Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Great Moving Operation (6)
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It was a splendid evening. The breeze was cool, and the sky was clear. The setting sun was dyeing the world in shades of crimson.
"Any issues at the rear?"
"None, sir."
The grasslands stretching along both sides of the dirt path swayed gently. From the now-silent forest where the cicadas had quieted, the song of a cuckoo bird echoed.
It was an idyllic scene that naturally eased the mind. Yet the faces of the Wild Plains Wolf Mercenaries bore clear signs of tension. The mercenary captain, with a long warhammer slung over his shoulder, spoke sternly.
"Don't let your guard down. Keep your wits sharp to face any enemy that appears."
"Yes, sir!"
"Who would've thought the young duke himself would come..."
About twenty mercenaries were escorting two wagons. One was a massive cargo wagon large enough to fit a small hut inside, and the other a luxurious travel carriage.
The sides of both wagons bore the crest of House Grancia. Their mission was to escort a certain lady from the small village of Nimbuton to the imperial capital. The client was none other than the Empire's Rising Star, Schlieffen Sinivan de Grancia.
"...Is she some exiled princess from another country or something?"
The captain muttered as he scanned ahead once more. The face of their charge lingered in his mind. It was undoubtedly why his usually unruly men were burning with a sense of duty.
Schlieffen had been sticking close to the wagon Iril rode in. His nerves on edge as he surveyed the surroundings, he tilted his head.
'...It's strangely quiet.'
Contrary to the reports of monsters rampaging, nothing had happened. The only incident so far was shooing away a cat napping in the middle of the road.
'If anything, it's more suspicious.'
Feeling uneasy for no reason, Schlieffen glanced inside the wagon. Iril was gently stroking Sita, who had fallen asleep on her lap. Her gaze, looking out the window, happened to meet his.
"Ah, Lord Schlieffen!"
Iril waved with a bright smile. Schlieffen approached, steadying his heart that threatened to sink, and cleared his throat a few times before speaking in what he hoped was a mature tone.
"Ahem. Everything alright in there?"
"Yes, it's so comfortable! Why don't you rest a bit too, Lord Schlieffen?"
Iril patted the seat beside her with a beaming smile. Schlieffen's brain turned to stone. He bit the inside of his cheek hard before regaining enough wits to speak.
"Er. Well. I can't. I'm on duty."
"Is there anything I can do to help? I feel bad just freeloading like this. The others too..."
"Not at all. Ahem, it's dangerous outside, so stay put."
"Huh? Did a wolf show up or something?"
"...Wolves. Yeah, something like that."
"R-Really?"
Iril's eyes widened. Guilt welled up in Schlieffen at the thought he might have scared her unnecessarily.
He hurried to correct his slip when suddenly Iril reached out the window, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said,
"Be careful. You're my little brother's friend before you're a noble—I don't want to see you get hurt."
"...Ah? Uh. Noble? Right. I'm a friend of nobles."
"Pardon?"
"No. I mean, ah. What I meant was, I'm the noble of your little brother."
Schlieffen froze, his dementia flaring up again. As he spouted nonsense, one of the mercenaries shouted urgently.
"S-Something's coming from the east!"
An indescribable chill raced through Schlieffen's body in an instant. Something ridiculously powerful was approaching rapidly.
"What...!"
Schlieffen drew his sword in a flash and dashed to the front of the procession. Thud! A massive shadow landed before them.
"Finally!"
"Fire!"
It was clearly a monster by its size. The tense mercenaries were about to unleash their prepared attacks when the captain, realizing the shadow's identity, yelled desperately.
"S-Stop! Everyone, hold!"
It was rare for a veteran captain to panic like this. The mercenaries hastily released their grips on sword hilts and bowstrings.
The shadow uncurled. Beneath the sunset, the form of a massive were-tiger revealed itself. In that moment, the mercenaries realized the captain had saved them all.
"Z-Zaifa?"
"Why is the Sword Saint here...!"
Among beastkin, an exceptionally huge frame. A glaive more like a pillar than a blade. No one who lived by the sword didn't know him. Sword Saint Zaifa stood before them.
"I see why you made that request. Entrusting escorts this frail."
