Point of Contact
Point of Contact
Gaendal and I woke just as the sun was beginning to set.
As usual, the fragrant smell of stew greeted me when I sat up, but I knew it'd be a pain if I suddenly needed the bathroom, so I settled for a light stretch before we moved out.
"I heard there's a group that regularly buys supplies from the village."
Surprisingly, while we slept, Yekaterina and Rellie had gone all the way to the nearest village, asked around, and come back. I couldn't help admiring party members who took the initiative like that as the two continued their report.
The village was a good 20-minute ride away at an easy pace. The group usually visited once a week, and the next visit was due soon. Gaendal had seen no horses around the dungeon, so whenever they traveled, they apparently made the trip entirely on foot.
"Usually 6 or 7 of them come down as a group, and every time, they fool around at the tavern for half a day before heading back."
It was undeniably a thoroughly planned stress management strategy.
I didn't know if it came from the Demonfolk bastard's head, or if someone else was playing the role of the brains, but thanks to that, my wariness toward the bastards went up a notch.
Still, if we timed things right, we could start by cutting their numbers in half, including the sentries being relieved, so we gave the two who had brought us the information a hearty round of applause.
You sleep and wake up, and the quest difficulty takes a nosedive! What a seriously awesome team.
"No matter what happens, they won't be back before tomorrow morning. If you sense anyone approaching, stay on guard first. I know you're tired, but it would be better to keep watch in 3-hour shifts."
"The two of you will have at least 4 hours between watches, won't you? Don't worry about us."
Touched by the goodwill of Gin, who handed me his own cloak because I was moving around without one since I figured I didn't need it being right next to the campfire anyway, Gaendal and I headed toward the abandoned dungeon without delay.
No matter how much moonlight and starlight there is, a deep, undeniable darkness descends upon the forest at night. Having lived in a forest cabin, my night vision was fairly sharp, but Gaendal's weak night vision was the problem, so we hurried our steps as much as possible.
The reconnaissance plan was exceedingly simple. Sitting our asses down and observing their activities.
No matter how much they disguised themselves as guild members, considering the bastards would clearly be cautious about their main activities, any separate actions outside the dungeon would happen late at night or early in the morning. If there were absolutely no external activities like that, we could conclude they were pulling some kind of bullshit inside the dungeon, so that alone was sufficient.
I speculated that their visits to the village for supplies would definitely be from around noon until before the sun fully set.
The bastards live inside the dungeon for most of the day. Even coming outside is mostly just guard duty.
We'd find out soon enough. Whether they had no other outside activity or only a little, living for months in that tension with almost no daylight was bound to wear them down mentally.
Someone thoughtful enough to send them to a village tavern for nearly half a day to manage their stress wouldn't have overlooked that. He had probably even considered the tavern's hours, giving them as much daylight as possible and then letting them rest for a full day after they returned.
"Is that so. Stress management. I hadn't thought of that at all."
"Well, for us, even if we operate long-term in a dungeon, it's hard to last past two weeks. They're in hiding, so it'd be an absolutely essential situation for them."
We didn't know exactly how long this had been going on, but the village visits alone had continued for months. Without some system like that, they'd have become so tightly wound that fights among them were inevitable. And as Gaendal had said, even the sentries showed no sign of growing lax. At the very least, their management wasn't sloppy, which only strengthened my theory.
"You really are well-versed in dealing with people in many ways, aren't you? To think of things to that extent. I'm impressed."
"Just, you know, things happened."
"That doesn't sound like the kind of simple guess you pick up just because 'things happened'..."
At the end of a conversation that gave me a strong sense of déjà vu, we ran for about ten minutes and arrived at the safe observation point Gaendal had marked.
Since Gin had said the dungeon itself was laid out like a temple, I'd wondered whether the entrance would look the part too. Instead, it resembled a cave, a rough tangle of earth and grass. Dungeons in this world really were impossible to figure out.
"Then I'll take a quick look around for any noticeable traces before it gets darker."
"I'm counting on you."
To live up to Gaendal's complete trust—he hadn't even asked what traces I meant to look for—I moved quickly and quietly around the area.
What I was looking for was simple: medicinal plants people living here long-term would gather, vines suitable for materials, wood that could be used as firewood, and other traces of human activity.
