Each One's Circumstances
Each One's Circumstances
There had always been various methods to achieve a result that 'wins' in every respect.
Fighting was no different. From weapon choice to fairness and foul play, direct and indirect approaches—it was an unremarkable fact that the considerations were endless. And it was even more obvious that depending on which of those countless methods you chose, others might acknowledge or deny your victory.
Because Garun knew that all too well, he found himself briefly lost in thought.
How would people actually take Eldmia's actions?
Eldmia naturally wouldn't have known, but ever since the Pabaera affair, Garun had unintentionally ended up investigating him and, without realizing it, grown quite attached. Of course, if the boy had been a villain or a thrill-killer, Garun would never have gotten attached—instead he would've scraped up every single move and sent it off to the royal palace as evidence. Yet this boy, whose deeds already outclassed veteran mercenaries, acted as if he didn't give two shits about laws and regulations, while still keeping to his own line; he treated people roughly, yet had deep kindness.
His mercilessness toward those who crossed him wasn't negligible either, but compared to the countless people Garun had met in his life, Eldmia still ranked among the decent ones. It was just that the triggers for his outbursts were clearly defined.
That was why Garun hoped Eldmia would stay active for a long time and keep adding to his story. The problem was that the outward image Eldmia projected was pure chaos.
Not only did he never flaunt his good deeds while showing absolutely no restraint in retaliation, but he plowed ahead whenever he got pissed off, without discriminating about who the other party was. Behind that brazenness was such precise reasoning that you couldn't help but marvel at how hard that young friend had studied to know all of it, and if you examined him closely, you could tell he was a far cry from a thoughtless mad dog.
Thanks to that, people with working brains understood his unusual nature and kept a suitable distance, treating him as a pain in the ass. But there was no way everyone watched him from such a positive perspective.
The reality was that there were more people who couldn't accept a fifteen-year-old blue-rank brat being better than them than people who could. Even someone who did their best not to stand out could become a target of jealousy simply for being exceptionally talented. To people who didn't know him well, Eldmia—who seemed to trust in his talent and rampage around as though he had no fear of the world—would look even more obnoxious.
The more famous figures got tangled up around him and the more power attached itself to him, the colder those gazes would grow. Even if Eldmia himself never asked his circle for any help, the situations he orchestrated would still make him look like a lucky bastard flailing around with privilege in the eyes of the clueless.
"Mmm. He really went and made a huge mess, just as expected."
To people like that, Eldmia's act of overturning an entire private guild that looked reasonably normal on the surface—even if the circumstances that had brought its members together were pretty damn stupid—would never look good.
"Excuse me. I'm with the Adventurers' Guild. Let me pass, please."
Unlike his usual need to keep himself hidden, it was a genuinely novel experience to push through the onlookers openly while asking for their understanding, but since the thing Eldmia had done was so spectacular, it didn't stir much in him. Despite having hurried over, he was already quite late, and into his view came the bodies of the private guild's adventurers sprawled outside the building.
No, to be precise, what met his eyes were the corpses and the wounded—those who had 'formerly been' adventurers.
Even at a glance, seven dead and only three or four still breathing. It was a sight that might as well have been the number of wrinkles that would get etched into Engrim's brow. But from what he knew, excluding the ones who'd already clashed with Eldmia earlier, the civilian guild had numbered over twenty. Which meant the remaining members were inside that building, confronting Eldmia right now.
"Tsk. Should've grabbed more chocolate on the way."
If he had, maybe he'd have arrived once the situation had settled into a lull.
He didn't have the ability to turn back time, and having already announced himself as a guild representative while pushing through the spectators, Garun had no option to wait until Eldmia came out. Hoping that the guild members Engrim had separately dispatched to the Guard Force would arrive on time, he stepped into the building, which exuded an atmosphere akin to a dungeon.
Contrary to his expectation that the shattered door meant complete havoc inside, the interior was clean with no particular destruction. The floor was clean, the stairs were clean.
And the six corpses strewn across the stairs and the floor were spotless beyond belief.
"Huh, looks like he brought that unidentified weapon."
Every single dead body had wind-hole wounds and had died with their eyes open. As the image of cultists being swept away at long range by a projectile that moved on some incomprehensible principle surfaced, Garun's face deliberately turned grim.
Even with red-rank adventurers charging him in swarms in this cramped space, their wounds were identical. At the same time, it wasn't that they had been pierced through in a single blow; vitals were struck, but each body was different.
An arrow so fast that it skewered and killed them all without giving them a chance to swing a sword once, and its trajectory was even unpredictable. If he hadn't seen it himself, he'd have dismissed it as a bad joke.
"The Dancing Arrow, huh..."
While Eldmia cemented his place on the list of people Garun would never want as an enemy even if he were still active, Garun swiftly examined the bodies. Catching the commotion from the second floor, he ran upstairs. It was already as good as too late, but if he could save anyone who was still salvageable, Engrim might end up with at least one fewer wrinkle.
And the fewer wrinkles Engrim had, the easier Garun's own workload became.