He muttered something incomprehensible while scanning the mercenaries. Then, two boys jumped down from behind him. Schlieffen's eyes widened alongside the mercenaries'.
"Ronan...?"
"Looks like you all handled things well."
"Ugh... so dizzy."
The boys were Ronan and Asel. Ronan approached, appraising the mercenaries as he went. Asel crouched, dry-heaving like someone suffering from motion sickness.
Schlieffen frowned. The situation was so absurd he questioned if it was real. Setting aside the Sword Saint's sudden arrival, why had those two been riding on his back? Ronan, now right in front of him, shrugged.
"No trouble?"
"...Why were you on the Sword Saint's back? No, why is the Sword Saint even here?"
"That's... a long, shitty story. I'll tell you later."
Ronan chuckled. A laugh mixed half with self-deprecation and cynicism. His fatigue-etched face looked five years older after just a few hours apart.
"Anyway, no trouble? No monsters?"
"...No."
Schlieffen informed him that nothing had happened so far. Strangely so. Ronan nodded with a satisfied smile.
"Figures. After all that crap, of course nothing would show. Sis?"
Schlieffen nodded toward the rear. The duke's wife—or rather, the illegally fancy carriage—sat prominently in the middle of the procession.
Damn, hard to be inconspicuous like that. Ronan let out a hollow laugh and was about to step forward when the carriage door burst open. Iril stepped out.
"Ronan? Is that you?"
He had definitely heard it. Ronan's voice. As she turned, their eyes met.
"Oh my god! Ronan!"
Iril covered her mouth with both hands at the sight of her brother after nearly three months. Ronan waved in greeting.
"Sis."
Iril rushed over and hugged him tightly. Ronan sighed in relief. Good thing I washed the blood off in Marvas and bought new clothes. After a long moment, she lifted her head, caressing his face.
"Have you been well? Why are you so thin? Look at this scratch on your face. Did someone at the academy bully you?"
"Not the academy... feels like the world's bullying me."
"Huh?"
"Kidding. You doing okay?"
"Yeah, I've been great! Listen to this—I told the villagers about you and..."
His sister, after so long, was still beautiful. The warm sunset flowed over her silver hair.
Her complexion had clearly improved, no longer just potato stew. As Iril chattered away, a metallic clash like the world shattering rang out from right behind them.
-Claaaaang!-!!
"Eek!"
"What the hell?!"
Ronan gripped his sword hilt. He wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders and aimed his blade toward the sound. He saw Zaifa and Schlieffen clashing weapons.
"That crazy old bastard."
Ronan spat a curse, grasping the situation instantly. The mercenaries dared not intervene in the sudden clash of the two monsters. Zaifa's ears perked with interest.
"Ho. You held up."
"...What is this, Sword Saint?"
Their blades hummed against each other. Schlieffen gritted his teeth to the breaking point, barely holding his ground. His trembling legs looked ready to collapse at the slightest gust. Zaifa said,
"Just a greeting. Empire's Rising Star."
"Greeting?"
Instead of answering, Zaifa sheathed his glaive and offered a handshake with a simple introduction.
"Zaifa Turkgun. Glad to see your reputation isn't exaggerated."
"What...?"
Schlieffen stared up at him in disbelief. Ronan strode over and snapped,
"Damn it, did you have to pull that crap here?"
"Next will be one of you two."
"What?"
"The next Sword Saint, that is. If you were kin, I'd raise you myself. Shame."
The two boys' eyes widened. They never expected such words directly from the Sword Saint. Zaifa glanced at the stationary wagons.
"So, this is all the luggage to carry?"
"Yeah. Four people."
"Keh heh, Zaifa Turkgun helping with a move. Never thought I'd live to see it."
Zaifa chuckled hollowly. 'Forget the rest, just help with the move.' That was the reward Ronan had requested for capturing Nebula Klazie. Suddenly, Iril stepped forward cautiously from among the mercenaries.
"Whoaaa...! B-Beastkin?"
Seeing Zaifa, her eyes went wide with awe. Zaifa looked down.
"The sister you mentioned before."
"Y-You talked about me...! Hello!"