In my past life I hadn't known the first thing about survival, but after growing up under Asilie's intensive instruction, I had become skilled enough to follow ordinary traces at night without even relying on spirits. A forest-specialized tracker, at that. Having learned elven techniques in a human body, I treated the forest like my own front yard.
Come to think of it, am I maybe kind of amazing?
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The search continued for another 20 minutes after sunset, until darkness had completely settled over the forest. There still wasn't any movement from the dungeon. At most, I could faintly hear the sentries talking to stave off boredom.
And then, having returned to the observation point, I had to report a disappointing finding to Gaendal.
"Those bastards didn't touch anything around them."
"Nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all."
They'd touched so little that it hardly seemed possible. Even materials suitable for firewood lay around in quantities far too large for how long they'd stayed here. There were no signs of felled trees either, so they weren't even replenishing their supply by logging.
"It's a problem that they have enough money to buy most necessities, including firewood, from the village without feeling the cost. It's also a problem that they haven't even tried to prepare for supplies running out."
The bastards were clearly hiding, avoiding others' eyes.
That meant they had no outside source of income. They had spent months pretending to be ordinary guild members monitoring a dungeon, not even stealing for fear of leaving a trail.
"So either the Demonfolk are funding whatever they're plotting in there, or some third party is providing the money..."
A creepy sensation crawled up my spine.
"Gaendal, have you ever seen Demonfolk before?"
"Just once. I saw one indirectly when I took a battlefield reconnaissance request."
Stroking his chin, Gaendal rummaged through his memories for a moment and continued.
"The Demon King's Army has ordinary foot soldiers too. But their baseline strength is so different that one of their standard tactics is for those ordinary soldiers to smash bodily through shield-wall formations made of tower shields. Of course, if the Demonfolk here are only at that level, I'd say we could handle them without too much trouble as long as magic isn't involved. But..."
"The problem is that if Demonfolk are deployed to a place like this, they wouldn't be ordinary soldier-level."
"Exactly. Even by our standards, it's not a task you'd leave to common soldiers."
Yeah. At the very least, they'd have stuck some special forces in there. I put on a serious expression to match Gaendal's, but inwardly, I was cheering. Because the likelihood of it being a bastard who knew something had gotten higher.
More importantly, the kingdom wasn't the only side fighting this war. The Demonfolk had been fighting it for years too. Sending an exceptionally powerful Demonfolk on a secret assignment like this, the way Gaendal was imagining, would be a waste of talent. They'd get far more value by putting someone like that on the front and having them tear through as many kingdom troops as possible.
At most, one member of the Demonfolk who can handle 20 of those bastards alone, or a squad-sized group of Demonfolk, would be the best they'd commit. On top of that, there might be one more acting as the brains, planning and commanding.
I can confidently say, I could win even alone, assuming I push myself a bit.
"They say people tend to think negatively rather than positively when facing an unknown situation."
"Hm?"
"It means that if a kid who went out to play in the morning doesn't come back until late at night, you worry first that something happened to them, rather than thinking they might have gone to a friend's house, gotten dinner, and are just coming back a bit late."
"...You're saying our thoughts might also be too negative."
Honestly, I'd expected that to sound completely out of nowhere, but Gaendal was remarkably thoughtful. Thanks to that, I could tell him what I was thinking without hesitation.
"Yes. Demonfolk may be another race with their own nation, but they're still living beings like us, and they haven't overwhelmed us in a war that's lasted for years. If they were truly powerful Demonfolk, they'd be needed on the battlefield, trying to tilt the front even slightly in their favor. So for now, I think it's reasonable to assume that even in the worst case we're looking at something like a special-operations unit—five or six people, certainly fewer than ten."
Come to think of it, the possibility of it being a single guy strong enough to tear apart 20 people, which I'd considered earlier, was also very low.
Because it's inefficient. A guy who slices up 5 or 6 is relatively more common than one who grinds down 20. If that's enough, then using them that way would be normal.
"However, it does seem likely that they've formed a structure allowing them direct contact with the Demon King's Army, or to receive material support, through some unknown means."
"Mm... you're right. I let the word Demonfolk scare me before thinking it through. It's a good thing I came with you."
Gaendal's visibly brighter expression raised my trust in him even further. A leader who didn't dismiss the opinion of someone plainly younger than himself. If this request succeeded, Engrim would have every right to hold his head high.
Because it'd mean his eye for people is the real deal.