The Festival (2)
"What are you doing? Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
The manager clicked his tongue, prodding the new recruit who had been brought in as a temporary escort. Only after the man intervened did the figure finally speak up.
"...Number 181. I've been assigned to guard Number 229."
"Er... right. Good to be working with you..."
I had thought something felt off, and sure enough, the voice that came out was deliberately forced down into a lower register. But someone straining to deepen their pitch was bound to be painfully obvious. I scratched my cheek, wondering how on earth I was supposed to navigate this awkwardness.
Glancing sideways at the manager, I saw the exact same question written all over his face: What's wrong with this one?
Glad to know we're on the same page.
She seemed to be trying to sound like a man to disguise her gender, but unfortunate for her, not a soul on the continent would have bought it. If anything, the strained performance only highlighted just how feminine she actually was.
...Well, perhaps she was simply terrified of men. Right. Let's go with that.
In any case, lingering in this awkward silence wasn't doing anyone any favors.
"We should probably head off to work," I said, stepping between them. "I'd like to go over a few ground rules regarding the escort duties with Number 181."
"Fine, sort it out between yourselves. So long as the job gets done, I couldn't care less."
At least I had successfully diverted the manager's attention.
"Well then... Number 181, shall we have a quick chat?"
"..."
Yet for some reason, Number 181 was still fidgeting restlessly, her head bowed. I genuinely couldn't make heads or tails of her.
A merchant's purpose was inherently rooted in profit.
They delivered goods, catered to the demands of their clientele, and lived or died by the fluctuations of the market. Often called mere peddlers in derogatory tones, in truth, most of them held the upper hand in negotiations.
Yet Lewena, head of the Lewen Merchant Guild, had once stood entirely at the mercy of others.
"Another chance? Don't make me laugh."
The parchment in Lewena's fist crumpled into a tight, ruined ball.
"Did you truly believe I would dance on your strings forever?"
The contents scribbled across that crushed letter were all too familiar: a claim that her daughter was in their hands, and a warning that a single misplaced word would mean the girl's immediate execution. In exchange, they demanded that she halt the guild's current expedition toward the Academy.
It was the exact same blackmail she had endured for decades.
In the past, blinded by that terror, she had committed unspeakable, sickening acts just to generate staggering sums of wealth. And for decades, she had surrendered every coin to them—immense fortunes earned through the filthiest means imaginable.
She had turned away loyal patrons, crushed the impoverished, and wrung the very marrow from starving wretches just to fatten the Noble Coalition's pockets. That had always been their price.
There was no denying that her actions had been ruthless and vile. She repented and cursed herself every waking moment. Morally, ethically, they were sins that should never have been committed. Yet had she not obeyed, her sole reason for living would have vanished into thin air. She had clung desperately to the faint hope that her child was still breathing, repeating the same atrocities over and over again.
Only with the passage of time had the weight of her sins crushed through her denial. The moment someone bluntly asked her why she remained enslaved to a ghost who might not even be alive, the fog had finally cleared. She had turned toward the Principality, offering her allegiance and striving to make amends step by agonizing step.
A sinful mother who had chased a phantom was now steadily breaking free from the Noble Coalition's clutches—especially after receiving intelligence that her daughter was very likely enrolled at the Academy.
"If only I could see you... just once..."
She could no longer even recall the last time she had laid eyes on her daughter. How had that sweet little girl, who used to bury her face in her mother's chest while crying out for her, grown after ten long years?
Lewena's singular, lifelong wish was simple.
Even if it were only once, she wanted to look upon her daughter's face and hold her in her arms.
—Guildmaster, the caravan is ready.
"...Understood. Give me just a moment."
Tying the ribbon she used to braid into her daughter's hair around her forearm like a protective talisman, Lewena stepped outside.
Today was the festival, an occasion every merchant guild across the land coveted. The provisions required for such a spectacle were nearly endless, and the time had finally come to release the reserves they had hoarded for this very hour.
"Guildmaster."
"Yes. Set course for Lebrant Academy."
"At once."
Their destination was Lebrant Academy, where the grand festival would unfold. As a guild aligned with the Grand Duke of Ardelion, they bore the full responsibility of supplying the event.
Lowering her voice, she asked the manager beside her, "...Any progress on the discrete inquiry I requested?"