Iril approached, eyes sparkling like she'd spotted a cute animal. Zaifa examined her closely, then turned to Ronan.
"...I see why you treasure her."
"Right?"
Ronan and Schlieffen nodded in unison. Abruptly, Zaifa extended a hand to Iril. Not the bullshit greeting he'd given the other two, but a normal, warm one. She grabbed it eagerly, shaking vigorously.
"Wow, you're so huge! First beastkin I've seen!"
"What's your name, miss?"
"I'm Iril! Wow, your palm's so soft... Can I touch a bit more?"
"Do as you like."
Iril giggled like a child, fiddling with Zaifa's paw pads. The watching mercenaries paled.
Unprecedented. Zaifa Turkgun, conversing with a human he hadn't deemed a warrior, even letting her touch his palm. Then, one mercenary pointed east again.
"Something else is coming!"
"I-Imperial forces?"
Several massive shadows rose above the forest and landed around the procession. Zaifa's subordinates, briefly away on mission. The one called vice-captain, a were-lion, saluted Zaifa.
"Captain. It's done."
"Good. Well done."
"As the boy said, we found the old man's body. Wanted criminal called Aden's Bloodstorm..."
The vice-captain continued her report: escorting Cardion to Rodolan, tracking the woman and old man's bodies.
Zaifa and Ronan listened silently. With no hitches, it seemed they'd definitely thwarted Nebula Klazie's plot.
"W-What's going on?"
"C-Captain. What happened?"
The Wild Plains Wolf Mercenaries were plunged into unprecedented chaos. Surrounded by the young duke of Grancia, Sword Saint Zaifa Turkgun, and sudden imperial beastkin—hardly surprising.
"...Beats me."
Even the captain had no answers. Finishing with his subordinates, Zaifa turned. His overwhelming voice boomed.
"You're in the way. Get lost."
All the captain could do was nod quietly. With more upfront pay than the wyvern hunt two years ago, no complaints.
Just curiosity about their charge deepened. Not some exiled princess—maybe the emperor's secret daughter.
Grancia's young duke, splitting the empire. Zaifa Turkgun, greatest Sword Saint ever, and his direct subordinates. The mercenary captain, stunned, spoke.
"...Good luck."
The beastkin dashed off carrying wagons and horses, backs to the sunset. They looked like they were off to topple a nation.
The move happened at unprecedented speed. Zaifa and thirteen beastkin assisted.
Ronan and Iril, Asel and Schlieffen rode in the carriage at Zaifa's firm insistence not to get in the way.
Strong were-bears and were-lions carried the cargo wagon and horses. Zaifa himself carried their carriage.
The rest formed escort, leaping dynamically in a three-dimensional defense formation. Marvas citizens panicked at the fearsome procession.
"C-Clear the way! Sword Saint coming through!"
"Whose carriage? I-Is it even His Majesty the Emperor?"
Despite carrying carriages and horses, they outpaced them on foot. Using the excuse of an ongoing operation, they crossed mountain roads unchecked.
The world's most dangerous and fluffy moving company arrived at the capital before Monday dawn. The beastkin kindly set down the cargo wagon and group right before the new house. Ronan, stepping out, patted Zaifa's leg.
"Thanks. Made it easy."
"Hm. Been ages since the capital."
Zaifa scanned around with curious eyes instead of replying. He explained it was nearly three years, always wandering the continent on missions.
"I-Is this really our house?"
"Yeah."
Iril's eyes widened at the new home. Ronan nodded. The two-story stone house was in an affluent district of the capital.
Chosen after heads together by Ronan and Schlieffen, it offered safety, convenience, and just a five-minute walk from Phileon Academy's east gate. Iril continued shakily.
"R-Ronan... no matter how I look, seems like wrong house..."
"It's ours. Let's go in."
Ronan took her hand and entered. Asel and Schlieffen followed. He'd invited Zaifa, but he declined, wanting to savor the capital's air after so long.
Opening the front door revealed a spacious, beautiful interior. But Ronan gave Iril no time to admire, heading straight upstairs. The unlit second floor was bathed in serene moonlight. Iril's mouth slowly opened.
"Whoaaa...!"