Intentionally making loud noises, he headed toward the source of the commotion, which was the end of the hallway leading to the second-floor terrace. Unlike the beautiful sight of the terrace door—the only one in the building made of stained glass—scattering multi-colored light under the streetlamp's glow, there stood Eldmia, turning his gaze toward him with an expression that looked ready to beat someone to death. Garun felt his hair stand on end.
But as soon as Eldmia confirmed Garun's face, he put on a dumbfounded look and opened his mouth.
"Garun?"
Good grief. He'd only seen him once, and yet he remembered. Since he couldn't predict what kind of reaction he'd get if it came out that he'd been tracking Eldmia's movements, Garun broke out in a cold sweat internally and raised both hands.
"Hey, Eldmia! Long time no see. Didn't imagine you'd remember me."
"How... didn't you die?"
"Ah? Ah! Pabaera. Seems I left you with a misunderstanding. Actually, I'm a guild investigator. Back then, I was lying low on purpose to investigate Pabaera."
Behind Eldmia, whose face held a mix of bewilderment and surprise, Dantel was crawling on the floor with holes punched through both knees, pouring out cold sweat and tears while rolling his eyes nonstop. But even when Eldmia's gaze shifted away for a moment, he didn't try to run. Garun could easily guess that this stemmed not from Dantel's will, but from the coercion of that infamous Dancing Arrow, floating right beside Eldmia's head.
"Anyway, that's why I'm here now. If you don't mind, I was hoping we could leave that sex-offender little shit alone for a moment and have a chat. What do you think?"
"...Is that the guild's stance?"
Damn. Where do you look at this kid and see fifteen? A fifteen-year-old who catches on to what I'm trying to say and cuts straight to the main point? Cheap adventure novels at the market wouldn't even field a protagonist like that.
As a chill ran down the back of his neck, Garun feigned nonchalance and shook his head. And he prayed that this time, his face would come across just a little less rough, forcing the gentlest smile he could muster.
"The guild's stance is always to minimize conflict. If that's what you were asking, then yes. But if you were asking whether we're here to protect and defend these private guild friends, then not yet. We don't know all the details of what happened."
Fortunately, it didn't seem to be a bad answer; Eldmia withdrew the hostility he'd been pouring out and rubbed his chin. If that gesture meant the same as it did with others, it signaled he was mulling something over, and Garun felt like he'd glimpsed a sliver of hope.
"I'm a guild standout employee, so I've heard a fair bit of talk about you. Lately your track record's so flashy, it's not just one or two people taking an interest."
"...And?"
"So I've got a rough idea why you're doing this. A friend who doesn't rampage before the board is set goes off—usually that means a board that warrants it has been laid out, right?"
To Eldmia, who was staring at him as if waiting for more, Garun displayed a subtle goodwill and kept explaining.
"These fellows clearly came at you ready for a fight, and you handled them without even drawing a proper weapon, so self-defense should apply. I don't know what caused the clash in the first place, but an investigation will sort that out. If the rumors about you are true, that part should end without any trouble. But Dantel... he's become a separate issue, unintentionally. He's already incapacitated."
Not only was he not holding a proper weapon, but his knees were shattered, unable to support his legs. If only his legs had been fine, maybe it'd be different, but Garun had his own position to consider.
"As guild-affiliated, I came here on official business in the end. I have to stop acts of violence against a neutralized opponent. But if you kill the bastard right now, it could look like you refused the guild's official mediation."
"So?"
"I'm not saying this to threaten or press you... but some form of punishment would be unavoidable. To you, it might be a trivial punishment, but Dantel isn't worth even that, right?"
So let's withdraw your weapon and back off for now.
Since the friend was smart, there was no need to spell out the unspoken part. In fact, Eldmia nodded as if he understood, so Garun thought his persuasion had worked.
"Right. He's not worth it right now."
But contrary to his verbal agreement, Eldmia reached out, grabbed Dantel by the collar, and lifted him. Dantel was a full-grown man, yet Eldmia handled him as casually as an ordinary piece of luggage. Garun froze for a moment, and before he could recover, Eldmia continued.
"This piece of shit only gains worth by dying."
"F-Fuck! You son of a bitch! Fuck off! I said fuck off! You! Fuck...!"
Before Garun could even react, Eldmia hurled Dantel—who was spitting curses—straight toward the door.
Hurled with even greater force than Eldmia had used to lift him, Dantel smashed through the glass door and flew outside, his face still unable to process what was happening.
"Fuuuuuck!!"
Garun's tensioned nerves began slowly taking in every scene unfolding before his eyes. As if the world had slowed down, he belatedly felt the full weight of how tense he was.
Inside that slowed-down world, the sight of Dantel scattering blood as he flew past the shattering glass out onto the terrace, and the sight of Eldmia casually turning back toward him after the throw with a flat expression, all painted a surreal scene.
In that uncanny sliver of time, Eldmia spoke.
"Value as a result that proves my warning doesn't get a second chance."
As if taking that as a cue, the projectile spinning rapidly beside Eldmia launched toward Dantel.