"I offer my deepest apologies. There are far too many individuals sharing the same name, making it exceptionally difficult to narrow down a specific candidate."
"It's fine. Only verify what you can without raising suspicion. I am... already prepared for the worst."
"I will exercise even greater care, Guildmaster."
"Don't push yourself too hard."
"Yes, ma'am. I shall head for the Academy now."
Watching the manager depart, Lewena thumped her chest as if suffocating beneath an unbearable weight. Then, softly whispering her daughter's name into the wind, she wiped away a stray tear.
History had a habit of repeating itself, and someone was bound to foresee it. If you knew what was coming and had lived through it yourself, dodging disaster was simple enough.
However, foresight was useless if you hadn't experienced the specific circumstances firsthand. Merely knowing the end result without understanding the events leading up to it meant you were blind to the next move.
So this is how it happened.
A massive wall of boulders obstructed the road, neatly severing the Lewen Merchant Guild's route. I had left the Belshuar Ark behind to avoid drawing unwanted suspicion, but seeing this mess, I found myself regretting the decision.
"What... what happened here?"
One of the guild managers barked orders to examine the map immediately. Right at the chokepoint required to reach Revrant, a catastrophic roadblock had appeared.
"Did a rockslide hit the end of the gorge...?"
Having fought a battle in this very gorge in my past timeline, I knew the terrain well. I clearly remembered that back then, this narrow passage had never been blocked.
This was deliberate.
It was as though someone had laid this trap knowing full well that the Lewen Merchant Guild would pass through here.
"What should we do...? Would it be better to take a detour?"
"We don't have much of a choice. Damn it all, blocking a perfectly fine road like this..."
"Abandoning the direct route to take the long way around is going to cost us an absurd amount of money."
"Stop whining and let's just get moving so we can rest sooner. It's supposed to be a festival, for pity's sake."
The merchants were anxious to reach Lebrant Academy as quickly as possible, eager to unpack their wares, rest their aching limbs, and set up shop. But whoever had orchestrated this obstruction had no intention of letting them simply turn around.
They weren't the kind of enemies who would settle for a harmless prank like a blocked road.
"Wait... did anyone else hear an explosion just now, or am I imagining things?"
"No, I heard it too. But... why would anyone else be out here...?"
"H-Hold on! Look behind us!"
A gorge was, by its very nature, a treacherous trench carved deep between towering elevations. Blocking both ends of such a formation required little effort.
A ravine hemmed in by sheer rock faces on either side, now sealed tight from the front and back. In my previous life, the Lewen Merchant Guild had never appeared at Lebrant Academy. In other words, they had never made it out of this gorge alive.
"Damn it... the shovels and sledgehammers aren't doing a thing! How does the rear look?"
"The rear is completely blocked too... The escort guards are giving it everything they have, but they say unless a dedicated group of high-tier mages blasts it open, we're not breaking through..."
"Then... are we trapped? What about the festival...?"
The festival had been organized by the Principality, and the Lewen Merchant Guild had been summoned as their chosen vendor. If the guild failed to arrive, the Noble Coalition would seize the opportunity to step in and manage the festivities in their place.
Provided we remained trapped here, helpless to act.
"We're boxed in tight."
"What a nightmare. We picked this route specifically because it was the fastest."
The two managers calmed the panicking guild members before putting their heads together, desperately trying to brainstorm a way out.
"Shouldn't we at least send a distress signal to let people know we're here?"
"And how do you propose we do that?"
"Fireworks and gunpowder. If we want any hope of reaching Revrant in time, we need to create the brightest light possible."
"That's not a bad idea. Let's do it immediately—"
"That won't work. The signal will never reach them," I interrupted. "No matter how much you amplify the light, it's broad daylight—no one will spot it. And even if it were night, the distance to Revrant is far too great."
On my work uniform, the stitched patch read Number 229. To the guild, I was nothing more than an outsider.
"Then what the hell are we supposed to do? Sit here with our thumbs up our asses?"
"It's unfortunate that we're trapped, but right now we have to call for help," the older manager insisted. "We have to try something, don't we?"
"The geological strata here are highly unstable. Firing off explosives like that will only shake the surrounding rock and trigger another collapse. Sending a signal that won't even be seen, only to shrink our breathing room even further, is the worst move you could make."
"Hey... what do you think you're doing?"
