakh family—an assassin house. How could she possibly have expected a mere maid to see through her stealth? And even with an assassin coming for her, this cool, practiced composure... just what...?
Blanc's red eyes reflected Deed's face. Infinitely cold, razor-sharp.
—Thump.
Looking into that gaze, Deed realized her heart was hammering. Until now she had always lived as a predator. She was the one who hunted; her targets could only be hunted, helpless. But in this moment, for the first time in her life, Deed understood what it felt like to be the prey.
So this is fear. So this is dread.
And so this is a real assassin.
Even while pinned, Deed watched the clean sequence of Blanc's movements. This was not the motion of a skilled warrior. As a fellow assassin, Deed was certain. Dodging her blade, pinning her like this—every single action was the work of an assassin who had already reached the level of a master.
Ah... yes. This was a real assassin.
Someone like me was only a brat playing at being one...
"M-Mas..."
"Mas?"
"Master! I want to become like you, Master!"
"Huh?"
"Master! I want to become like you, Master!"
"Huh?"
What?
Not a stalker-fan after all? From the drug on the dagger she had assumed it was just an overenthusiastic stalker-fan, but clearly that was wrong. Could it be—someone who had fallen for her as a maid, an aspiring maid herself?!
"You said you wish to become like me?"
"Yes! I want to reach the same mastered level as you, Master!"
"Ohh..."
To think she had already recognized that Blanc, as a maid, stood at the level of a true master... This girl's eye for maid work was remarkable!
"Heh heh... Though it is a hard and rugged path, you mean you wish to walk this noble and radiant road?"
"Noble...! Radiant...! Yes! Exactly as you say! I want to walk that noble and radiant path!"
"Very well! We shall begin training first thing tomorrow!"
Heh heh...♥
To think that after Mist, she would be making yet another new maid... Truly, this was the Academy for you. So many talented people...
Really... really...
Ahh, it is simply wonderful...♥
"Blanc, did something good happen today?"
On the way to school, Blanc always wore such an easy smile that reading her emotions was difficult—but today she was beaming even more than usual. Had something nice happened? She had mentioned going to the market for a bit at dawn.
"Yes. I had a truly wonderful meeting today."
"...What?"
A wonderful meeting...?
"Heh heh. A truly wonderful connection has formed."
A wonderful connection...?
For a moment the world swam.
Who on earth was she talking about...?
"Blanc...?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Ah—it's nothing..."
She wanted to ask right then and there who this "wonderful connection" was. But if she asked, wouldn't that make her the kind of young lady who shackled her maid?
She wanted Blanc to enjoy academy life as fully as possible, so in the end she could not ask anything at all.
Hadn't it appeared in that novel—
I Dumped the Lover Who Bound Me and Got a Rosy Golden Life!
—that if you restricted and bound the person you cherished, the one who ended up regretting it was always the one who did the binding...!
Of course, her relationship with Blanc was strictly that of young lady and maid!
But still—weren't the two of them a bond tighter than lovers, practically family?
Between the two of them there could be no sticky, dark thing like shackles!
Yes! Right—we are like family! Trust is what we need!
...Right, Blanc...?