The two managers stared in utter bewilderment as Porter Number 229 abruptly turned his back and climbed into the back of one of the cargo carriages.
"It looks like we aren't entirely out of options," I said, glancing out at them. "And this approach is far more reliable than setting off fireworks."
"What on earth are you talking about...?"
"We just need a few supplies."
I doubted they were entirely lacking in what I needed. The real question was whether they would be willing to part with it.
Why had the Lewen Merchant Guild been trapped here?
Why had the festival already fallen under the Noble Coalition's control by the time the guild finally set foot in the Academy?
And why, in that process, had the guild suffered such ruinous losses that they were pushed to the brink of bankruptcy, while the guildmaster was publicly dragged through the mud for failing to manage her people?
The Noble Coalition's schemes were as cunning as they were venomous. It all began the moment the Lewen Merchant Guild was isolated in this very gorge.
Which meant I had to stop it right here.
"These carriages. We need to use all of them over there."
"All of them? Over there? Why?"
"Because we have to consume every single one if we want to blast open the blocked passage or transmit a signal powerful enough to reach the Academy. There is no other way without detonating them all at once."
"Listen to this lunatic! Have you lost your damn mind?!"
It was only natural for the manager to erupt. This specific carriage was packed to the brim with mana stones, representing the single most valuable portion of their entire shipment. Telling merchants to incinerate their prize cargo was no different from demanding that they accept total financial ruin.
"I'd like to tell him to calm down, but I'm inclined to agree," the older manager chimed in, frowning deeply. "Why would you make such an absurd demand?"
"If we don't do it now, it will be too late. Even if it costs you the mana stones, even if the guild takes a heavy loss, you must do this to survive the catastrophe waiting for you."
"Unbelievable..." The older manager shook his head, utterly dumbfounded.
Beside him, the middle-aged manager finally blew his top. "Enough! What could a hired hand from the outside possibly know?! Let's go. We're doing it your way—fetch the gunpowder and fireworks and fire off the signal!"
The older manager, who had at least made an effort to listen, looked between me and his colleague before letting out a weary sigh. "We just need to be patient. Why should we take on such a devastating loss? As a merchant, I cannot grant your request. I'm sorry."
With that, he turned away.
Yet looking around the gorge, anyone with eyes could see that time was already running out.
The signs are already surfacing.
Having witnessed firsthand what happened to soldiers cut off on the battlefield, I knew the symptoms all too well. The situation was far grimmer than these merchants realized. They had lit a small campfire and distributed minimal rations, accepting a minor loss to fill their bellies, but that was merely a stopgap.
"What do you think happens to people when they're trapped in an enclosed space for an extended period?" I asked.
"What nonsense are you spewing now?! Shut your trap before I dock your pay for the day! I thought you were decent because you worked hard, but you're completely out of your head...!"
"We have plenty of time," the older manager added softly. "Do not push us any further. My colleague is furious enough as it is, so please, do not provoke him."
"Is that so?"
An insufficient meal. A claustrophobic space. A sun steadily slipping beneath the horizon. Soon, darkness would swallow this canyon whole. And the moment night fell, the countdown would begin.
No matter how much dried meat they chewed, their hunger would never be satisfied. No matter how high they stoked the fire, the biting cold would seep through their bones. Pitch-black surroundings and the agonizing wait for reinforcements that never arrived were the most lethal poisons in a closed environment.
Human psychology in prolonged isolation was pitifully fragile. As anxiety spiraled, the moral boundaries preventing crime began to erode.
—How the hell are we supposed to survive on a single strip of jerky?!
—Hey, calm down!
"What? What's going on over there—"
Crash!
Before the manager could even take a step, a delicate piece of glassware intended for the Academy's grand exhibition was hurled to the ground, shattering into a thousand glittering shards.
The timing couldn't have been more immaculate.
"Still think you have plenty of time?"
"..."
"..."
Frustration turning to rebellion, the strong shedding their civilized veneer to become scavengers and tyrants—the law of the jungle was about to take root within these stone walls.
"Are you going to sit back and watch your guild members, the hired laborers, and the escorts lose their minds one by one?" I pressed, my voice cutting through the rising clamor. "Or are you ready to listen to a way out, even if it means swallowing a bitter loss?"
In moments like this, nothing commanded attention quite like hitting them where it hurt.